Weskerian Says: Hey all. Just wanted to let you know that this is where it starts to get really graphic. The next few chapters until the ending are going to be full of violence and quite heavy on the bad, bad things happening, so I would urge anyone with a weak constitution to use their discretion. Let it never be said that you were not warned.
Episode Four Point One: Don't Utter A Single Word
When Shakahnna awoke it was to the startling realisation that she was vertical. This was odd, as she did not usually sleep standing up, and now that she had experienced it for the first time she was finally aware of why that was the case. She was sore all over, particularly in her arms which were stretched over her head and restrained at their wrists, and in her toes, which were curled and pressed into the floor with the full weight of her body resting upon them. Moving to remedy this discomfort, she placed her feet flat on the floor, wriggling the stubby digits at the ends in a bid to massage the discomfort from them, realising somewhat bitterly that Wesker had stolen her fucking boots. Now that she was standing upright, the stiffness in her shoulders relaxed somewhat, though her upper limbs remained lifted to the heavens by the heavy, metal manacles that were attaching them by heavy chains to the ceiling above. The base of her palms were sore from where she had been hanging from them and the edges of the shackles had cut into her skin, leaving shallow openings that bled along the lengths of her forearms. Shaking away the last vestiges of her exhaustion and focusing on being awake, she became aware that she was no longer in her cell. This new chamber was, as far as she could tell, composed entirely of dark grey stone, the feel of it cold and alien on the soles of her feet in comparison with the white linoleum she had grown used to in her previous quarters. She was unsure as to the rest of the dungeon's appearance, as a single shaft of light illuminated the area of the room directly around her and not much else. Squinting into the darkness, she tried to make out the fleeting shapes in the shadows beyond the corona of brightness that shone down on her from above, unsure as to whether there was actually anything there or if her eyes were simply playing tricks on her.
"What the fuck, Wesker?" she snapped, well aware of who would be responsible for this change in décor.
There was a rattle from somewhere directly in front of her, the sound of a metal instrument being placed upon a metal tray among other metal instruments, and for a moment the young female's mind boggled as to what it was that she had just heard. Before she was able to come to any conclusion, however, her sadistic paramour spoke up in response to her question. "You join me at last, dear heart," he purred, the spotlight above her reflecting on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses before he emerged into the pool of white that surrounded her, "I thought it best not to wake you and made these preparations while you slept. I trust that this does not vex you too greatly."
"Fuck off, you fucking dirty, window-licking, cum-guzzling, fucking..." she trailed off as she cast around for a suitable insult to finish off her tirade, hoping that the stream of expletives would be enough to convince him that she was quite irate at these steps he had taken while she had been unconscious, "fucker!"
He seemed unimpressed with the conclusion of her furious diatribe, though he seemed to have understood the sentiment behind it. Ignoring her words, he strode towards her, raising his right hand to seize the curve of her jaw between his thumb and forefinger so that he could hold her head in place and match her defiant gaze with the emotionless stare of his own covered eyes. She wriggled in his grasp, trying to free herself, though she had known for many months now that resisting him physically was an almost impossible task. "Understand, my dear, that these crude bonds are but the first step in what I intend for this occasion," he informed her, adjusting his grip as she squirmed away from him so that his fingers were gently clasped around her throat, "I am certain that you will find today's undertakings appealing to those delightful predilections of yours."
"Don't get your hopes up, bitch," she retorted, once she had finally resigned herself to being held in place by the blond and was no longer choking from where his digits were pinching her trachea a little too tightly. It had been almost a fortnight since she had spurned his advances in the labyrinth at the rear of his abode, and apart from a short, two-day period when he had been absent immediately afterwards, he had visited her daily in his efforts to secure her compliance. Thus far he had failed, though the redhead was forced to admit that she had been sorely tempted to abandon her vow to punish him in favour of the increasingly inviting alternative. Unfortunately for him, her resolve was stronger than temptation, and she had continued to deny them both what they truly desired. Once again she could feel the familiar knot of anticipation tying in her stomach that she had come to associate with her body betraying her mind and cursed herself silently, though even amid her thoughts there was a traitorous seed threatening to sprout and force her to concede to his seduction.
The sneer upon his features was almost tangible as he released the grip on her neck and traced the curves of her torso, keeping his hand at a respectful distance though this did not stop the motion from making the young woman blush. When he reached her stomach, he curled his fingers into the material of her S.T.A.R.S uniform's short-sleeved shirt so that it was pulled tightly around her midriff, never once taking his eyes away from hers. "I must remove this garment," he told her bluntly, the tension of the hold that he was maintaining on the fabric at her abdomen increasing imperceptibly as he prepared to do just that.
"Wesker! Don't you fucking dare!" she cried out almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, realising immediately what it was that he was intending to do, moments before there was the sound of tearing and the cloth that comprised the upper part of her fatigues was ripped to pieces. Stitches unravelled and broke, several particularly resilient strands cutting into her body as they were wrenched away from her skin in one swift motion, leaving her torso naked aside from the simple white, cotton brazier that was still hugging her buxom form. Before he had even managed to discard the item, however, she lunged forward, burying her foot in his crotch with such force that it knocked him backwards and dropped him to one knee, his sunglasses clattering to the floor in front of him as his head bowed and they came loose from his features.
Her restraints rattled as she went to kick him again, the movement falling far short of his position and causing her to rock backwards into a stationary position while hanging from the cuffs, glaring at him from behind a tattered and matted veil of flame red hair that hung down over her face in places and gave her an angry and dishevelled look. As she placed her feet back beneath her once again, the sadistic male retrieved his shades and returned to an upright stance, replacing the item back upon the bridge of his nose, though not before she was able to see the familiar flare of bright red from his pupils as he covered them. She began to fidget as he regarded her form critically, curling her shoulders and attempting to turn her body away in an attempt to avoid his gaze. Though evidently uncomfortable with the thought of nudity, Shakahnna was nevertheless a physically perfect specimen. The muscular forearms that were regularly displayed through her liking for short-sleeved shirts were complimented by a pair of larger biceps that in turn led to broad, powerful shoulders, and below the ample bust that remained restrained beneath her underwear, which had been emblazoned with the S.T.A.R.S emblem through personal preference, could be seen an exquisitely defined abdomen composed of six equal sections of solid muscle. Though most would not have considered her beautiful, Wesker considered most to be fools; this was an individual who possessed and realised the value of strength, a formidable opponent against whom to test his own power, and what could be more attractive than that? "You are a lady of unimpeachable honesty as always, my dear," he commented, referring to her threat from two weeks previous in regards to his attempts at stripping her.
"Fuck you!" she spat angrily, abandoning her attempts to preserve her modesty in favour of straining at her shackles in a desperate bid to kick his fucking head in, the absolute rage that she was feeling quelling the feelings of embarrassment that she was also subject to at that current moment. He sneered at the two words that had become something of an axiom for her during her time in his hospitality, before wordlessly reaching to the knot of the tie around his neck and loosening it in one swift movement.
"I felt that I should make a token gesture in order to facilitate your comfort," he informed her, as her unwaveringly aggressive stare gave way momentarily to one of confusion as he removed the tress from around his throat and cast it aside in much the same way as he had done the tattered remains of her shirt. No sooner had he discarded that item, he turned the attention of his fingers to the buttons of his jacket. She had seen these movements before, the day that he had branded her with the logo of the organisation she despised, and was already well aware that he was disrobing himself in much the same way that he had done her, although with admittedly greater care. Though he evidently wished her to recognise his actions, and as such was not using his true speed, there was a degree of impatience to the way that his digits moved across the front of his blazer that belied an eagerness he ordinarily restrained beneath his composed and orderly façade.
She continued to glare at him, unwilling to allow him to cow her into obedience with the embarrassment of her current state of undress and his own actions. Even though her face flushed bright scarlet as he removed his shirt, she refused to stop matching his gaze, determined to defeat him if there was to be a clash of wills. The scars that she had inflicted upon him over the course of the months that she had spent in captivity had all long-since healed, leaving only the perfectly-defined musculature that he had honed over the course of many years in much the same way that she had. In spite of their physical differences, height, build, hair colour, the one comparison that could be made between them was the almost visible strength in their bodies, and as Wesker had expressed already, what else was important? With the majority of his preparations made, he moved his hand to adjust his sunglasses and then idly discarded them when he deemed them unnecessary. Her head turned away instinctively as he approached her, though she kept her narrowed eyes upon him even as he circled her in a predatory manner and came to stand behind her, his right arm encircling her torso and coming to rest over her abdomen while the other reached under her own left arm and seized her jaw for the second time since she had been brought to this chamber. She arched her back in an effort to avoid the contact of his well-muscled torso, though was unable to prevent due to how tightly he was gripping her.
"I feel that I should be candid with you, my love," he stated, bringing his lips to within the merest fraction of an inch of her ear, his words a gentle purr that caused her face to flush all the more in spite of how red it currently was due to his proximity, "you are perfection in my eyes, and I would rather you remain eternally in my custody than consort with those of debatable worthiness."
She remained silent even as she could feel the smooth, white pearls that made up his sadistic smile come to bite down on the uppermost part of her ear, gently grinding into the thin piece of flesh and drawing blood with a tantalisingly painful laceration. Her body tensed, somewhere between pain and pleasure, acceptance and defiance. "Don't touch me," she snarled through gritted teeth, as angry at herself for even contemplating allowing this to continue as she was at him for assuming he had the right to do this to her after the crimes that he had committed. He paused for a moment, continuing to clasp her face and embrace her about the stomach, before he reluctantly removed himself from her and vanished from her sight, moving out of the cone of illumination and back into the darkness.
Unsure as to whether he actually had a purpose for this, or whether he was simply trying to fuck with her mind, Shakahnna strained to look back over her shoulder into the shadows that made up the majority of the room, attempting to locate him. Her head snapped back to align with her shackled body, however, when she heard the clatter of metal before her, the noise putting her in mind of when she had first woken up. She cast around for any sign of the male, only for him to emerge from the impenetrable shade a moment later. There was a look of subtle self-satisfaction on his face as he strode towards her, the roving emerald eyes of the captive female noticing the discrepancy of the item clutched in his right hand. He wore what appeared to be a series of four metal rings linked by a flat edge that rested across the base of his fingers in much the same manner as brass knuckles would have. The young woman had encountered these particular weapons on several occasions in the past and was familiar with them enough to know that most did not usually have four razor sharp blades perfectly aligned with the digits, giving them a look that was more similar to her cat's claws than any other kind of weapon.
"What be's those?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the weapon attached to his right appendage with a thousand thoughts rushing through her head, none of them really looking very good for her.
"Though I will admit that this implement bears more than a passing resemblance to your weapon of choice," he began, pausing just out of arm's reach of her position and addressing her from that point in a business-like tone, "it is in fact known as a tiger's claw. I believe that the two disciplines may be related, however, this is not a device employed in combat. Rather it is utilised in interrogation; when applied to the flesh of a captive I have heard that it can prove most harrowing."
"Interrogation?" the former S.T.A.R.S member scoffed, "you still trying to sell me that bridge, Wesker?"
"As I told you previously, dear heart, I intend to be truthful with you," the blond replied, still wearing his mask of understated smugness as he addressed her, "this is torture that I do not expect to yield answers; rather I expect it to provide us both with a great deal of gratification. That is, of course, why I see no reason to grant you a concession in return for your cooperation."
She glowered at this remark, though in truth she reasoned that considering her restraints, bargaining for her compliance was hardly necessary. He was going to do this to her whether she decided to give him her permission or agreed to terms beforehand and there was little she could do about it but enjoy it. That thought made her both cringe and flush in equal measures, horrified at the thought of accepting anything he did as pleasurable but undeniably aroused by the fact that it would be a pleasure, whether she accepted it or not. "You first," she growled, suddenly intent on avoiding his stare, looking over his right shoulder in a bid to not have to watch the thoroughly unpleasant expression on his face.
Wesker's smile widened as she spoke, recognising the game that they so often played, and though the situation was different this time, he could see no reason why he should not play along. Flexing his fingers around the rings pressed to his knuckles, he lifted his right arm and pressed the four equally spaced blades into the flesh of his left pectoral, the small knives slicing through the smooth skin and sculpted muscle there easily, before dragging the implement diagonally across his chest and onto his abdomen, the sharpened claws ploughing through the front of his torso. The four parallel gouges that ran the entirety of his midsection were deep and bloody, the crimson fluid of his veins overflowing from the furrows and leaving vertical trails that linked the wounds in various places. He gave a grunt, momentarily showing the strain of the punishment he was inflicting upon himself as he reached his right hip, before he removed the Tiger's Claw from where it was embedded in his body. It took the young female before him a moment to remember herself and avert her gaze once again when she suddenly became aware that she had been staring at him the whole time. Her face turned a bright shade of scarlet in her embarrassment as he strode towards her, the rents in his chest and stomach already fusing together into dark lines of scar tissue; fairly soon they would be gone completely, leaving only the vermilion-hued liquid that had yet to dry staining his skin. "I would not be so discourteous as to use a soiled implement such as this upon you, my love," he informed her, coming to stand directly in front of her as his left hand sank into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a neatly embroidered silk handkerchief, which he used to wipe away the gore staining the four blades attached to his opposing limb.
"How kind of you," she sneered sardonically, still considerably frustrated about the fact that he had ripped off her shirt. Even if she had been comfortable with being half-naked, she had liked that top; during her imprisonment, she had washed it in the sink along with her trousers and underwear so that she would never have to change them for the garments that Wesker had brought her on various occasions, all of them possessing the Umbrella insignia somewhere in their stitching. Now she wasn't going to be able to have that part of her fatigues back because it was lying in shreds somewhere beyond the corona of light that was surrounding her and she was unwilling to forgive him for that.
He offered her nothing but a callous sneer, walking around her with soft, measured steps that she continued to watch with narrowed eyes until he was directly behind her and no longer within her range of vision. Once he was there she tensed, lifting her head to confront the light that was shining down on her from above, gritting her teeth and clenching her hands into fists where they were suspended over her head, aware of what it was that the man was intending to do to her. "Are you prepared, my dear?" he queried, scrutinising the sudden rigidity of her heavily-muscled back. She nodded, knowing that she had done all she could and that he was unlikely to wait for her to decide when she was ready. There was a stab between her shoulder blades and then his arm whipped downwards, the motion igniting a trail of agony along the length of her taut reverse at the same time as it sliced cleanly through the horizontal strap of her brazier. Her back arched in response to the pain, though she cried out for an entirely different reason, registering her sudden agitation at having her underwear torn apart. Fortunately for her, the elevation of her arms combined with the sweat and grime on her skin ensured that the item of clothing remained exactly where it was supposed to. This did not make her any less displeased, however.
"For fuck's sake," she growled angrily, her entire body twitching uncontrollably at the sensation of the thin scores on her back, the feel of them almost like an itch that she was unable to scratch. They were shallow and though painful, were merely a taste of the punishment she was likely to endure in the next few minutes. Were it not for the fact that she was now very nearly topless she would have most likely begun to feel that familiar knot of anticipation and dread growing in her stomach; instead any pleasure she might have derived from the torture was suppressed in favour of the outrage that she was feeling after having been almost completely stripped of her decency.
He ignored her outburst, bringing the implement affixed to his right hand to meet her skin again and quickly drawing it down so that the number of parallel streaks marring the flesh of her back doubled in number. She arched again, this time suppressing the cry that rose from her throat, wanting to deny him the pleasure of hearing her suffer, before returning to her neutral position, breathing heavily all the while. No sooner had she even begun to recover from the second set of wounds than he repeated the motion a third time, bringing the total of the bloody wounds to twelve. She grunted through her clenched teeth, spittle flying from her lips as she swung forward on her chains, trying desperately to strike a balance between moving enough to quell the fire that was running up and down her back and keeping still to prevent her loosened undergarment from falling down. Without breaking stride, Wesker carved a further set of unbearably aggravating grooves along the muscular canvas that he had been presented with causing her to buck involuntarily once more, moments before he delivered a fifth stroke to her back, the sudden jolts of pain causing her to tense and screw her eyes shut as she fought to keep her breathing regular and the hurt restrained. She sagged against her chains, feeling the sharp throb of each of the twenty long, paper thin gouges combined with the heat in her body that was causing her to flush, which stood in sharp contrast to the chill of the flagstones beneath her bare feet.
"I return," the blond purred from behind her after a moment, causing her to lift her head in an attempt to look at him over her shoulder.
"You didn't go anywhere," she informed him in between pants, sweat-soaked red tresses preventing her from glimpsing him and leading her to simply turn her eyes back to the area of the chamber in front of her that she could see without expending any real effort.
"On the contrary, dear heart," he said, running the fingers of his left hand along the narrow gashes that ran parallel to her spine, causing her to arch once more, "now that I have retrieved the next tool we can progress to the second stage of this affair."
Shakahnna began to ask what it was that he meant by that but bit her tongue, electing instead to simply ready herself. Once again her body tensed, muscles going rigid beneath skin as she set her feet apart and balled her hands into fists above her, her arms pulling the restraints attached to her wrists taut as she did so. No sooner had she even begun to psyche herself up for the next wave of punishment than the first stroke of the second stage came, tracing the very first wounds she had suffered exactly, but drawing deeper into her flesh than before. She clenched her teeth, letting out a restrained hiss as the implement in his hand raked her back, these new gouges bleeding profusely almost immediately. It was painful, excruciatingly so, but the first could not compare to the second that came swiftly after it. This time she threw back her head and gasped aloud, unable to quite restrain her reaction in time, hard-pressed to match his pace. Though he was quick to follow up with each new swipe, she was in no doubt that he was still wiping the remaining epidermis and blood from the blades every time as he had already stated he would. It was hardly out of character for him to be quick about doing it, but she suspected that the reason he was not giving her time to stew between each stroke was because he was growing ever more impatient himself.
A third rake sliced deeply into pre-existing grooves on her back, once again causing her to buck forward, crying out loudly into the stone dungeon in a manner that reverberated from the walls and clamoured around her as she sank back to rest upon her shackles. She breathed deeply and quickly, holding a breath and tensing sharply moments before the next slash came, this one eliciting a louder, more prolonged scream from her throat. Twisting against her restraints, the young woman squirmed as hot, crimson fluid cascaded down her reverse from the open wounds littering that part of her anatomy, feeling her whole body flush as she came to ignore the destruction of her clothing and focus solely on the torture that she was enduring. Thoughts of the tentative position of her brazier and the shredding of her shirt had given way to the primal connection between pleasure and pain, and the knowledge that this punishment was finally beginning to become enjoyable for her. The final swipe sliced four trails of fire along the length of her flesh, this motion causing her to groan throatily, the mood of her reactions having changed almost completely. Such was her distraction that she was unconcerned with Wesker's sudden proximity as he placed the heavy musculature of his stomach and chest to her back, the blood from their respective wounds combining in the press of their skin as he placed a hand to her taut stomach and moved his lips to gently caress the upper curve of her right ear.
"Am I to understand that you are enjoying this, my love?" he queried, gently running the fingers of his other hand along the widened gouges in her back. Her response was simply to moan unintelligibly, arching her back and resting her head upon his shoulder behind her.
"Its not enough," she told him, bringing his caresses to a halt. After a moment of studying her expression, he departed from her, allowing her to find her feet upon the slate floor as he moved to retrieve yet another implement from the tray that was still out of her sight. Her head hung forward, cheeks burning as a side effect of the arousal that was also causing her upper legs to press together in a bid to gain some manner of actual gratification. As distasteful as it was in her present company, she was no longer certain that she really cared. Indeed, she was elated when she could once again sense the blond's presence behind her, relaxing into a blood-soaked embrace as he wrapped an arm about her midriff a third time. Upon his ensanguined right hand was a third variation on the tiger's claw, this device composed of steel rings and blades that were little more than cruelly hooked barbs. She flushed simply from the appearance, perfectly willing to entertain the wonderful juxtaposition of agony and rapture they might bring to her. Without a word, he released her and permitted her to tense in preparation, a slight smile touching the corners of her lips.
The first cut was harsh, the four daggers entering her flesh and travelling the exact same course as the very first wounds he had given her, just as she had expected, but tearing into her with a ferocity that all of the previous slashes had lacked. Skin and muscle tore along the edges of the lacerations, opening the rents that much wider and causing blood to weep in torrents along their lengths. She cried out, almost fancying that she could feel the metal dragging along the bone beneath her skin, rattling on her spinal column and the back of her rib cage. It was agony, and she screamed loudly, the noise descending into low, deep breaths that in turn morphed in her throat into husky chuckles as the burning between her thighs increased in intensity, the feel of her blood spattering hot on the back of her bare feet arousing her all the more. Her reaction was the same for the second, third and fourth, the blinding intensity of the trauma causing her body to tremble and her pulse to pound loudly in her ears, drowning out the sound of the chains rattling above her head as she twisted in their grip. She knew, however, that the torment had not yet reached its conclusion, and even as he came to hold her once again she had braced herself, feeling the knives plunge into her upper back before he drew them downwards, this final caress possessing an excruciating tenderness that was coldly sadistic and yet warmly affectionate at the same time. She felt the motion build to a crescendo and then he withdrew the sharpened points from her blood-soaked reverse with a painful tug. With that wound completed she continued to let out small gasps that were at once agonised and contented, her legs buckling under her and leaving her supported only by her constraints and the arm of her lover.
Wesker reached to the shackles enclosing her right wrist and gently released them from where they were holding her arm aloft, permitting the appendage to fall, though she caught the limb as it did so and moved it to hold her sundered brazier to her bust. He did the same for her left arm, allowing it to follow a similar course to its predecessor, before stooping to lower her to the ground, ensuring to place her on her side so that she was not lying on the ruined flesh of her back. She murmured weakly, momentarily drained from the sensory exertion she had just suffered, her face alight with the bloom of her cheeks, a damp track having worked its way down each rounded side of her face from her eyes, which were glazed and dilated. In spite of this, she seemed content, though she was evidently suffering considerably from the grievous harm he had done her. Once he had placed her in a position that satisfied him, he rose to a standing position, looking down upon her with his usual neutrality restored.
"Rest," he commanded of her, though she was in no state to respond, before turning away and striding out of the corona of light into the shadows, "I shall return shortly."
-
With her back flayed to ribbons there was little that Shakahnna could do but await the return of her darkly suitor. Too physically and mentally drained, and in far too much pain to move, she wasn't even certain that there was anywhere for her to move to. Though she couldn't imagine Wesker's imminent return to be good for her, there were no other courses of action open to her at current. Lying on her side and feeling the warm crimson fluid that was flowing in rivers from the rents in her flesh pooling on the stone behind her, she breathed heavily and deeply, wondering if perhaps she was damaged a little too badly this time. Were she capable of jolting upright then it was likely she would have done so when the room was suddenly enveloped in bright white luminescence several minutes later and a stack of folded cloth was placed in front of her, before what appeared to be a pair of heavy, leather boots were set down beside them. She glanced at them and reached out a hand weakly, clutching at the item at the very top of the pile and pulled it loose. It appeared to be a brazier, and a quick, admittedly quite confused examination of the item revealed that it lacked any trace of the hated Umbrella Corporation logo. That same investigation also turned up something else that was rather surprising.
"My size," she murmured, her voice trembling from the fact that she was actually unable to keep her body steady due to the combined impact of her agony and lack of blood.
"I took the liberty of preparing this attire for you several hours ago," he informed her from somewhere that was out of her range of vision, but which was still close by, "I trust that your comment confirms that my estimations of your measurements are indeed correct."
"Uhuh," she replied weakly, placing the garment back with the pile as best she could, moments before she felt two powerful hands grip her shoulders and turn her onto her front, where she placed her elbows upon the cold flooring beneath her and propped herself up. She was somewhat unsure as to what it was that he was intending, however, there was something rather more gentle about how he was directing her movements that made it easier for her to cooperate with him, whereas otherwise she would likely have fought with him regardless of what she believed he had in mind. Since he seemed to be in a charitable mood, she was prepared to momentarily indulge him, though admittedly the state of her back would make it difficult for her to mount any form of respectable resistance.
There was the sound of rummaging, of someone looking for something specific amid a number of plastic containers and wrappers, before locating what they had been searching for. A cap was removed with a pop and then there was a rattling sound that sounded much like an aerosol being prepared, before that assumption was confirmed by the noise of spraying. Unsure as to what was occurring, the redhead lay still for a moment. Her patience was rewarded by the feeling of something soft, a cloth of some kind, being applied to the ruined skin of her back. Wesker had begun to clean away the blood that was staining her body with an almost affectionate gentleness, though the area was still immensely tender and throbbed with even the slightest pressure on his part. He wiped her reverse clean, continuing to do so until all of the congealed fluid had been removed and the wounds had ceased producing a fresh supply, the spray he had applied to the cloth apparently acting as some form of external coagulant for open wounds as well as simply a cleaning liquid. Once he had completed this task there was a further rustling, moments before another spray was readied. This one was applied immediately to the fissures marring her creamy flesh, and seared her to the bone. The pain was unbelievably potent even in the aftermath of what she had just experienced, but she was almost immediately aware that it was some kind of sterilising agent. It burned in a manner that was akin to the corrosive he had once used on her, but felt as though it were going that much deeper due to the fact that he was lacing her injuries with it.
"Christ, Wesker," she muttered, though the feel of it had woken her up considerably and she no longer needed to fear bleeding to death. To die in such an ignoble manner, while still in his captivity, would have been a slap in the face to the people whose memories she still needed to avenge.
"My apologies, but such actions are necessary," he stated, to which she nodded her head, wincing slightly as he began to apply adhesive strips to her skin, bridging the gaps between her wounds and making her back feel whole again, "such grave injuries cannot be permitted to go untreated."
"You think I'm going to be giving up just because you change things up a bit and start being nice?" she asked, as he gently massaged each of the sticky lengths onto her violated flesh to keep them free from airborne pollutants that might cause infection and also to promote the growth of scar tissue that would seal the wounds, "put on a few bandages and all is forgiven? You don't get any extra points for fixing what you broke in the first place, you know?"
"Are you referring to our current situation, my dear, or more pertinent matters?" he queried, sounding somewhat amused. She just shook her head, permitting him to finish his work. After a short while he spoke up once more. "Might I enquire as to what it is that you want, Shakahnna?" he said, continuing his questioning.
"You first," she said, smiling slyly. There was a moment of silence as his fingers pressed at the tape covering her back, ensuring that it was not going to simply peel away from her once he was no longer applying pressure. Occasionally he would locate a strip that would not remain in place in spite of his best efforts and removed it with a swift tear that caused her to wince.
"You wish me to continue with my previous candour?" he asked her, replacing the adhesive bandages that he had previously removed with fresh ones.
"Be's a nice change of pace, thou lying sack of shit," she replied, bending her legs at the knee and kicking her feet idly as she waited for him to finish. That comment brought a short, humourless chuckle from his pursed lips as he completed his work on her dressings, before his hands withdrew from her body and he seemed to contemplate the question.
"I want you," he eventually decided, the answer causing her to raise an eyebrow sceptically, before she rolled onto her side and shot a look back at him where he was kneeling beside her. She flushed when she realised that he was still shirtless, but locked eyes with him regardless, her own honest emeralds clashing with his mutated, cat-like irises. After a moment of confrontation, she rocked back to her starting position, as though satisfied that he had meant what he had said. She had vast amounts of evidence to support his claims and while most men favoured flowers and chocolates for those whom they had affection, or at least a desire to possess, Wesker was not most men. Admittedly, that was why she felt compelled to be with him also. "I am waiting, my dear," he pointed out after a brief pause, causing her to remember that she had yet to answer the question that he had originally posed. She too allowed a brief period of silence before she gave her answer.
"Justice," she told him, kicking her feet again," I want the world to be being a nice place where good people can live. I don't want there to be anymore of what there is at the moment. All the people dying, all the bad things happening; it needs to stop."
"You remain undeterred by your previous failures," he commented, and though she was unsure as to whether this was merely supposed to be an observation or whether he was questioning her, she was still fairly insulted by his words.
"Fuck off, I never failed," she responded haughtily, before she paused, biting her lower lip as images of murdered men wearing the same uniform that she had previously been clad in appeared in her mind's eye. Maybe once, she added, subconsciously. "I did my best with what I had, but it was kind of difficult to make there be being any big changes when all I could really do was raid an Umbrella facility here and there, and hope that made some kind of impact. I'm not excusing my lack of results, but with better resources I could do so much more."
He laid his hands upon her again as she finished, checking the integrity of the binds upon her reverse, and in the moment of silence something clicked like a key turning in a lock inside Shakahnna's mind. She rolled over onto her side once again, fixing him with her earnest stare for a second time. "You know," she began, tilting her head slightly, "you be's having lots of resources; you almost be having the world at your disposal, and just do nothing with it."
"I would hardly consider my global operations to be nothing, dear heart," the blond pointed out, though she interrupted him by lifting the index finger of her left hand and holding it up in front of him in a gesture that silently told him to wait for her to finish.
"Can you honestly say that you derive any kind of pleasure from living the way you do? Fawning over people you hate just so that you can manipulate them into giving you things you don't really want? It's disgusting, perverse; it makes me feel sorry for you," she informed him, turning over completely and sitting up, cradling her loosened brazier in her arms in order to prevent it from slipping off, the two of them positioned side-by-side on the floor, "you said you want me, and I can give you that, but in return you have to give me your resources. Give me everything you've worked to build and let me do what I want with it, and you'll never have to worry about that ever again. I'll give you everything you actually want and you'll do the same for me; it just makes more sense than the way we're doing things now."
"That is a rather brazen offer to make considering that you are my prisoner, Miss Morgan," her kneeling suitor replied, "one would argue that I need not trade everything that I have built for something which I already have possession of."
"You don't have me, Wesker, as much as you would love to be's being pretending otherwise," she told him bluntly, the matter-of-fact tone in which she delivered this statement causing his jaw to clench as though she had just outright spurned him again rather than simply explained how things were, "but you can, you know? It sounds like a tall order when you think about it in material terms, but think about it; not like am asking you to give up something you actually have any kind of fondness for."
He was silent for a moment, the tension in the lower half of his face having eased away for the time being as he seemed to consider the proposition that she had set for him, examining it from all possible perspectives and mulling the concepts that it entailed over. It was not uncommon for Wesker to make agreements with people; indeed, he had found them very lucrative in the past, much to the chagrin of those that he had made said-agreements with. However, in those previous cases he had always been the individual in control of the situation. It was aggravating for him to know that in this context he was at the mercy of someone who he kept confined to a concrete cell beneath his home. His jaw clenched again, the flesh at the bridge of his nose pinching into a frown as only one course of action presented itself to him from an entirely rational standpoint. "It would appear that I am compelled to accept this offer," he said, matching her gaze as she stared him down again, doing her utmost to determine whether he truly was willing to acquiesce to those terms. The expression on her face expressed to him that she would believe it when she saw it.
"I need a gesture of good faith," she stated, eliciting a raised eyebrow from her paramour, who non-verbally questioned as to what that was, "stop hunting S.T.A.R.S. Leave them alone, stop your goons from following them around and I'll call them off in my own time."
He lifted his head, regarding her with an expression that was slightly perplexed by this second part of the agreement and amused at her continuing audacity in equal measures. She supposed that she was essentially asking him to give up his hobby of a past ten years, if not more; it would have been the same as someone asking her to stop keeping a league table, but for the right price she would do it gladly. The words he next spoke surprised her no end. "Very well," he conceded, "I will no longer concern myself with the plight of that organisation. In return, I require a similar indulgence in order to afford this arrangement my credence."
There was a moment of discomfort on her part as her body broke out in a sudden cold sweat at his words, momentarily unsure as to what it was that he wished of her. She cottoned on almost immediately, however, and slowly adjusted her position so that she was kneeling immediately in front of him. Abandoning her grip on the shredded garment hanging across her chest, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up so that their faces were even, before gently touching her lips to his. At first it was akin to kissing a corpse as he simply allowed her to move for both of them, the situation making her increasingly agitated. After several exceptionally uncomfortable seconds, she found herself wrapped in two powerfully muscular arms as he reached around to seize her torso and pull her as close to her as he could manage, returning her embrace passionately. Her face throbbed with the blood from her embarrassment, but she was also gripped by an entirely different and not particularly unpleasant discomfort as their momentary tryst continued. No longer aware of the passage of time, she felt a pang of remorse when it finally came to an end and their lips parted, letting out a soft squeak of disappointment in spite of the fact that the skin of their arms and bodies remained fused.
"That okay?" she asked, looking at him through lust-hazed eyes, before he moved his head so that it was placed beside hers and purred his reply into her right ear.
"Indeed, but it is not enough."
(Scene Missing)
Weskerian Says: Hey folks, me again. Just wanted to let you all know the reason behind the missing scene here. I thought it might be deemed inappropriate to actually write out a graphically violent sex scene and put it up here Fan Fiction, so I decided to leave it out. If it ever does get written then it'll probably just be for Shak and I to read in private, since it's really a private matter regardless. Anyway, now that you know the gist of what is missing, I will leave you to patiently wait for the next chapter. Thanks for reading.