A/N: Whoo~ Here we go, finally gave this one the update it's needed for a long time. c: This chapter focuses on Chris, with some flashbacks with Piers in italics. The next one will feature Piers, present-time.

The entire room was a mess. Upturned mattress, crumpled bed sheets, unhinged drawers and tilted cabinets. It was hard to step anywhere that wasn't covered by broken wood or fallen clothing. Chris had been furious, unconcerned about the aftermath as he'd ferociously tore away at the contents of his own bedroom in frustration. The world was closing in around him, squeezing away his life under an onslaught of unwanted discoveries and words he had never hoped to hear.

When under the influence of the bottle, he'd hurt Piers. But the admission from the younger man about enjoying it had done wonders to his sanity - blame, it always started with blame, and there was always a guilty party. He was so certain, so positive that Piers had been the one to use Chris instead, to take advantage of his state of mind and claim what he desired but never dared to admit to before then.

Chris didn't know. He couldn't, not without remembering what he'd done.

But he felt like an item. A dirty tool to be used then tucked away until it was needed again.

By the time there was nothing left to break or shatter, the Captain was a heaving mess of tensed muscle with sweat glistening from every pore to add a soft shimmer to tanned flesh. Brown eyes looked around him, only then taking the time to observe the full extent of damage he'd done. It would take hours to fix, time he didn't care to waste. Jaw tightened, teeth bared, Chris hissed as he stormed his way across the mess and out the door of his bedroom. He should have felt better, more calm after the outburst but still his veins burned with the boiling blood that set alight the fire inside him.

The last thing Piers had said only served to further his anger, and the words could not simply fade away from his thoughts so easily.

"The way I see it, you weren't acting much different than your own Captain used to."

Wesker. The sadistic bastard hadn't been referenced directly by name, but he was sure as hell who Piers had meant. Chris didn't need to be reminded of that, to be told that his actions could in any way ever be similar to those of that monster. Chris would have never hurt Piers willingly, he'd have never caused any substantial physical harm, he would have never acted on some lust driven impulse to-

An enclosed fist swung itself and the span of his forearm swept over a shelf he passed on his way to the living room, causing the contents placed atop it to crumble to the floor in a pile of glass shards from the frames of pictures. Chris was restless as he stomped his way down the hall toward his destination, where his body ached to further damage the inside of his home under the constant anger that fueled his senses. He seethed, body shaking from the stress of tense muscles that barely contained themselves from thrashing out yet again. Calm was something that remained far out of his reach, in an unobtainable distance away. He would find no relief that night, no easy way to wriggle loose from the onslaught of psychological torment he had only so recently been presented with. There would be no release from the searing anger that burned away at him like acid.

Fuck calming down. Fuck sleep.

He paused as he reached the kitchen, where dark eyes settled onto the various bottles of alcohol that crowded one of the shelves. A few steps forward and he picked one up in a meaty fist to stare down at the label. Chris wanted nothing more than to down it all, to let everything slip away into a temporary reprieve where he couldn't be bothered. But that had been the source of all his problems, of everything that happened between he and Piers. Whatever they had, bottles like the one held firmly in his hands were the reason why it all came shattering down around their ears like an avalanche, burying them alive.

Chris tightened his grip on the bottle, and with a suddenness, he turned away from the shelf to throw it across the room where it collided with the wall. Millions of pieces crumbled, mimicking the recently broken friendship between Captain and protege. It's what it all felt like. Too many pieces strewn about, carved up too much to ever be glued back together, to ever be whole again.

With an enraged roar, Chris turned and grabbed another bottle, treated it the same way by sending it flying into the wall on the opposite side of the room to join the first. A third followed after, then a fourth, until the kitchen floor was littered in glass shards and still, he wanted to break more.

Things had taken an abrupt turn and it all went to shit with no one left to pick up the shattered remnants of his life. Let them stay broken, Chris thought as marched away from the mess with a heaving chest to throw open the front door and slam it shut behind him. Treating his car in very much the same way, he climbed inside with equally harsh movements and the engine soon roared to life. He pulled out of the driveway with more force than necessary, and only barely managed to prevent himself from going at a speed that would likely get him killed.

He needed out. Away from home, away from Piers - but damn it if the kid hadn't left his mark everywhere they'd gone together. So, he settled for going back to the start of everything, back to base; back to the gym. Booze wasn't an option, but taking out his stress on various machines instead of the faces that belonged to his men was far more likely to end better.

When he arrived, he got out of the vehicle with tension still visible along his muscled frame with every stride forward. An aura floated around him, clear in its meaning that told the world to fuck off and leave him be as he entered through the doors and moved with quickened steps toward the gym area.

As presumed, it was empty, and luckily so. He very much doubted he would be good company, not when his balled up fists were sure to swing at the first thing that stepped within his range.

Chris hardly eyed the machines before he started a trek down each of the rows, putting well toned muscles to use in all the various ways they offered. It wasn't until he seated himself on a bench, with the bar resting above his head in wait to be lifted that he paused at the sudden flush of familiarity.

"Captain, you need to stop."

Chris grit his teeth so hard they nearly bled at the sound of the voice that echoed in his head. With a suddenness, his arms jerked forward and began to lift the weight above him at a steady pace.

"Get undressed." He could hear himself say as the sniper coughed somewhere on the floor where he'd practically thrown him.

His movements increased, lifting the bar above him faster than he should.

"You might not like this, Piers."

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't handle it."

"Your call."

The ensuing screams nearly caused Chris to lose his hold, and he quickly placed the bar back on its stand to sit up. Meaty hands lifted to wipe away at his face, smearing sweat along his skin while his eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck, he was remembering.

"I've heard you scream like a whore before, now you can ride like one."

No, no, no, he didn't need to remember! He didn't want to! But some unseen force must have deemed it necessary, whether it be due to the recent fight or due to the combination of being so stressed in an act of near-deja-vu, more flashes began to storm by in memory, reawakening the details he never wanted to see.

Chris jerked into a stand, his body even more tense in that very moment than it had been before he'd started. He went there to forget, to get away, and his mind instead wanted to ruin him; to hack him to shreds, then light them afire and watch until they burnt away to ash. It was a mistake, and he scolded himself for not knowing better. He wanted to think of something other than Piers, yet he'd driven himself to the one place they'd spent most of their time in together.

He needed to get out.

Heavy footsteps guided him down the halls, back toward the way he came from. He felt like the walls had begun to close in, to wrap their arms around him and suffocate him slowly with his own wrong doings. He hated feeling trapped like some damn mouse in a maze.

Chris turned a corner, and abruptly stopped as a pain shot through his skull. Another memory. Not from the gym, not from the few days prior to that night where he thought it had all begun, but before that. Before all of it, not days, not weeks, but in the months before. Right there, in that hallway. During another empty night, where the walls around them were their only witnesses.

Piers had tailed after him again, always like a lost little puppy.

"Captain, you're drunk. You can't leave on your own."

"I don't need a damn babysitter, Piers. Go away."

But the sniper was not so easily swayed. Piers placed a hand over his Captain's arm, only to be on the receiving end of well trained reflexes that sent a wall of muscle pushing into him, holding him firm against the nearest wall with a hand around his throat. "Don't try and pander to me, soldier. I don't need your help." His grip tightened, and smaller hands lifted to wrap around the wrist of his own.

"Captain," Piers choked out with one of the last puffs of air he had left in his lungs. The kid had reflexes almost as good as Chris - he could have fought back, could have taken advantage of the drunken state Chris was in. But he didn't. Didn't beg, didn't plea, didn't fight. Just breathed the single word, a title.

His title.

Chris watched him with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, observed the twitch from his body as moments began to turn into minutes, listened to the croaking throat he crushed under his palm, felt the slowing heartbeat against his flesh. It all sent tendrils afloat under his skin that tingled their way straight to his groin. It excited him, thrilled him in ways the norm could not.

The Captain loosened his grip and the air immediately flowed back into the sniper's lungs; Chris eyed the rapid rise and fall of chest muscles, the way those plump lips parted to needily suck in oxygen as hazel eyes fluttered, staring at him with a half lidded gaze. Chris let his thumb make a trail across the bruising skin, gradually rising upward toward his chin, then higher still until it reached that open mouth where the pad of his finger roamed over the soft flesh. He felt the breeze from each inhale as it filtered around his digit into the open orifice he now stared so intently at with a sudden hunger that ached to be sated.

"Fine," Chris murmured at last, breaking the short silence that formed between them. "You can help by getting on your knees." He pushed the sniper down with his hands atop his shoulders, forcing him to collapse hard into the aforementioned position. The hazel gaze shot upward the moment Piers hit the ground, and the Captain's lips slithered into a dark curl. "You offered." A meaty hand came to a rest behind the sniper's head, where fingers dug cruelly into his scalp and twisted at the short strands of hair. Chris pulled him forward, forcing those delightfully plump lips against the bulge that formed in his pants; a silent instruction that Piers couldn't possibly misinterpret.

"Get to work."

Deft fingers raised obediently toward the zipper as Piers' head was tugged back, and they didn't hesitate to pull it down almost too eagerly.

Chris started it.

It really had been his fault, his move. But Piers had been so open, so willing - why didn't he fight back?

Because he wanted it all along, his mind supplied for him.

Hazel eyes stayed locked with brown as talented hands worked the hardened cock out of its confines, and they only dared to stray away when the thick stick of meat nearly smacked him in the face as it bobbed loose. He swallowed, tongue slipping free to wet his lips as his fingers trailed along the massive length until the hand at the back of his head gripped more forcefully, insistent that he cease taking his time and instead start doing as he was instructed.

Somewhere inside, Piers knew that it was all wrong. That what he was being told to do wasn't necessarily something he should have been so willing to oblige to. But it was Chris. Strong, capable, commanding, understanding, honorable Chris. The man he idolized, who he would stand by even if it meant walking through the gates of hell themselves. His mind screamed for him to stop, told him he didn't want to go through with the order. But his body, his heart, they gave into the illusion that it was real, that it meant something.

Piers dipped his head forward where his tongue could trail along the tip of the offered prick held out on display, tasting the salty flesh and light bulbs of precum that had already formed. He groaned low at the back of his throat at that, unsure whether the booze was the cause of it, or whether it was from the rush both men felt when Chris had surged forward, pinned Piers against the wall where their bodies were meshed together. A more likely story was that it came from both, but it didn't matter. The reason behind it all could stay an enigma, Piers just wanted to live and breathe in the moment.

Plump lips worked over the mushroom head, clamping down lightly just beneath it to suck hard while his tongue grazed back over the slit. The hungry growl that emanated from above was more than enough statement of his partner's approval, and hazel eyes flickered upward to meet the stare of lust driven brown. He made a sound he'd never admit to, somewhere between a childish whimper and a groan, before he slid himself further down the heated length that prodded through his open lips. His tongue followed his movements, lapping down the underside of the pulsing prick as he started to bob, pulling off the twitching meat stick only to stuff more of it in deeper each time.

A hand lifted to grip what Piers had yet to choke down, rubbing along the length in time with his mouth to draw a hiss from the man it belonged to. Yet it was hardly long before that same palm was falling away, giving room to his lips as they greedily sought to suck the rest of the leaking prick into the slick cavity of his mouth. He could feel it throb against the inside of his heated hole, feel the thump that beat in tune with the heart of his Captain as the head nudged somewhere along the back of his throat, threatening to choke him each time he descended that far.

Chris had tightened his grip impossibly further, to the point where the sniper could swear he almost felt his scalp being torn apart under the weight of his hand. Brown eyes watched intently with an open mouth that revealed clenched teeth, harsh pants flooding out through the small spaces between them. His free hand landed against the wall somewhere behind Piers, a leverage to simultaneously hold himself in place and to give him a spot to put it in so it wouldn't join the first to force fuck the delicious mouth wrapped around his prick all on his own.

Wet little noises resounded each time Piers pulled back to the tip, only to welcome the slicked up dick back down into the depths of his oral cavity, where soft walls hallowed in around its width to welcome it back inside.

"Put your hands behind your back," Chris growled, needing to command; thirsting to get an extra kick out of witnessing such submission. "Hold them there."

On his next slide down to the base, Piers complied. Toned arms bent behind him where deft hands intertwined with one another, locking firmly into place without the assistance of bindings. There, in that moment, words alone were his restraints.

A satisfied groan from the Captain assured him that it gave the intended reaction, and he could feel the cock in his mouth begin to twitch. Apparently, the power trip had been enough to help move things along.

That was when Chris became more demanding, more forceful as the hand in Piers' hair tugged him back and forth, his mouth slipping on and off the weeping prick as it threatened to jettison its load. The movements had no pace or rhythm, and Piers found it hard to steady his breathing each time the thick girth in his mouth pounded down into the length of his throat. One final descent and the hand on his head forced him to pause briefly with an entire mouthful of air-stopping man meat, and thick spurts of liquid shot down from the tip to stain the back of his oral cavity, offering no other option than to swallow or gag. Chris pounded into his open mouth several times extra for good measure, emptying any stray droplets that hadn't spilled out with the rest.

Piers couldn't mask the cough that worked its way out of his mouth when he was released, but the taste that had been left behind was not unpleasant. He swallowed multiple times to cleanse away any of the more stubborn juices that managed to get caught, and blinked as a set of keys was dangled before his face moments later.

"You drive," The Captain had said, and only then did Piers unwind his arms from behind him to grab the metal as Chris stuffed his satisfied dick back into his pants.

It wasn't initially Piers who caused the incident in the first place, it was Chris' own stupid, intoxicated state that took advantage of the kid's eagerness to please his Captain. He abused his power in ways he never thought he could, and in the end, it ruined everything he had. Later, Piers hadn't been as willing as he'd let himself believe when things started to get rough. He had pleaded with him, asked him not to - he knew Chris would regret it if he ever remembered, but he inevitably gave in the same way he did the first time. Rather, he was forced into it. Because as much as Piers never hesitated to stand up to Chris, to talk back when he didn't agree, when his opinion was too much to keep to himself, he'd never willingly hurt Chris. Even if it was to stop Chris from hurting him.

Chris had blamed Piers, called him out, made him look like he was the one who'd taken advantage. Perhaps in some ways he did, he'd practically become a willing participant in... Well, everything near the end. But why could he have ever allowed it in the first place? Ever allowed Chris to push him to his knees, to give him orders a Captain should never speak, orders that Piers should never have to obey?

But then those familiar words from earlier crept back into his lobe, nibbling at his ear drum. "I would have thought you'd be the one to understand what it was like to enjoy something that was otherwise off limits."

Chris pressed his weight into the nearest wall where his eyes slid closed and his head fell backwards, thudding against the solid surface. "Fuck, Piers..."

They needed to talk.