A/N: DarkGothElegantGirl22: Still my favorite. My thanks again. Al is a little shit. I am quite fond of the chaos he creates! I'm glad the unsettling edge is there. This story should not be comfortable for any of the characters. I believe you will like this chapter. :)

Really you can thank a week and a half of rain for all these updates. I can never stay idle long.

This Chapter is for mature audiences. I try to make any and all smut a plot device rather than gratuitous filler. Enjoy.

Id and Ego

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe

His boots are still on, sunglasses in place. Dark pants around his thighs, belt unbuckled. Two long fingers probing.

So wet. So ready.

A bitch in heat.

Even in sleep.

Pale fingers twist in fine hair, pulling back harshly. An involuntary gasp falls from feminine lips.

He doesn't bother with foreplay.

She doesn't deserve it.

One small hand reaches for his wrist, the other grasps a thin blanket. A startled moan as hot flesh slides in. Dull slapping sound as flesh meets violently.

Wesker is not gentle.

Savagely he yanks her to her knees, shoves her head down until she is on all fours. A hold she can't break.

Controlling.

Dead white teeth bared in a silent snarl.

Wetness drips down his cock. His breath is a hiss.

Bitch. Fucking bitch.

Mewling, broken moans rip from her as he thrusts in. Bruises will form on a delicate hip from his grip. A slender back arches.

Dull slapping of flesh. Broken moans. Sweat and musk. Hissing breath.

Animalistic fucking without any pretensions.

Filthy whore.

Rage fuels him, goads him to buck harder and faster into warm wetness. Left hand in fine hair, pulling her head backward. Blunt fingernails of the right digging into a slender hip. Wringing broken breathy moans from a graceful throat.

Wesker can't tell if they are moans of pain or pleasure.

Doesn't care.

Fucks as if he wants to break her pelvis in two.

Perhaps he does.

Hellfire eyes squeeze shut, blond head thrown back. White teeth dig into a pale lip.

Left hand covers her mouth. Trying to silence the voice in his mind. Low and breathy. A voice of sinful secrets.

"Al. You're dead. Did you catch zombie mice? Don't bring me any ok? You had beautiful eyes Al...I miss you..."

He comes hard on a startled gasp. Glowing eyes open wide.

Surprised.

Tan skin instead of pale. Dark hair instead of blond. Echos in his mind.

"You had beautiful eyes Al...I miss you..."

Excella's sated body slumps onto the bed. Dark eyes flutter shut, exhausted.

"Albert..." A low moan of his name. Dark lenses hide wide eyes.

Wrong voice.

Wesker inhales through his nose. Regrets it instantly.

Decay and musk registers, stronger than usual. Nausea tries to bloom in his gut. Indomitable will suppresses it.

Sex and corpses. Disgusting.

How had he not noticed it?

Dimly he wonders why he was expecting a different face as he pulls up dark pants. Thin lips compressed.

She will not do this. She will not have this power.

Rage blazes in his gut. Wesker does not admit defeat.

Ever.

A booted foot rests on a dark clad knee.

Watching.

A still pale body curled under a thin blanket. Back facing him. Breath so shallow it's almost invisible. A corpse in its own private recess.

The lining of a catacomb.

Fitting for her, dead to the world as she is. The dead belong in graves. A lovely funeral service had been held. Redfield fighting tears for the fragile innocent Juliet on her tomb before him.

Dead but not dead.

Sadly not Romeo enough to kill himself.

White teeth flash in a sadistic smile behind the one-way mirror. The picture of a crying Chris framed on his desk.

A picture worth a thousand words.

Muscular hands note Jill's progress in clinical words. A number not a name. Above all Wesker is still a scientist. Fascinated with the nuances of life. The secrets. Mind alway dispassionate, always meticulous.

Godlike. Removed.

Her cells obsess him. Cells impervious to his creation, his Ouroboros. A puzzle waiting to be solved.

A challenge to be broken.

Paper rustles as a page turns. Scraping continues.

He will not be outdone.

Worthy though. She has earned a place in the New World.

Who would have thought? A stubborn little nothing officer from middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere Racoon City was his key. A blond head cocks to the side in fresh amusement.

Pencil scratches against paper. Planning.

She will be ready for the surface soon. The sights, the smells, the sounds. So many and so magnified thanks to P30. Those will be her ultimate test.

Test for her little human mind. A vulture leaving the nest.

P30 's effect was similar to his own virus. He can hear a worm crawl under the earth, a bird song from a mile away. See in the pitch black of deep earth. In this room.

Pencil records. Pale lips smile.

Weak human minds cannot handle it. P30 had been tested before. Its subjects had become vegetables from the sensory bombardment. She is the first success.

Again.

So special. Valentine the cockroach.

Red-gold eyes stare possessively at a still form. His first warrior.

First of the worthy.

Valkyrie chooser of the slain.

Pencil stills. Her breathing changes. Sharp ears can tell.

A voice speaks in a tone he never thought to hear again. Low and breathy. Lungs freeze.

No.

"Al. You're dead Al. Did you catch zombie mice? Don't bring me any ok?..."

Jaw clenches shut. This weakness should have been purged with the others. Should have been.

No. Not now. Not anymore.

His cock still jumps to attention, twitching and pulsing. So hard it hurts. What would she feel like now? Now in this body more sensitive than before? This body that can almost feel a little hand. An eager tongue.

Fuck. No.

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

He could make it happen. Could order her to wrap pale lips around him. Ease the ache. Run a hot tongue on the sensitive underside of his cock, wrap a hand around the base...

"...You had beautiful eyes Al...I miss you..."

Goddamn fucking dead cat.

What would she smell like all wet and ready for him? Musk without decay...sex without the corpses...Her body would be less fragile than Excella's. Able to take his full strength.

What would it feel like to let go?

No. She will not have power over him. Ever.

The pencil snaps in his hand.

Wesker sits rigid in the silence. Hellfire eyes wide behind dark lenses. Unseeing.

Seeing too much.

What would it feel like to let go?

Air rushes into his lungs in hard fast gasps.

He can't shake the thought.

But he can ease the ache in his groin. Booted feet begin a retreat to Excella's bed.

She was never satisfied for long.

One lingering glance over his shoulder is all he allows.

Wesker is still in the dark. Anger caged for now. Loss of control remedied.

Recriminations bitter.

Water runs two doors away as Excella showers. The stench will lessen for a time. Not nearly long enough.

Gloved fingers lace themselves together loosely. Naked eyes narrow.

Plans will be moved up.

He reaches for the journal, eyes flickering over the book it sits by.

Romeo and Juliet.

The foolish idiots ruled by lust. Controlled by it.

Never.

Dead white teeth bared.

This day's black fate on more days doth depend:
This but begins the woe others must end.

- Romeo and Juliet, 3.1

Review please! It's always appreciated.