Chapter Text
Wesker had always been the type of person who prided himself on his ability to always be five steps ahead of everyone else. The type with a plan, backup plan, and an emergency plan.
Social games, knowing what to expect, knowing how to react, how to manipulate. He was nothing without those skills.
He didn’t have a plan for when Chris Redfield kissed him.
Wesker felt a great deal of emotions in that moment, which was a red flag in of itself. Wesker didn’t feel, didn’t allow himself to. This was different, for some reason.
He felt shocked, first and foremost. An unfamiliar sensation. Then there was the horror of allowing someone so close without even a smidge of preparation on his part.
Then there were the more unexpected emotions, close behind the skittish ones. Something hot and awkward and tempting rushing through him with unwarranted need. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched without having manufactured it himself, without some kind of ploy behind it, and least of all to be touched like this.
Chris had his hands on either side of Wesker’s face, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Wesker opened his mouth without thinking, encouraging him. His tongue felt odd inside his own mouth, exploring, but not a bad odd. His mind felt hot and feverish, about to overheat. He couldn’t really think.
He’d known, in a distant way, that Chris admired him. Wesker had worked hard on his image as a cool and mysterious figure since he’d joined the S.T.A.R.S. He’d molded himself into the perfect boss, without giving them any real leeway in connecting to him at any deeper level than professional respect and admiration.
The fact that Chris seemed to take to that air of cold professionalism with adoration had never been a hindrance. He’d been able to use that naive admiration, that hero-worship, for his own gains in small ways so far. It was easy to manipulate, to get what he wanted, from people like Chris; those who trusted so blindly once their loyalty was given.
But Wesker had become settled in his position, had become too comfortable. He hadn’t paid good enough attention, and thereby hadn’t noticed Chris’s feelings of simple hero-worship turn into something more complicated.
It was impossible to ignore now, however. Not with the way he felt it, felt Chris, pressing against his hip.
Acknowledging that finally sparked Wesker into action. He pulled away from the kiss - his head hit the back of the wall he was pushed against - and proceeded to shove Chris away a little too harshly than he should have. He was panting, he was confused, he needed to regain control. He needed to keep his head cool. He needed-
“I’m sorry.” Chris said, breaking the spiral of thoughts. He looked ashamed of himself, face red in humiliation. He was a young thing, in his early twenties and a prodigy for it. He never seemed to know when to shut up, had a tendency for impulsive decision making, but was ultimately someone Wesker could trust to do as told in the field.
They weren’t on the field right now, and that made Wesker deeply uncomfortable at where it left them now.
Wesker felt old instincts take over, adopting his trained mask of cold calm. It was a thoughtless thing, raw muscle memory, and he was glad for his years of perfecting his body language separate from his state of mind.
“It’s fine.” He heard himself say, mind still spinning, trying to think of what to do. He could have Chris fired- this wasn’t merely inappropriate from a working standpoint, but homosexuality was condemned in the force. Most places, generally. But within the RPD especially that was a career ruining fact. Chris had taken more than a risk by kissing his boss.
“You’re drunk, Chris. You should go home.”
They had been at a bar, a social outing for both Alpha and Bravo teams. They’d been on a longer mission, an exhausting one, and they’d come back winners. He’d made a habit of rewarding them with outings like these after particularly difficult work.
Wesker himself had fully intended to leave after the first hour, as he usually did. It was of vital importance to allow the team to bond without his constant supervision. He was their Captain, and he was respected, but he did not think it prudent to impose on their time off the clock.
Chris, however, had derailed this plan. He’d been adamant in keeping him included in conversation, which should have been the first red flag of the night that he would be falling off his usual well oiled routine.
Wesker, generally, despised not being in control. There was an anger churning within him now, feeling betrayed at the lack of it he now had.
Chris did not leave, wavering pathetically in front of him. He hadn’t even stepped away from Wesker, leaving a certain lack of space between their bodies. Wesker could not believe that he found himself trapped. Warning bells were blaring inside his head, telling him to run to claw to fight back.
And yet- those other emotions, the awkwardly burning ones, they were still there, persisting through his hidden rage. His eyes slipped without meaning to to Chris’s neck. He felt that urge to fight for freedom translated into wishing to bite and draw blood, to get a kind of revenge for Chris’s invasion of his space and plans.
The silence was choking him. Wesker should tell him to leave again, perhaps punctuate the point with kicking him off the team at the same time, and instead they were just breathing.
Hesitantly, Chris’s hands returned to Wesker’s body. His hips, to be exact. He felt the touch as though it burned.
Wesker didn’t often allow people to touch him like this without a specific reason for it. This felt disconcerting in its lack of ulterior motive- at least from Wesker’s part. If Chris had ulterior motives were uncertain. Did he want a promotion? Did he just want to blow off steam? Was he expecting something from Wesker?
“Chris.” Wesker warned, putting a little of his anger in his voice, suppressing the odd thing that surely couldn’t be fear.
Inside the bar, of which they stood outside in a valley surrounded by garbage containers, were the few remaining members of Alpha team. Bravo had already gone home, the few lingering ones too deep in their drinks to do the same.
Wesker himself had only gone out for a breath of fresh air, finding the drunk atmosphere to be stifling, when Chris had followed him out. It was dark where they stood, dark and easy to miss, relatively secluded. No one should see them where they were. So long as no one from Alpha team came looking for them.
Chris raised one hand from his hips to cradle - cradle - the side of his face. Wesker felt himself flinch at the tenderness of the gesture. His fingers skirted close to his sunglasses, like he wanted to remove them, but Wesker couldn’t allow it to get that far. He edged his face away, and Chris’s hand fell.
“Do you want me to stop?” Chris asked, voice low. His breath had the faint aroma of alcohol in it, though Wesker knew he hadn’t had enough to get him more than a little tipsy. The tiny boost in confidence seemed to be doing him wonders, however.
Wesker didn’t answer, mouth set in a thin, frustrated line. He rolled his shoulders, uneasy, and knew that Chris would take it as consent if he didn’t argue against it. Still, he kept quiet.
Chris pressed closer, their bodies nearly flush. He felt the hardness of Chris through his pants again, felt his own body react, he felt too much and too little.
This is disgusting. He thought dizzily, as Chris grinded against him, repeating the motion after. Not only was this disgusting, but it was beneath him, it was worthless behaviour.
If Chris had been a woman, then perhaps it would not be quite so bad, it would even be acceptable, by social standards. Wesker knew how to play that specific game. He would take the lead, would use her as she wanted to be used, and move on.
Ordinary, transactional, and with no strings attached. A mere means to an end- usually information, other times something to be stolen from an apartment.
This was new. Different. Wrong.
Chris continued to take the lead. He’d dipped his head to Wesker’s neck, and Wesker was allowing it, tilting his head to give him more space as he began to kiss his skin, nibbling into the crook of his neck. A small, unwanted whimper pushed painfully out from Wesker’s throat, past his lips, as teeth grazed ever so slightly against him.
It was wrong. It was backwards. It was so entirely disconcerting that Wesker had to grasp at Chris’s back to ground himself, a hand pushing up to clutch at the back of his head, to drag him closer, to feel more-
There was a crash of something being walked into, a loud curse accompanying the apparent accident. Someone was nearby, coming towards their dark spot in the back alley.
Wesker shoved at Chris again, heart hammering, and this time Chris went willingly. His eyes were wide and he seemed as spooked as Wesker felt.
Standing apart, they both waited in mutual wariness as the man - drunk, barely looking their way - lit a cigarette and wandered off to better places to go.
“So uhm,” Chris was blushing, now, looking flustered and awkward instead of insistent and needy.
“Not now.” Said Wesker shortly. He straightened his clothes, adjusted the sunglasses which had threatened to go eskew. “Tell the others I had to leave.”
He opted to depart, then, without another word. He took the nearest taxi he could find, and didn’t allow himself to think about what had happened until he was safely back in his own apartment.
Wesker took off his jacket, his shoes, and went to the bathroom. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror, holding the sink in a death grip so firm his knuckles were going white.
Disgusting. He thought again, a bubble of laughter escaping him in a fit of hysteria. How dare he- how dare Chris do this to him?
His body was worked up, burning still in the aftermath of their encounter. His dick - and it felt terrible to name it, to acknowledge what his body was doing - was aching to the point of overstimulation.
Wesker took a long, very cold shower before brushing his teeth, in which he brushed til his gums bled. He spat out a mix of spit and blood, and watched it slither down into the drain.
Whatever it was Chris wanted from him, he was suddenly sure he wouldn’t allow him to get it. Never, never, had Wesker allowed someone else to get the better of him. This would not be the exception.
Wesker could have moved on from this situation, if only it remained the only situation of its kind. The issue, mainly, was that it repeated itself.
First it was hesitant- Chris approaching him at the end of a work day, only two days after the bar incident. Cornered him anew, only in Wesker’s office again, looked at him with those large brown eyes of his, and said;
“I’m really sorry about what happened” and Wesker had braced himself to lie and say that it was fine, Chris wasn’t fired, everything could continue as though nothing had happened. Only for Chris to continue speaking, as he was prone to do, attempting to make his bulky shape look as unintrusive as possible as he finished with; “But I’d really like to kiss you again.”
And Wesker had gone mute, as he had previously, and found himself at the attention of one Chris Redfield, lips closing over his own and it felt good and wrong and addictive all at once.
From there on it just kept happening. In his office, against his desk, in the locker rooms, in another alley, or chaste and quick if Chris thought he could get away with it.
Something, clearly, was evolving between them. The frustrating part was that Wesker couldn’t figure out what. Which only made it that more irritating that he couldn’t seem to make himself stop it, why he didn’t put Chris in his place like he deserved-
Some nights, when Wesker couldn’t sleep and images of Chris came to mind, mocking him, he’d fantasize about killing him slowly.
He could break his fingers, one by one, for daring to touch him.
He could rip out all his teeth for daring to put them near his throat.
He could watch him bleed out at his feet, begging for mercy, and laugh at his pain.
Wesker was his superior - more than that, he was a superior human being. He was more than mere human, more than some idiot who didn’t know the entire institution he worked for was a damn puppet show for forces he couldn’t even imagine existing. He would not be mocked in this manner.
But he could probably survive a bit more of it, he thought, as Chris had him pressed up against his desk again, mouthing at his neck, and his broad hands tight on his waist. His fingers spanned out, trying to hold as much of Wesker as he could at once.
Wesker had made him stay behind for this meeting to make sure he understood just how below him he was, and instead this had happened. Something was wrong with him. Previously a well oiled machine, he felt parts of himself falling apart, and it was painful.
Chris had just looked at him again, warm and happy and wanting. He’d been smiling as he’d approached him, said he’d missed him, for it had been a while since the previous time they’d been alone, and Wesker had let him walk him back until he felt his desk dig into the small of his back. And suddenly all his previous grievances didn’t matter because his hands were on him and his tongue was in his mouth and then against his neck again, mapping out the precious amount of skin revealed.
Wesker grasped at the remaining bits of his own sanity, and managed to say, with his voice hoarse, “this should stop.” It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his original plan had been. He had to suppress a whine at the same time, Chris’s teeth scraping over a particularly sensitive spot.
But to his surprise, Chris did step back, brows furrowed down in concern.
“Are you alright?”
What a stupid question.
“Of course.” Wesker tried not to glare at him, even though anger was starting to slip back through the cracks of his psyche. This was all happening wrong. The sequence of events all out of order, the execution terrible. It was all so incredibly frustrating.
“Chris,” Wesker began, adopting a placating tone of voice, “I think it’s time that you tell me what you want from this.”
He willed himself to remain un-tense and relaxed as Chris stepped further away from him, his large hands leaving his body for good. He wondered why it didn’t make him feel relieved.
“What I want?” The large oaf managed to sound confused. Wesker would have pitied his idiocy if he wasn’t so sure that there had to be something more sinister behind the facade.
“You are attempting to sleep with a superior officer,” Wesker said calmly. Attempting, because he hadn’t allowed for things to get beyond heated make out sessions with some mild over the clothes petting involved. “Historically, this happens for a few simple reasons. I want something from you, or you want something from me. Is it a promotion you’re looking for? Higher pay? More authority on future missions? Whatever it is, I am ordering you to tell me.”
Chris did not look guilty, as Wesker had expected. Rather he seemed surprised and then horrified. For the first time in a long while, Wesker began to wonder if he was wrong about something.
“I don’t-” Chris began to stammer. He cleared his throat, and continued at a slower, more careful pace. “You think I do this because I want something from you?”
Wesker crossed his arms, unease creeping over him. He gave a sharp nod.
Chris shook his head in something like disbelief, brows still furrowed in with that odd concern plastered over his face.
“I don’t want anything.” He said, sounding like he meant it. “Or- uh. I do want you, I guess. I want to be with you?”
Wesker looked on in horror as Chris blushed, clearly flustered at his own lackluster explanation.
It became startlingly clear all of a sudden, that Chris really was the same idiot that Wesker had pegged him as from the beginning. Nothing more than a very naive young man with a very blatant crush on his superior officer. There was nothing more sinister running through Chris’s mind than wanting to kiss him, to be with him, to maybe even hold his hand. God, what a ridiculous notion.
Wesker didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing. He felt more than a little hysterical at the moment, his previous anger floating away with the rest of his rational thoughts.
“And you don’t care about how this could ruin your life? My life?” He asked, morbidly curious. “We would both get fired, if anyone saw us doing this. Our social lives would be destroyed, as well. You’d lose your friends.”
Chris’s jaw set into a familiar, determined look. The way he’d brace himself before a fight. “I don’t care.” He insisted, with all the bravado of a fool. “You’re- I mean. Everything you do for us is just incredible. I can’t help that I- you know, that I like you. That I want to be- want to do this with you. That I like you like this.”
Wasn’t that just cute, he thought deliriously. Chris was willing to risk his job and his friendships just to satisfy his own lustful feelings for Wesker. He really was as naive and easy to manipulate as Wesker had originally thought.
Maybe, just maybe, Wesker could allow this to continue. Chris would be so easy to lead and use if Wesker allowed him these scraps of sexual release. This could be transactional after all- and that was something Wesker could wrap his mind around. Indulge Chris, be able to manipulate Chris. It would show itself useful, one day or another. When the time was right to abuse the power he could hold over him now. Blackmail, too, if he needed to go that route.
That was the only reason, he convinced himself, that he would allow for this to continue. It was only to keep Chris under his thumb.
He pulled Chris back against him without another word, crashing their mouths together into a heated kiss. Chris made a surprised, but happy, oomf sound against his lips before rewarding Wesker with his hands on his body again.
Only to keep Chris on a chain. That was all. Only to keep a semblance of control. Wesker didn’t like doing this, but he had to. It was simply the easiest way to keep a handle on things. Path of least resistance.
Chris pulled away again, but only a little, his breathing heavy. His hands were up, now, carefully pushing at Wesker’s shirt, trying to undress him. Clumsy fingers got one button off, then another, and another. Wesker watched him through lidded eyes, his heart skipping a beat, wondering if he really could allow this to keep going.
But the decision was made, so he simply had to allow Chris to continue.
Pretty Chris, who kept looking at Wesker like he was scared he might tell him to stop again. But by the time his shirt was halfway pulled off him, he’d regained some confidence, spurred on by the lack of protest.
Wesker felt that old unease reemerge inside him, alongside his anxious anticipation. He felt a little nauseous. No- Wesker’s hand shot out just before Chris could start on the tank-top he had on under the discarded shirt.
Chris startled, then blushed. “I won’t judge.” he said, softly. Wesker scowled.
“I’m not self conscious.” Wesker said icily. He was perfectly aware of how he looked, and how he looked was incredibly good. He might as well be the prime example of the ideal male body. In that, he had no doubt. This was not about appearance.
“We can stop.” Chris hedged carefully. “If you’re not comfortable. We can just kiss again.”
God, that tone was irritating. It was also a challenge.
“Do shut up, Chris.” He sneered. His shields were shattering around him in real time. Ignoring the twitch in his hands, he pulled the shirt up and above his head, throwing it carelessly to the side. His own face felt a shade warmer.
Chris’s eyes widened at the abrupt change of pace, but he thankfully kept his mouth shut. For once he could play the obedient soldier again.
Wesker rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, and then leaned forwards into Chris’s warmth with his torso bared. He grabbed for Chris’s hands and put them to his belt, returning the challenge. “Continue.”
They’d see who’d back down first, and it wouldn’t be Wesker.
Neither did it seem to be Chris, for he continued with eagerness. He leaned forwards to kiss at his shoulder, sucking a bruise closer to his neck, while he slid the belt from Wesker’s pants.
Suddenly he was hoisted unto the desk- already taller than Chris, he was given extra advantage to look down at him. It was only a mildly surprising action- Wesker wasn’t exactly light, but he supposed Chris was rather strong.
His mouth continued to pepper kisses against his skin, first just along his shoulder, but then it continued to travel southwards- to his chest. Wesker watched in some horror as Chris placed one hand at his right pec, while his mouth planted itself over his left nipple.
He sucked, and it felt shockingly good. Wesker’s back arched as he gasped, a hand twisting into Chris’s hair as he continued, putting his mouth to good use for once.
“Ah-” he said, intelligently, while Chris continued. A series of small, barely muted whimpers followed.
It probably shouldn’t have felt good. But it did.
Chris left the first nipple to suck at the other, giving it just about the same amount of attention, until Wesker found his own breath to have become laborious in between the small, awkward noises he couldn’t help but to make.
Where had he found the practice for something like this? Chris was either experienced with men, or else a great improviser. Both seemed equally as likely, but the thought of Chris with other people made something harsh and unpleasant coil inside his stomach, so he stopped considering it.
“Enough now.” Wesker glared down at him through his sunglasses (which had been kept on, of course), tightening his grip in Chris’s hair.
“Sorry.” Chris didn’t sound it. He was grinning at him, one hand on either of Wesker’s thighs now, standing between them. His eyes tracked the marks he’d left on his shoulders, and how wet and swollen Wesker’s nipples now were, with something like pride gleaming in his gaze. “I guess I got too excited.”
A harsh, angry warmth spread across Wesker’s body, making him shiver.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Wesker reminded him.
“But you like it when I talk?”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” He was still grinning, entirely too smug for his own good. “Just how you like it when I manhandle you. You like me.”
Wesker tried to find the words to refuse that statement, for it was both humiliating and untrue, but then Chris was lowering himself to the floor and started mouthing at the bulge through his pants.
“Chris-” he hissed, surprised. He placed a hand over his own mouth, terrified at the jolt of unique pleasure that shot through him. It was such a lewd sight, with Chris beneath him like this and his pants not even removed. His dick, which had already stood at attention, gave a trying twitch from within its confines.
Chris looked up at him through his lashes, disgustingly smug again, and undid Wesker’s fly. He managed to get his pants shimmied down, then his underwear, until Wesker was bare before him in nearly his entirety. Thick fingers trailed along the blond hair of his thighs, following to where it thickened around his groin. Chris gave him another look upwards, then he leaned forwards and licked a long, deliberate stripe along Wesker’s length. He gasped shakily into his own hand, as Chris continued, soon taking him fully into his mouth.
Dear God- but it felt too good. Warm and wet and inviting, Chris was being good. He went at it with enthusiasm, like the taste of Wesker was enough to keep him going, sucking passionately. Every noise Wesker made seemed to spur him on, even muffled through his hand.
Wesker was transfixed at the sight of him, servicing him in such a way. It was dutiful- no. it was more than that. It was worship.
It was that thought that sent him over the edge, more than anything. Blood coursed trough him so fast and so aggressively it left him light headed, centering completely in his groin.
Chris, to his credit, tried to swallow despite the lack of warning. Cum shot down his throat, and he took it with minimal struggle. He coughed a bit, after. A little of the substance had leaked out at the side of his mouth, and he licked it away with his tongue before brushing his mouth dry with the back of his hand.
When he rose to his feet, he looked proud of himself. It basically radiated off him in waves.
Feeling dizzy, Wesker stood from the desk and began to redress. First pulling up his pants and underwear before fishing for his undershirt and shirt, strewn on the floor. When he turned back to Chris, he saw the obvious straining of his arousal through his clothes. For a moment, Wesker worried he wanted him to do something about it.
“So,” Chris said, smiling awkwardly, “you don’t really have to uh, do anything. About that. If you don’t want to.” He gestured awkwardly to his crotch.
Wesker gave him a look. Chris blushed.
“You just don’t seem very comfortable with all of this.” Chris muttered in explanation. “So I’m really fine, you know, with taking baby steps.”
Wesker considered him for a moment, mostly because he wasn’t sure how defensive he should get about that. He’d certainly had sex before, and he’d never had these issues then- not when it was himself in the lead, not when it was with a woman, not when it was for ulterior motives. Chris, however, was some type of mystery to him in the effects he had on him.
He supposed he’d never particularly wanted to have sex before. Not for the simple reason of self pleasure, or connection, or anything silly like that. It had only ever been transactional. Wesker had never minded. But it left him unpracticed in the type of attention Chris was eager for- that of affection and emotional connection. What Wesker would have to play at to keep him around.
“Alright.” Wesker agreed, and submitted to a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth before they parted ways again.