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The ballroom of the Spencer estate was lit up as if every surface had been painted in gold.
And it may as well have been for all the money Albert Wesker had spent putting this little evening-do together. Clients, sponsors, colleagues and borderline ‘friends’ spilled out across the floor in their evening gowns and tailored suits. Plucking flutes of champagne from passing waiter-boys in tight black suit-pants and chattering almost loud enough to drown out the live orchestra on the stage across from the grand staircase that led up to the mezzanine.
It was late summer, and the huge doors had been opened up out onto the terrace, allowing the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle to float in on the warm, honeyed air, teasing up the gauzy white curtains like plumes of feathery cloud.
Up on the mezzanine, leaning on the barrier in his best formal black, sunglasses suitably in place, hair slicked back to perfection – the man of the hour. He had been watching the guests for some time now, sipping away lazily at his own champagne, not quite tasting it, still with that sweet metal of success running rampant on his taste buds.
“Doctor Wesker, a pleasure to have been invited,” a smooth voice emerged from beside him, and he looked up without a smile to see his semi-competitor and semi-‘friend’ Glenn Arias stood in his perfectly white suit. A red rose through his buttonhole. “We had all been wondering how much longer poor Spencer would be needing to suffer before his… unfortunate passing,” he continued, joining Wesker at the barrier and casting his charming eyes down over the people down below.
“Indeed,” Wesker murmured, not keeping his tone too casual with such a man.
“It seems he’s done you a great service, although I must offer you my condolences; he was after all, your patriarch.” Arias looked back to him, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Very little slipped past the man – he was a dangerously observant man, thick with charms as much as intelligence.
Wesker’s lips peeled back slightly into a cold grimace of a smile, and he raised his glass to his lips again. Arias could think of him what he liked. There was no point in denying his own hand in ending the ‘suffering’ of dear old Spencer, whose death now declared him the new Lord and Master of the Umbrella Corporation. It was what he had been groomed for the last forty-odd years of his life, it felt rather exciting to be out of the shadows for a change.
“It’s quite the lavish party you’ve rewarded your succession with,” Arias noted, “trying to impress somebody? Or are you planning on attracting unwanted attention. I daresay those BSAA disruptors will not have overlooked all of their top criminals dogpiling into one mansion for a weekend.”
“My security is top of the range,” Wesker said smoothly, “there’s not a soul in here who shouldn’t be – and any suspicious characters will be dogfood before the sun rises tomorrow. Do not fret, Arias, I am not so careless as to put my entire business in jeopardy just for a little self-celebre.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it for the world,” Arias’ eyes twinkled again, and his eyes wandered off slightly, spotting one of Wesker’s youngest and most brilliant researchers hanging nervously at the top of the steps in her green-slip dress, unsure of what to do with herself. “Ah, Miss Chambers,” he righted himself, adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair into place, “you must excuse me, Doctor.”
“By all means.” Wesker cared little that Glenn Arias was nauseatingly in love with one of his underlings. He might’ve chosen her for himself once, but now he was engaged to marry one of his top foreign investors – a gorgeous Italian woman – he had little need for fooling about with pretty little things in the meanwhile.
None of that excited him anymore, not women anyhow. Arias was so close to being his taste… it was a shame the man had to be his competition; he was not so stupid as to seek comfort from a man who would quite literally screw him over the second the chance arose. He’d do the same to Arias. It was only fair for such an expectation.
“Doctor,” another voice approached him now.
“Ms Wong,” he greeted his personal assistant with a little vague smile. He turned to face her, admiring the long red dress that hugged her figure quite wonderfully, with a deep slit from the ankle to the hip. “You are looking ravishing this evening.”
She did not look impressed, clasping her tablet with her black eyes stony serious. “Save your pretty words for clients, Doctor. How much of that champagne have you introduced yourself to? More than your own guests, I presume.”
“You are rather bold tonight, Ms Wong,” he couldn’t help the silky warning tone snaking into his words now, “are you here to hand in your resignation? Or are you working hard.”
“Your guests are wondering where you are,” she said sternly, flicking through her tablet without even looking her boss in the eye, “go down there and say some hellos, I have too much work to be doing to do that for you as well.”
“Hmph.” Wesker drained his glass and readjusted the lapels of his suit, again casting his eyes down onto the guests. “I suppose I cannot avoid my duties forever. Anybody useful arrived yet?”
Ada peered over the bannister too, scouring the floor. “I see Doctor Marcus with the Birkins lingering by the hor d’oeuvres. And the Ashfords skulking near the stage. And I’ll imagine Ricardo Irving will have already cornered some poor woman in a dark hallway to get his grease on.”
“Delightful.” He made a move past Ada, who then grabbed his arm to stop him. She gave him a curious little stare. “What now?” He asked, frowning.
“It seems you’re popular tonight,” she said with a sly little smile, “there’s a man down there who can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you.”
Wesker shrugged her hand off. Ms Wong knew all too well about his personal proclivities, but it was wholly unprofessional for her to encourage his whims at a time like this. All the same he followed her eyes to catch a glimpse of the man. Their gaze met, and the other quickly looked away. Brunette, a little rugged and rather handsome, almost too hairy for Wesker’s typical taste, and yet…
“Who is he?” He asked, following the man as he wormed his way past a huddle of older women, who spotted him and dragged him into their circle to fuss over his face and his suit. Wesker could see the man’s smile even from all the way up here, as golden as the ballroom itself. “I don’t believe I’ve seen his face in these circles before.”
“I haven’t a clue. Perhaps a reporter?” Ada was looking at her tablet again, flicking through the emails she had yet to answer that day, “perhaps an admirer. You should hurry, before he gets swooped up by some other lesser villain.”
“I don’t have time to play with every fool who’ll bat eyes at me,” Wesker chuckled, although he was admittedly intrigued to know the connection with this man. It might be worth investigating him a little further. “I have business to attend to before I can play games, too,” he added sourly – more to himself than Ms Wong, who spared him no glance of compassion.
Albert Wesker descended the grand staircase and extended handshake after handshake, kissing older ladies’ silk-gloved hands and powdered cheeks, accepting another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He thanked the Ashfords for their arrival – the strange twins who kept more or less to themselves after the passing of their father. Alexia had always been such a beauty, but her brother was even odder than Wesker found comfortable. And then onwards through more clientele, until he reached the haven of the Birkins, and puce-drunk James Marcus.
William and Annette both looked very handsome in their evening wear, and Annette had even bullied William into somehow combing his hair into something acceptable. Their late-teen daughter Sherry had allegedly wandered off some time ago, no doubt to explore the Spencer Estate without interruption and escape the crowds. She always did so as a little girl when she came to visit her Uncle Albert when the Birkins went on a holiday abroad someplace.
The usual jokes and reminisces, and Wesker began to almost enjoy himself in the tight little bubble of his happier days as a younger man. Working himself to the bone with William in those dank little laboratories with only dreams of world domination and power keeping their hearts alive. It had certainly been enough to win Spencer’s favour – and he had pseudo-adopted Albert Wesker to take over in his position at the head of Umbrella. William had never been one for the limelight.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Annette said, as warmly as her freezing voice could manage. She always had been a woman of cold concrete – at least to anybody who wasn’t her beloved daughter, and sometimes her husband. “I have heard many things about Gionne, I don’t doubt she will be… suitable in your hand."
“She will do,” Wesker dismissed idly, “I am beyond an age of a wandering eye, it is the immense dowry she brings with her which I am rather partial to. I have many plans for expansion in the upcoming years.”
“Do you need to marry her for it?” William asked, sounding nervous and wan as he always did in large crowds, “you’ve never had much a care for commitment in the past…”
Wesker chuckled, and took another draught of his champagne. “I am aging, William, it would be pleasant to do so with a companion. It has done both you and Annette quite well.”
The couple exchanged a glance. One that spoke of a scientific breed of romance.
“It is she who made such an offer, I would’ve been a fool not to take it. It is not often pretty things come willingly to me these days…” at that, he turned his head and tried to pick out the man from earlier. He had very nearly forgotten about that temptation. A quick cornering to figure out just who he was, and then he may very well get to have a little fun before the evening was up. He and Gionne were marrying only for the alliance, she would have little say over the concubines he kept at his fingertips.
Perhaps he had stepped outside for a cigarette. A nasty little habit, but a predictable one.
“If you will excuse me, I need to take some air.” He finished his champagne – now so many glasses deep he couldn’t quite recall the exact number – and slipped through the crowd to one of the open doors out onto the veranda.
It overlooked the lush gardens, dappled in the late evening sun. Rippling greens and blues, hazy and perfumed. A few guests lingered with their pipes and cigarettes out here, chattering and swatting at the mosquitos. But Wesker wanted a little solitude if his prize was not to be found, and he walked around the veranda, and through the gate into the inner courtyard right below the tower. His personal apartment was at the very top, and he stopped beside the old cherry tree to look up to his open window. It was a shame he would be returning to those cold sheets on his own later on. He was not very well about to take Alfred Ashford to bed.
There came a light scuffle from behind him, and he turned to see the man from earlier leaning up against the mossy garden wall with a smoking tab between his fingers. He was indeed handsome, rough and bristled around his jaw, although his eyes retained a soft warmth that was most appealing. But it was his body that impressed. The suit hugged the swell of his muscle beautifully, the cuffs of his sleeves unbuttoned and showing a little of the thick hair on his arms, the same at his upper chest. He was in every part a man’s man. How delicious.
“Sorry, needed to find somewhere quiet,” he apologised with a charming little smile, holding up his cigarette to denote his meaning. “I don’t usually go places with so many people.”
Wesker fully turned now to face him, sliding his hands into his pockets to try and retain a cool, casual visual. “I quite understand. It is not usually so swarmed here, tonight is a very special night.”
“So I understand.” The man took a long, slow drag from his tab, never taking his Autumn-eyes from the older man’s gauntly handsome stone face. The smoke drifted through his nostrils, giving him the appearance of a man filled with insatiable fire. “You’re him, right? Albert Wesker?”
“I am,” Wesker’s lips curled into a small smile, bemused at the way the man was pretending oh-so hard not to recognise him. “I would’ve thought a reporter wouldn’t need to ask such a thing. Tell me, how did you surpass my security? I don’t often take kindly to uninvited guests.”
The man grinned, almost boyish although he had to have been in his late thirties. “I’ve got my ways. In my line of work, it pays to have dirt on just about everybody.” He tapped his cigarette before taking another puff. “You look better than you do in the papers.” His brow tensed a moment, before he added cautiously; “like you’re made of marble, or something. Y’know… like those Greeks used to make.”
A charmer, handsome, and a fool. Albert Wesker almost couldn’t believe his luck.
In the warm evening air the sound and music of the party seemed almost another world away, and the soft crickets of the incoming night chirruped in the greenery around them. It would not be long now until the sun set – and Wesker knew he had at least until almost midnight before he would need to make his grand finale for the evening. Plenty of time to work a little stress out of his system. Perhaps acquire an interesting new toy to keep at his beck-and-call.
He closed in on the man, and lightly reached out to brush his fingertips at the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, seeing the chain of a necklace but more earnestly interested in the thick hair tufting out. Those warm brown eyes set sturdily on him as he finished his cigarette, blowing out the acrid smoke into Wesker’s face as if he weren’t lord of the estate. Wesker teased that hot, exposed skin. Tense, firm. Dragged his fingertips down to the next button as if to request for its undoing.
“Something tells me you’re hiding quite the beast beneath this shirt,” he said coyly, half enthused by the champagne, half by his own sober intrigue. “It is not often I make casual acquaintance with men of such… stature. What is your name, beast?”
A wry smirk of his own, and the man leaned back, allowing Wesker to touch a little more. “Chris. My last name won’t mean much to you, my family doesn’t own any estates like this.”
“Flattery…” Wesker mused, “in business it sickens me.” His eyes were dragging down now, taking in the general sturdiness of the man, picturing what might hang between those lovely legs. Was his backside as beastly as his chest? He would find out, soon enough.
“Are we playing business now?” Chris asked, the last of the sun glinting in his eye like a sly little jest at their mutual interests.
“Perhaps,” the older man smiled thinly, stroking a fingertip from between the man’s collarbones up slowly, slowly, following the flute of his throat. Rough stubble, all the way to his chin, until he had the man’s face tilted up ever so slightly. In this close he could smell the cigarettes on his lips, the sweet sweat from the warm day in a tight suit, champagne fizz on his breath. Wesker could feel the beast of arousal uncoiling itself in his belly, tentatively stretching itself in preparation for the pounce. “Would you like to see my apartments? The view is quite lovely from up there… no crowds to come between us.”
“Can I smoke up there?” Chris asked, stubbing out his tab on the wall behind him and letting it fall down to the mossy courtyard stone. Wesker didn’t care in the slightest.
Wesker chuckled softly, and signalled for the man to follow him; “if you earn it, Chris.”
He lounged back on the magnificent bed, wide and low to the ground, his back nestled into the silky pillows arranged upon it by his maid that morning. The balcony doors were thrown wide open, and he could see the back of his capture for the night as he gazed out across the estate’s golden grounds.
The distinct smell of evening jasmine had reached even up this high, and he’d lit a few citron candles to keep the mosquitoes from bothering them. It was a nasty business being naked, sweaty, and bitten to bloody-death all in one measly hour.
Albert Wesker was feeling abnormally relaxed. Perhaps the alcohol had fizzed his brain away like water to sugar and left only the sexually charged tendril blinking with anticipation. The jacket of his suit was thrown over a plush chair by the door (locked – to keep away prying eyes), and he’d begun to uncuff the sleeves of his black linen shirt. It had been so very long since he’d brought anybody up here to play; he wondered just what the stranger on his balcony was thinking.
Proud, perhaps, to be taken to bed by the master of the night. Nervous. Maybe sly, with intent to publish some grotesque article on the new head of Umbrella’s sexual antics. It might be quite the idea for him to send Ada after the man with an NDA the moment he’d finished with him.
“How long do you mean to keep me waiting?” He called out when enough time had passed for him to start feeling a little angry. Here he was, lying out like an offering, and the fellow hadn’t even offered to drool all over his lap yet.
“Sorry,” the man turned, grinning with that same glint in his eye as down in the courtyard – a private joke. “Just admiring the scenery. You have a beautiful home, Doctor Wesker.”
The older man snorted, not in the least flattered. This was Spencer’s home, it would never truly be ‘his’. “Haven’t you anything better to admire, Chris?”
Chris stepped over the threshold into the room, bringing with him a waft of warm honeysuckle and masculine musk. “I’ve been admiring you for longer than you’d like to know,” he laughed, voice low and as rough as his stubble, “you’ll have to excuse me, it’s a hot night.” He tugged a little at his shirt, quite evidently soaked a little in his sweat.
How much Wesker would like to put his blessed tongue to that beast’s flesh and suck the dew straight from him. Dear gods, he was horny, it had been such a long time…
“You’re very welcome to take it off,” he smirked, sliding the sunglasses from his grey eyes and setting them aside – a clear indicator he was ready to see. “I don’t believe in secrets, not up in my tower.”
“Thanks,” he said graciously, almost mocking, stripping down the remaining buttons and shrugging off the damp shirt, letting it slide down to the floor. His chest was broad, beastly and buff. Well defined abs, full pecs, and even a little weight about him as men of his age would of course start to gain with a regular beer. That suit had not done his heft justice – Chris was fit, but undeniably a large man. It was more than Wesker could’ve ever hoped for. Chiselled and bulked to absolute perfection. Even the faint sheen of sweat on his shoulders was enough to make his mouth water.
“Oh, yes…” he murmured, not shy about allowing his eyes to trace every inch of his prize. “You will do very nicely.” He flexed a finger, a summoning, and allowed himself to smile thinly as Chris knelt before the bed with that same roughard smile on his handsome little face. “Closer, Chris,” he crooned, tempting the man into his lair, “I can’t very well touch you from over here.”
Chris gave a soft laugh and moved in closer, now one knee on the mattress, almost leaning over the lounging aristocrat. “I feel as though I’m about to be eaten.”
“Mmm…” Wesker let his fingertips dance up the man’s bicep, putting his cool palm to hot skin, feeling the dynamic tension and solidness of such a man. Perhaps he was a mercenary, here to look for work, or carrying out some work. It wouldn’t matter, Wesker had his gun stashed within arm’s reach and he damn well knew how to use it. His touch cupped the swell of Chris’ pecs, thumbing the soft brown nipples slowly into some stiffness. Beneath the man his scent was overpowering, and Wesker could feel his own heat stiffen in his dress pants. “What do you know of playing with men, Chris? Are you a veteran, or did I just so happen to pique your interest?”
“A little of both.” Honest, that was good. Wesker liked an honest tongue. Chris grinned, one hand on the wall above the headboard to steady himself as Wesker’s hands explored the breadth of his chest, thumbs now pressing deep into the v-line groove dipping below his belt. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type to go for a guy like me though, Doctor. I usually require a very… specific taste.”
“One I just so happen to be a connoisseur of,” Wesker assured him fluidly, his palm sliding down slowly over the man’s crotch, feeling the swelling heat suffocated beneath the tense fabric. “Well well, it seems you’re not in the least bit shy.” He could’ve guessed such a man exuding sexual prowess would own a magnificent cock. He wanted to see it, shove it down his throat before fucking the man stupid amongst the silks. A little reminder that Wesker was still very much the one in charge no matter how ballsy he got.
He unbuckled the belt, and slid the pants down the man’s hips, grey eyes heavy with approval as he let the heavy, burning hot appendage sit on his palm. A light squeeze of his pale fingers around that cock so hard it was almost purple, and above him Chris made a soft growl of delight. He was throbbing, distinctly so, and the tip of his cock was wet to the touch – his fingertip coming away sticky as he stroked the slit of the stiff limb already standing on its own.
“Did you work yourself up all evening watching me, Chris?” He had to ask in his silky-smooth voice, watching the face above him twitch into a grimace of stern pleasure as he gave the cock a few agonisingly slow pumps and squeezes. “Gotten horny just thinking what it might be like to be mine for an hour or so. How… erotic…” he lifted his hand away and licked the precum that had dripped onto his wrist, languid and slow, never taking his eyes from Chris, “it’s flattering of you to arrive already so wet for me.”
“What can I say, you’re a beautiful man, Doc. Hard not for me to get worked up,” Chris murmured, gripping his cock and giving it a few pumps, climbing up properly now onto the bed, almost letting the tip touch Wesker’s inviting lips.
“Bold,” Wesker whispered, although he was far from displeased. His palms slid around the man’s hips to grope his tight buttocks, “but you can be bolder, Chris. I will not punish you for such things,” he let his fingertips tease a little more daringly inwards, “I rather fancy a man who takes as much as he gives.”
Chris’ eyes were harder to read now in the hazy summer gloom above him, and Wesker let his lips part as the man pushed the tip of his cock between them. Wesker’s tongue lazily rolled against the underside, never tearing his stern eyes from the younger’s face as he allowed the appendage to bump the back of his throat. He closed his lips around it, sucked it lightly, the taste of man and musk strong and sensual.
“Fuck…” Chris breathed, heady and hot. Two palms now on the wall as he rolled his hips back and then forwards again. He fucked Wesker’s mouth slow at first, growing quicker and sweatier as the man laid out lazily like a prophet of Aphrodite beneath him sucked and slurped at his cock, saliva running down his chin. “God… you really must be a professional, doc,” he grinned, watching as Wesker’s fingers stroked through the thick of his pubic hair and curled into it, tugging it a little as if to urge Chris to fuck his throat deeper.
Soft gags, lewd and wet how he worked his tongue. Until at last he pushed Chris back and let the cock rest on his wet lips, panting for air. He ran his fingers along the length, admiring its girth and size. A little squeeze – it was slippery now with its coating of saliva – and Wesker sucked slowly around the head, teasing the glans with his tongue until a bitter taste faintly registered.
“Mmh… you’re blessed down here, Chris, I could suck this thing all night. Unfortunately I am rather eager to see what other talents your body permits,” he let his now wetted fingers graze between the man’s thighs, to touch his taint. And here Wesker frowned a little, still suckling on the tip of the cock as he probed the rim of the man. He was tight here – too tight to be anyone who frequently took it. “Chris,” he enquired sleazily, “you wouldn’t have been lying about your experience to me now, would you? Don’t be shy, I’m fond of virgins, too.”
Chris laughed softly, holding Wesker’s jaw and sliding his cock back into the heat of his mouth, always watching those deep-grey eyes beneath his unruly sweat-champagne messed hair. So cold and in control, even choking on six-and-a-half inches of girthy cock. “I’ve slept with plenty of men, doctor, but I’m not the type to lie down and take it. If you get what I mean.”
Wesker pushed Chris back again, cock popping out from his stretched lips. “Well, we won’t have much fun with that now, will we?” He said thinly, starting to feel mildly annoyed he’d come all this way with a man who was in fact lusting after his backside.
“I dunno about that, doc,” Chris settled himself down onto Wesker’s lap, and brought the unimpressed man into a deep, lewd kiss. Wesker kept his lips pressed at first, but the overwhelming heat and scent of a man in lust was enough for him to part them and invite the tongue inside. He sucked on it, bit it, looking through his lashes at the brute whose large hands were now pulling the shirt down his shoulders for it to pool at his elbows. Chris groaned quietly as Wesker’s fingers stroked his nipples, plucking at them until the great bear of a man pulled back and gave him a daring glare.
“What’s the matter, Chris?” He asked lazily, “if you submit to my will I can assure you a wonderful night,” he toyed with the buds, pulled them lightly to make the man growl and grip his wrists.
“You’ve had your will for far too long, old man, it’s about time someone put you back in your place.” Chris was quick – and Wesker was surprised to find himself flipped over onto his stomach, pressed into the silks as Chris’ lips found the nape of his neck and kissed him hungrily, hands tearing the shirt from his body.
“Get off of me at once,” he spat, struggling to dislodge the man. He stretched for the gun hidden away, only to freeze as Chris kissed below his ear, hand sliding over the waist of his suit pants. “Don’t do anything foolish,” he warned him in a hiss, trying to ignore the feeling of another man’s cock tucked between his thighs. He was aroused, no doubt about it, trapped under the mass of man, large hands keeping him pinned and at his mercy. But he hadn’t planned on things turning out this way.
“Ain’t nothing foolish about pleasure, doc,” Chris chuckled, biting at the skin until Wesker gasped and squirmed, trying in vain to push Chris off until the man was moving down his spine in wet, messy open-mouthed kisses. He lay almost in shock, the light sweat on his back chilling him as Chris tugged down his trousers and placed a kiss to his tailbone. “I’ll give you some fun, doc, don’t worry about that,” he promised in his deep husky voice, winding like incense smoke in the bedroom.
And as if cast a spell upon, Wesker relaxed and put his head on his folded arms. He tried his best to peer down over his shoulder at Chris, giving a little sigh as he felt his ass being spread and the thin line of saliva hot and sticky dripping down onto his asshole. “I am not an unreasonable man,” he said sternly, “but you must understand, Chris, a man in my position is not often charmed by other men attempting to ‘screw’ me.”
“Who cares about all that? Right now it’s just about making you feel good. Fuck your image.” Chris’ tongue was hot, rough as his calloused fingertips stroking the soft skin of his ass. Unlike Chris, Wesker was almost entirely hairless – a biological phenomena – and he felt almost naked-er for it as he lay and focused on the wet, hungry laps against his entrance.
Of course, he’d been fucked before. A gay man of his age had to have tried most things by now. But it had been such a long time since the days of presenting himself to other men to be fucked.
A soft moan almost passed his lips but he bit it back. The tantalising, almost ticklish feeling of a tongue rimming him open, soft and probing, thumbs spreading his hole a little wider for the man to spit into him and suck him as if he were kissing his mouth. It was filthy, and the saliva running down his thighs pooled and spilled over his balls. Chris was growling softly too as he ate, the vibrations traveling through his wolfish tongue inside of Wesker to make the older man shift and bite back his pleasure.
“Damn… not bad, doc,” the voice came sly and amused, and Wesker lifted his head sharply as the first finger slipped inside.
“What do you think-“ he stopped himself short as he met Chris’ wolfish eyes. No longer soft and sweet, but starving. It was enough to run electric arousal straight from his throat to his groin, and Wesker lay his head back down, afraid of showing the heat rushing to his face. Chris was too handsome – and handsome men were always a problem. Far harder to say no to, far harder to shake off. “Slowly,” he commanded, resigned to this fate of pleasure, knowing this stubborn brute likely had no interest in the same being done to him. At the very least Wesker remembered enjoying taking it. Perhaps it was time for something a bit different. “Slowly,” he repeated breathily, curling his toes as Chris’s tongue slipped in beside his finger.
The long, thick digit stroked inside gently, pressing down to seek out a pleasurable stimulation for the man upon his silks.
“Y’know, you’re a real pushover doc. Not what I was expecting at all,” Chris murmured as he kissed beside the man’s hole, fingering him nice and deep until Wesker let out a soft; “ah-“ “Everything I heard about you… I thought you’d be a real challenge. Not that I’m complaining, it’s a privilege to even touch you. Or put my tongue and spit inside you.” Chris hummed soft and low as he spat onto the hole again, fingering it inside as Wesker’s thighs pressed closer together; “but I wanna give you more. Damn… my cock hurts just lookin’ at you.”
“You’re awfully lewd,” Wesker said snidely, glancing back again to see Chris’ head down pressed into his ass, tongue and two fingers working their way into his body like an invasive species. He shivered out a quiet groan, fingers curling into the silks. The feeling of Chris’ stubble on his smooth skin was enough to make him tense and keen. Damn this man for being so handsome, he really was going to let it slide.
“I can’t believe the gall of you,” he lifted his upper body a little, forcing Chris to look up, fingers still slowly stirring him up inside. Wesker bit his tongue until it bled to fight back the moan as his prostate was grazed, and he could feel the sweat dripping between his shoulderblades. And Chris moved quick, almost mounting him then and there to lick it from his skin, bristle scratching his back. And then he was kissing Wesker’s neck again, one hand on the man’s hip, the other grinding two thick digits into his sensitive prostate.
And his body was heavy, his perfume so musky that Wesker could feel his brain leaking its senses. And when Chris kissed him again from the back, a half-kiss given the angle, he let the man’s tongue enter his mouth although it had just been licking his other side clean. “You’re a nasty boy,” he commented sulkily as Chris nipped at his shoulder, hairy chest rubbing his back as if he meant to consume him wholly into his body. “A filthy, nasty man. I imagine you’ll be asking to put that grossly overgrown weapon of yours in me next.”
“Mmh,” Chris didn’t even honour him with a proper word. Too busy sucking blood-bruises into his neck, fingering him until his legs trembled and his body opened up like a blooming flower to the younger man’s desire. It had been so very long since he had been wanted quite so badly, too, it would be such a shame to stop it now…
“Very well,” he sighed, businesslike and stern, “on your back, Chris, allow me to do a little work.”
“Sure thing, doc.” Chris obeyed, flipping them over and laying back with that sly grin from earlier back onto his handsome face. Wesker straddled him, stroked his hands up the man’s arms to his wrists. He liked the way Chris was looking at him from this angle, eyelids heavy, exuding so much erotic heat it almost steamed the air.
Wesker grabbed his discarded tie and bound the man’s wrists to the headboard, tight enough that he wouldn’t be able to tear himself free on accident.
“Kinky. You’re just full of surprises, doc.”
“I have been more than generous with you,” Wesker scolded him smoothly, running his hands down Chris’ chest again, shifting his hips back until he felt Chris’ cock hot and stiff on his back. “You’ve had far too much of a liberty with my body already, Chris, a greedy man needs to learn some restraint.”
“Touche” Chris murmured, licking his lips as Wesker lifted his hips, groping for Chris’ cock still wet and sticky with saliva to angle it beneath him. “No condom, doc? You’re a dangerous guy to fuck.”
Wesker flushed. He had forgotten. “You haven’t the faintest idea,” he told the man hotly, scouring his bedroom for anything that might pass as a sheath. But Chris didn’t seem to care, thrusting up until the tip of his cock bumped against his licked-open entrance.
“I don’t care, and I’m clean,” the muscular man tied up beneath him smirked, looking damp and gorgeous in the low light, “besides, I’m in the mood for someone dangerous tonight.”
“How cliché,” Wesker tutted, sturdying himself with one hand on Chris’ chest as he spread himself open on two fingers, lowering his hips until the swollen tip of Chris’ cock was able to slide inside of him. It was a tight fit, and he winced and grit his teeth as he let the first inch swallow itself into his body. A soft whine in his throat, low and pained, and he felt the sweat drip from his brow as he tensed and lowered himself a little more. Had this damn room always felt so hot? Or was it all from the slab of meat beneath him?
“Relax, you’re too tense,” Chris’ voice was gentler now as he observed the older man’s obvious discomfort, “take it slow, we’ve got all night doc.”
“Shut it, I’ll take it as fast as I wish,” he hissed, nails digging into Chris’ taut skin as he took in another inch, feeling it slide in slightly easier as he breathed out shakily.
“It’s sexy and all, but you’re hurting me too,” Chris grimaced. “My cock’s gonna snap off in that tight ass of yours, doc, if you don’t loosen up a bit. I could help,” he shifted his arms, “but you’ve already got me all trussed up.”
Wesker didn’t reply, and shoved two fingers into Chris’ mouth. “Spit, boy, I’m no fan of blood.”
Chris’ tongue snaked between his fingers, and he spat out onto Wesker’s palm. Wesker brought it behind him, stroking the rest of Chris’ cock with it until he was sinking down with a low moan of satisfaction as he was finally all filled up. Chris was burning him up inside, throbbing so hard he could feel his passage throbbing with him. He tilted his head back, sipping in the sweet evening air as he let his body adjust. Chris was shifting a little beneath him – not stupid enough to bump his hips up without permission – clearly enjoying his own view. Wesker would grant him that at least.
The distant sound of the party floated in off the balcony.
“You reckon they’re missing you yet, doc?” Chris murmured, eyes tracing the man’s body hungrily, “reckon they have any idea just what the new Head of Umbrella gets up to after enough champagne to kill a normal man?”
“No, and they won’t.”
“You’re no fun at all,” Chris chuckled. But he had successfully drawn Wesker’s attention again, and the older man touched his stubbly face, stroking it with his palms, before leaning down and kissing him on a whim. Chris tasted like champagne and cigarettes, even with his lewd tongue and soft growls of pleasure, it was evident the poor man was something of a romantic. His cock seemed to swell inside of him just from a little kiss.
He began to move his hips. Slow, terribly slow, feeling his body ache from where he had been filled previously. Wesker fucked himself deep in grinding motions, never lifting too far up before lowering again. Controlled, careful, afraid he might injure himself on something so large. Chris bent his legs helpfully, and Wesker held them beneath the knees as he worked himself up and down, sweaty and panting, determined not to let any more embarrassing sounds escape himself.
“You’re a real tease, doc.” Chris bit his lower lip, grunting as Wesker gave a small shuddering gasp and began to grind himself in a particular angle. Face all wrought with lined stern pleasure. Wesker barely even looked his age in this light. Chris moved his hips up and forced Wesker to grip him tighter and whimper, giving him an angry glare. “And you’re gorgeous. Y’know that?”
“Don’t say such a thing, I hate false compliments,” he hissed in return. “Stay still. Or I’ll leave you like this until the end of the party whilst I go find someone less frustrating to bed.”
“You won’t,” Chris smirked, rolling his hips now. Slow, smooth, grinding up into Wesker’s body as the older man held himself still with his lips still parted. “Damn… after all these years… finally meeting the great Albert Wesker and I’ve got him riding on my cock.” The man licked his teeth wolfishly, thrusting up sharp and forcing a cry of shock from the flush older man. “I’ve been watching you for a long time now, doctor, thinking about how our first confrontation might play out… but this is better than anything I could’ve imagined,” he chuckled; “or trained for.”
Wesker frowned, breath hitching with each new thrust up into his body, “who the hell are you?”
Chris raised his eyebrows; “I would’ve thought you’d done your homework by now, doc. I thought you recognised me earlier, thought that was why you wanted to fuck me in the first place,” he groaned low, snapping his hips up as Wesker fell forward slightly, grabbing onto Chris’ body for support as he rocked up into him.
“What’s your name,” Wesker hissed, almost face to face with the man, trying to keep his wits about him only to moan weakly and wantingly almost into the mouth of the man beneath him. “Tell me before I put a bullet in your brain, Chris.”
“Redfield,” the man breathed back, hot and hungry, grinding up into that spot that had Wesker keen and arch and sweat, groaning out like a whore. “Chris Redfield.”
Chris Redfield.
“You-“ Wesker growled, “the Hound of the BSAA. I should’ve known you’d be making an appearance sooner or later.” He threw himself back, reaching for where he had stashed the gun. “I’ll be sending you home in a matchbox, Redfield. You’ve caused enough trouble for this company as it is.”
There was a snap and Wesker was spun around as Chris broke free of his ties, and slammed him down hard onto the bed. The click of the resultant muzzle pressed to the back of his head was enough for Wesker to freeze with a grimace on his lips. His own gun used against him. How crass.
“My intel must’ve been old,” he sneered, “but I should’ve known anyone stupid enough to infiltrate my party must’ve been one of the BSAA’s band of lucky fools.” He tried to move, only to whimper as Chris ground his hips forward, cock still hot and hard and heavy inside of him.
“Your mistake, doctor,” Chris chuckled, still grinding his hips in nice and deep, gun trained on Wesker’s skull. “I’ve gotta say, it’s a good thing I’m not writing any official report on this. I dunno how I’d even start to capture all the details.”
“Enough fooling about,” Wesker snapped, voice thin and wavery as he tried to ignore the flush of pleasure from inside of his body, or that erotic weight pinning him down to endure the assault, “what is you want, Redfield? Here to take me in? If so, on what charges may I ask?”
“Oh, no,” the man caressed Wesker’s throat with his other hand, leaning down over the lither man’s body, “I’m not here on official BSAA business, doctor. I came here to meet the guy I’ve been tracing for damn near ten years. You’re hard to catch, but when I got the tip off on the party…” he growled a soft groan of pleasure, thrusting down hard into Wesker, enough to make him cry out and grab at the sheets. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“My guards..” Wesker half-moaned, “why… ah… did they let you in?”
“I’ve got someone on the inside,” Chris answered as he drove his hips down hard again, “she’s been a real help.”
Damn that Ada Wong.
“You risked your life and the BSAA’s integrity,” Wesker growled, “just to sleep with me? You’re a bigger fool than I thought, Redfield.”
“Well I had intended on just beating you up a bit,” the bigger man admitted, “but this is much better… good to get to know your enemy up close and personal I find,” he tossed the gun backwards and it skittered across the floor out of sight, and then Chris was laying down on top of him to moan low and sinful into the blond’s ear as he fucked him in tight, quick thrusts, “keeps things interesting for the next encounter.”
“Mmh…” Wesker moaned in the back of his throat, gasping as Chris grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into another lewd half-kiss, moaning out without restraint as he was fucked harder and the bed began to creak beneath them. “I had no idea the BSAA trained such whores,” he hissed into Chris’ starving maw.
Chris bit at his lip, slapped his ass and grabbed a handful of it before slamming down his hips hard again. “Might just be me and you,” he laughed huskily, “you’ve gotta be feeling it now, doc, you’ve gotten nice and relaxed for me.”
Wesker pulled his head away from the tyranny of the kiss, panting and struggling to remain logical as Chris fucked him hard and deep. It stung his pride and his guts, and he could feel just how wet he’d gotten the sheets beneath himself from how good it felt to be fucked. “You’re getting too bold, Hound,” he spat, “just finish what you came for and get out of here, I want to see how far you can run before I kill you.”
“I’m no runner, I’ve been hunting you for a long fuckin’ time, Wesker, and now I’ve caught you. I’m gonna toy with you and let you go,” he was thrusting harder now, skin smacking on skin, sweat beading on both their tense bodies. “And then I’m gonna do it all over again.”
“Ngh… f-fuck…” Wesker cursed, gasping and feeling tears spring to his eyes as he wound his fingers tighter into the silky sheets, unable to crawl away from the pleasure being fucked into him by the beast mounted upon him. “W-what’s the point in that, Redfield?” He snapped bitterly, “you really think I’ll let this happen again?”
Chris groaned into his ear, deep and delicious, enough to make Wesker spasm with arousal and push his hips up a little higher. The angle here was sweeter, and he followed suit with a strangled, mewling cry of unwanted delight.
“Yeah, I do,” came his sly answer, strong hands on his hips lifting them higher as he began to pound into the older man with almost vicious intent. “And before you know it, you’ll be crawling to me, doc.”
“Dream on,” he growled into the sheets, squirming and twisting as he realised the pleasure pooling in his gut was intensifying. Each thrust was beating his insides black and blue with a vengeance; pain and pleasure spilling through his flesh as sweat ran down his face and mixed with the tears of abstinence dripping out of his eyes. All the strain, all the holding back, he was choking on his own erotic sounds as they sobbed from his lips. And all he knew for support was those silky sheets, and Chris Redfield’s rough, capable hands gripping his hips so tight it hurt. Heavy balls slapping against his backside, prepared to empty themselves into him like any common whore. He really should’ve found a condom.
“Don’t-“ he panted, “you dare…”
“Dare what, doctor?” Chris’ voice had a distinct victorious grin in it now.
“P-put your filth inside me,” he got out between his breathy whines, hiding his wet face in the bedsheets as the wet slaps of his ass being fucked to a pulp began to tear at his sanity. “I w-won’t…” he whimpered as Chris pulled out, and then thrust back inside in one fluid motion, his own cock twitching and swollen and desperate hanging between his sweat-shined thighs. “B-be marked..- ngh… by the likes of you.”
Chris spat on one of his hands before reaching beneath Wesker’s trembling body to grip his cock in his rough grip, stroking him in time to his thrusts. The stimulation had Wesker squirming and fighting, reaching down to try and push away Chris’ hand – but the man was too strong, fucking him too hard – and Wesker could do nothing but weep with pleasure as he was stroked to completion. He came with a hard jolt and a pathetic cry, falling limp as the semen seeped between Redfield’s fingers. And the younger man was still going. Wesker panted, feeling the tears of overstimulation dripping down his face as Chris continued to massage his now soft cock. And yet there was nothing he could do, not now.
Nothing except take it and drown in Chris Redfield, the BSAA Hound who had already intercepted so many of his plans before. How dreadful that this was their first real meeting. He whimpered as Chris kissed at his neck again, pressing his body down onto the mattress and laying atop him as he fucked himself to the brink of satisfaction.
“I marked you a long time ago,” he murmured, “everyone knows you’re mine to take down, Wesker. Doesn’t matter how much you pretend otherwise. Doesn’t matter how I do it.” He growled softly as his thrusts began to get quicker, dousing the fucked-to-near-unconsciousness older man in a thick dose of his pheromones. “What harm is there marking you inside as well? I reckon I’m the only bastard lucky enough to be using it.”
“You…” Wesker muttered weakly, “are a real pain. Redfield.” He felt dizzy, almost euphoric. All his anger evaporating down to a much needed submission after so many years of stress and ultimate authority. Being the heir to Umbrella had been no small affair. It was so rare these instances came where he could so shamefully be made the whore of some bigger man. And he had forgotten just how much he loved it.
Chris sucked on his neck, teeth lightly puncturing the skin, and lapping at the beads of blood which arose. “I’m gonna cum inside you, doctor, that alright with you?”
“Do w-what you wish, I d-don’t care,” he uttered grimly, embarrassed and aroused. And he moaned too as Chris growled out his pleasure into his ear, deep, rolling, enough to drown in.
And that spill of heat inside of his gut as the man hilted himself to the base and released his copious filth. Liquid courage from a man too bold for his own good. Chris Redfield relaxed, still draped over him, holding him down as he kissed his neck bloody and ground his hips in little soothing circles, soft cock emptying every drop of semen he’d been saving for his charge.
Albert Wesker felt utterly defiled. Sweat-stricken, filthy, bred with another man’s cum. And yet he was so horny he could go in for seconds, or thirds. He unwound his fingers from the sheets and reached behind him to cup the back of Chris’ head, stroking the short hair damp with sweat. And he moved his hips a little backwards, getting the feel of the huge appendage still lodged inside of him, effectively plugging Chris’ cum inside.
“Get off of me, you great brute,” he murmured, not very forcibly. “It’s hot enough without a man as furry as you on top of me.”
Chris laughed, and rolled off of him.
Wesker didn’t get up. Tired, worn out, satisfied. He turned his head to watch Chris lounge beside him and light up a cigarette. He really did have a fabulous body – next time he’d be certain to make better use of it. Next time? Damn him, he really was forgetting himself…
The scent of the citronella candles and Chris’ cigarettes reminded him of trips to Europe as a younger man, and the affairs he’d had during his forays in Italy and Greece. This all-American beside him was none of the beauty he’d loved back then, he was some other kind of beast. Puffing away on his cigarette, wet with sweat and the stink of man. Again, his mouth began to water for the very taste of the soldier’s chest. But he’d embarrassed himself enough that night. He would have to abstain no matter how much it pained him to do so.
Chris noticed him staring and held out his cigarette. Wesker leaned up a little on his elbows to take a drag. He’d always hated the sour things, but he supposed he’d kissed enough of the flavour on that man’s tongue already that night for his tastes to be screwed up.
“You’re a good fuck, doc,” Chris said after a little time of smoking and silence had passed, “I heard you’re getting married soon. And I don’t reckon Gionne has half the weapons I do for satisfying you.” Chris stubbed his cigarette out on the headboard (much to Wesker’s disapproval), before leaning down and kissing the tired man on the shoulder. “So I reckon you and I will be seein’ way more of each other. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”
“I do hate boasts,” Wesker said shrewdly, watching the man redress himself in front of the cool air coming in from the balcony. He hesitated for a moment, before getting up as well and cursing the ache in his hips as he stood and tried to pull his shirt up from the floor. “Go out through the garden gate, down toward the lake,” he murmured, “there aren’t any guards that way.”
Chris stopped midway through buttoning his shirt with a curious little smile on his face. “Letting me go, doctor? I was looking forward to a fight…” he then frowned; “although I reckon I’ve already done quite the number on you. It would be unfair.”
“Shut it,” the doctor growled, awkwardly pulling on his shirt and trying to ignore the feeling of Chris Redfield’s cum oozing down his thigh. “And get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
The younger man gave him a knowing grin. But evidently knew not to push Wesker any further than the insane boundary breaks he’d already subjected him to. And he slipped through the door to make his escape, leaving only his scent and his heat lingering on Wesker’s flush skin.
“Damn fool,” he muttered to himself as he cleaned up, “damned Hound,” he dressed himself again. And stopped in the mirror to look at himself. Sultry, neck bitten and marked almost purple, hair wild and sweaty. He practically exuded eroticism, there was no way in hell he could return to the party looking like this – like he’d just been wrung through an entire military base. “Damn you,” he muttered to his own reflection, cursing his penchant for handsome men.
Part of him was excited by the prospect of a new challenger, part of him frightened by just how easy it had been for Redfield to win. But next time he would be ready for him. And Chris Redfield would rue the day he tried to make a bitch out of Albert Wesker.