Work Text:
Every inch of Zeno's coffee table was covered in project folders. The Connections had dumped them onto his schedule without notice early that morning, as they were wont to do, and he’d been reviewing them and attending meetings all day. It was a little bothersome to have his schedule upended like this, but he didn’t mind overly much; he had inherited Wesker’s work ethic, so he enjoyed the constant motion of overseeing multiple projects.
Most of it was in pursuit of resource or financial gain, which was Zeno’s specialty within the organisation. He had, regrettably, not inherited his predecessor's knack for bioscience, so he didn’t have any involvement in that area beyond being a success story for it. His strengths lay in brokering deals and dispatching competition and threats where necessary.
Though he found satisfaction in his work, it did tend to leave him exhausted by the end of the day. Less physically, since the virus had given him a near-endless well of stamina, but mentally and emotionally. On particularly difficult days, he went through packs of London Treasurer Luxury like they were his only sustenance. A lungful of nicotine gave him the strength needed to survive meetings plagued by incompetence and bureaucratic posturing, and it made the hours of sitting at his coffee table, leafing through papers, less dreary.
He was fortunate enough to have another outlet he could lean on as well, a far more effective one than cigarettes. It just happened to be a much rarer one, since their life was just as busy as his own. And in a lot of ways, more stressful, which made this arrangement beneficial for them both. They both had specific needs, and they were highly compatible in that regard.
Zeno needed control.
Chris needed to cede control.
It made sense:
He’d been born without dominion over his own body, aged into an adult before he could experience anything resembling a childhood, and then put to work. He had no control over the preconceived notions invoked by his being a clone of Albert Wesker. He’d had to fight tooth and nail for years to reach a point where he gave orders instead of taking them. And even now, he wasn’t the one heading the organisation - though that was an aspiration. Just another cog in someone else's machine.
Chris, conversely, had spent his entire life needing to take charge. First a boy who’d had to become a man to care for his little sister, then a man who’d founded an organisation to fight B.O.W.’s in his mid-twenties, and then a captain of various teams charging headfirst into situations with a near-zero survival rate, which often forced him to bury his own men and break the news to their loved ones. He’d spent most of his life fighting wars at the frontlines, and now he was just tired. He needed to cede control, he needed to let loose. And Zeno was more than happy to provide that for him.
Their relationship had started predictably enough. They’d met in a bar - a situation arranged by Zeno - and went back to Zeno’s hotel to have sex, and things sprawled from there. He admitted to being a B.O.W.; he mentioned The Connections in vague terms, and he alluded to his status as a clone. He offered enough information to be somewhere in the realm of trustworthy to Chris, but not enough to endanger the organisation or himself.
And it worked.
Chris trusted him. Not a lot, but enough to sustain an intimate relationship. Their respective organisations remained a point of contention, but they’d been meeting for so long now that they had both learned how to leave that baggage at the door so they could enjoy themselves.
Zeno couldn’t place when exactly D/s elements had begun to enter the relationship. Maybe from day one; he didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter anyway. What did matter was that Chris was willing and eager to submit to him, ready to indulge his every whim.
If he told Chris to warm his cock while he worked, Chris did it without hesitation; if he wanted to experiment with sensory deprivation or restraints, Chris prepared himself accordingly; if Zeno presented him with leather harnesses, collars, and leashes, Chris put them on without question. Zeno had tested his obedience extensively and had yet to find an end to it. Chris was always eager, always highly aroused, and occasionally even made suggestions for things they could do together (Zeno was particularly fond of the time he suggested sounding, which was now a regular feature in their rotation).
Tonight, after such a long day, he was relieved he’d already arranged for a meeting with Chris for later. All he had to do was commandeer one of the helicopters to get there. Chris was already working in the area of their meeting point, but The Connections had been sending Zeno all over America for meetings lately.
He got up, stretched until his back cracked, and headed to his next appointment, the only one today he was eager to attend.
Their rendezvous point was one of The Connections’ safehouses. Or, rather, one of the unmonitored safehouses, which were few and far between. This one was in the quiet depths of Costa Rica, far beyond civilisation, a cabin built on the coast where the sea rolled in a gentle rhythm against the shore, whitened by thick seafoam. The air here always smelled so fresh, like brine and plant dew, and the climate was warm even when the sun descended beyond the skyline. Zeno held a greater appreciation for places of a more modern, industrial make, but he could appreciate the atmosphere this location provided.
The safehouse itself was a small, four-room affair. A bedroom, a bathroom, a lounge room with attached kitchen, and an office, all modern and sleek, with marble surfaces and shiny, laminate flooring. None of it fit in with the aesthetics of the coastline, but it served Zeno’s purposes well. And, most importantly, it was discreet. It was somewhere he and Chris could go without fear of interruption or discovery.
He was the first to arrive, as always. He was the only one who could unlock the safehouse without triggering the security system - the only thing in this place that would alert headquarters to its use. It was imperative that he arrive first to deactivate the alarm and do a cursory check for surveillance devices.
He put his suitcase down next to his armchair and got to work. It didn’t take long to review his surroundings; the cabin was small and so sparsely furnished that there weren't many hiding places one could utilise for surveillance.
Once he’d finished securing the place, he poured himself a finger of whiskey from the well-stocked alcohol cabinet and sat down in his comfortable, black armchair to wait. It took roughly fifteen minutes for Chris to arrive. By then, he’d finished his drink and puffed his way through three-quarters of a cigarette.
Chris immediately dropped a duffel bag beside the bedroom door, no doubt packed with fresh clothes and toiletries, and maybe a weapon or two, just in case. He generally stayed overnight, so the supplies were necessary.
He looked more weary than usual today, his eyes bagged and hair messy, in desperate need of someone else to take the helm.
Zeno wordlessly got up and drew Chris in by a hand around his nape. The skin there was warm, the heat radiating through his glove. “You seem tired,” he murmured, sliding his thumb up the narrow edge of Chris’ jaw. “Do you need to rest first?”
“No,” said Chris. “I’ve rested plenty. I need- I just want to forget things for a while.”
A mission must have gone awry. This wasn’t going to be one of their casual nights, then.
“Do you want to be my doll?” he asked, his voice low and soft.
“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Please.”
Zeno gave him an indulgent smile. “Then undress. Kneel by the chair. I’ll grab the things.”
He grazed his lips over one of Chris’ temples before retreating, relishing the little shiver he got in response. Always so reactive. Chris drank up affection like a glutton, like he was afraid it would be the last kind touch he would ever receive. Maybe his predecessor had made Chris that way. Zeno had never brought it up, lest Chris become self-conscious about it and start smothering his needy little habits.
While Chris was carefully peeling off his BSAA uniform, Zeno stepped into the bedroom to retrieve the tools for tonight. Some sheer black lingerie, sized perfectly to Chris' body; a first-aid kit for later, and then a straight razor, steel basin, and shaving cream. He hummed to himself as he transferred everything into the lounge room, where Chris was already naked and kneeling by the chair, waiting with his hands folded demurely in his lap. He looked far more comfortable and at ease down there than he had upon entering the building.
Zeno took his time readying a shaving station, draping a towel over the back of a kitchen chair and setting up the shaving supplies, before he turned to address Chris.
“Up. Sit in the chair.”
Chris did as he was told, getting up to deposit himself in the chair. His gaze remained on Zeno, one of the rules of their play. Zeno needed all of that beautiful, blue-eyed attention on him.
He draped a hand towel around Chris’ neck and lathered up his face, using his fingers to adjust Chris’ position as necessary. The man was pliant under him, eyes half-lidded and hazy as his mind grew quiet, becoming the doll; becoming Zeno’s doll. A pretty little thing Zeno could position and use as he wished.
There weren’t too many bristles on his face - he had probably shaved recently - so this wouldn’t take long.
Zeno casually put out his cigarette on Chris’ bare shoulder before reaching for the straight razor, and Chris shuddered and gasped before falling pliant again. Between those thick thighs of his, his cock swelled with interest.
“Good doll,” Zeno murmured.
He drew the razor slowly across Chris' cheek, scraping away the faint shadow of a beard there. He'd done it so many times for Chris by this point that he was well practised at it. Chris was nice and relaxed as he worked, holding none of the tension he’d radiated the first time they’d done this. He couldn’t blame the man for that; Zeno had been less of a known quantity back then.
He slid a knee onto the chair for stability before he dragged the razor down Chris' throat, picking up the shade of brown there. Chris didn’t so much as flinch. He was deep in his role now, pliant and sweet.
“There we go,” Zeno murmured, reaching past Chris’ shoulder to swish the straight razor through his basin of warm water. He dried it on the towel hanging over the back of the chair before applying it to Chris’ jaw again. “I see you’ve been maintaining your body how I like it,” he murmured, nodding to the minimal body hair. “You would do anything I asked, wouldn’t you? Perhaps I should start having you wear a collar under your shirts too.”
Chris didn’t respond beyond a breathy little moan.
“You like that idea, hm?” Zeno dragged the straight razor under the curve of Chris’ jaw, then along the slope of his chin, scraping at the bristles until the skin was bare and shiny. “I’ll see about finding something discreet. Can’t have your subordinates asking questions.”
The other side of Chris’ face was cleared just as quickly as the opposite. Once done, he set the razor aside and dampened the hand towel around Chris’ neck, using it to wash away any lingering foam. The skin was lovely and soft now. He briefly removed a glove just to touch it, running the back of his fingers up Chris’ jaw and over his cheekbone, admiring his work. Chris looked so much softer with a shaved face.
“Well done,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Chris’ cheek. The skin warmed under his lips, a lovely little blush. “Now, let's get you dressed in your uniform.”
His virus-given strength enabled him to lift Chris into his arms without difficulty, bridal carrying him over to the sofa so he could lay him out and begin sliding on the lingerie. They were good quality items, tailored to Chris’ body type, emphasising the best parts of him. They had set him back a few hundred dollars, but they were well worth the cost.
He sat down on the edge of a sofa to start with the stockings, dragging them up Chris’ long, pretty legs. Chris was built like a woman in that regard, so soft around the thighs when relaxed. The sheer fabric looked perfect wrapped around them, the material stretched thin and gleaming under the overhead light. Zeno took a moment to slide his palms up either leg before moving on to the next article of clothing.
The panties. The fabric was just as sheer as the stockings, hiding little as he pulled them tight around Chris’ hips and over the swell of his cock. He would have liked to cage it… but another time, perhaps; it would only cause Chris pain if he tried to put a cage on while the man was half-hard. It was usually something they needed to do before anything else to ensure he fit into the device.
He snapped the waistband of the panties against Chris’ hip with a finger, smiling when Chris jumped. The floral patterns on it were a pleasant contrast with Chris’ masculinity. He was soft and pretty like this, but the contradiction of it appealed to Zeno just as much. A powerful, masculine man with a body carefully cultivated for combat cradled in delicate lingerie.
Over the panties, he pulled on a garter belt just as delicate and pretty as the rest of the ensemble. He clipped the ends to the stockings, ensuring they wouldn’t inch gradually down Chris’ legs as he sat at Zeno’s feet tonight. That had been an issue in the past, before Zeno had bought them a few sets of garter belts to use with the stockings.
The brazier was next. There was enough of a swell on Chris’ chest for them to function as intended, cupping his pecs instead of lying flat like they would on a less endowed man. Zeno clipped them into place and stepped back to admire how perfectly they cradled Chris’ chest. He’d purchased the push-up kind, so they made his pecs look even more ample.
“You’ve lost a little definition since last time,” he murmured, looking Chris up and down. Perhaps stress-induced weight loss again. “Everything still fits you perfectly, but do try not to deviate too much.”
Chris looked meaningfully up at him, eyes framed by his dark lashes. Zeno couldn’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of one of those eyes.
“Last thing,” he murmured, speaking against Chris’ skin. “The arm gloves now, then I want you to kneel on the floor next to my chair.”
With that, he picked up the final article of clothing and gently took one of Chris’ hands in his own. Threading them onto his arms was easy enough. The fingers, less so, requiring some fiddling before Chris' fingers slid neatly into the holes. Once that was done, he stepped back to admire his work.
Chris looked like a vision like this. The lingerie did nothing to diminish the sheer size of him, and the contrast with it demanded greater interest. It was black lace stretched over a broad body built for violence, delicate satin fabric embracing heavy muscle and sun-warmed skin. Chris had forged his body into a weapon against the very thing Zeno was, yet he so willingly dressed it in delicate lace just for him.
Zeno let his gaze travel slowly over Chris, unhurried and openly appreciative. It was an intoxicating sight. No matter how many times he was exposed to it, he never grew tired of seeing Chris like this. He was lucky indeed to have a long night ahead of him of admiring this beautiful man.
He returned to his armchair and lit himself a fresh cigarette. Chris was quick to join him there, folding himself at his feet and leaning his chin on Zeno’s thigh, making himself comfortable. Zeno spent a moment just threading his fingers through Chris’ hair, petting him, dragging his gloved fingers over Chris’ scalp. Like stroking a dog. Chris responded with a gentle, appreciative hum and moulded himself against the foot of the chair, draping himself as far as possible over Zeno. A little over-eager for a doll, but Zeno would permit it.
“Open,” said Zeno quietly. To his delight, Chris didn’t hesitate to part his lips in offering. “Put your tongue out for me.” Chris did this too, sticking it out and looking up at Zeno expectantly.
Perhaps he thought Zeno was going to put his cock there. That generally was what Zeno would do. But he wanted to try something different tonight. He’d neglected to put an ashtray within easy reach for a reason.
Without a word of warning, he hovered the end of his cigarette over Chris’ mouth and tapped the end, sending the still-embering ashes spilling onto Chris’ tongue. They must have stung a little, since Chris flinched, but he didn’t try to pull away or spit them out.
“Swallow,” said Zeno.
Chris’ tongue slid back in. He swallowed, throat bobbing, forcing the ashes of Zeno’s cigarette down his oesophagus.
“I hope you appreciate me sharing these with you, doll,” said Zeno in a purr. “They’re seventy-five a pack. Exceptional quality, with an aftertaste like no other.” His fingers resumed their steady petting of Chris’ hair. “Not like those cheap sticks you buy from Walgreens.”
Since he was a doll, Chris said nothing, just looked up at Zeno through his eyelashes, his mouth still working to swallow any lingering fragments of cigarette. The taste must not have been overly unpleasant if he wasn’t grimacing while doing it.
“Now then,” he said, pushing the cigarette back between his lips and reaching over the side of the chair to retrieve his suitcase. He withdrew his laptop from it. “Hold the bottom for me.”
Chris obediently slid his arms onto Zeno’s lap to be used as support. Zeno carefully placed the laptop on them, smiling at Chris over the screen.
“I have some reports to write,” he said, pressing the power switch. “Try not to shake while I work this time. I know your arms get tired, but you want to be good for me, don’t you? And dolls don’t shake, Chris. Or whine.”
Chris did let out a little whimper, though. Also not something dolls did, but it was arousing enough for Zeno to ignore.
He gave Chris' hair one last, sweeping pet before turning his attention to the screen and the reports splashed across it. He had two to write before the end of the night, and some emails to review and respond to. But that was alright. The night would go fast with Chris draped over his lap, serving as his willing ashtray and incredibly attractive laptop support, a doll waiting for him to finish so he could spread them out on the bed and use them until both their bodies gave out.