Chapter Text
It was obvious who picked out the pet bed, as it was the only object in his office with actual color to it. All other upholstery was black leather, and any wood was a black walnut with a rich, midnight stain to it. You looked online together, and the fact he didn't recoil when you pointed at the pastel bed on screen was a testament to his unspoken care for you. Technically, it was meant for giant dog breeds, but it fit well underneath Wesker's desk and was composed of a thick, comfy memory foam pad that made it perfect for your purposes.
You lay curled at his feet, a content smile on your face as you listened to his rhythmic keystrokes. A hand came down to pat his inner thigh, and you knew what he was requesting. You rose to your hands and knees in bed, leaning to rest your cheek against his leg. He stroked your hair with one hand as the other continued to work, although he paused here and there to type. Each time he stopped you fought back a whine, knowing by now it would serve to get you in trouble rather than more of the soothing touches you craved. Wesker rested a hand on your cheek as he gazed down on you—so cozy beneath him. Your head felt light and fuzzy, kept grounded by the coolness from his glove.
"Someone has gotten quite comfortable as my pet. Isn't that right, dear?" He muses, both pleased with you and teasing. You give a lazy nod in affirmation, the idea of stringing together words seeming near impossible at the moment. If someone told you months ago you'd end up as Wesker's mindless pet, you would have looked at them like they had three heads. But now it felt so normal, so natural, you couldn't imagine living without this. You had dabbled in the world of BDSM long before meeting him, but never found someone capable of pulling out submission to this extent. The desire for it was lurking inside you, a need to be taken care of and controlled, and he was the one to recognize and nurture that need.
It was hard not to wonder what people would think if they found out about your…bond. There wasn't a relationship, not formally at least, and still it was the deepest connection to someone you had yet to experience. You assumed he had similar feelings to yours, that trying to have a conversation about what all of this made you would feel too real. This was an escape for you both, play, something kept outside of your day-to-day lives; blind to how often those worlds already collided when you were together during work hours. Still, you silently hoped there could be…more to this somehow, though you never allowed yourself to entertain the thought for long.
A knock came at the door as he carded through your hair.
"Come in." He clips, pushing forward in his chair to ensure you're concealed under the desk.
"I'm looking for your fellow, I was promised an extra set of eyes on my undergrads." You recognize the voice as Dr. Birkin, a close colleague of Wesker and one of the few people that doesn't seem about to jump out of their skin when addressed by him. Granted, his reputation proceeded him in a similar fashion to your boss, so it was somewhat natural the two would get along in their own, bickery way.
"I'm not sure why you even entertain children in your laboratory, more of a hazard than a help." Wesker responds casually. "And as for my functional, competent fellow, I will send them your way when I see them next."
"My students are twenty, Albert, and they're only a hazard for their first month or so; then they will also be perfectly functional and competent in their own rights. Until that point someone needs to supervise them, though, and I suppose that will be me for the time being. I thought your postdoc would be in here, they're glued to your damn hip most of the time." Birkin grumbles and you hear the door click closed. Wesker rises to lock the door behind him and turns on the noise machine next to it, returning to his seat with a huff.
He's pushed into you, crowding the limited space under the desk. His legs are set wide, elbow resting on the arm of his chair as he rubs his jaw, glowering down at you. "I thought you were more loyal than to hand yourself over to someone else without at least bothering to tell me." He says, cool and unreadable. It's obvious he's upset with you, but the severity of his discontent—and by extension your punishment—he kept concealed. "Speak."
"I just thought it would be a nice thing to do. Take something off his plate and I get to comb through my emails for a while." You had agreed without a second thought when Dr. Birkin asked, not anticipating Wesker also wanting your presence around that time. Once you were in his possession your mind fell away, losing track of your responsibilities and the passing hours.
"And yet here you are, neglecting your commitment in favor of being my sweet, stupid little pet. I'm not sure which to punish you for first; how unfaithful or how careless you've been. You should know by now both are unacceptable." His disappointment stings, making your cheeks flush as you lower your gaze from his in shame.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I d-didn't even think about it like that I just wanted to—to help." You mutter. Regret pours off of you, and you swear the room that was just a warm, cozy haven has dropped twenty degrees. He lets you sit in the pool of your own guilt as he decides how to proceed.
"Just wanted to help, hmm?" He grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, raising your head to force you to meet his shrouded eyes. "Would you prefer to be out there, helping Dr. Birkin? Or in here, under my ownership?"
"W-with you, Sir! Always with you!" You rush out.
"Prove it." He spits, jamming his dress shoe between your legs; the force of it causes you to whine out in pain and he laughs from above. You do as instructed and begin grinding against him, palms resting on his knee for support, but your hands are swatted away within seconds. "Did I say you could touch me? Such a naughty rabbit today—hands behind your back, touch me again and they will be bound with my belt."
"S-sorry, Sir." You mutter and clasp your hands behind you as you continue to rut against him, slickness managing to leak through the fabric of your pants.
"Look at that fucking mess." Wesker pokes his oxford into you, pulling another whimper from your throat and nearly causing you to reach out to stabilize yourself against his leg. The embarrassment mixes with the pleasure and pain into a delicious trance, and you're close to the edge in a matter of minutes.
"I-I'm gonna cum, Sir. Please, may I?" You plead, peeking up at him with a glassy, faraway look on your face. His shoe is ripped away, leaving you to peter off the precipice as he pushes back in his chair to stand.
"Up. Hands on the end of the desk, bend over and spread your legs." He commands, not bothering to even tell you "no". You do as he says, but can't help the pout and grumbles on your lips at being denied. Wesker has no patience for such an attitude, giving your ass a harsh spank and pulling your hair into a tight fist. "Do you believe you have the right to complain, brat? Nod, that filthy mouth has lost speaking privileges." His voice is harsh, aggravation evident. You keep your lips sealed and shake your head; of course you shouldn't complain, his attention and correction is an honor.
Your pants and underwear are pulled down in one smooth motion, and you hear the unbuckling of his belt behind you. Wesker wastes no time prodding at your entrance with his tip, coating himself in the wetness left from the show you put on for him moments ago. He pushes in to the hilt and begins with long, slow thrusts, savoring how you pulse around his length. The hand returns to your hair, arching you back as he leans into your ear.
"Your hands do not move from that desk without my instruction; keep yourself quiet or I will make you quiet; don't you dare cum unless I give the order. Do you understand these rules?" You nod again, as your right to speak is still revoked. "Good pet." His pace shifts from languid to brutal with your acknowledgement, a firm grip kept on your hair and hip for leverage. "You are mine. Your time, your help, your body, your mind, it is all mine. I own every aspect of who you are, because you can't be trusted not to loan off your precious self to fools like William."
Wait is he, like, actually jealous I was going to spend time in Dr. Birkin's lab? There was the briefest confirmation that neither of you would be sleeping with others when the mandatory condom conversation happened, but you never realized just how possessive Wesker had become over you beyond that. Not that you were complaining after worrying for weeks about whether you allowed yourself to get too attached.
His thrusts become erratic and desperate, and he groans into your ear, "Gonna fill you up, my darling little pet. Claim you. Mark you. All mine." He continues to chant about how you belong to him as he finishes, lifting one of your legs to bury himself as deep as he could manage and you feel a familiar warm fullness in your core. You were painfully close to finishing, biting the inside of your cheek and mustering all your might to stave it off—he never did give you permission. Wesker doesn't move for a full minute, breathing heavy behind you as he recovers his wits. You hear a drawer open as he's still inside you, and when he pulls out you feel a cold, metal plug replace him. "Keep every drop in, my reminder of who owns you for the rest of the day. Come back to my office to have it removed before you leave."
He kisses the small of your back as he pulls your pants back up, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs. "You've made a commitment, dear. I suggest you not keep Dr. Birkin waiting any longer." He shoos you away from the desk, sitting down and opening his laptop to work. You are desperate to know if he'll let you finish this evening, but asking will guarantee the answer is no. "Oh, and I suppose I better let you speak again, dear. Don't want anyone asking why you've taken a sudden oath of silence now, do we?" He muses, tone lighter than it was when he was scolding and commanding you.
"No, Sir, of course not. Thank you." You grab your bag and exit, giddiness bubbling up inside you despite the harsh treatment you just received. Wesker had been possessive since the start, but jealousy was new on him, and you liked it. Mixed with all his degradation was the clear message that he saw you as a treasure in need of guarding—something he refused to lose hold of for even a moment.
You returned to him in the evening as instructed. The office was dim as the sun hung low in the sky, warm lamp light mixing with his cold computer screen. "Hello there, dear. How was babysitting?" He asks.
"Was fine, boring but at least no one poured horrible acids on themselves or others." This earns a warm chuckle from low in his throat, and you smile in return.
"Do you have plans this evening?" He closes his laptop, standing to pack his bag.
"Just TV and frozen pizza, I'm way too tired to cook." You waited as he got ready, wondering when he planned to remove the plug as he put on his coat to leave.
"Come to dinner with me." It's thrown out like a typical progression of your end of day chats, but the request—no, order—hits you like a truck. You notice even with the sunglasses on, his gaze is focused downwards on his jacket buttons rather than your face. Is he…nervous I'll say no?
"O-oh, like, now?" You stutter, finding it a bit hard to believe the ask.
"Yes 'like now', frozen pizza is hardly edible, much less an adequate meal. Besides, you were stolen from me for most of the day—I'm owed your presence." Oh my god, he missed me. He looks at you now, removing his sunglasses so his cold eyes could meet yours uninhibited. His expression was otherwise neutral, but you could feel in the way he scanned your face and body language that he needed the answer to be yes.
"You paying?" You poke, noticing as his shoulders drop in relief.
"I suppose it's only right, I made the offer and have a much higher salary." His voice is soft, the tension dissipating as you returned to your usual, easy rhythm together.
"Deal." You breathe, trying to contain your excitement
Wesker brings you to a restaurant so far out of your price range, you didn't know it existed. You weren't sure how it was in his price range given the typical pay of even a tenured professor—not that you dared to question it. The food and evening together are both exquisite, and when you're finished Wesker escorts you to your car with an arm slotted around your waist.
"Thank you for dinner, and…well, everything you've done for me." You say, leaning back against the hood.
"You don't need to thank me, dearest. I thought I made it clear how I've come to adore our time together. Hell, I allow that pastel monstrosity of a bed in my office to keep you close—thank me for that." He cradles your cheek in his palm, leaning down to place a claiming kiss against your mouth. "Be safe, love." He whispers a breath away from you, turning on his heel to return to his own vehicle as you stood frozen, lips searing and heart fluttering.