Work Text:
There isn’t much privacy in the compound where Team Alpha and Beta are held between missions. Even Wesker, the head of the team, has to share a room. The obvious roommate was Chris, his point man, but each day that goes by, he further regrets the decision to suggest they share the cramped room.
This man cares nothing for privacy. Wesker, though not shy, has some decency about him. When he showers, he takes a new set of clothes with him into the bathroom so that he doesn’t have to change in the bedroom, risking inconveniencing Chris by locking him out until he is dressed or risking exposing himself by leaving the door unlocked, because Chris doesn’t knock.
Chris? The team is lucky if he even takes a towel into the bathroom. He’s so comfortable with his own nakedness that it’s not unusual for him to walk, dripping wet and completely naked, into his and Wesker’s room to get dressed.
It’s infuriating. Wesker is supposed to be above petty attraction, but he has to admit that Chris’ body has responded exceptionally to years of military service. He’s not supposed to feel anything for his teammates, nothing that might get in the way of his ultimate goal, but he’d be lying if he said that Chris’ booming, overly-confident personality hasn’t captured his attention. And certainly, he is not supposed to be sexually attracted to his inferiors. On a professional level, it’s just not a good look. It does him no favors for the underlying mission to get tied up in sexual feelings; it’s too messy.
However, much to his chagrin, Wesker is still human. His body still responds to visual input as any other human would.
So when Chris barges into their shared bedroom, naked and wet from the shower, Wesker indulges in a peek from behind his book. Chris’ back and shoulders are broad, toned from the consistent training he’s been receiving for years. His ass is… perfect. For all of the knowledge he’s gained in his lifetime and the vast vocabulary he holds, it’s the only word Wesker can use to describe it.
Chris is pulling on a pair of underwear, his body turning incrementally toward Wesker. Normally this is where Wesker looks away, turns his attention back to his reading, or at least pretends to until Chris leaves the room and he can get his thoughts under control. But he’s feeling a little brave, and maybe a little hungry for this area of humanity he rarely allows himself, and he continues to watch.
Even for being soft, Chris’ cock is sizable, with a length and girth proportional to his large body. He’s cut, his pink glans visible until black boxers steal the view away. Wesker swallows, deciding to mentally document the way Chris’ flaccid cock looks in his underwear before returning to the dry contents of his book.
“See something you like?” Chris asks as he pulls a flannel shirt around his shoulders, his smile going wider with each button fastened.
Ah, shit. “If you think you’re impressing anyone with that display, you’re dumber than I thought.” He tries to play it off by returning his gaze to the pages before him, pretending to be more interested in their scientific contents than he is in the biological contents of Chris’ boxers.
Chris approaches Wesker, lying on the bottom bunk of their bed with one ankle crossed over the other and sporting a very obvious stiffy in his leather pants. He looks at the obscured flesh and back to Wesker’s face, smirking. “I’m certainly impressing someone.”
Groaning internally, Wesker doesn’t move his eyes from his book. He files away the idea of castration as a means of keeping future male subjects on task. “The human reproductive system reacts to visual stimulation the way an empty stomach reacts to the sight of food. Involuntarily.”
“So,” Chris says slowly, “Your body is hungry for some meat, then?”
Wesker scoffs, fully ignoring Chris. Even if he were right, which he’s not, Wesker wouldn’t succumb to such base desires after seeing a single naked man one time. Though, he supposes, Chris isn’t just any man. He’s one of the best marksmen Wesker has ever worked with, holds considerable strength for an unaltered human, and frankly, has a personality that is so annoying and charming that Wesker thinks he might actually consider him something of a friend.
Also, it’s not like this is the first time he’s seen Chris’ naked body. This is an ongoing situation, Chris disregarding personal privacy and exposing himself carelessly. He’s not reacting to seeing Chris naked for the first time, he’s reacting to weeks of peeking at Chris’ exposed flesh, feeling the buzz of arousal start to shake within him, and looking away to compose himself. He’s not supposed to feel like this, attracted to another person, aroused and wishing to act on it. A warm hand grabbing his erection through his pants makes him stifle a gasp.
“I think my body’s hungry for some meat, too,” Chris says through an impish smile, pulling down Wesker’s zipper. “Mind if I have a taste?”
Tearing his eyes away from his book to look at Chris’ underwear, he is, indeed, growing hard inside them. He prints clearly through the fabric, growing substantially and making Wesker swallow back the urge to beat Chris to the punch, to take the half-hard flesh into his mouth and suck that grandiose look off his face. Chris’s cock isn’t even fully hard and Wesker can see that it is bigger than his own, and the knowledge threatens to swallow his resolve. He makes a dismissive sound, one that he secretly hopes Chris takes as a show of consent.
Kneeling beside the bed and opening the button of Wesker’s pants, Chris tugs them down far enough to free his erection and grabs the base of his cock. He looks to his face and is met with the sight of a hardcover book, held tight at either side by delicate fingers. Chris rolls his eyes and takes a broad lick at his glans, pleased to feel Wesker’s hips flex in response. He can already taste the salty ooze of precum on his tongue, Wesker’s body responding affirmatively even if he’s too proud to admit it.
Chris’ mouth envelopes the entirety of his cock in one go, pushing static up Wesker’s spine. He sighs lowly when Chris descends into a rough pace, the head of his cock squeezing into the back of his throat in a way that must be making it tough for Chris to breathe. Wesker peeks at Chris’ face, tinged pink with effort. His eyes are smug, staring at him hotly and rising to take in a gulp of air. Retreating from the sight as he dives back down, Wesker takes a sharp breath when Chris dips his fingers beneath his balls to rub at his perineum.
Wesker squirms in a way he hopes isn’t obvious, heat rising from his cock all the way up to his cheeks at the thought of how this must look. Years of being taught to conceal his emotions, to hold a permanent poker face under high-stress situations, didn’t give him the grace of muted sexual sensation. He’s laying here like some sex-starved fool, relenting to desires for his partner that he shouldn’t be having in the first place, much less allowing to be discovered and acted upon. But Christ, it’s incredible. He parts his lips to take a shuddering breath, a soft noise escaping him on the exhale before he clams up. He can feel Chris’ stupid mouth turn upward around the base of his cock.
Pulling away from Wesker’s erection with a lewd pop, Chris looks at the textbook that he would like to pass as his face. “Wesker, look at me.”
“No.” Absolutely not. He’s already going to have to find a way to regain Chris’ respect after this, after he’s allowed himself to show this weakness. He’s not going to let Chris see what he looks like when he orgasms. That’s where he draws the line.
“God, you’re impossible,” Chris jeers, plucking the book from Wesker’s tight grip and tossing it carelessly across the room. He finds Wesker’s sunglasses resting on his chest, previously hidden, and chucks those away as well for good measure. “There, was that so bad?”
Not given time to respond, Wesker watches Chris take a wide lick of his cock from base to tip, brown eyes burning into him as he sinks down the heated flesh. Without the filter of scholarly paragraphs to hide the sight, Wesker is forced to watch Chris’ movements instead. He makes choking on a cock look easy, occasionally gagging on the nadir of his mouth without breaking eye contact. Even with tears budding at the corners of his eyes, Chris looks like he’s in control, and that eats Wesker up in a way that he’s sure is dangerous. He’s supposed to be the one in control, and he definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it so much when he’s not.
This is far from the first blow job he’s received. He and Birkin were inseparable during their time together, each finding any opportunity to slip beneath the desk while the other was supposed to be doing research. It was easy at the time, to drop the façade of coldness and allow William’s soft mouth and softer kisses to swallow him up. Whether it was his youth or the fact that William was his first isn’t relevant, because after that fell apart, Wesker has been much more careful about who he beds.
From then on, sex became a function only indulged in out of necessity. He vowed to remain stoic, calculated, only giving the bare minimum of himself over to the action if he could get something out of it. As it turns out, world leaders are much more pliant when one of you has a cock up the other’s ass, and Wesker would happily play along to that end.
This? His fingers gripping pathetically at the sheets over some head? From one of his shithead inferiors, no less? This is not the way he does things. But here he is, eyelids fluttering as heat coils behind his cock. His head finally falls back when his body squeezes tight around his upcoming orgasm, his chest clamping down on a would-be moan in a final, desperate attempt to keep hold of his pride. It’s dashed against the rocks when Chris pulls off abruptly, drawing a quiet whine out of him.
“Hey,” Chris says abrasively, squeezing uncomfortably tight around the base of Wesker’s twitching cock. “Are you going to suck me off, too?”
Wesker tries to scoff, but it sounds closer to a whimper. “Not on your life.”
Chris cracks a smile, releasing Wesker’s cock to stand and stuffing an arm into his pillowcase. He produces a small bottle of lube, placing it firmly on Wesker’s chest and shucking off his leather pants. “I didn’t think you would. Top or bottom?”
Wesker stammers. He’s not sure where Chris got the idea that sex is the logical alternative to the other party not being willing to give head, but he’s also not fighting when Chris slots between his naked legs, unbuttoning the shirt he put on only minutes before. He eyes the lube on his chest, gathering himself enough to spit, “You keep that in here?” The sly grin he’s given in response makes his stomach flip and Jesus, he can’t believe this overgrown frat boy is actually doing it for him.
“I USE this in here. Usually, while you’re asleep.” Chris grabs the bottle and dribbles cold lube onto his middle and ring fingers, choosing on Wesker’s behalf since he won’t verbalize a preference. “Usually. Sometimes you’re awake, reading or whatever.”
To his horror, Wesker blushes. The mental image of his point man fingering himself just over his head, with no regard for his own dignity and seemingly no shame about it, has his cock flexing on its own accord, producing a new bead of precum at his slit. As much as Chris’ exhibitionist qualities light him up inside, it’s not what he wants to be, and he shifts his eyes to check the door, unlocked and ajar. Dammit.
“Lock the door?” Wesker murmurs as Chris’ hand disappears between them. He half expects Chris to blow past this boundary, but he doesn’t, pausing to look back at the door and graciously rising to do as he’s asked.
Chris returns, patting Wesker’s thigh reassuringly and running his lubed fingers over his entrance. The response is immediate, Wesker’s body jolting as if his slick fingers were electrified. Chris watches his face for discomfort as he presses both fingers into him and finds none, the only change being that of his eyebrows knitting together and his lips parting. A soft noise emanating from Wesker’s mouth has Chris’ hand pressing against the tent in his underwear, his cock so eager to fuck him that it almost hurts.
Experienced fingers hook into the flesh of his prostate and Wesker buckles down, refusing to even breathe for fear of embarrassing himself. This is ridiculous. He hasn’t felt the need to make noise during sex in years, he thought he left that behind in the lab with William, crying out like an idiot because of a basic human function. It’s been much easier to stay quiet for sex between then and now. He can’t even remember the last time he was prepped, and the sting of spit-slick sex dampens any pleasure so much that keeping a level head is simple. He rarely even finished, which was just as well for anyone he brought to bed.
But deceptively gentle fingers make it clear that Chris wants him to enjoy himself. That self-satisfied expression aside, Wesker knows that Chris isn’t doing this for some kind of power grab. He’s not looking for political gain or making a ham-fisted attempt to fuck top-secret information out of him. Chris is only here for the sex, and God dammit, Wesker is, too.
Another croak of pleasure escapes him when he finally has to release the breath he was holding to take a new one, and he’s surprised to hear Chris respond with a soft noise of his own. He lifts his head to look, Chris’ underwear shoved down to the middle of his thighs so he can stroke himself as he thrusts his fingers. Chris’ face is flushed, his eyes darting between Wesker’s stretched hole and his face. He’s not thinking about anything else. He’s able to just dive in, his pride completely separate from this aspect of his behavior. A particularly well-placed pull of Chris’ fingers forces the air from Wesker’s lungs, and he’s unable to resist pushing his hips into the sensation.
“Ready?” Chris asks, voice dripping with desire. Wesker, brimming with stamped-down noises and clinging to the bedsheets for dear life, might be the hottest thing Chris has ever seen. He’s pressing his lubed-up cock into Wesker’s body as soon as he receives a hungry nod, sticky fingers holding onto his hip while the other wanders up his stomach and under his white t-shirt to grab his chest.
The bulk of Chris’ weight resting on top of him is a turn-on in and of itself. Wesker’s body being forced down into the mattress, the solid rock of Chris’ hips rattling the bed frame, his cock squeezed perfectly against his prostate and igniting hot sparks with each pass. It’s so much input at once that even Wesker, trained from birth to keep his eyes on the mission and not falter, starts to lose the plot. His hands, which up to this point have been dutifully holding tight to the sheets, finally let go to feel at Chris’ chest. He’s hot to the touch, skin damp with sweat and heart pounding beneath his right palm.
Wesker realizes vacantly that he’s fully lost the fight with his vocal cords, crying out at each apex of Chris’ hips. It's humiliating, and he knows that he will lose face in Chris’ eyes because of his inability to remain on top of the encounter, but Chris’ hand moves from his hip to grab him by the hair at the back of his head and oh, Christ, he tilts his hips for a new angle and Wesker sobs reverently. It’s the best thing he’s felt in years, and every past denial of pleasure seems to spill out of his throat and land shamefully between their bodies.
“Wesker,” Chris huffs, keeping his grip on Wesker’s hair as he rests his weight on his forearm beside his chest. His thrusts are short and rough, the top bunk whacking the wall with their rhythm, though he’s losing it fast. “You sound so fucking pretty, God.”
Momentarily shut up by Chris’ lips crushing into his, the motion more of teeth clicking together and swallowing each other’s sounds than of kissing, Wesker shudders at the compliment. He knows Chris means it, he has no reason to make it up and is too far gone himself to come up with fake flattery even if he wanted to. Chris’ hand releases his hair to squeeze between their bodies, stroking his cock in time with his ragged thrusts.
“Close.” Chris swallows thickly, ducking his face into Wesker’s neck and taking an experimental nip at the skin. It inspires a new chorus of praise from his captain and he leans into it, sucking hard at the salty skin until he feels Wesker’s shaky arms snake around him to grasp at his shoulder blades. He’s doing his very best not to spill over the edge first, though based on Wesker’s body going tight around his cock and his noises petering out completely, he’s pretty sure he will be able to make it. “C’mon, come for me. Lemme hear what you sound like. Fuck, Wesker-!”
Wesker feels Chris’ harsh breaths against his ear, he knows he’s trying to tell him something, but the blood boiling in his ears is too loud for him to hear anything else. His heels dig into the back of Chris’ thighs and his hips pitch into Chris’ hand without his permission. He tumbles over the threshold of his orgasm with a clamorous sob, hot bursts of his emission striping his stomach and chest.
Feeling Wesker’s cock spasm in his hand, hearing the way he cries out as if this is the best thing he’s ever felt, is all Chris can stand before his hips stutter and he shouts hoarsely into Wesker’s neck. He slams his hips forward a final time, each pulse of his release crowding around his head inside Wesker’s body.
They lie there, openly panting as Chris crumples on top of Wesker and his softening cock slips out of him. Wesker is the first to move, dispassionately pushing Chris off of him so that he stands beside the bed, wobbly kneed and cock still tacky with lube and come. His pompous smirk is back in full force as he pulls up his boxers and grabs his shirt off the floor.
“Full?” Chris asks, pulling on his shirt and leaving it open as he searches his drawer for a pair of pants.
“…What?”
“You said your body was hungry for meat.” Chris drags a pair of blue jeans up his thighs. “Are you full now?”
“Jesus Christ, Redfield.” Wesker does his best to be indignant as he pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe the evidence of his distraction from his stomach.
“Here,” Chris says softly, offering Wesker his book and glasses from the floor. He hesitates, eventually murmuring, “I really liked that.”
“I’m sure you did.” He wants to sound level, but he knows he missed the mark. A strong hand grabs him by the jaw, turning his face to look at the earnest expression on Chris’ face.
“C’mon, don’t do me like this.” Chris presses a soft kiss into Wesker’s lips, letting him go and buttoning his shirt. “You’re a heartless bastard and you’re above romantic relationships, whatever. That’s fine if you wanna be that way. Just…”
When words fail Chris, the look on his face speaks for him. Wesker opens and closes his mouth, the words finally surfacing. “I’m not going anywhere, for now. So, if you find yourself… hungry, again, you know where I am.” He drags Chris down by the hem of his shirt, his cold eyes betrayed by the warm kiss they share before he pushes Chris away. “Now get the hell out. You got that report finished for me, yet?”
Chris turns on his heel and brushes out of the room, pulling the door closed as he says, “Huh? What? Sorry didn’t catch that, see ya later!”
Sighing heavily, Wesker pulls up his pants and buttons them. He thumbs through the pages of his book to find where he was interrupted, though he’s so distracted that he wouldn’t know it if he saw the correct page. This is… not part of the plan. Not at all. Chris Redfield is nothing. He’s a grunt aiding Wesker on his way to his ultimate goal… and he thinks he might be in love with him.
Shit.