Annexation

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Resident Evil or any of the characters used, and am not profiting from this piece of fan fiction.

First up, I’d like to thank parodialviruses, erica and Maiafay for their reviews on my other one-shot that made me pluck up the courage to write this piece. Constructive criticism welcomed and encouraged.

Pairings: Saddler/Mendez

***

The congregation sat in revered silence, gazing at the priest as he gave his speech. They drank in every word he said, repeating certain phrases with enthusiasm. The only colours present were the purple of the priest’s robes, and an insignia puzzle on the wall behind him. Like all old stone buildings, it was cold in the church. The villagers huddled together on the pews, shivering and breathing out misty clouds.

Bitores Mendez sat in the first row of pews, both eyes trained upon the pacing figure of Lord Saddler. It was hard to concentrate for him, being only a few months since he was sat here with his wife and two sons. Memories of his beloved Maria flooded back, and he found himself recalling the night she died. Walking on the slippery planks near the church in the freezing rain, as he’d told her before, was dangerous. One foot wrongly placed was all it took, and she never made the rest of the journey home.

The boys had been distraught when he told them. Adriano, at eleven years old, seemed unable to cope. He sat in his room for a week, refusing to eat or see his father or eight year old brother. Diego seemed more upset by his brother’s behaviour than his mother’s death, but he and Bitores always seemed to take each other’s mind off the cruel and unsympathetic world they suddenly found themselves thrust into.

The worshippers started their last prayer, heads bowed and eyes closed, the only sound being Lord Saddler’s charismatic voice echoing off the walls. Bitores kept his eyes open, watching the purple robed man stand beside the altar, grasping his staff with a clawed hand. Saddler met his gaze and grinned; pale eyes staring into his soul. Bitores inclined his head, staring at his entwined hands. His wedding ring still glittered on the third finger, but he was trying to avoid taking it off. Infected a few days ago with Las Plagas, he winced as he felt the parasite squirm within him. At least the pain was not as bad as yesterday; he had scared the children by thrashing on the floor, convinced that the pain alone would kill him.

The villagers got up to leave, Bitores still sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench, stroking the ring lightly with his forefinger. He heard footsteps approach, the stone floor making them sound hollow and ominous. Lord Saddler stopped in front of him, and for once Bitores had to look up at another person. Saddler reached out a hand and trailed his nails down the side of the face in front of him. He then clasped one of Bitores’ giant hands, and hauled the bigger man to his feet.

Bitores watched as Saddler appraised him coolly; pushing the hood on his robe back. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight in contrast to his pallid complexion, and the visible black veins running through his hands seemed to alternate between lying just below the skin or being raised from it.

Saddler turned to the altar, seemingly taking interest in the mounted Illuminados insignia. Bitores took a few steps forward, stopping just short of where the priest stood.

“We have a problem, Bitores.”

The gigantic man frowned, eyes narrowing.

“My Lord, I thought everything was going to plan?”

Saddler glanced back at him, and then upwards to where the insignia shone, surrounded by colour.

“There is a small flaw, but it can be fixed with your help. We must cast out the weak, Bitores. Those who cannot sustain a Plaga within their bodies.”

Bitores maintained his frown, trying to grasp what Saddler wanted.

“I am…not sure I understand, my Lord…”

Saddler turned abruptly, fixing his subordinate with a challenging eye. He spoke his next words slowly, as if testing Bitores’ reaction.

“The children.”

Bitores managed to keep an indifferent look upon his face, but all the while struggling to contain his emotions and fighting the urge to hit Saddler. His thoughts suddenly flew to his sons; they would be waiting for him at the house, waiting for him to come home and cook dinner. Dammit, he would not see his children die before him; he couldn’t let Saddler do this!

The priest turned around again, facing the altar.

“They are a liability, and we cannot afford to have them around whilst we put our plan into action.”

Bitores’ hand reached for the nearest blunt object, a candlestick holder, intent on smashing it into Saddler’s head. The older man continued talking, unaware that his minion was slowly raising the weapon behind him.

“Del Lago needs to be fed more than it currently is, and Salazar is always complaining about sacrificing his monks to the Novistador. This way, we can solve lots of difficulties we have.

“I think disposing of all those under the age of eighteen seems reasonable, don’t you-” Saddler was cut short by Bitores’ cry of anger, followed shortly by the metal candlestick holder connecting with the side of his head. He was thrown off his feet by the force and crashed into a nearby table, blood flying from the wound. Bitores shook as he watched Saddler fall to the floor, red blood from his head trickling onto the purple material of his robes.

The priest lay face down, blood running through his hair. His staff lay on the floor, the Plaga on top wriggling furiously and lashing out with its tentacles. Bitores felt hate course through him. Hate for these parasitic bastards, hate for the one growing inside him. But mostly, he felt hate for Saddler. Not only had he tricked him, he was now giving out death sentences. If he didn’t end this now, the immoral priest would give the order to kill his children, and the children of the other villagers.

A strong sense of duty to protect the village on his mind, Bitores gripped the lump of metal tightly. Saddler was stirring, a twisted growl immediately issuing from his mouth. He stood, and faced Bitores. Blood ran down the sides of his face and, combined with his furious expression, made him look deranged. He lunged forward with shocking speed, hurtling straight into the taller man and knocking him to the ground. Bitores tried desperately to bring his blunt weapon once again into Saddler’s head, but was stopped when the priest squeezed his wrist painfully, making him instinctively drop it.

Despite being taller than Saddler, the older man’s Plaga had made him much stronger, and he was able to quite easily hoist Bitores’ hands above his head while straddling him, effectively pinning the giant. He snarled viciously, letting Bitores know in the most primitive way that he was NOT pleased. Bitores swallowed nervously, but met his gaze. Head wound healing quickly, Saddler brought one of his hands down, giving the man underneath him a brutal punch on the side of his face.

Bitores gasped from the pain, his vision blurring for a moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt hot breath on his cheek. Saddler dipped his head, brushing his lips against Bitores’ ear.

“Your Plaga has not yet had time to sway you to my way of thinking. Maybe I should hurry the process along a little, I cannot afford to waste time dealing with insolence from my subordinates.”

Bitores growled, trying vainly to throw Saddler off. Saddler stayed straddling him, and bent his head to his neck. Bitores felt a spilt-second of extreme panic, thinking that the priest was going to rip out his throat. A tongue trailed across his skin, followed by nipping teeth. He grunted in surprise, trying to lurch upwards as the hand that had previously abused his face started to undo the buttons on his heavy trench coat.

“What…what are you doing?”

Saddler ignored the question, finally opening the coat and slipping his hand under the shirt beneath. Bitores felt nails scrape against the soft skin of his stomach, trailing upwards to trace around a nipple. He squirmed once more, feeling slightly sickened as the priest leaned down so his lips were grazing his. Baring his teeth, Bitores tried to bite at Saddler’s taunting mouth, intent on drawing blood and making this sadistic fuck back off. However, the older man managed to bring his head up before Bitores made contact, and the giant was left snapping at air.

The priest cooed in Bitores’ ear as the man struggled, a hand finding his sensitive groin. The village chief froze as Saddler’s hand traced the bulge in his pants, rubbing up and down the material expertly.

“Don’t fight me, Bitores. It would only result in this being harder for you.”

“Dammit Saddler! O-Osmund, I don’t want to do this anymore! I don’t want to hurt anyone! Please, God, don’t do this to me!”

Saddler seemed to consider Bitores’ pleas for a moment; hand still stroking the growing swell thoughtfully. The tall man continued, tripping over his words as the priest’s fingers began to work at his belt.

“I didn’t know it – it would b-be like this! I - I thought I was helping them…I just wanted to…”

“Change the world?”

The belt was unbuckled and the buttons were undone.

“We change worlds every day, Bitores. Someone, something’s world. And now I’m going to change yours.”

The hand was plunged into his pants, gripping the erection there, immediately caressing and pulling the hot flesh. Bitores’ memories of his wife’s gentle touches and shy smiles were shattered at the commanding contact. His back arched, pressing his hips forward. Saddler left just one finger on the stiff length, trailing it through a drop of precome before bringing to Bitores’ mouth, smearing the liquid over his lips, encouraging him to lick it off. Rewarded by a tentative tongue flicking out, Saddler touched their mouths together, tasting the recently-acquired essence of the other man.

Bitores broke the kiss suddenly, the name of his wife whispered into the cold air. A brief pause later and Saddler yanked one of his captive’s hands down, ripping the ring from his finger and hurling it across the room. Bitores gave a howl of alarm, trying desperately to see where the ring had landed. Saddler stood; bringing Bitores up with a jerk. He dragged the giant along for a few steps before shoving him against the altar; the insignia and candles that adorned it swept carelessly onto the floor. Bitores watched helplessly as Saddler reached into his robes, bringing out a sharp, intricate dagger. Before he could react, his coat was thrown off his shoulders, landing on the floor with a rustle. Hands held firmly behind his back, he could not react as the dagger flashed, cutting through the thin material of his shirt and leaving shallow cuts on his skin. Saddler then ripped the now-bloody shirt melodramatically off Bitores, exposing a chest crossed with wounds. He pressed a hand to the chief’s heart, closing his eyes in concentration.

“I can feel it,” he murmured with eagerness, digging his nails into soft flesh.

Bitores said nothing, staring at his superior with fear. He sensed the Plaga wriggle; seemingly responding to Saddler’s unspoken command.

Looking down at a tugging sensation around his waist, Bitores saw his belt being passed around to behind him, Saddler’s arms now around his torso. He felt his hands being positioned, then the leather strap wrapping around them tightly, securing them in place.

Both hands now free, Saddler ran one down the blood-covered chest, claws scraping painfully over the open cuts he had made. Bitores trembled as the other hand predictably made its way into his open pants, resuming the stroking that had been interrupted earlier. He moaned loudly as Saddler proceeded to lick the bloody wounds on his chest, and then felt the Plaga echo his sentiment. As the rough tongue swiped a cut over his heart, Bitores felt the Plaga shiver, as if it were aroused as he currently was. With the resigned groan of a man who realises that he just can’t win, he shut his eyes, realising what this would mean for his sons. A tear crept to the corner of his eyes, unnoticed by the man currently using his teeth to widen the scratches on his skin.

Not enough…The phrase going through the minds of both, and their Plaga alike. Bitores’ boots, pants and underwear were hastily pulled off, and he was pushed to lie on the altar like a bloody sacrifice. Saddler then removed his robes, tossing them to the ground without a second thought. Bitores waited in fearful anticipation as Sadder moved between his legs, positioning them to his liking, and then leaned over the tall man, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on his lips.

Bitores felt something press against his entrance and he stifling a sob of defeat and fear. If Saddler wasn’t going to take the time to properly prepare him, then this would hurt.

Saddler pushed his hips forward with a sudden jerk, penetrating Bitores quickly, but also ripping fragile skin with the force of his thrust. Bitores yelled out as he was violated; the stinging ache of dominance burning just inside him. He screamed again as he was pushed into a second time; the pain lessening slightly with his own blood acting as a lubricant.

In an attempt to distract him from the pain, Saddler wrapped a hand around Bitores’ cock, roughly stroking. He cooed gently in Spanish, his words getting darker as his thrusts grew more violent. Bitores lay silent, his mouth open, on the edge of pleasure and pain. After a few more thrusts he began to moan again, guttural and lustily. Surprising Saddler, he sat up and wrapped his legs around the priest’s waist, pulling him deeper, extracting noises of great pleasure from both of them. Without a word, Saddler reached around and freed Bitores’ hands. The gigantic man put them to good use, gripping Saddler’s shoulders and thrusting back against him.

Saddler pushed Bitores down slightly, still rocking into him. He lay down on top of the tall man, and continued exploring his neck; leaving teeth marks that hurt wonderfully after he made them. Bitores’ hands stroked his skin, leaving a sensitive trail in their wake. Saddler dug his nails into the village chief’s back, carving deep grooves and drawing blood. He gasped after a few more thrusts, realising that the fun was nearing its end, and he was nearing his. Passion-fuelled endearments streamed out of his mouth, and the hand he was using to pull Bitores’ erection seemed to move faster of its own will. He slammed his hips forward, quicker, harder, and felt himself tense, the pleasure building up, aching to be released. Bitores was moaning into his neck, on the verge of his own climax.

Finally, Bitores gave in. Everything that made him moral and decent was taken away in those few seconds of intense clarity as the Plaga dominated his mind, taking over his body, and leaving nothing of the man that once was. One last shout and Bitores Mendez was no more.

Saddler watched the transformation dully, more concerned about his own orgasm. Aching from the pain in his chest that was brought on by the tightness he was submerged in growing even tighter, he thrust one last time, the emotions and pleasure in his body rising to fever pitch. He gave a loud moan as he came inside Bitores, clutching the naked body in front of him and shuddering with his release.

After the last moan had faded, the only noise was heavy breathing and small whimpers of pain from Bitores. Saddler let go of the taller man, pulling out of him with a strange disconnected feeling. The village chief was quick to dress himself, and stood in front of a still-naked Saddler. The priest blinked, slightly disappointed with Bitores’ actions, although not quite sure why.

“The children.”

Bitores’ voice seemed different, more hostile and with a slight blood-lusting edge to it. Saddler nodded, recalling the plan.

“That’s right. Get rid of them.”

Bitores turned on his heel and marched out, unintentionally slamming the church door shut, leaving Saddler alone and naked, blood coating his hands and chest.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure which side of Bitores he cared for the most.