Fiery Crash

Title: Fiery Crash
[A/N]: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my other stuff. I really do take the feedback into account. This is another Wesker/Chris piece and I tried really, really hard to make Wesker realistically aloof. It takes place before the games and is a quasi-sequel to Smoke Signs. Please enjoy!
"speech"
--flashback
************
Fiery Crash

The details were hazy,

--Want a drink?

unclear,

--I’m no expert

fogged, like being at sea

--but I can make a pretty mean screwdriver.

or being underwater, or

--If you’re interested.

some shit like that. Alcohol and his system were mortal enemies

--You are interested, aren’t you?

which is why he tried to keep away from most forms of the stuff.

--In the drink, I mean. Interested in the drink?

Tried to, being the key word. He tried to do a lot of things

--That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Redfield?

didn’t mean he usually succeeded. Fuck, he usually didn’t succeed.

--Isn’t it?

Chris bit his lip, rolled his head to the side. It had been a week since then, since that…incident. The brunette squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the all too vivid memories away. Every sensation--their arms brushing, the chill of the air, the bite of aftertaste in the liquor, the look in his captain’s eyes--was etched into Chris’ memory. He couldn’t face the man, not properly…Not after what he’d said. What he’d done--the thick feel of his throat, the strength in the tongue that pushed against his, the dull sound of their teeth knocking together --No, no he couldn’t face Wesker after that.

On the dresser, his phone rang. Again. Again.

--Hello?

He picked it up. “Hello?”

“Chris?”

“Forest.” Chris felt his shoulders slump. He was tied between being relieved and annoyed.

“Where the fuck are you man?” Forest’s voice was hushed, his words pushed together. “The meeting was called over an hour ago.” The meeting? Shit, the meeting, that was right. Chris bit his lip, glancing sidelong at the clock.

“I…I wasn’t feeling well,” he said lamely, “still.” He had called out of work two days prior claiming illness. He had been too nervous about running into Wesker. Letting another man cum in…Chris shook his head, banishing the thoughts of what the two had done. “I thought it’d be best if I just got rest.”

He could imagine Forest’s expression all too well, the eye roll, head cocked, hand on hip, lips pursed. The annoyance shone through in the Southern man’s next words. “Captain ain’t none too happy about that. He told me to tell you to get your ass in here. Sick or fucking dead, man.”

“Captain…”

“Wesker. Who the fuck else?” The knot in Chris’ stomach tightened. “So get in here.” On the other end of the line, Forest sniffed. “I’ll tell them you’re on your way.” And then he hung up. Chris pulled his short hair and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t like him, to hide in bed after an incident of any sort. He usually was more man about avoiding the things that bothered him but then again, bottoming for sex wasn’t very manly either. Chris wrote off his behaviour on that. Sex. The word stalled in his head, giving his mind another vivid little taste of all that he and the S.T.A.R.S. captain had done.

Chris rolled himself out of bed, slumping his way to the closet in search of his uniform. It wasn’t like he hadn’t enjoyed what he and Wesker had done. Because he had…a lot. Liked it enough that it bothered him. Kind of like with Forest. He had liked it, and that worried him. And he was more afraid of being turned down again than anything else. Chris wasn’t sure he could handle that again, especially not since he and Wesker had done more than just kiss, more than just grope.

He pulled his boots on, lacing them without thought, it was second nature to him now. The phone rang again, Chris ignored it.

--Why yes. I see. I’ll be right in.

Let them think he was on his way. He’d get there eventually.

--Redfield, wake up. Come on. Get up. You have to leave. That’s right, good morning, princess, now get your ass up.

They could deal until he did. He checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing down his short hair, making sure he didn’t look like he had just rolled out of bed. He grabbed his car keys and headed out the door to the ringing of his phone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You sure took your sweet time.” Forest greeted Chris at the door, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the small conference room passed the main lobby. “The others are fucking pissed.” Even Forest sounded kind of peeved, which was rare for Forest. “You missed the doughnuts too.” It was a lighter note and it brought with it a slight smile to Forest’s face. Chris managed a grin back.

“I wouldn’t have wanted any, my stomach, remember?” His voice took on that hollow note that it always did when he was lying.

“Oh yeah, that.” Forest rolled his eyes, showing he didn’t believe Chris. Chris didn’t blame him, it was a lame excuse. He didn’t have time to say anything else though because Forest was pulling open the door to the conference room and was ushering Chris inside. The brunette was greeted with one middle finger (from Joseph who was smiling over it) a couple of sleepy waves (from Rebecca, Jill and Barry) and a whole lot of frowns.

“There’s our resident sleepy head.” Wesker was standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, a slight frown on his face. “Good morning, princess,” His eyebrows raised into a perfect arch above his light blue eyes. Chris felt a surge of shame pass over his cheeks, “glad to see you decided to join us.”

“’m sorry.” Chris mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Awkward eyes stayed glued on him, making him fidget. He tried hard to keep his gaze glued on Wesker but every time their gazes met, he’d have to look away. He still respected the man, he admired his talents as captain, his skill with a gun…he just couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Part of Chris worried that his cheeks would stain a permanent red.

Wesker’s eyes didn’t leave him and out of his periphial vision he saw the blonde nod. “Very well,” Wesker’s British drawl sounded so smug, so superior. It made Chris bite his lip to keep from speaking out, “have a seat and we can begin this meeting.” He did as he was told, walking stiffly to where Barry had saved him a seat.

“You feeling all right?” The red-head asked as Chris sank down in his chair, trying to get the other’s gazes off of him. Chris nodded stiffly.

“Just my stomach.” And it was the last thing he was aware of doing the entire meeting. He didn’t listen to a word that was spoken, he didn’t give any input. He sat, he stared, he thought. He scripted Wesker’s Rejection several times in his head, coming up with the possible ways the blonde would go about doing it, when he did it--he would have to Chris reasoned. Wesker wasn’t the type to let something like that stew. He came up with what his responses would be, steeled himself for every conceivable way the ‘no’ could be delivered, so that when it was he wouldn’t be shocked. So that when it was, he wouldn’t act hurt.

--Redfield?

“Redfield?”

“Chris.” Barry’s deep voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The man’s hand was resting on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. The brunette looked up. “Captain’s talking to you.” Chris glanced over to where Wesker was standing, his hands now braced on his hips, eyes slightly bemused.

“Redfield, I need to talk with you.” Chris glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, mind processing the hands slowly. He’d been spaced for a good half-an-hour. He let his gaze drift back to Wesker. “In private, Chris.” The brunette nodded, stomach clenching.

Maybe it wouldn’t be about that. Maybe Wesker only wanted to give him hell about his shitty performance over the week. Maybe it was just for a chewing out, Chris prayed, eyes closing as he stood and followed the captain out of the room. The others were frozen, watching him go like spectators watch a plane go down. Their faces were mixtures of confusion. Chris blocked them out, eyes glued to the blue back of Wesker’s work shirt. A plane crash, he mused, it was the perfect metaphor for his life of late. A plane spiralling out of all control with no chance of avoiding impact.

We’re sorry to report that there were no survivors.

Wesker held the door to his office open, letting Chris go first. It was a nice office, Chris allowed himself to think, he had always envied that the captains got their own shut-away offices where everyone else had to share the common lobby. His thoughts fled quickly though when Wesker shut the door behind him. The lock clicked.

“Something you wanted to say?” Wesker questioned, leaning back against the door. His eyes were clear and Chris could just see the smallest edge of doubt in them. At least, he thought it was doubt.

“No, sir.”

“Bullshit.” Wesker smiled, a guarded smile. One of a man good at lying. “You’re a horrid liar. It takes the whole body, Redfield, to tell a lie. Not just words.” He crossed his arms. “Now, why are you acting like a scared rabbit all of the sudden?” Chris mind rebelled at being referred to as a rabbit, but he ignored it. His pride didn’t matter right now.

“I wasn’t aware that I was acting like anything.” He forced his eyes to harden. “I was just…” He took a breath. “Last week…”

Wesker grinned. “I should have known. You’re upset?” Chris wasn’t positive that it was a question. Said the way it was, it could have been a statement.

He shook his head. “No…no.” He said after a second’s consideration. “A-are,” he ventured it, “are you?” Wesker smiled again, a slight lift in the corners of his mouth.

“Should I be?” It was a circle game, Chris realised. Wesker was getting information through talking in circles.

“…No?” Chris shuffled his feet. This wasn’t at all where he had expected this conversation to go. He had expected curtness, turning him away. He had expected to be laughed at, he had expected anger. He had prepared his scripts, what they would say over the graves of those burned alive in the twisted metal of the airplane crash. This was against all of that.

Wesker’s head tipped to the side. “What are you thinking?” His eyebrows scrunched together, nose wrinkling slightly. “When you make those faces, what are you thinking about?” Chris shrugged.

He took a breath, steadied himself. “You?” It was hesitant, but audible.

Wesker laughed. “Very honest.” He stepped forward. Chris shut his eyes. “I’ll tell you a secret.” Wesker’s voice was hot in Chris’ ear, breath sliding over Chris tan cheek. It caused the brunette to shudder a little bit. “I didn’t pick you out on a whim, I didn’t ask you out for drinks without a purpose, Redfield.” Chris blushed. So, Wesker had known they were going to fuck? Beautiful. “I’ve been watching you.”

Chris pulled his face back, turning slightly to look better at Wesker. “What?” This was a joke. It had to be a joke, an elaborate mean practical joke. Chris’ stomach clenched again, a little bit of hurt seeping into his eyes. If Wesker noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“From the first day. You looked so injured, so,” he balanced his hand on his chin--those hands, Chris would not think about what those hands had been doing to him less than a week ago--and cocked his head to the side, looking for the right words, “so miffed. Nothing is more fascinating than a bruised ego.” Chris curled his shoulders in, trying to fold into himself. In the motion he brushed with Wesker and, even through the layers of fabric, he could feel the heat radiating off the man. It caused his throat to catch. “I was intrigued.” He laughed. His lips were too close, his presence overwhelming, Chris could hardly focus on the soft spoken words. “Still am.”

“So you don’t want to forget about it?” It was all that came to Chris’ mind, all that he could say. Speech, in proximity to this man, was hard to come by. Especially with thoughts of their most recent encounter still so fresh in his mind. The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue--the old saying was hardly worth it when the captain was in question.

Wesker laughed. “You think?” There was a cockiness in the question, understated by the movement of the blonde’s hips against Chris’.

“Oh.” Chris said, his own body responding in kind, only too happy to repeat the process. “Now? The others, won’t they…”

“Are you always so apropos?” Wesker chuckled against his ear, drawing the bottom of the lobe into his mouth. Sarcasm tainted his words. “The door is locked.” His hand was resting on the desk behind Chris, the brunette was pinned. Not that he minded all that much. “And besides, so long as you don’t make too much noise, they won’t suspect a damn thing.” Chris blushed; from the details that his mind was happy to supply him with, he’d made quite a bit of noise at their joining. “If it bothers you that much though, we don’t have to go all the way.” He sounded mocking when he said it, like a man making fun of a boy.

Chris rebelled at the treatment, turning his head to the side a giving Wesker a quick, deep kiss. “Fuck you.” He hissed when they parted. “I’m not a child.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Time seemed to speed up then, the kisses suffocating Chris in their intensity as hands worked at his belt. Fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, slipping inside at the slightest give in the stiff fabric. It was a blur, a repeat of the underwater haze. There wasn’t much for Chris to do but just lean back, hands clutching the edge of the desk, and hold on.

He bit his lip hard as Wesker’s talented fingers brushed purposefully over his nipples, the roughness in the thumb-pads causing him to shudder. Fingers traced down his abs, causing the muscles to contract reflexively. A second hand was at his belt, loosing the black leather, moving to pop the button. Every clack of the zipper giving was deafening to Chris. It was torture.

“Hu-hurry.” He whispered it against the top of Wesker’s blonde head. Wesker chanced a glance up at Chris, hands not stopping in their task.

“Why?”

“The others…” Even though the exhibitionist in Chris thrilled at the thought of public sex--a small part of himself that he was not aware existed, one of those things he would agonise over later--he was also terrified of the others finding out. “Please…can we just…uhn.” His words dissolved into a guttural noise in the back of his throat as Wesker’s right hand, the one working his pants, delved into his boxers. “Capt--“

Wesker sighed against his throat. “I heard you Christopher.” His hand stopped it’s ministrations. “I could have used it though.” He smiled, an evilness lurking on the edges of his grin. “Now you’ll just have to go without.” A small part of Chris wondered at what his Captain was speaking of. He got his answer a second later. Decidedly dry fingers were on his hips, turning him around, coaxing his legs to spread just a tad further.

Oh, that was right. Chris’ hands tightened on the edge of the desk. Men used lubrication during sex and cum made a pretty damn good lubrication, or at least it had at their last little ‘meeting’. Well fuck. He bit his lip hard, determined not to let Wesker see the realisation crashing over him in waves. He wasn’t a child, he could handle anything that the captain threw at him. When the blunt, slightly moist head of Wesker’s dick was pressing up against him though, Chris felt his confidence wavering. But it was too late to stop.

We’re sorry to report engine failure. Oxygen masks are being deployed.

There was pain, so much so that Chris actually doubted that he had enjoyed the sex he could barely remember. There was no way that lube would make it that much less painful. No way in hell. He gritted his teeth, focusing on anything but the length pushing into him; the tensing of his muscles, the heat radiating off of Wesker, the look of the dark oak under his fingers. A trickle of blood from his lip, where he had bit through the flesh, splashed onto the desk between his hands. And Wesker was in. It couldn’t have taken a minute but it felt like forever.

“Feeling all right?” There was mocking in the question, whispered harshly against Chris’ ear. “Be careful, make too much noise and the others might hear.” Was it contempt he could hear on the edges of Wesker’s voice? The tightness that pinched the edges of the blonde’s words. Or was it admiration? Chris couldn’t decide, couldn’t focus because Wesker was moving.

“F-fuck you.” Chris managed, turning his head enough that he could just see the captain. He fought down the urge to moan as the pain receded a bit, giving away to just the slightest bit of pleasure. Another few thrusts and the pain was all but forgotten. Chris bit down harder on his already abused lip, now trying only to quell the sounds threatening to break him.

“This isn’t the--“ Wesker’s words were growled out from between his teeth. Chris realised it too. Laboured breaths sounded in his ears and he knew his own breathing was no better. He was too close to speak, not close enough to crest. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, unlocking his death-grip on the edge of Wesker’s desk to stroke himself fervently. It was out of synch with the captain’s ministrations, but it didn’t matter to Chris. The contact was what he needed. There was the familiar, all-consuming tug at the centre of his being, that tight coil unwinding.

He shuddered, came. He was aware of little, Wesker biting the back of his neck, making a noise in the back of his throat as the blonde too stiffened in release. But he couldn’t let himself fall into the stupor that he so wanted to, he couldn’t bask in the post-orgasmic warmth.

Chris rolled himself out from under Wesker, smirking as the blonde supported himself on the desk. Despite his smile, there was a good deal of discomfort throbbing through him. He knew that his movements were rough, unsteady. He tried not to let it show in his voice.

“Well…” He paused unsure. What did this mean? Twice now they’d done ‘it’--childishly Chris didn’t want to think the word so close too the act, it made it too real--but where did that leave them? Fuck-buddies? Co-workers-with-benefits? Lovers? Dare he think it--boyfriends? “That was…fun?” Chris was seeking approval though he didn’t want to be obvious about it.

Wesker didn’t dignify him with a direct response. He just chuckled. Chris blushed, began the task of fixing his clothes. Wesker seemed to notice his injured air. “There it is again. You really should learn to hide your feelings better.” Wesker’s words didn’t hold the mocking tone that his earlier ones had. Chris turned to look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Wesker too was fixing his clothes, hands re-clipping his belt with practiced ease. “See you at eight-thirty then?”

Chris shook his head. “My shift doesn’t start until noon tomorrow.” Wesker rolled his eyes.

“I meant tonight for drinks. My place, right?” Chris felt his jaw drop. He ran a hand through his hair stiffly. He could imagine all too well what ‘drinks at Wesker’s place’ could--would! his mind insisted--happen. And surprisingly the thought didn’t bother him.

He was unlocking the door, letting himself out of the office. “Yeah…yeah. That sounds great.”

Fin!

[A/N]: Hope everyone liked it. Review if you feel so inclined :)