Seven Minuets

~~Seven Minutes~~

“Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all the time I can spare to play with you.”

Instinctively, Chris knew to dodge because the only thing that could follow those words would be an attack. He dropped his shoulder back, twisting his body away from where he’d been standing and coming up squarely to fire upon the spot. His actions were too slow though, and he realised it, throwing his weight back onto his heel and spinning in attempt to pre-empt the man he knew would be behind--

Wesker’s fist caught Chris’ jaw mid-turn, throwing the brunette to the ground. A quick roll was the only thing that saved Chris from a boot heel to the nose. Wesker laughed as the former BSAA officer rose again, gun held out defiantly, jaw set.

“Still using S.T.A.R.S hand-to-hand tactics I see.” He taunted, voice that sickening smug sound that reacted with Chris’ gag reflex. “Not smart,” then like an after-thought, “Christopher.” Suddenly, Wasker’s body tensed, head cocking, hearing some unhearable sound, before he shot forward. A blonde and black blur which Chris couldn’t trace with gun or eye was all that Wesker was. Chris’ gaze flicked back to where Wesker had been standing. Sheva stood a few feet away, her shotgun in hand, looking just as confused about Wesker’s motives.

Once again, Chris caught up to the situation a second too late. “Sheva, move!” But his shouted order had barely hit the air when Wesker appeared behind the girl. A superhuman-powered elbow the back of her head was enough to put her down and it made Chris wince to see the blow. Sheva’s eyes fluttered, her mouth falling slack for a moment before she tipped toward the ground, hitting it with a dull thud.

Chris made a movement to run to the girl’s side but the click of a safety stalled his motion. He turned his head, knowing already what he would see. It made his gut clench.

Twin submachine guns were trained on him and Chris knew, despite everything that they’d been through and done and lived, that the woman behind them, the woman whose fingers even now tightened just so upon the triggers, wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.

“Jill, please.” It was all he could say. All he could do.

Across the room, standing over Sheva’s limp form, Wesker laughed. “She isn’t your Jill anymore, I’m afraid.” He whipped his sunglasses off with one hand, smirking at Chris. “But he’s right. The big game is mine.” The blonde was walking, no, not walking, more like stalking, over to the brunette. “Make sure our uninvited guest doesn’t bother us again.” A purred order in Jill’s direction. The blonde woman nodded, hurrying over to Sheva.

As soon as the guns were no longer pointed at him, Chris was moving, sprinting toward the grand staircase on the south end of the room. He didn’t make it. A combat boot clad kick to his lower back made sure of that. Chris fell; face smashing onto the stone, nose breaking. The brunette didn’t even feel the pain though, he didn’t have time to because a second later a gloved hand was tangling in his short hair, pulling him up by it. Chris roared, throwing his elbow back, successfully catching Wesker in the stomach. The man winced, chuckled, his grip on Chris’ hair loosened, allowing the younger man to duck out of reach.

“Is that really how you want to play, Chris? And here I thought we were being fair.” Wesker’s words caught Chris off-guard. He spun around, gun in hand, only to meet another kick, this time to the chest. Chris flew back, striking a weak part of the wall and falling through. The brunette was up a second later, shaking off the pain that laced through his body at the movement.

There were stairs off to his left and Chris didn’t stop to question his luck, he simply ran up them. He couldn’t fight Wesker head-to-head, face-to-face. The man was too fast, too smart. If he wanted to win he was going to have to fight dirty. The stairs levelled out into a series of twisting passages overlooking the main room. As he ran, Chris took a moment to glance down into the large centre chamber, Jill was still standing over Sheva, her guns drawn, eyes focused glassily on nothing in particular. He could have shot at her, Chris mused for a second, popped a shot into her brain pan, figured out a way back down and protected Sheva, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. Not really. He could never hurt Jill. Turncoat or not, she was still his partner, always would be.

“There’s no point in hiding.” Wesker’s voice echoed oddly off the old stone walls, making him sound much closer than he probably was. It didn’t matter to Chris though, the noise broke him back into reality, set his feet to moving again.

Another turn led the man into a secluded room filled with coffins. Never one for scenery, Chris ignored the burial devices and pressed his back against the doorframe, peeking out carefully, gun cocked and ready. Breathe in, breathe out, count to ten, again backwards. Chris pulled himself behind the wall again, holding his gun upwards and glancing at the digital watch on his wrist. A rough estimate told him the whole ordeal had taken about four minutes. Three to go, assuming that Wesker was a man of his word. Chris closed his eyes, prepared to make another dash through the hallways, hopefully to get to Sheva, when Wesker interrupted his thoughts again.

“Not a good hiding place, Christopher. Found you!” A fist pounded into the wall next to Chris’ head, a fist connected to an arm, connected to a mad-man. Chris raised the hand his gun was gripped in, attempting a close punch but knowing that even if it hit it wouldn’t be that effective. They were too close for combat like that. Chest-to-chest. A thought Chris refused to have.

Wesker caught the defiant fist easily, twisting it. Chris’ pistol clattered to the ground. His other hand was captured with littler fuss. Wesker grinned, red eyes flashing. “Gotcha.” Chris twisted feebly, bringing his knee up only to get it tangled in Wesker’s legs.

Tangled legs, chest-to-heaving-chest, noses brushing, the thoughts boiled in Chris’ mind, reminding him of days long passed when he would have gladly been in this position. There had always been something semi-erotic about the way he and Wesker fought, some sort of throw-back to their S.T.A.R.S days. It had been the same in Antarctica. It didn’t matter what Wesker did, how inhuman the man was, Chris would always somehow care for the blonde.

“So what do we do now, Chris?” Wesker’s breath was warm on Chris’ cheek and neck, sliding oily down the brunette’s throat.

Chris looked away, gut clenching at the turmoil of emotions twisting sourly through his intestines. He wouldn’t give in to that pent up lust as he had so many times before. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Sheva needed him. Jill needed him. The world needed him.

“You could be a deity, you know.” Wesker’s voice was almost non-existant, muffled by Chris’ ear which the blonde had decided to shanghai. Unwanted heat spiked up through Chris’ core. “A God. Only the best can handle such a task, but we could do it.”

Chris pushed, fighting spirit far from quashed but he didn’t get very far. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Gods? Deities? Wesker had always been two-faced, always been off-kilter, but this was new.

“Uroboros.” Like the word didn’t even matter, like destiny didn’t hinge on that one thought, Wesker ignored his own speech and pressed a hand against Chris’ crotch. The brunette made a noise of dissent in his throat, hips twitch toward and facing flinching away from Wesker. The motion earned him a stinging slap to his already bleeding face. “Always the fighter, even when you want it.” Betrayed brown eyes faltered at the words, meeting the strange golden-red ones for only a second before flickering away. “Don’t pretend. I can see it, I can feel it,” that hand that had been still on Chris’ sex pressed down again, harder now, nearly painful, “I can smell it.”

“Please.” The cry was wrenched from his throat. Chris didn’t know what he was begging for. Mercy? A continuation? The back of his mind fluttered with worry and hatred and a sick sort of obsession and love and a deep feeling of hurt. The rational part of his mind screamed, but the forefront of it wasn’t listening. “Keep…”

He didn’t need to say anymore, Wesker knew what he was saying and for once in their years of fucking around he wasn’t questioning, wasn’t teasing or tormenting as he usually did. The air of the coffin room was musky, but Chris didn’t notice as his cock was released into it, all he could feel was the hand, Wesker’s hand. His eyes fluttered as it moved, sliding up and down slowly, torturously. Fingernails scratched along Chris’ length, not painful, but perfect. A slight twist was added on the up stroke, a tightening of the grip near the base. Chris bit his lip, keening and trying his hardest not to.

“Wesk--,” His voice caught as the hand speeded up, following his subconscious order. It was so odd for their encounters to go this way. Mostly they started with Chris on the floor, knees aching and throat full. Chris’ hand found its way into Wesker’s hand, fingers loosing themselves in the honey-coloured strands, his other clamped onto Wesker’s wrist half-pushing, half-pulling on the hand that moved over him so carefully.

“Gods, Chris.” The brunette couldn’t focus on the softly spoken words, couldn’t comprehend them. “Do you see? It’s a culling of the fold. I am cleansing this world so that we, the strong, may rise. We may rule. We, with the help of Uroboros can be,” Chris’ breathing hitched--, “gods.” --and stopped.

So that was it. True madness at last. The words broke the surreal scene, shattered it. Chris’ erection flagged, dipping despite the wonderfully talented fingers gripping him. All the hate, all the lust drained from him. His knees buckled. The hand he’d been holding Wesker’s head with faltered lost its grip. Chris’ other hand began pushing on the wrist he’d been gripping. He needed to get away. He needed to escape. The man, the monster, the thing touching him it wasn’t Wesker anymore. At least, not the Wesker he had known ten years prior, not the lie he’d fallen in love with like a child.

“What are you doing?”

“Get the fuck off of me.” The hand was still on his cock, the grip slack. At his words however it tightened again, too tight. Chris mewled, bit down on his bottom lip. “Stop it.”

“Seconds ago, you wanted this.” Wesker’s voice was cool, cruel. Chris’ heart skipped a beat as the blonde’s other hand dropped, fingers tracing nonsense patterns on Chris’ fabric-clad thigh.

“I don’t anymore.”

“Liar.” Perfect white teeth found their way to Chris’ neck, bit down mercilessly, causing Chris to cry out. The hand at his crotch hadn’t stopped and no matter how much he didn’t want it, the talented ministrations were having an effect on his libido.

“God, Wesker, plea--,” Chris never finished the last word.

The crack of a gunshot stopped him. Wesker flinched, right shoulder jutting forward, spraying Chris with a thin trickle of blood. In a flash the man had turned, allowing Chris’ body to slump down to the floor, a mostly defeated heap. Through Wesker’s legs he caught a glimpse of Sheva, her lip bleeding, smoking magnum in hand. She must have come in the door that Wesker had, the one Chris didn’t notice because he never checked his surroundings. Before he could really register what was happening, the girl had raised the gun and fired another two shots, both of which Wesker gracefully avoided in a wisp of speed and smoke. He wasn’t off-guard now, there would be no more bullets hitting him this time.

“Ha, not bad.” The blonde laughed. “But not good either.” He smiled, Cheshire, inhuman. The blood that had been leaking from his shoulder had already clotted. “We were interrupted this time Chris, don’t expect so much next time.” And then he was gone, a twitching blur that was there for a moment and gone the next. Untraceable.

Not an instant later Sheva was at Chris’ side. “Are you all right?” Her eyes showed only concern though Chris was sure his own face was coloured with shame. Gingerly he tucked himself away, wincing at the motion.

“How long were you there?”

“Only a few moments.” She held a First Aid Spray by his face. “Close your eyes, that nose looks painful.” He did as he was told and soon he felt the odd cooling sensation that went along with using the spray. When Chris opened his eyes again he found Sheva staring at him intently, her bottom lip being worried by her teeth. “He was rap--,”

“It isn’t important. Thank you for helping.” Chris cut her off. He didn't mean to he just couldn’t talk about it. He never talked about it. Not to Jill, not to Sheva or Claire or anyone. Chris forced himself to standing, hissing at the motion from the soreness in his muscles which even the spray hadn’t been able to touch. “Now we have to go stop that bastard.”

“Chris, are you sure?”

“More than sure. We need to stop him. It isn’t just us. It’s the world we’re talking about.” Sheva frowned, but Chris was already jogging back toward the main chamber.

Fin