fic: please (don't) wake me from this dream
MY GUMS STILL HURT, OW. Also, I am very chilly and up later than I should be again. Cue zombieing through yet another work day, lawl. Anyway. I finished this. The thing. The thing with the tentacles... also I realise that I've not put the table-sex up here yet, but eh, that can wait til another time.
Title: please (don't) wake me from this dream
Author: hikari_datenshi
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Wesker
Theme: Dreams
Rating/Warnings: TENTACLES YO.
Author's Notes: er yes. So. Tentacles? Apparently I write tentacles now... Double-drabble, title nicked from Tom McRae's Karaoke Soul, and the entire thing is influenced by China Mieville's Kraken. <3 I really do think I need a Chris/Wesker icon, nowadays... also, this is totes dedicated to lastglances you enabler <3
Summary: Tentacles. Er.
The air is hot. Like blown glass, Chris thinks, though he does not know why, and there is a hang of formalin to the sky that makes him feel pickled. His head is thrown back, sweated to the rock behind; his neck is encircled by mutated fingers; his legs wrapped wanton around Wesker's waist.
Somehow, his clothes are shredded - a hasty slide and they fall to the scorching floor - and Chris is finally exposed. He tries not to beg; fails with a please and then gasps as Wesker slips inside. Chris is the hardest he's ever been as Wesker wraps around his cock and then pushes yet more inside with a growl Chris can almost feel they're so entangled.
He keeps his eyes open because he cannot close them to cat eyes above and unnatural; they hold his attention like the slick-writhe of tentacles inside him does, like the sharding pain-pleasure does.
He bucks though he does not want to; moans though he hates the sound; swears fuck with how good it feels.
Wesker's orgasm is ink that shatters through Chris like breaking glass.
He feels tainted, after, and every other time he dreams this preserved test-tube memory.
Title: please (don't) wake me from this dream
Author: hikari_datenshi
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Wesker
Theme: Dreams
Rating/Warnings: TENTACLES YO.
Author's Notes: er yes. So. Tentacles? Apparently I write tentacles now... Double-drabble, title nicked from Tom McRae's Karaoke Soul, and the entire thing is influenced by China Mieville's Kraken. <3 I really do think I need a Chris/Wesker icon, nowadays... also, this is totes dedicated to lastglances you enabler <3
Summary: Tentacles. Er.
The air is hot. Like blown glass, Chris thinks, though he does not know why, and there is a hang of formalin to the sky that makes him feel pickled. His head is thrown back, sweated to the rock behind; his neck is encircled by mutated fingers; his legs wrapped wanton around Wesker's waist.
Somehow, his clothes are shredded - a hasty slide and they fall to the scorching floor - and Chris is finally exposed. He tries not to beg; fails with a please and then gasps as Wesker slips inside. Chris is the hardest he's ever been as Wesker wraps around his cock and then pushes yet more inside with a growl Chris can almost feel they're so entangled.
He keeps his eyes open because he cannot close them to cat eyes above and unnatural; they hold his attention like the slick-writhe of tentacles inside him does, like the sharding pain-pleasure does.
He bucks though he does not want to; moans though he hates the sound; swears fuck with how good it feels.
Wesker's orgasm is ink that shatters through Chris like breaking glass.
He feels tainted, after, and every other time he dreams this preserved test-tube memory.