fic: Like a Drug
Title: Like a Drug
Author: hikari_datenshi
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Wesker
Rating/Warnings: Bad language.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a while ago to a prompt unavalible gave me of 'a drug's bust gone wrong'. Many hugs and thanks to lastglances for betaing. :D
Summary: STARS Alpha team get word of an illegal drugs deal going down somewhere in Raccoon City, but not everything goes as planned.
Word on the street went that there was a big illegal deal of pharmaceuticals going down in one of the less desirable neighbourhoods of Raccoon City. Chris wasn't sure when exactly they had started taking 'word on the street' as gospel truth, but the Captain wanted to check it out anyway, just in case, and who were they to argue with him?
Stakeouts though, really? They'd been sitting in their nice, oh-so inconspicuous van for knocking on five hours now and nothing was happening. He doubted that anything would happen at all, but Barry's rumbled complaint three hours ago had received such a glare from Captain Wesker that Chris didn't fancy risking it. Not in such close quarters, anyway. So he just kept his trap firmly shut, occasionally throwing a sidelong glance towards Wesker, whose concentration was bordering on the superhuman. He'd been staring at the monitors almost non-stop, as if he was willing something to happen.
I wish something would happen, Chris thought with a sigh.
"If you're finding this too boring, Redfield, we might try sending you out solo as bait," Wesker said without taking his eyes off the monitor. "Don't let something as trivial as a mission detain you if you have something better to do."
"Five hours, Wesker. It's been five hours."
"I am aware of how long it's been. Do you have a point?"
Chris looked at Barry for back up, but he just shrugged. Leave me out of it, his look said quite plainly. Barry sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He looked like he was settling in to watch a good show, and Chris shot him a glare before turning back to Wesker. "I just wonder if anyone's going to show," he said with reluctance. "Sir."
"We won't know whether anyone's going to show unless we stay here, will we?" The Captain sounded like he was biting back a much more acidic retort, but Chris found himself not caring. Five hours in a cramped van with two other fully-grown men could try anyone's patience, and the atmosphere was almost thick enough to taste. Chris' stomach rumbled. Last fucking straw.
Chris stood up, abruptly. "To hell with this. I'm going in there."
Wesker tore his eyes from the monitors long enough to give Chris an appraising look from under a raised eyebrow. "Alone? Stupid, Redfield. Very stupid."
"Well come with me then," he shot back. "You coming, Barry?"
Barry looked at Wesker and then stood up. "You might need this," he said, patting his holster.
"Oh, mutiny," said Wesker. His voice was thick with disapproval, but he stood up anyway. He pulled down the radio. "Alpha-2, this is Alpha-1. Do you read? Over."
Jill's voice crackled with static down the radio. "Alpha-1 this is Alpha-2, loud and clear. Over."
"Move out, Alpha-2. Operation Four-Twenty is go. I repeat, Operation Four-Twenty is go. Do you copy? Over."
"Copy that, Alpha-1. Over and out."
They poured out of the van and Chris blinked as the fading daylight caught his vision. Not perfect conditions for a raid - the sun was far too low in the sky, bad for visibility - but it was better than sitting there breathing the stifling van air for the rest of the night.
Chris went to the left and forward, their formation ingrained into him through hours of training - Wesker to his right a step behind and Barry bringing up the rear support. He hugged the doorframe and threw a quick signal to Wesker, all clear, before throwing himself through the doorway and straight into a fucking ambush. Gunshots rang muffled in his ears as his vision narrowed on taking down their opponents - one shot to the thigh, one to the shoulder, a third in the neck of a hulking guy about to fire on Wesker.
His sight glanced on the high warehouse shelves and the amount of cover their ambushers had in their advantage. "Shit!" Chris swore, ducking behind a crate. His hand flew to his tactical vest and, with a quick signal to Barry and Wesker, he tore the pin from a grenade and tossed it into the open. It flared at the edge of his vision, eyes shielded by the crook of his arm, and Chris stood up and rang off two pot shots in the direction of the startled shouts.
He zigzagged between shelves, confident that his team was backing him up, and pulled off a thigh-shot, felling the closest threat. He was acutely aware that if he kept this up he'd soon have to reload, but all thoughts of this were banished in an instant when he saw someone pointing a gun at Wesker. Chris did not think, but shoved him roughly out of the way just as two bullets tore into the flesh of his shoulder and blackened his vision until he was falling and knowing he was falling and then he was on the floor and all he could think was shit. He groped faintly at the wounds, shouting filling his ears. He heard Wesker's voice and the welcome sound of Jill's team arriving as he flickered in and out of consciousness. He felt chilled and thought shock and then there was movement and flares of pain and strong arms holding him and the familiar smell of his Captain saying something in his ear but he did not catch what it was, just felt safe and he was too far into himself to feel embarrassed.
xXx
He woke to the sound of dripping and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He opened his eyes blearily. There were bandages across his shoulder, the sharp scent of green herbs wafted from them. The herbs were amazing things, but they didn't take away the pain, just solving the immediate problem until you could get better medical treatment. Chris figured that Wesker would have a stash of them back at his apartment, which is where he deduced he was. The sheets smelled like his Captain, and he blushed suddenly at the fact that he knew that.
Chris cleared his throat and shuffled upright as best he could with an injured - and fucking painful - shoulder. He was right in the middle of a double bed, the single pillow now jammed behind his lower back. Iron bars rose higher than his head behind him, and they were topped with ornate brass-coloured bed knobs. The entire thing wouldn't have looked out of place in a bed shop it was so pristine. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that there was still plastic wrapping underneath the mattress.
Chris chuckled at the thought, and then the realisation that he was topless hit him like a lightning-bolt when he noticed his shirt, tactical vest and holsters neatly folded and decidedly not on his body. His Captain had actually undressed him, bandaged his shoulder and performed first aid. And I was too out of it to realise, thought Chris. Shit.
Wesker's voice floated in through the door. "Oh good, you're awake." It sounded sort of distant.
How the hell did he know that? Chris wondered dazedly.
Wesker appeared at the doorway, and Chris scrabbled to pull the blankets up. He realised halfway through that this was stupid, considering Wesker had clearly already seen him naked and all, but he carried on anyway and then felt even stupider as he sat there with blankets up to his neck like an embarrassed schoolgirl.
"Is that coffee?" he asked, hoping to distract Wesker.
"The temperature really isn't that low in here, Chris." Wesker pulled the bedroom's single chair closer to the bed and sat down on it. "And yes, it is coffee."
"Brilliant, thanks," Chris said, reaching out to take the mug. Wesker simply lifted it to his mouth and took a few sips, all the while watching Chris as if to see what he would do. Chris lowered his arm slowly, suddenly aware of the intense pain in his shoulder. "Fuck," he said. "That hurts like hell."
"I would advise not moving your arm quite so much." Wesker sipped his coffee again. "You'll slow down the healing."
Bastard, Chris thought. "Yeah, sorry," he said, and then mentally cursed himself for apologising. "I don't suppose there's any chance of some coffee for me, is there? My mouth feels like something died in it." He pulled a rueful face.
"Yes, the herbs do tend to have that effect." Wesker took another drink and looked at Chris over the top of his sunglasses. "You're lucky one of them went right through. No bone damage. You'll have the use of your arm back within a month, if you keep up with physiotherapy. Although whether you'll have a job at the end of that month is debatable."
Chris couldn't see his eyes, but he could imagine what they looked like all too well. He winced. "You didn't get shot though," he said, sounding a lot more defensive than he'd like.
"That is beside the point." Wesker stood up and drained his coffee, setting the mug down sharply on the bedside table. "I expect you to rest and recuperate while I am gone-"
"Gone? Where are you going?"
"While I am gone," Wesker repeated, with emphasis on the 'gone.' "And I do not want to see you at work today." With that, he turned and left before Chris had a chance to protest.
"Rest can go to hell," Chris muttered as he scrambled out of Wesker's bed. He stared at the neat pile of his clothes. Ah, he thought. Sleeves. He reached down with his uninjured arm and put aside his holster and knife sheath. Not much of a chance of getting those on. His movements were stiff as he picked up his shirt - thankfully short-sleeved - trying his hardest not to move his left arm any more than necessary. It was tricky, but somehow he managed to slide the sleeve over his left arm by bending down at a funny angle and kind of slipping into it. The other one sleeve went on easier, and he made an attempt at the buttons, but only managed three before he gave up with a hiss of frustration.
He nearly decided against his tactical vest but a glance out of the window at the autumn weather dissuaded him from leaving it. The larger holes made it much easier than his shirt at least. Chris was glad of that, as even the basic effort required to dress himself seemed to have tired him out. He sat down on the bed again with a thump. "Shit," he swore. "Shit..." Of course Wesker would be right about resting. Why wouldn't he be? Chris thought, bitterly. Hell, he didn't even say thank you. Which shouldn't annoy him so much considering it was Captain Wesker, the man who never apologised, but Chris was pissed off now and he wasn't even sure why. Wesker's attitude, the fact that his mouth tasted disgusting, the fact that he'd woken up in Wesker's bed goddamnit, and been happy to be there. Even the lingering smell of him annoyed Chris with how much he liked it. He clenched his fists and then swore as the movement sent spasms of pain through his shoulder.
Looking around the bedroom, he noted that there was a small bottle of first aid spray on the bedside table - a much smaller dosage than it usually came in. He picked it up, squirted a fine mist of it in front of his face and inhaled, feeling better almost instantly. The spray filled him with a sort of mad optimism and he found himself thinking about what to do now. He'd go over to the office, yeah, that'll be where Wesker went, considering it was a Tuesday. He'd tell him that he was better now and that he didn't need physio and Wesker would apologise and then let him go back to work instead of forcing him to take a month off. Yeah.
Chris stood up abruptly, his mind made up. He would go into work. The first aid spray and green herb combination was enough for him to be able to finish up the week, at least, Wesker couldn't dispute that fact.
Putting his boots on was another tricky task, and after ten minutes of fumbling with the laces one-handed he just settled for tucking them in with an exasperated sigh.
It was only when he left the building, carrying his equipment in a pilfered messenger bag he could not imagine Wesker ever using, that he realised that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He glanced up at the apartment building, took note of the name and the street sign on the corner of the block and decided to simply call a cab from his cell.
The weather outside was chilly, a credit to autumn and the fact that Chris didn't have a coat on. He shivered a little until the cab arrived, got in and directed it to STARS office.
xXx
Only when he was out of the cab and halfway down the corridor to the STARS office did Chris begin to have a few second thoughts, but he dismissed them quickly as he arrived outside their door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open - the office was empty, the mess suggesting that Alpha team had been and gone, most likely to a press conference about yesterday. Chris grinned, glad to be missing the boredom of standing around while Captain Wesker spoke into a microphone and they all got dazzled by the reporters' constant picture taking.
He walked over to his desk and dumped the messenger bag onto his swivel chair. No one being around sort of threw a spanner in his imagined situation, and he leaned against the desk with a sigh. He brought a hand up to his shoulder, trying to sense what the injury was like under the skin - since he'd not seen it yet, he felt sort of detached from the thing. Apart from the pain, obviously, although that had lessened greatly since his application of Wesker's first aid spray.
Chris was engrossed in the delicate operation of feeling around his wound, so much so that he near jumped out of his skin when the door clicked and his Captain walked in. An unreadable expression passed over his face, and Chris stared defiantly back at him. There was definite anger there - after working with Wesker for so long you began to pick up the signs; the lips slightly whiter than usual, that little crease between his eyebrows, the stiffening of his back as if he were preparing for a confrontation.
"I distinctly remember telling you not to come in to work today."
"You left me a first aid spray," Chris said, annoyed at how defensive he sounded.
"A first aid spray is not a valid substitute for rest."
"I know that, I just. Don't you even care about what happened yesterday?" Chris snapped. "You never even said thank you!" He stood forward and away from his desk, bristling with indignation.
"You expect me to thank you for being reckless, Chris? You risked yourself with that stunt, and you risked the rest of the team, too."
"But I stopped you from getting shot!"
"And put both yourself and the entire team in danger," Wesker ground out.
"Why are you so angry that I risked myself?" Chris barged forward and grabbed the front of Wesker's shirt, blinded to the consequences by his anger. He shoved as violently as he could with his one working arm until he had Wesker backed up against the closed door of the office.
"Oh Chris," Wesker smirked, tipping his head to one side in that condescending fashion of his. "Do you really think you can overpower me in your condition?"
Chris' fingers tightened in the blue material and before he realised what he was doing he'd lunged at Wesker, determined to wipe that damned smirk off his lips. He did not know what was more surprising; the fact that Wesker didn't punch him in the face or the fact that he reciprocated the kiss with more than a little fervour.
Their positioning was awkward, since Chris couldn't move his shoulder without pain, but Wesker didn't seem to mind that Chris' hand was still tight in his shirt, and that they were so close together that their crotches were almost touching. The kiss was rough and hard and entirely different from kissing a woman. Wesker seemed to fight for dominance naturally, their tongues clashing repeatedly and his hands at the small of Chris' back, holding him firmly in place. One hand moved down to grab Chris' ass, pulling them flush together, and Chris moaned at the contact.
He could almost taste Wesker's smirk at teasing out the first noise; the slight upper slant to his lips, but Chris found that for once he didn't care. He rutted against Wesker shamelessly, gasping as their cocks pressed against each other through the too-thick material of their pants. Wesker ground back, a catch in his breath the only sign Chris could discern. He found that little catch incredibly arousing, and felt blood rush to his already-hardening cock in response.
Chris moved his hand from Wesker's shirt to the back of his neck, lingering on Adam's apple and collarbone on the way. It felt strange not to have the use of both hands; almost vulnerable, somehow, with his left sort of dangling there uselessly. His fingers flexed in Wesker's hair, taking hold and tugging and causing him to growl into Chris' mouth. Fuck, that was hot.
Wesker apparently agreed, as he pushed outwards and spun them round so Chris was the one pinned against the door. Chris let out a pained grunt and Wesker looked disapproving. "I told you you should have rested," he growled, kissing Chris forcefully as if to back up his point.
"Yeah okay," Chris gasped out between kisses. "But the- then we wouldn't be doing this, would we?" He moaned as Wesker ground against him, their erections rubbing together. Wesker made a pleased sound deep in his throat as his hand found Chris' crotch. His head fell backwards as Wesker applied delicious pressure to his cock, his gloved fingers making maddeningly slow movements that were sending Chris crazy with lust.
"Desk," he moaned. "Desk, now."
Wesker raised an eyebrow. "Such demanding tones, Redfield. I do not think you're in any position to demand from me after your conduct last night and today."
Chris swallowed his pride and whispered please and Wesker smirked, taking steps backwards and pulling Chris with him by the front of his tactical vest. He slammed Chris against the desk and turned his attention to removing his clothes. The vest was first, Wesker's slender fingers making fast work of the buckles and zipper. He pushed it over Chris' shoulders, not taking much care to avoid his injury, and Chris hissed through his teeth as Wesker's fingers brushed the careful bandaging. He turned his attention to the inexpertly fastened buttons of Chris' shirt next, releasing a huff of breath in amusement when he saw that Chris had accidentally skipped a button and just left half of them.
"How do you expect me to clear you to work when you cannot even dress yourself, Christopher?" Chris winced at the use of his full name. Wesker only called him Christopher when he was really pissed, but his thoughts were brought quickly back to the present as Wesker pushed off his shirt, again taking no care around his wound. Chris shrugged his good shoulder and his shirt slid down his arms until he could drop it on the floor.
Wesker's hands - still covered in his black leather fingerless gloves - roamed over Chris' chest and his hard, flat stomach and he hummed in anticipation as Wesker's fingers brushed the top of his cargo pants, teasing. The feel of warm leather against his skin felt so good, and Chris made a clumsy one-handed attempt at removing Wesker's vest. He managed to get the buckle undone since it was a simple clicking mechanism, and the zip down, but Wesker had to assist with getting it off and then with undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers covered Chris' as he was about to push off the shirt, making him hesitate. He moved them down and Chris made a little oh noise of understanding as Wesker guided him to his belt buckle, which came undone as easily as the vest ones had.
Chris fiddled with Wesker's zip until he got it down, and then Wesker's hands were all over him once more, unfastening buckle and zip and pushing Chris' pants down just enough to release his cock. Chris thrust forward and moaned at the feel of skin against skin. Wesker took hold of Chris, the leather of his glove contrasting deliciously with the warmth of his fingers, and moved his hand languidly up and down. Chris' head fell forward onto Wesker's shoulder and he thrust into his hand with abandon. Fuck, it felt good, and Chris told Wesker so in no uncertain terms. He turned his head, biting down on Wesker's neck and then moaning when his hair was grabbed, his head pulled back.
Wesker licked up Chris' jawline and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of his good shoulder. His grip on Chris' cock loosened and then he let go. Chris, rather embarrassingly, made a strange little mewling sound of loss.
Wesker's voice was slightly husky. "We are going to need lubrication, Chris, unless your pain threshold is a lot higher than you've been letting on."
"Oh," Chris stammered. Oh. "I think I've got a condom in my wallet." He groped on his desk, located his wallet and flipped it open. He held it out to Wesker for him to pull the condom out with a shy grin.
Wesker tore the packet open with his teeth and put the condom on efficiently. He reached around Chris and snagged a pump-bottle of lotion off Jill's desk. Chris got a look at it, and chuckled. "She's gonna kill you if she finds out. That's her expensive stuff."
Wesker crooked an eyebrow and pumped a liberal amount into his hand. "Well then we shall have to ensure that she does not find out, Christopher." His voice dropped to a purr on the name and Chris shivered. Wesker palmed himself with the lotion, and rubbed it over his fingers until they were slick, then he looked directly at Chris, who got the hint and hitched his ass up so that he was almost sitting on the table.
He leaned back on his good arm, not caring that he was squashing his in-tray because Wesker was circling his entrance with a finger and then pushing inside and fuck, it felt weird. Weird and a bit painful, but when he flexed and brushed against his prostate the discomfort was immediately replaced with mind-blowing pleasure. Chris threw his head back and groaned as Wesker inserted another finger, the feel of the leather of his gloves adding to the new sensations and combining to undo any composure he had left. He had no idea what Wesker was feeling, since he still had his sunglasses on. It was slightly surreal, but Chris found that he didn't really care, especially not when Wesker added a third finger and brushed that spot again, but then he was removing them and Chris felt suddenly empty.
Wesker hesitated, but Chris pulled him close into a kiss. "I'm ready," he growled. "Fuck me." Wesker wasted no time in obeying. One hand went to the small of Chris' back, holding him up and leaving his uninjured arm free, and the other went to his neck where it rested momentarily and then travelled up, thumb slipping into his mouth as Wesker's cock pushed inside. Chris cried out wordlessly from the mingled pleasure-pain, but Wesker gave no quarter as he buried himself fully inside with a soft grunt.
He started moving without giving Chris time to adjust, slowly at first and then faster, harder, until Chris was groaning with every push. He bit down on Wesker's thumb, swirling his tongue around the pad. Wesker's fingers tightened under Chris' chin in an almost reflexive response, pushing his head up and back and exposing his neck which was uncomfortable but somehow really fucking hot at the same time. Chris felt breathless in more ways than one as his hand found his neglected cock. He stroked it once, twice, before Wesker wrapped his hand around Chris' own and moved them together, dominating him even in this.
Chris slipped his hand out from under Wesker's, finding himself craving the touch of those leather gloves on his cock. He reached around and grabbed Wesker's ass, grabbing it tightly and pulling him in deeper. He grunted as their angle changed slightly, and Wesker's cock began to hit his prostate with every thrust.
"Fuck," Chris breathed, extending the vowel like he was tasting it. Wesker's fingers closed on his throat again on the inhale and Chris' vision went black-starred. His eyes flickered back and he bit down hard on Wesker's thumb-pad, tasting harsh iron as he drew blood, scraping the skin with his teeth. Wesker inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw as if trying to stop himself crying out. His fingers slackened and Chris breathed in sharply as air flooded into his lungs. He swore, his voice hoarse and cracking, and Wesker bared his teeth and nipped at the skin on Chris' collarbone, hard enough to make a mark and to almost draw blood.
Chris' legs were partially wrapped around Wesker's thighs, brushing against his holstered gun with every thrust. He liked the feel of the weapon being so close, and the roughness of the straps as they dug into his legs. He tightened his grip, locking his ankles together and pulling Wesker in closer than he thought was possible until he was ball-deep inside Chris and it felt so good. Chris dug his nails into Wesker's ass and Wesker tightened his fingers again, bringing back the delicious bursts of blackness and breathlessness until Chris felt like he was going to pass out from the high and the pleasure and the way Wesker was pumping his cock in rough-time with his thrusts; the way he was slamming into him felt as if there was nothing else in the world.
His oh-so-perfect hair was as messy as Chris had ever seen it, and the urge to wrap his fingers in it and pull was too strong to resist. His hand traced Wesker's spine and his muscled arm and briefly lingered at his neck, but the snarl that elicited drew Chris quickly upwards and to the back of his neck, taking hold of the short hairs and clenching his fingers how Wesker clenched his about Chris' neck.
Chris pulled back, sharp, the white of Wesker's neck stark against the blaze of blue that was his shirt. He made as if to lean forward and bite, and after a moment of hesitation, Wesker allowed it, the wicked fingers moving to the back of Chris' neck as Wesker held him close; still no concession of power to Chris - biting marks into Wesker's neck he may me, but those lingering fingers told Chris in no uncertain terms exactly who was in control of the situation.
Wesker gasped as Chris sank his teeth deeper into the flesh of his shoulder. Chris wasn't sure how much longer he could last, and Wesker seemed to sense this and he pulled out almost all the way and rested there, teasing. Chris moaned, desperate to be full again, but Wesker just held himself there, as still as if he daren't move; as still as if he were stalking prey.
He looked directly at Chris, his lips parted slightly and a flush staining his usual pale complexion. "I want you to beg for it, Chris," he ground out. It sounded like he was having trouble holding out and Chris grinned savagely at the thought. Even his unassailable Captain could be undone by something as simple as lust and pleasure. Chris found himself desperate to see just how Wesker would react when he came and shit, what was a bit of pride compared to that knowledge?
"Fuck me, Wesker," he purred. "I want... I want you to make me come."
Wesker groaned in response and slid in, deep and slow until Chris thought he would come right then from the friction. Wesker dropped his hand to Chris' cock and wrapped around it with surety. He thrust, slowly, in and then out again, deep and controlled, oh so controlled, his gloved hands copying the movements on Chris' cock until they were both lost in the mirrored sensations.
Chris' eyes flickered closed and his head fell back as the crest of orgasm washed over him. He had just enough coherent thought left to feel Wesker coming, and Chris snapped his eyes open to see his mouth fall open as he gasped out a wordless cry. His hair fell over his eyes a little, and in that moment Chris realised that he wanted to see Wesker like this again, and as often as possible; his lips parted and moist, his cheeks pink and his hands wandering possessively over Chris' body.
Wesker pulled out carefully. Chris' breath hitched at the feeling of cold and emptiness that followed, and he winced as the aches in his body caught up with him. His shoulder hurt like a bitch - the spray and herb combination had obviously worn off - and his muscles complained with every movement as he straightened up, the tops of his thighs taking all of his weight as he leaned against the desk.
Wesker pulled away and fastidiously peeled off the condom, tying a knot in it and dropping it into the wastepaper basket under Chris' desk.
"Hey," Chris protested half-assedly. "That'll stink out my desk for a week."
"So it will," said Wesker. He leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "But since you won't be here for a month, you'll not know about it, will you Christopher?" His voice was low and dangerous and Chris felt his cock give a tired twitch of interest.
He ducked his head, the easier to not deal with the piercing glare he just knew was behind those sunglasses. "I guess," he mumbled, then gasped as Wesker's hand flew to his neck again.
"That is not a satisfactory answer." He squeezed to get his point across and then let go.
Chris spluttered and inhaled in a massive gasp. Fuck. He looked straight at Wesker and thought fuck it. "Make it worth my while," he said, aiming for sultry but hitting more hoarse.
Wesker fastened up his pants. "Maybe I shall," he said, reaching forward to fasten Chris up too. "However that rather depends upon you."
Chris opened his mouth to speak just at the moment Barry threw open the office door and sauntered inside. "Hey Chris! I didn't expect you to be in today. Wesker said you were off for a month." He looked at Wesker as if for confirmation.
Wesker inclined his head towards Barry in the affirmative, then shot a glare at Chris that could have melted metal.
Chris shifted from foot to foot. "Er yeah, I just swung by to pick up some stuff." He grabbed the messenger bag like it was a lifebelt and ducked his head to hide the flush that was staining his cheeks.
"See you in four weeks, Redfield," Wesker said, pointedly.
Chris made as if to salute but thought better of it. "Yeah," he mumbled, throwing a quick nod at Barry then escaping as quickly as he could. Was there a hint of promise behind Wesker's words? Chris didn't know, but he sure would enjoy thinking about that maybe.
Author: hikari_datenshi
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Wesker
Rating/Warnings: Bad language.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a while ago to a prompt unavalible gave me of 'a drug's bust gone wrong'. Many hugs and thanks to lastglances for betaing. :D
Summary: STARS Alpha team get word of an illegal drugs deal going down somewhere in Raccoon City, but not everything goes as planned.
Word on the street went that there was a big illegal deal of pharmaceuticals going down in one of the less desirable neighbourhoods of Raccoon City. Chris wasn't sure when exactly they had started taking 'word on the street' as gospel truth, but the Captain wanted to check it out anyway, just in case, and who were they to argue with him?
Stakeouts though, really? They'd been sitting in their nice, oh-so inconspicuous van for knocking on five hours now and nothing was happening. He doubted that anything would happen at all, but Barry's rumbled complaint three hours ago had received such a glare from Captain Wesker that Chris didn't fancy risking it. Not in such close quarters, anyway. So he just kept his trap firmly shut, occasionally throwing a sidelong glance towards Wesker, whose concentration was bordering on the superhuman. He'd been staring at the monitors almost non-stop, as if he was willing something to happen.
I wish something would happen, Chris thought with a sigh.
"If you're finding this too boring, Redfield, we might try sending you out solo as bait," Wesker said without taking his eyes off the monitor. "Don't let something as trivial as a mission detain you if you have something better to do."
"Five hours, Wesker. It's been five hours."
"I am aware of how long it's been. Do you have a point?"
Chris looked at Barry for back up, but he just shrugged. Leave me out of it, his look said quite plainly. Barry sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He looked like he was settling in to watch a good show, and Chris shot him a glare before turning back to Wesker. "I just wonder if anyone's going to show," he said with reluctance. "Sir."
"We won't know whether anyone's going to show unless we stay here, will we?" The Captain sounded like he was biting back a much more acidic retort, but Chris found himself not caring. Five hours in a cramped van with two other fully-grown men could try anyone's patience, and the atmosphere was almost thick enough to taste. Chris' stomach rumbled. Last fucking straw.
Chris stood up, abruptly. "To hell with this. I'm going in there."
Wesker tore his eyes from the monitors long enough to give Chris an appraising look from under a raised eyebrow. "Alone? Stupid, Redfield. Very stupid."
"Well come with me then," he shot back. "You coming, Barry?"
Barry looked at Wesker and then stood up. "You might need this," he said, patting his holster.
"Oh, mutiny," said Wesker. His voice was thick with disapproval, but he stood up anyway. He pulled down the radio. "Alpha-2, this is Alpha-1. Do you read? Over."
Jill's voice crackled with static down the radio. "Alpha-1 this is Alpha-2, loud and clear. Over."
"Move out, Alpha-2. Operation Four-Twenty is go. I repeat, Operation Four-Twenty is go. Do you copy? Over."
"Copy that, Alpha-1. Over and out."
They poured out of the van and Chris blinked as the fading daylight caught his vision. Not perfect conditions for a raid - the sun was far too low in the sky, bad for visibility - but it was better than sitting there breathing the stifling van air for the rest of the night.
Chris went to the left and forward, their formation ingrained into him through hours of training - Wesker to his right a step behind and Barry bringing up the rear support. He hugged the doorframe and threw a quick signal to Wesker, all clear, before throwing himself through the doorway and straight into a fucking ambush. Gunshots rang muffled in his ears as his vision narrowed on taking down their opponents - one shot to the thigh, one to the shoulder, a third in the neck of a hulking guy about to fire on Wesker.
His sight glanced on the high warehouse shelves and the amount of cover their ambushers had in their advantage. "Shit!" Chris swore, ducking behind a crate. His hand flew to his tactical vest and, with a quick signal to Barry and Wesker, he tore the pin from a grenade and tossed it into the open. It flared at the edge of his vision, eyes shielded by the crook of his arm, and Chris stood up and rang off two pot shots in the direction of the startled shouts.
He zigzagged between shelves, confident that his team was backing him up, and pulled off a thigh-shot, felling the closest threat. He was acutely aware that if he kept this up he'd soon have to reload, but all thoughts of this were banished in an instant when he saw someone pointing a gun at Wesker. Chris did not think, but shoved him roughly out of the way just as two bullets tore into the flesh of his shoulder and blackened his vision until he was falling and knowing he was falling and then he was on the floor and all he could think was shit. He groped faintly at the wounds, shouting filling his ears. He heard Wesker's voice and the welcome sound of Jill's team arriving as he flickered in and out of consciousness. He felt chilled and thought shock and then there was movement and flares of pain and strong arms holding him and the familiar smell of his Captain saying something in his ear but he did not catch what it was, just felt safe and he was too far into himself to feel embarrassed.
xXx
He woke to the sound of dripping and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He opened his eyes blearily. There were bandages across his shoulder, the sharp scent of green herbs wafted from them. The herbs were amazing things, but they didn't take away the pain, just solving the immediate problem until you could get better medical treatment. Chris figured that Wesker would have a stash of them back at his apartment, which is where he deduced he was. The sheets smelled like his Captain, and he blushed suddenly at the fact that he knew that.
Chris cleared his throat and shuffled upright as best he could with an injured - and fucking painful - shoulder. He was right in the middle of a double bed, the single pillow now jammed behind his lower back. Iron bars rose higher than his head behind him, and they were topped with ornate brass-coloured bed knobs. The entire thing wouldn't have looked out of place in a bed shop it was so pristine. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that there was still plastic wrapping underneath the mattress.
Chris chuckled at the thought, and then the realisation that he was topless hit him like a lightning-bolt when he noticed his shirt, tactical vest and holsters neatly folded and decidedly not on his body. His Captain had actually undressed him, bandaged his shoulder and performed first aid. And I was too out of it to realise, thought Chris. Shit.
Wesker's voice floated in through the door. "Oh good, you're awake." It sounded sort of distant.
How the hell did he know that? Chris wondered dazedly.
Wesker appeared at the doorway, and Chris scrabbled to pull the blankets up. He realised halfway through that this was stupid, considering Wesker had clearly already seen him naked and all, but he carried on anyway and then felt even stupider as he sat there with blankets up to his neck like an embarrassed schoolgirl.
"Is that coffee?" he asked, hoping to distract Wesker.
"The temperature really isn't that low in here, Chris." Wesker pulled the bedroom's single chair closer to the bed and sat down on it. "And yes, it is coffee."
"Brilliant, thanks," Chris said, reaching out to take the mug. Wesker simply lifted it to his mouth and took a few sips, all the while watching Chris as if to see what he would do. Chris lowered his arm slowly, suddenly aware of the intense pain in his shoulder. "Fuck," he said. "That hurts like hell."
"I would advise not moving your arm quite so much." Wesker sipped his coffee again. "You'll slow down the healing."
Bastard, Chris thought. "Yeah, sorry," he said, and then mentally cursed himself for apologising. "I don't suppose there's any chance of some coffee for me, is there? My mouth feels like something died in it." He pulled a rueful face.
"Yes, the herbs do tend to have that effect." Wesker took another drink and looked at Chris over the top of his sunglasses. "You're lucky one of them went right through. No bone damage. You'll have the use of your arm back within a month, if you keep up with physiotherapy. Although whether you'll have a job at the end of that month is debatable."
Chris couldn't see his eyes, but he could imagine what they looked like all too well. He winced. "You didn't get shot though," he said, sounding a lot more defensive than he'd like.
"That is beside the point." Wesker stood up and drained his coffee, setting the mug down sharply on the bedside table. "I expect you to rest and recuperate while I am gone-"
"Gone? Where are you going?"
"While I am gone," Wesker repeated, with emphasis on the 'gone.' "And I do not want to see you at work today." With that, he turned and left before Chris had a chance to protest.
"Rest can go to hell," Chris muttered as he scrambled out of Wesker's bed. He stared at the neat pile of his clothes. Ah, he thought. Sleeves. He reached down with his uninjured arm and put aside his holster and knife sheath. Not much of a chance of getting those on. His movements were stiff as he picked up his shirt - thankfully short-sleeved - trying his hardest not to move his left arm any more than necessary. It was tricky, but somehow he managed to slide the sleeve over his left arm by bending down at a funny angle and kind of slipping into it. The other one sleeve went on easier, and he made an attempt at the buttons, but only managed three before he gave up with a hiss of frustration.
He nearly decided against his tactical vest but a glance out of the window at the autumn weather dissuaded him from leaving it. The larger holes made it much easier than his shirt at least. Chris was glad of that, as even the basic effort required to dress himself seemed to have tired him out. He sat down on the bed again with a thump. "Shit," he swore. "Shit..." Of course Wesker would be right about resting. Why wouldn't he be? Chris thought, bitterly. Hell, he didn't even say thank you. Which shouldn't annoy him so much considering it was Captain Wesker, the man who never apologised, but Chris was pissed off now and he wasn't even sure why. Wesker's attitude, the fact that his mouth tasted disgusting, the fact that he'd woken up in Wesker's bed goddamnit, and been happy to be there. Even the lingering smell of him annoyed Chris with how much he liked it. He clenched his fists and then swore as the movement sent spasms of pain through his shoulder.
Looking around the bedroom, he noted that there was a small bottle of first aid spray on the bedside table - a much smaller dosage than it usually came in. He picked it up, squirted a fine mist of it in front of his face and inhaled, feeling better almost instantly. The spray filled him with a sort of mad optimism and he found himself thinking about what to do now. He'd go over to the office, yeah, that'll be where Wesker went, considering it was a Tuesday. He'd tell him that he was better now and that he didn't need physio and Wesker would apologise and then let him go back to work instead of forcing him to take a month off. Yeah.
Chris stood up abruptly, his mind made up. He would go into work. The first aid spray and green herb combination was enough for him to be able to finish up the week, at least, Wesker couldn't dispute that fact.
Putting his boots on was another tricky task, and after ten minutes of fumbling with the laces one-handed he just settled for tucking them in with an exasperated sigh.
It was only when he left the building, carrying his equipment in a pilfered messenger bag he could not imagine Wesker ever using, that he realised that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He glanced up at the apartment building, took note of the name and the street sign on the corner of the block and decided to simply call a cab from his cell.
The weather outside was chilly, a credit to autumn and the fact that Chris didn't have a coat on. He shivered a little until the cab arrived, got in and directed it to STARS office.
xXx
Only when he was out of the cab and halfway down the corridor to the STARS office did Chris begin to have a few second thoughts, but he dismissed them quickly as he arrived outside their door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open - the office was empty, the mess suggesting that Alpha team had been and gone, most likely to a press conference about yesterday. Chris grinned, glad to be missing the boredom of standing around while Captain Wesker spoke into a microphone and they all got dazzled by the reporters' constant picture taking.
He walked over to his desk and dumped the messenger bag onto his swivel chair. No one being around sort of threw a spanner in his imagined situation, and he leaned against the desk with a sigh. He brought a hand up to his shoulder, trying to sense what the injury was like under the skin - since he'd not seen it yet, he felt sort of detached from the thing. Apart from the pain, obviously, although that had lessened greatly since his application of Wesker's first aid spray.
Chris was engrossed in the delicate operation of feeling around his wound, so much so that he near jumped out of his skin when the door clicked and his Captain walked in. An unreadable expression passed over his face, and Chris stared defiantly back at him. There was definite anger there - after working with Wesker for so long you began to pick up the signs; the lips slightly whiter than usual, that little crease between his eyebrows, the stiffening of his back as if he were preparing for a confrontation.
"I distinctly remember telling you not to come in to work today."
"You left me a first aid spray," Chris said, annoyed at how defensive he sounded.
"A first aid spray is not a valid substitute for rest."
"I know that, I just. Don't you even care about what happened yesterday?" Chris snapped. "You never even said thank you!" He stood forward and away from his desk, bristling with indignation.
"You expect me to thank you for being reckless, Chris? You risked yourself with that stunt, and you risked the rest of the team, too."
"But I stopped you from getting shot!"
"And put both yourself and the entire team in danger," Wesker ground out.
"Why are you so angry that I risked myself?" Chris barged forward and grabbed the front of Wesker's shirt, blinded to the consequences by his anger. He shoved as violently as he could with his one working arm until he had Wesker backed up against the closed door of the office.
"Oh Chris," Wesker smirked, tipping his head to one side in that condescending fashion of his. "Do you really think you can overpower me in your condition?"
Chris' fingers tightened in the blue material and before he realised what he was doing he'd lunged at Wesker, determined to wipe that damned smirk off his lips. He did not know what was more surprising; the fact that Wesker didn't punch him in the face or the fact that he reciprocated the kiss with more than a little fervour.
Their positioning was awkward, since Chris couldn't move his shoulder without pain, but Wesker didn't seem to mind that Chris' hand was still tight in his shirt, and that they were so close together that their crotches were almost touching. The kiss was rough and hard and entirely different from kissing a woman. Wesker seemed to fight for dominance naturally, their tongues clashing repeatedly and his hands at the small of Chris' back, holding him firmly in place. One hand moved down to grab Chris' ass, pulling them flush together, and Chris moaned at the contact.
He could almost taste Wesker's smirk at teasing out the first noise; the slight upper slant to his lips, but Chris found that for once he didn't care. He rutted against Wesker shamelessly, gasping as their cocks pressed against each other through the too-thick material of their pants. Wesker ground back, a catch in his breath the only sign Chris could discern. He found that little catch incredibly arousing, and felt blood rush to his already-hardening cock in response.
Chris moved his hand from Wesker's shirt to the back of his neck, lingering on Adam's apple and collarbone on the way. It felt strange not to have the use of both hands; almost vulnerable, somehow, with his left sort of dangling there uselessly. His fingers flexed in Wesker's hair, taking hold and tugging and causing him to growl into Chris' mouth. Fuck, that was hot.
Wesker apparently agreed, as he pushed outwards and spun them round so Chris was the one pinned against the door. Chris let out a pained grunt and Wesker looked disapproving. "I told you you should have rested," he growled, kissing Chris forcefully as if to back up his point.
"Yeah okay," Chris gasped out between kisses. "But the- then we wouldn't be doing this, would we?" He moaned as Wesker ground against him, their erections rubbing together. Wesker made a pleased sound deep in his throat as his hand found Chris' crotch. His head fell backwards as Wesker applied delicious pressure to his cock, his gloved fingers making maddeningly slow movements that were sending Chris crazy with lust.
"Desk," he moaned. "Desk, now."
Wesker raised an eyebrow. "Such demanding tones, Redfield. I do not think you're in any position to demand from me after your conduct last night and today."
Chris swallowed his pride and whispered please and Wesker smirked, taking steps backwards and pulling Chris with him by the front of his tactical vest. He slammed Chris against the desk and turned his attention to removing his clothes. The vest was first, Wesker's slender fingers making fast work of the buckles and zipper. He pushed it over Chris' shoulders, not taking much care to avoid his injury, and Chris hissed through his teeth as Wesker's fingers brushed the careful bandaging. He turned his attention to the inexpertly fastened buttons of Chris' shirt next, releasing a huff of breath in amusement when he saw that Chris had accidentally skipped a button and just left half of them.
"How do you expect me to clear you to work when you cannot even dress yourself, Christopher?" Chris winced at the use of his full name. Wesker only called him Christopher when he was really pissed, but his thoughts were brought quickly back to the present as Wesker pushed off his shirt, again taking no care around his wound. Chris shrugged his good shoulder and his shirt slid down his arms until he could drop it on the floor.
Wesker's hands - still covered in his black leather fingerless gloves - roamed over Chris' chest and his hard, flat stomach and he hummed in anticipation as Wesker's fingers brushed the top of his cargo pants, teasing. The feel of warm leather against his skin felt so good, and Chris made a clumsy one-handed attempt at removing Wesker's vest. He managed to get the buckle undone since it was a simple clicking mechanism, and the zip down, but Wesker had to assist with getting it off and then with undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers covered Chris' as he was about to push off the shirt, making him hesitate. He moved them down and Chris made a little oh noise of understanding as Wesker guided him to his belt buckle, which came undone as easily as the vest ones had.
Chris fiddled with Wesker's zip until he got it down, and then Wesker's hands were all over him once more, unfastening buckle and zip and pushing Chris' pants down just enough to release his cock. Chris thrust forward and moaned at the feel of skin against skin. Wesker took hold of Chris, the leather of his glove contrasting deliciously with the warmth of his fingers, and moved his hand languidly up and down. Chris' head fell forward onto Wesker's shoulder and he thrust into his hand with abandon. Fuck, it felt good, and Chris told Wesker so in no uncertain terms. He turned his head, biting down on Wesker's neck and then moaning when his hair was grabbed, his head pulled back.
Wesker licked up Chris' jawline and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of his good shoulder. His grip on Chris' cock loosened and then he let go. Chris, rather embarrassingly, made a strange little mewling sound of loss.
Wesker's voice was slightly husky. "We are going to need lubrication, Chris, unless your pain threshold is a lot higher than you've been letting on."
"Oh," Chris stammered. Oh. "I think I've got a condom in my wallet." He groped on his desk, located his wallet and flipped it open. He held it out to Wesker for him to pull the condom out with a shy grin.
Wesker tore the packet open with his teeth and put the condom on efficiently. He reached around Chris and snagged a pump-bottle of lotion off Jill's desk. Chris got a look at it, and chuckled. "She's gonna kill you if she finds out. That's her expensive stuff."
Wesker crooked an eyebrow and pumped a liberal amount into his hand. "Well then we shall have to ensure that she does not find out, Christopher." His voice dropped to a purr on the name and Chris shivered. Wesker palmed himself with the lotion, and rubbed it over his fingers until they were slick, then he looked directly at Chris, who got the hint and hitched his ass up so that he was almost sitting on the table.
He leaned back on his good arm, not caring that he was squashing his in-tray because Wesker was circling his entrance with a finger and then pushing inside and fuck, it felt weird. Weird and a bit painful, but when he flexed and brushed against his prostate the discomfort was immediately replaced with mind-blowing pleasure. Chris threw his head back and groaned as Wesker inserted another finger, the feel of the leather of his gloves adding to the new sensations and combining to undo any composure he had left. He had no idea what Wesker was feeling, since he still had his sunglasses on. It was slightly surreal, but Chris found that he didn't really care, especially not when Wesker added a third finger and brushed that spot again, but then he was removing them and Chris felt suddenly empty.
Wesker hesitated, but Chris pulled him close into a kiss. "I'm ready," he growled. "Fuck me." Wesker wasted no time in obeying. One hand went to the small of Chris' back, holding him up and leaving his uninjured arm free, and the other went to his neck where it rested momentarily and then travelled up, thumb slipping into his mouth as Wesker's cock pushed inside. Chris cried out wordlessly from the mingled pleasure-pain, but Wesker gave no quarter as he buried himself fully inside with a soft grunt.
He started moving without giving Chris time to adjust, slowly at first and then faster, harder, until Chris was groaning with every push. He bit down on Wesker's thumb, swirling his tongue around the pad. Wesker's fingers tightened under Chris' chin in an almost reflexive response, pushing his head up and back and exposing his neck which was uncomfortable but somehow really fucking hot at the same time. Chris felt breathless in more ways than one as his hand found his neglected cock. He stroked it once, twice, before Wesker wrapped his hand around Chris' own and moved them together, dominating him even in this.
Chris slipped his hand out from under Wesker's, finding himself craving the touch of those leather gloves on his cock. He reached around and grabbed Wesker's ass, grabbing it tightly and pulling him in deeper. He grunted as their angle changed slightly, and Wesker's cock began to hit his prostate with every thrust.
"Fuck," Chris breathed, extending the vowel like he was tasting it. Wesker's fingers closed on his throat again on the inhale and Chris' vision went black-starred. His eyes flickered back and he bit down hard on Wesker's thumb-pad, tasting harsh iron as he drew blood, scraping the skin with his teeth. Wesker inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw as if trying to stop himself crying out. His fingers slackened and Chris breathed in sharply as air flooded into his lungs. He swore, his voice hoarse and cracking, and Wesker bared his teeth and nipped at the skin on Chris' collarbone, hard enough to make a mark and to almost draw blood.
Chris' legs were partially wrapped around Wesker's thighs, brushing against his holstered gun with every thrust. He liked the feel of the weapon being so close, and the roughness of the straps as they dug into his legs. He tightened his grip, locking his ankles together and pulling Wesker in closer than he thought was possible until he was ball-deep inside Chris and it felt so good. Chris dug his nails into Wesker's ass and Wesker tightened his fingers again, bringing back the delicious bursts of blackness and breathlessness until Chris felt like he was going to pass out from the high and the pleasure and the way Wesker was pumping his cock in rough-time with his thrusts; the way he was slamming into him felt as if there was nothing else in the world.
His oh-so-perfect hair was as messy as Chris had ever seen it, and the urge to wrap his fingers in it and pull was too strong to resist. His hand traced Wesker's spine and his muscled arm and briefly lingered at his neck, but the snarl that elicited drew Chris quickly upwards and to the back of his neck, taking hold of the short hairs and clenching his fingers how Wesker clenched his about Chris' neck.
Chris pulled back, sharp, the white of Wesker's neck stark against the blaze of blue that was his shirt. He made as if to lean forward and bite, and after a moment of hesitation, Wesker allowed it, the wicked fingers moving to the back of Chris' neck as Wesker held him close; still no concession of power to Chris - biting marks into Wesker's neck he may me, but those lingering fingers told Chris in no uncertain terms exactly who was in control of the situation.
Wesker gasped as Chris sank his teeth deeper into the flesh of his shoulder. Chris wasn't sure how much longer he could last, and Wesker seemed to sense this and he pulled out almost all the way and rested there, teasing. Chris moaned, desperate to be full again, but Wesker just held himself there, as still as if he daren't move; as still as if he were stalking prey.
He looked directly at Chris, his lips parted slightly and a flush staining his usual pale complexion. "I want you to beg for it, Chris," he ground out. It sounded like he was having trouble holding out and Chris grinned savagely at the thought. Even his unassailable Captain could be undone by something as simple as lust and pleasure. Chris found himself desperate to see just how Wesker would react when he came and shit, what was a bit of pride compared to that knowledge?
"Fuck me, Wesker," he purred. "I want... I want you to make me come."
Wesker groaned in response and slid in, deep and slow until Chris thought he would come right then from the friction. Wesker dropped his hand to Chris' cock and wrapped around it with surety. He thrust, slowly, in and then out again, deep and controlled, oh so controlled, his gloved hands copying the movements on Chris' cock until they were both lost in the mirrored sensations.
Chris' eyes flickered closed and his head fell back as the crest of orgasm washed over him. He had just enough coherent thought left to feel Wesker coming, and Chris snapped his eyes open to see his mouth fall open as he gasped out a wordless cry. His hair fell over his eyes a little, and in that moment Chris realised that he wanted to see Wesker like this again, and as often as possible; his lips parted and moist, his cheeks pink and his hands wandering possessively over Chris' body.
Wesker pulled out carefully. Chris' breath hitched at the feeling of cold and emptiness that followed, and he winced as the aches in his body caught up with him. His shoulder hurt like a bitch - the spray and herb combination had obviously worn off - and his muscles complained with every movement as he straightened up, the tops of his thighs taking all of his weight as he leaned against the desk.
Wesker pulled away and fastidiously peeled off the condom, tying a knot in it and dropping it into the wastepaper basket under Chris' desk.
"Hey," Chris protested half-assedly. "That'll stink out my desk for a week."
"So it will," said Wesker. He leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "But since you won't be here for a month, you'll not know about it, will you Christopher?" His voice was low and dangerous and Chris felt his cock give a tired twitch of interest.
He ducked his head, the easier to not deal with the piercing glare he just knew was behind those sunglasses. "I guess," he mumbled, then gasped as Wesker's hand flew to his neck again.
"That is not a satisfactory answer." He squeezed to get his point across and then let go.
Chris spluttered and inhaled in a massive gasp. Fuck. He looked straight at Wesker and thought fuck it. "Make it worth my while," he said, aiming for sultry but hitting more hoarse.
Wesker fastened up his pants. "Maybe I shall," he said, reaching forward to fasten Chris up too. "However that rather depends upon you."
Chris opened his mouth to speak just at the moment Barry threw open the office door and sauntered inside. "Hey Chris! I didn't expect you to be in today. Wesker said you were off for a month." He looked at Wesker as if for confirmation.
Wesker inclined his head towards Barry in the affirmative, then shot a glare at Chris that could have melted metal.
Chris shifted from foot to foot. "Er yeah, I just swung by to pick up some stuff." He grabbed the messenger bag like it was a lifebelt and ducked his head to hide the flush that was staining his cheeks.
"See you in four weeks, Redfield," Wesker said, pointedly.
Chris made as if to salute but thought better of it. "Yeah," he mumbled, throwing a quick nod at Barry then escaping as quickly as he could. Was there a hint of promise behind Wesker's words? Chris didn't know, but he sure would enjoy thinking about that maybe.