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The Resident Evil Kink Meme!
Looks like there was already at attempt at this somewhere, but nobody ever wrote anything, just a handful of requests. THAT'S NOT GOING DOWN THIS TIME GUYS.
First:
HOW TO USE THE KINK MEME
Simple. Just post an anonymous comment asking for a fic to be written. Obviously, this is called the kink meme for a reason, and ( Read more... )
Looks like there was already at attempt at this somewhere, but nobody ever wrote anything, just a handful of requests. THAT'S NOT GOING DOWN THIS TIME GUYS.
First:
HOW TO USE THE KINK MEME
Simple. Just post an anonymous comment asking for a fic to be written. Obviously, this is called the kink meme for a reason, and ( Read more... )
“Hey?” Claire snapped back. “Is that the only damn word you can say, Jill?! It’s been three fucking years, and all you can say to me is “hey”?!”
The strain was impossible for them, the Redfields, she damn well knew it. Claire drifted away, she closed the door, and Jill shed her coat and boots, putting them at the threshold in a small wet pile.
“Jill, you are freezing… dammit… hang on, I’ll grab a blanket.”
“No, Claire, I’m fine. Really. Let’s just catch up…”
She was already gone to the closet, pulling out a thick tan comforter before any more protests escaped Jill’s blanched lips. God she was pale. She looked as if at any moment she would just collapse in sickness. Jill watched, but made no protest. Claire usually didn’t take no for an answer anyways.
“Claire- please. I’m alright.- See? I’ll take it.”
Jill took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders tightly, dragging it on the floor behind her and sitting on the couch. She supposed it was a little better than just wearing a wet black tank and soggy jeans.
“Jill-… shit- where do I start…”
Where does one start with tragic events? The older woman shook her head and pulled her feet to her chest, staring at the beige carpeted floor with disinterest, her fingers finding the scabbing under her shirt again and scratching at it. It would never heal completely; it would leave scars on her chest they had said, doctors and nurses who flooded her with blood tests, needles, latex gloves and sterile white scrubs that touched her with emotionless intent. Claire settled beside her, the small loveseat just big enough for them to occupy.
“I mean- you’re blonde now. When did that happen?”
“Wesker,” she muttered, and her tongue felt sticky as she said it. Amazing that one word could bring so much chagrin into a conversation, that people who knew what that work really was, felt sick. Claire grimaced at the name as if she had said something vulgar, and in reality Jill had.
“Bastard…”
“Claire… you already know the details about me… I just want to hear about you. What have you been doing?”
Claire lowered her eyes and shifted in her seat. She didn’t want to drop the subject, but the unease in the room was unforgiving, uncomfortable. She was sitting in this room with Jill Valentine, friend turned into stranger, friend turned into broken marionette for a dead master. This woman before her now, was unmistakably Jill and so very not. Her eyes were still ice blue, her face was the same, and her voice was as she remembered it, though creaking as it was. This woman, who stared out at the world from sockets sunken and so tired, was half dead with emotional exhaustion. Her face was haunted, and it aged her features.
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Jill’s blue, rain colored eyes watched the frustration on her face, and the memories came back. Shopping exploits, movies that were so bad they made running commentary with the theater crowd, phone conversations as the world began to mutate into a hostile beast. Claire had been easily her best friend, her confidant. Secrets shared about the many relationship disasters between them, the constant drama of life. Chris drama (there was actually quite a bit of that, as she remembered.) had always been a topic of interest to both of them.
“What do you want me to say, Claire? I’ve been locked in a cage for three damn years, watching people die, killing people myself, and in the care of a megalomaniac who brought me back from the dead to have me kill- what the hell do you want me to say?”
“Anything!” she near screamed back. The stress in her face, in her eyes, it all spat in that one word. “We lost you like-” she clapped her hands abruptly, in her face, “that, Jill! I know the risks, so yeah, I knew there was a chance I’d get that call- but you are alive! And right here! I just need my best friend resurrected to say /anything/ to me.”
The silence that followed was only broken by the beat on the windowpane, the song of the cold storm. Jill looked on, without a word, and she couldn’t hide the pity but anger on her face. What was she supposed to feel in this situation? Claire’s words were a hurt accusation, but of course she was only human to make it. Jill put her hands on either side of her shoulders and locked her in a stare.
“Claire. I’m here now-” she began with a gentler tone, a softer one that didn’t play on the harsh rasp in her throat, “alright? I’m done with fighting.”
Claire shifted in her seat, her eyes were glassy and she just wanted to scream and cry until there were no tears left, and she didn’t even know why. It was so unfair, everything was so damn unfair. Jill was back, she should’ve been happy, but she was just being selfish for wishing her back whole. She didn’t want to see such manifested pain.
“Hey-… don’t cry. I’ll have to sing Thriller again.” Jill murmured, and gave her best soft smile. Claire looked at her, and she half let out a laugh, and half choked on it.
“You /remember/ that? You gotta be kidding me.”
“Claire. We were really drunk, and I can’t forget it.” She said, and the smile came easier. Claire laughed, and that tension was instantly gone.
“Jill, what’s on your shirt?”
She blinked and looked down, pulling at the fabric in distaste. “Shit…”
There were small dark spots in the fabric, blooms of liquid that were getting heavy enough to show. “It’s this… scabbing wound. Do you have bandages I could use?”
Claire’s resounding look was plainly disturbed. “Are you okay? Yeah- I have them. Come on, I’ll help you.”
Claire’s bathroom was small, but it was enough for her single living, and as such, it was most definitely suited for Claire. It was plain but attractive, maroon shower curtains, cushy seat covers, carpets, and as Claire opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, she also found that Claire was sure as hell set for the apocalypse. She had kits, five different types of band-aids, enough Ibuprofen and Advil to drive migraines to extinction, and everything from cotton, to gauze, to bandage rolls. If it hadn’t been in clear kits, that cabinet would’ve overflown.
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“These scars keep opening…” she muttered, but her tone was distracted, her eyes caught in the mirror once again. Her body was thin, lean, ghastly pale as if ice had kissed her skin. She stared a minute more, and her fingers traced the fringe of her bra, to the six agitated holes in her chest. They were deep, penetrating, wormlike lacerations spewing from the center, and they said it would never disappear, not completely.
Claire’s fingertips on them made her flinch out of whatever reverie her mind wished her to embrace, and the touch made her flinch in surprise. She bit her lip and growled behind it. “Ow...”
“Sorry. It stings.”
Claire drew back slightly, the alcohol covered swab in her hand dotted with blood and pus. “This thing already looks bad, I don’t want it infected or anything.”
“Claire-…” she grit her teeth and inhaled a breath through her nose, her lungs were in knots, her heart raced at the feel of touch that was soft, warm, gentle. Gentle over bloody memories, yet the memories, nightmares crept out, memories of brutality, of a wicked man scraping his nails over the curves of her breasts while he splayed her out from her spine. He purred into her ear, fondled the great orange jewel, and pressed it deeper into her skin while his teeth dug into the gentle arch of her ear. She knew he wanted to bite it, rip it off, but never let her unhear his voice. His words chilled her, made her sick and gag, and she wanted to scream for the brutality of it all, “monster”, but the word never came.
“Jill…? Jill- Jill come on… Jill-… Jill!”
Her body was racked with tremors and her pulse went mad, heart flying around her ribs and pounding into the walls until her head was ringing. Her eyes darted about, her muscles tensed up. She hardly registered Claire pulling her off the seat onto the floor, ending up in a pile of limbs and body.
“Jill, breathe…” Claire coaxed. “Jill Valentine, breathe… dammit…”
Claire’s arms wound themselves over her back, awkwardly, and she pulled the older woman closer, let her grip the fabric of her maroon shirt and damn near hyperventilate against her neck. Panic attacks… Jill had a few after Arklay and Raccoon, always after the fact, not during. It was the second time Claire had been faced with this, the second time this happened. The first time they had been in France, in a room together at a cheap hotel in Bordeaux. Jill was never the person to break, ever. She kept going and going, no matter how hard she was beaten down, how emotionally hurt she really was. She kept going until she couldn’t go any further.
Claire remembered that night in Bordeaux, where she woke to the noise of feet on the balcony outside their room. Jill was standing on that balcony, her hands wrung over the bars so tightly that her knuckles were white. She muttered words to no one.
“What the hell am I fighting for?”
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“Jill…” she sighed softly, and her hold on the woman tightened. Could she register speech in panic? “It’s me, Claire.”
Claire traced the line of Jill’s elegant back with her eyes, the positively firm muscles of it. Jill had the body women would kill for, and she used that body to kill. Her skin was chilled from the rain, but her body was warm, here. After three years, she couldn’t hardly believe that the specter in her arms was alive, her best friend alive and in pieces. Jill’s tremors were weakening, her breathing was slowing back to normal, and her muscles were relaxing gradually.
“You okay?” she started, laying her head against Jill’s, her back against the bathroom wall.
Jill didn’t answer, and Claire peered at her from the corners of her eyes. “Jill?”
Again, only the sound and feel of the choppy breath against her ear. Claire turned her head slightly, and her mind traveled back to that night in Bordeaux. She pressed her lips into Jill’s jaw, a chaste kiss, a friendly one that meant only to reassure, and she curved her head over her shoulder and pulled her close, cupped the back of her head, and massaged her back. She didn’t know anything about what happened, nothing about Kijuju in detail, but she wasn’t stupid. Jill was broken; something took her and smashed her already shaky mind into the black gravel of industry and biological warfare. If she remembered Wesker well enough, the man who saw human life as insignificant, only fit for autopsy tables and glass tubes, she could only guess. Perhaps it would have been more merciful if Jill had died that night... Wesker had trained himself a fighting falcon, only to dig his claws into her wings and rip them at the root.
Jill shifted slightly, Claire expected her to pull away, to draw back her bangs from her face and sit there quietly. Jill pulled back, and she did not go any further, she stared into the eyes of her younger counterpart, and Claire felt like something inside of her panged at that expression. Jill’s eyes, so blue they were transparent, were screaming for her pains, the pains of humanity, the world which she sought to protect, against her. Her lips were frozen in the smallest pulled back growl, teeth ground, and with that look, she said “help me.” How could she possibly help though? When it came to Jill, few people understood her, and few people could come into the scope of possibly grasping how the cogs in her head turned, but Claire had a vague idea of what was going on in there.
Claire wasn’t at all surprised when Jill kissed her, gently, hesitantly, her chapped lips sucking and rolling the flesh with extreme calculated care. She watched for a moment, watched Jill’s eyes grow more desperate, more lost, before she submitted. She kissed back, and her mind was at conflict with her for it. She couldn’t just heal Jill with… with whatever this was, but on the other hand… perhaps she could take whatever agonies plagued her away, even for a little while?
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Claire had to break it off to breathe, not noticing her baited breath. “Jill, you aren’t… thinking straight.”
That was probably the worst way to phrase it, too, but it had to be said. Jill pulled away, she licked her moist bottom lip, and Claire bit hers in anticipation. She surprised herself with the fact that she wouldn’t care if Jill continued to kiss her, to kiss her all night if she wanted to. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising in the end… The impromptu rendezvous with a dead woman, gone for too long and held dear by so many, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that this kiss meant so much.
“…No, I’m not.”
Claire couldn’t help but shoot back, “What?” and blink at her own question. Jill sat back, and her eyes drifted away to the floor, her lips still wet, and her expression unreadable again. She was going cold, her breaths were coming easier now, more rhythmic. Claire shook her head. “Jill, I am not going to let you do something you are going to regret in a sober mind.”
Her lovely blue eyes found Claire’s face again, and for a moment, the Redfield craved the feeling of her lips again, moving on her neck, moving lower… moving… Claire shifted as the thought sent a burning feeling through her thighs.
Jill’s brow was set, her features crinkled at the edges in slight confusion. Her voice was breathy, still laced with that desperation. “Why would I,” she started, and leaned forward to kiss her again. “I need someone… someone to understand...”
She trailed off, her voice was heavy with defeat and laced with the burdens of implication.
“Jill… you are asking me to have sex with you, and you are asking me in a panic. What would you do if it was me?”
Jill murmured her words with heated breath, a poisonous charm. “Please… Claire. Please kiss me.” She was pleading with the most beautiful tone of want and loss. It was so sad and true, it was painful and seductive.
And Jill found her lips again, and she kissed her with that plea ringing in their ears. Never would Claire have ever though Jill to come onto her like this, or come onto her at all. ‘The circumstances have changed.’ Her mind chortled back, while her body sunk more and more into submission to arousal. Jill kissed her with more urgency, yet no ferocity. Her lips were delicate, almost apologetic, caressing her tongue and the corners of her mouth with equal attention. Claire pulled away, and her hand pushed between them, resting on the six ugly gouges on her chest and balling slightly. Perhaps she should have picked a less symbolic place to touch, because at that Jill actually flinched. Claire didn’t know what the divots were from, but they looked like they went deep, as if something was punched into her body at that exact spot, or maybe hooked into her.
“Jill, you are using me. If you… wanted to do this you should’ve asked me outright.” She murmured, and watched her typically calm counterpart shift expressions to one of introspection. She was thinking, but her thoughts were conflicted. “Look, I’m consenting, but I’m not letting you bury your problems in a way you are going to regret it later.”
Claire’s hand slid slowly away from the still-damp and agitated skin, and swallowed the anxious feeling in her throat. She couldn’t help but worry, be hesitant with everything, for this was completely alien, Jill was completely alien. She didn’t know the first thing about her older partner’s past, nothing about what could possibly set her off. She hadn’t an idea of where the hell to start.
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“Do you get it?” she murmured, and chanced a uncertain peck on her cheek. “You are the only person who ever really listened to me, I mean really listened and thought about what I had to say, so I know you get it…”
Jill did get it, she understood, and at once she was ashamed of her actions. She turned her head away from Claire’s warm hands, and her heart sunk miles down. Had three years driven her to such extremes to get away from it all?
“I do. I’m sorry Claire, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-…”
“Stop,” The younger woman finished, and she shook her head. “Just stop.”
Claire stood and offered her hand, complete with a small smile of reassurance, though it wasn’t quite taken. Jill looked up at her, looked at her hand, and took it daintily, standing beside her with unreadable eyes.
“So you want to do me, huh?”
Claire smirked a little and Jill tilted her head and sighed, lying it against Claire’s shoulder, for it felt heavy with thought, full to the brim with stress and exhaustion. She was second guessing herself, wondering what exactly she wanted, what exactly her mind craved. It was hard to decide, achingly difficult to separate the emotional trauma from the desires.
“I just want to be close.” She admitted, and her glassy blues seemed lost within themselves. Claire replied with a kiss to her scalp, but then her cheek, and then her nose, until they were kissing again, kissing, and It was Jill who was giving in this time. The yearning for something to make her feel better, make her feel like she hadn’t just lost everything and was no longer a puppet, made her shift and want to indulge.
Claire walked her back to the couch, slowly, exploring her mouth, setting her hands on Jill’s body to explore. She already had her top off, so her hands went there first, roaming over the muscle of her abs, feeling her back and pulling her closer. Jill’s back was like she thought it was, full of muscle that was wired to spring, so tense that she could feel the knots through her pale skin.
The kissing became more heated, more desperate the further they walked together. Jill tilted her head, made a noise in her throat, and her elegantly thin fingers, fingers and palms that were apparently talented at numerous things (lockpicking and sandwich-making two of the things she could recall), were now showing how talented they really were under Claire’s shirt. Jill was pressing her fingers into her stomach, cupping the fabric of her bra to feel the weight of her breasts, press her fingers over the hardening nipples and roll them, tap her nail against the areolas. She gave Claire’s breasts a generous squeeze, her hands traveled down under her shirt. Claire was both surprised and unsurprised about the lack of boundaries. Jill was moving slowly but quickly, taking advances at a constant pace, every brush of skin sending pangs to Claire’s groin. Jill pulled her hands out from the soft fabric and gave the other The kissing became more heated, more desperate the further they walked together. Jill tilted her head, made a noise in her throat, and her elegantly thin fingers, fingers and palms that were apparently talented at numerous things (lockpicking and sandwich-making two of the things she could recall), were now showing how talented they really were under Claire’s shirt. Jill was pressing her fingers into her stomach, cupping the fabric of her bra to feel the weight of her breasts, press her fingers over the hardening nipples and roll them, tap her nail against the areolas. She gave Claire’s breasts a generous squeeze, her hands traveled down under her shirt. Claire was both surprised and unsurprised about the lack of boundaries. Jill was moving slowly but quickly, taking advances at a constant pace, every brush of skin sending pangs to Claire’s groin. Jill pulled her hands out from the soft fabric and gave the other woman’s ass a squeeze. Claire stiffened at it, and sighed into the kiss. It was almost amusing.
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Claire took the lead, as if this was some sort of an emotional tango. She led Jill to the couch, kissed down her neckline to the sharp divots of her clavicle, and murmured. “Honestly, I’ve never done this to a chick.”
Jill sighed and let her head hang back, sitting down and lying back as Claire hovered over her. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The woman had already been in a state of undress, and though she had seen Jill in a bra before, many times actually, there was never a moment where Jill had looked the way she did now. Sexy, long arms, talented hands, pale skin, exhausted eyes, pink lips… the list went on. For the first time in years, she swore she never wanted anyone else so badly. There was something in Jill Valentine, ghost from the grave, lying on her couch, panting, looking at her with a look that said “do me because I need you”, that made Claire tug at the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing with her teeth, and pull it with a snap over her head.
“Thanks.” She sighed back, and she pressed her lips to Jill’s pulse, swinging her legs onto the couch, straddling her.
“Mm…”
Jill shifted under her legs and they met in a kiss, a needy, sweet kiss that forced Jill’s head back into the cushion. Jill’s hands found their purchase, unhooking Claire’s bra without words, tossing it to the floor. She definitely did this before. Claire pulled away to look down at her critically for that moment, but Jill just gave her a small smile, her fingers massaging the swell of her breasts, attending to them, the callouses on her hands from constant gun use making Claire shiver as sparks ran down her spine right to her thighs.
“What about you?” Claire murmured, between messy kisses to Jill’s neck. “You’ve done this before?”
“Maybe.” She sighed back, her lips brushing Claire’s forehead, hands tangling themselves in her hair, unweaving the ponytail she had in.
“Thanks for being vague.” She quipped back, and dug her hands under Jill’s back, pulling her bra apart and weaving the straps off her arms. Something seemed intimate, moreso than usual, in this moment, and she pressed her body down, to gauge Jill more than anything. Jill groaned, her back curled to meet her, and her legs drew around her back, hips rocking as a result, and Claire jittered as she pressed kisses down her body.
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Claire kissed lower, dipped her tongue into Jill’s navel, and the woman hissed softly, her eyes shutting as her body wished her to succumb to sensation. Her mind wanted this, her mind needed this. This comforting, gentle intimacy, the need to be needed was what she wanted. Claire’s fingers dug under the band of her jeans, under the wet hem of her panties next to her thigh, and Jill whined softly, her fingers dug into the cushions.
“Claire…you sure you never done this be-“ she was interrupted as a moan wrenched itself out of her throat. Claire had sunk her fingers into her, and started pumping. It was slow, and Jill’s breathing became more erratic, less controlled.
“I learn fast.” She muttered back. Jill pushed herself up with her hands, her lips found Claire’s, and she closed the gap between their bodies. She pulled at her jeans, pulled them off, pulled off her panties, and she rocked into Claire’s fingers, riding them and burying her face into her neck to hide some of the whines and cries as heat spilled into her.
It had been too long since she had been able to drown while breathing, gasping even, Claire’s wide ocean eyes took in this in with the wonder of something completely new. She was overwhelmed with the sense that Jill needed this, needed to get off for some other reason than just getting off, and the feeling of someone like that, someone so desperate rutting against her body, crying into her neck as she found her clit and thumbed it in time, it was logical insanity.
“Claire-… god… Claire…” she murmured in a mantra, again, and again, and again, and her fluids were coating her partner’s fingers. Claire pulled her closer, kissed the side of her head and unraveled the hairband to let her ghost blonde hair free. It spilled over her shoulders like silk, like manufactured perfection. Claire threaded a hand through it and dug her nails into Jill’s scalp, forcing her head back, her chest out.
Jill shuddered, Claire felt her pulse around her fingers, gush into a climax, her toes curling and thighs clenching tightly in muscle. She felt that one throughout, her body twitched in the aftermath, she kissed the shell of Claire’s ear.
“…Hey. Don’t thank me yet.”
Claire smirked and leaned forward, withdrawing her glistening fingers, eyeing them and testing the waters with a quick lick. Jill blinked, she watched her, but did nothing as Claire forced her to lie back, and with a smirk crawled off the couch and pulled Jill’s legs with her.
“…Claire you-“
“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, and lowered her lips to Jill’s thigh, kissing the inside of it, kissing closer to Jill’s wet, weeping sex. Jill was surprised, clearly surprised. It was more than she bargained for. She watched but she couldn’t believe it. Her fingers threaded themselves into Claire’s hair and she grit her teeth to keep from moaning too loudly and Claire dipped her tongue into her, sucked experimentally, rubbed her hairless pelvis with a bit of an amused chuckle, pulling away only to murmur, “Never thought you’d go shaved.”
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Claire made a face, but kept experimenting, rolling her tongue along the lips, digging it into her sex, tasting her. Jill quaked, she saw images behind her clenched eyelids, but they weren’t the memories of three years past, but memories of moments long gone. They were memories that she craved to relive. Watching the meteor shower that one time on the roof, one of those “every hundred years” things, locking themselves out of Chris’s apartment and having to sleep in her car… Things that now seemed so trivial but so close to the heart. Claire would always understand her, always be there for her, when everyone else saw a stranger, saw the resulting victim… she’d see Jill.
She climaxed with a cry and the thought that this younger woman was possibly the most consistent friend she would ever have, the person that brought her home, when home was just a memory. Then it changed with that simple dose of ecstasy. Jill grabbed Claire, she pinned her to that couch with a breathstealing kiss, she pulled her jeans off and she snapped off her panties. Claire felt winded by it all, unable to say much in response as Jill spread her legs and sucked on her until she was screaming, literally screaming into her wrist to try and muffle it. Claire was sweating, rutting with her thoughts of the morality of it absent. She couldn’t stop, not until Jill pulled away with a wet hiss, swallowing, licking her lips, trailing kisses up her body, to her lips, exchanging a long, breathy kiss, heavy panting, between them both. Claire was starstruck, and as she cooled down, Jill stood and sighed, walking over to the lightswitch and flicking the single room light off. She walked back to the couch, and slid on it, pulling the blanket over them both. Claire sighed and shuddered, scooting closer, resting her head on the arm rest, facing Jill.
“That happened.”
“Yeah.”
Jill pressed her forehead into Claire’s and the younger woman wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling the muscle there, the soft skin, the curves and weight of her body. It was quiet, save for the constant drum of rain on the window outside, some siren in the distance…
“Memorizing it?” Jill murmured and closed her eyes, a sense of rare solace comforting her, letting her tired eyes close, the scent of sex heavy in the air. She was memorizing it too, counting it precious. Her mind wanted to cocoon itself in this moment of warmth and closeness, and let it take her elsewhere to rest such weary wings.
“Something like that.”
She paused before she continued. Here she was, Jill Valentine, in her arms after she visited the grave each year on Valentine’s Day… She was back, in pieces, but she was still Jill. They could smash her grave marker to dust, she could find her own place again, start over. Perhaps they could make a new life for her…
“Jill, can I ask you something?”
But she was already asleep like in Bordeaux… in her arms again. Claire shifted, the sweat on her body gluing her to Jill’s naked skin.
“…Sleep well…” she whispered, and her arms held her tighter, watching the ease on the older woman’s face as she slept. Perhaps some things were meant to stay unknown…
-fin
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