Summary:
"Cheers."
The stranger said before kicking back his drink.Unable to ignore the interference Christopher's gaze darted to the side. Only to meet the most gorgeous man he had ever laid eyes upon.
Fair skin; pale as the snow. A bit of red under his eyes; a rare grey. Blond hair, slicked back, caught in warm light.
He was dressed in all black; fitting and dignified, warped in an old leather jacket of the same color.
Chris's eyes widened, taking in the sight.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tires of an old Jeep rustled a few dead leaves; crushing half and sending the other flying. The vehicle stopped a few feet farther, in between two fading lines; painted white on the asphalt. The motor died in a quiet purr, then silence; for what seemed like a long time.
The parking was almost empty, save for a few other cars and a motorcycle. The bike was parked diagonally taking a whole spot, neon light kissed it's pristine shine; Adding red to black. It was a beautiful steed.
Hiding away in the gloom of his own mean of transportation, Chris leaned against the steering wheel. Both wrists resting atop it; lethargic. His forehead pressed against the warm leather. His shoulders upped and downed almost imperceptibly until he let out a powerful sigh.
It had been a very long day... Paperwork kept piling up, everyone at HQ was overworked, irritable, exhausted... It was a venomous cocktail.
On a night he would have normally enjoyed with his friends and colleagues; He was alone. He couldn't stand their company right now.
He craved something primal, something physical. He needed warmth, he needed passion, something to busy his lips...
But he had no one to share his heat with, no one to hold... Which is what drove him to the nearest bar.
The heat of Whiskey would have to suffice as he'd kiss the edge of a glass.Finally, he reached for the handle; Letting himself out of the car. His boots hitting the ground as he paced along side a wall of red bricks.
It was a charming place, perhaps a little old fashioned, but bursting at the seems with personality. Hanging just besides the front door; A wooden sign. Something you'd expect out of an old western movie. The name of the establishment was gracefully burned into the wood; Beginner's Luck.
He pushed open the door and a bell rang.A few heads turned to greet him without interest. There was few patrons, scattered around the saloon, drinking in silence. The jukebox didn't play.
An old man with a neatly groomed mustache oversaw the bar; A number of empty stools in front of him.
Chris took place on one of those."Whiskey, on the rocks."
He mumbled, barely invested.The owner nodded briefly before turning his back on him.
This was just this kind of place. No need for frivolities, get in; get you drink, and get out. Or at least it was, on Monday nights.
None but lost souls drank away on Monday...
Chris noticed a little stage in the corner of the wide room. Made of wood, like most of everything there. He let out a humorless chuckle as he imagined how this slice of mid-west might lit up on weekends. He could hear a banjo playing if he tried.A glass slid smoothly right in front of him and the captain picked up his head to thank the barman in a meager sway of the head.
The older gentleman closed his eyes in approval and started cleaning glasses once again.Christopher made the amber liquid dance before knocking it back all at once. He needed the kick.
And a refill came quickly.
It became obvious that the old man was used to the likes of him.
And he continued knocking them back.
Finally, he started to feel the tension in his shoulders slip away. He enjoyed the quietude, the simple thuds of sturdy glasses on wooden counters. At one point, one of the patrons walked out; tipping his hat to the owner. The bell rang again in a welcome melody.
He hadn't been there long, but he hoped that things would remain just the way they were; Silent.
His eyes affix in front of him, he ignored the sound of boots hitting the parquet. Up until the point when he heard coins rattle to get inside the jukebox.
His eyes rolled and he sighed softly.
YOU ARE READING
Chrisker One-Shots
FanfictionStory's of WeskerxChris Albert Wesker Chris Redfield character's are not mine there are from the game Resident Evil. todas estas historias son de AO3, acabo de hacer esto para que la gente pueda leerlas y fanfiction.net NO SON MIOS