Chrisker One-Shots

Seven Minutes

Summary:

"It's a pity that I have so little time to play with you. Not nearly enough to give you what you really need." Wesker released his grip on Chris's throat, and shoved him down to his knees. "But this will have to suffice."

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"Found you."

There was a blur of black and blonde, and Chris found himself knocked clear across the room. He struck the wall at an angle, his shoulder bearing the brunt of the impact, and crumpled down to the floor. Before he could even begin to get to his feet, Wesker had grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him up, holding him against the wall. Pausing to flash that smug, gloating smile, Wesker gave Chris just enough warning to dodge the next blow; he ducked just in time to let Wesker slam his hand into the wall behind him. Chunks of brick crumbled away, coating Chris's back with dust as he scrambled away.

"You're merely postponing the inevitable." Wesker taunted, catching up with him easily.

Wesker batted him around like a cat toying with its prey; a knee to the stomach to make him double over, a backhanded slap that sent him reeling backwards, a roundhouse kick to knock him to the ground. Every blow jolted old memories back to him, nudging him closer and closer to a place he'd spent three long years avoiding. His body knew perfectly well where he was heading, even if his mind couldn't quite accept it.

One leather-gloved hand seized the back of Chris's neck and spun him around, shoving him back against the wall. This time the impact caught the back of his head, and Chris staggered back, too dazed to do anything but watch as Wesker advanced on him.

The older man's fingers closed around his throat, pinning him to the wall. Chris could breathe, but only just. Wesker's grip tightened a little more, and Chris couldn't help but jerk his hips forward.

"Why did you come here, Chris? For Jill?" Wesker's lips curled in derision. "Perhaps. But don't try to convince me that's the only reason. You can barely even convince yourself, can you?"

Chris tried to shake his head, squirming against Wesker's grip. "That's not-"

"Tell me, Chris. Does fighting me still get you hard?" He interrupted, sliding one hand down to cup Chris's groin, and squeezing hard. "Of course it does. You always did enjoy a good beating."

"Wesker..." Chris groaned, straining against the older man's palm.

"It's a pity that I have so little time to play with you. Not nearly enough to give you what you really need." Wesker released his grip on Chris's throat, and shoved him down to his knees. "But this will have to suffice."

Chris could think of a dozen reasons why this was a bad idea, but none that could overcome the hunger that had been building in him day by day, month by month. His muscles tensed as Wesker unzipped, gripped a handful of his hair, then shoved his cock deep into Chris's mouth. A sweet wave of relief coursed through Chris as he surrendered and let it happen. It was rough and fast, and Wesker gave him no time to get used to it; Chris simply had to kneel there and take it, choking a little with each thrust. He braced himself against the older man's legs, his fingers gripping the leather tightly, and relaxed his throat as much as he could.

"You've gotten better at this." Wesker murmured, bringing his other hand up to grip the back of Chris's neck.

The firm touch drove a groan from the younger man, and he swallowed hard, desperate to take as much as he could. His throat was raw and aching, his lips stretched and sore, but every stroke of Wesker's cock made him feel a little more alive, more so than he'd felt for years. Wesker took hold of Chris's head in both hands and held him in place as he started to come. The younger man coughed and squirmed around his cock, groaning and clinging desperately onto Wesker's legs, as that familiar taste washed over his tongue. He wanted to hold onto the taste, to the feeling of being used so roughly, and he buried his face in the leather of Wesker's trousers even as he felt the older man's climax subsiding.

"Playtime's over." Wesker said, a little trace of exertion showing in the roughness of his tone. "Time to bring this little reunion to an end."

He smiled down coldly at Chris as he pulled out, and rubbed one gloved thumb across the younger man's bruised lips. Then his other hand came down brutally hard across Chris's face, sending him sprawling face down in the dust. There was a curt laugh of satisfaction, and then Wesker was gone.