Chrisker One-Shots

Addicted to You

The table splintered beneath him and Chris winced as a thin sliver of wood wormed under the tender skin of his back. Wesker's hand was splayed firm in the centre of his chest – holding him as surely as a restraint – and Chris' hands were tight in the folds of Wesker's shirt, keeping him close enough that they were breathing each others' air.

Their breathing was heavy and loud in the silence, and Chris let go of the shirt in order to run his hands down Wesker's back, resting on his ass. He pulled, hard, and Wesker ground his hips down in answer. Sinking his teeth into Chris' collarbone, Wesker grinned at the anguished hiss it provoked, and slipped his hand down between them. Chris bucked as Wesker's hand made sweet contact with his cock, and then gasped as his pants were skilfully pulled down and tossed aside. Wesker silenced him with a rough kiss.

Chris fumbled with Wesker's belted pants and finally got them undone, shoving them down and pushing off his shirt with urgency. He was desperate for more contact, more skin, and Wesker gave it to him; he spread Chris' legs apart, bent down, and pushed his tongue inside.

Chris moaned, feeling absolutely no shame about how pornographic he sounded. He flexed his fingers, one hand gripping the table-edge and the other pulling Wesker's hair hard, just the way he liked it. Wesker made a small noise of appreciation and Chris pulled harder, unable to stop himself as Wesker replaced tongue with finger, and then two, and Chris almost lost it completely as Wesker's fingers made that little crooking motion right there. Chris threw his head back and saw stars as his skull smacked into the table. He grunted with the sudden pain, but the sound turned to a groan as Wesker's skilled fingers stretched and stroked and teased until Chris was bucking his hips with impatience. He groaned again, now with loss as the fingers were suddenly removed.

Wesker crawled up Chris' body and kissed him, biting his lower lip until it almost bled. Chris growled into the kiss as Wesker thrust forward, and Chris' head thudded back onto the table once more. Wesker's hand was on his chest again as he thrust deep and then shallow, teasing. Chris gasped, fumbled between them and wrapped his hand around his cock, then wrapped his legs around Wesker's back, driving him deeper and closer and harder.

Wesker slammed his other hand down onto the table for leverage, hitting the angle just right. Chris swore, his voice rough-edged with pleasure. He sank his teeth into the exposed shoulder above him, knowing the effect it would have all too well – Wesker snarled, and increased the speed and depth of his thrusts until Chris was panting. His attempts to stroke himself in time went completely out of the window as Wesker's angle changed and he hit that perfect spot again and again, harder and faster before orgasm rolled over Chris without warning. He came between them, hot on his hand and swearing. Wesker wasn't far behind, and his low, visceral moan gave Chris a final tremor of pleasure as he felt him come.

Chris sagged back onto the table, exhausted and sweating. After a moment Wesker lay on top of him. With Chris' fingers in Wesker's hair and their limbs entwined, it was about as close as they'd ever get to post-coital snuggling.