Chrisker One-Shots

F*cks like a S.T.A.R.

Summary:

Chris wakes to find himself bound and completely at Wesker's mercy. The other man thirsts for his humiliation, but how far will he go to make Chris submit? How long before Chris gives in and begs for it?
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Chris Redfield groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. He groggily stared at the backs of his eyelids before flicking them open to see where he was. He didn't remember going to sleep. In fact... he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there – wherever there was.

The first thing he could sense was a damp, earthy smell, like he was underground. He tried to move, finding that, as he fully came to consciousness, that his wrists were bound together and held above his head. He tried to look up, only seeing the glint of a metal hook over which the ropes were threaded. Desperately he looked down, trying to brace his feet against the floor to slide his wrists out of their confines, but found that only the balls of his feet could touch the ground. Whoever had tied him up wasn't going to let him out that easily.

Then the panic set in.

Chris Redfield was trained in many things; tactical maneuvers, knife fighting, precision shooting and, since the incident in the Arlkay Mansion outside of Raccoon City, killing zombies and monsters. He'd thought he'd seen it all, though none of it would prepare him to wake up in some... torture chamber?

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks and he immediately tried to sift through memories of people who he'd managed to piss off. Ever since Wesker's betrayal, he'd become aware that not everyone could be trusted. He looked down, taking note that his weapons had been removed, though his regular attire had been left in place; black shirt and combat pants. He craned his neck to the side, peering over at what appeared to be a table and chair that was set up close by his position. The room was dark and everything else was swallowed up by the shadows, although he swore he could see what looked like a case sitting on the table, metal clasps glinting in the non-existent light. He had a bad feeling about what was to come. His arms were starting to go numb, meaning he'd probably been brought there recently, although that didn't help him remember what had happened before that.

Walking down a dark alley, he'd been searching for something... on alert for any small sound or movement... someone had called his name, he'd turned to look and then... blackness.

"Shit," he cursed, a loud clank echoing through the room and his head snapped up to the doorway. The once dark room was illuminated by the light that spilled in from the hallway, casting shadows over the face of a man who stood in the doorway, watching him.

"Hey!" Chris shouted, immediately wanting to get to the bottom of things. "Who are you? Why am I here?" He stood as comfortably as he could, trying to twist his wrists and somehow snap his restraints.

The action drew a deep chuckle from the other man who reached out to flick a switch beside the door. The action lit the room up in a dim glow that could have been comfortable had it not been installed in what could pass for a medieval cell. Chris could now see the stone walls, old and moist. There were no windows, and from where he was hanging he could only see the table set up to his side, and the doorway where the one man he despised above all others stood. "Wesker," he gritted his teeth.

The blonde wore dark sunglasses with a black uniform and Chris felt his stomach turn at the thought of what the other man had planned. He glared daggers at his former Captain, trying to keep his temper and fear down as his imagination worked on ideas of what was to come.

Wesker cocked an eyebrow before a lopsided smile drew his lip up in a sneer. "Ah, Chris," he started in his haughty tone. "I'm so glad you've awoken. Such good timing, I was going to start regardless, but this will be so much more fun if you're awake."