Even though this is a joke, please be aware that there are themes of necrophilia in this obviously so read at your own discretion
The tyrant was dead. Chris's legs were trembling so badly that he could hardly keep himself up. He didn't want to face another monster like that ever again. Even as it lay motionless in front of him, Chris still feared that it was still alive, that it would jump to life at any moment.
He staggered on his shaky legs to his former source of comfort – his captain. The man had betrayed him and his team, and, yet, he couldn't help but mourn the loss.
"Wesker," he muttered, running the backs of his fingers over the cold cheek. "I thought you cared about me. Was it—was it all meaningless?"
Wesker, of course, did not answer.
Chris sighed, embarrassed to be talking to himself. His eyes trailed down Wesker's mutilated body to his legs. He'd died as he'd lived – like a whore. With his legs spread wide open. Chris wondered if it was purposeful, if he was asking to be violated post-mortem.
"You'd never let me do this if you were alive," Chris said, kneeling between Wesker's thighs.
Wesker had never allowed Chris to dominate him once. Chris asked him why; teased him, saying that he was just insecure in his masculinity. But Wesker had always refused to let Chris between his thighs. Oh, how Chris had wanted to force himself on Wesker, to pin him to the floor and take what he wanted. The only thing stopping him was knowing he'd lose. There was nothing Wesker could do to defend himself now, though.
Chris slowly pulled Wesker's trousers down his legs, savouring each inch of flesh exposed as it came. His pale, unblemished skin. It bruised so easily. Chris was reminded of that every time he got a little too excited nipping at Wesker's skin. He wasn't the only person leaving accidental marks on Wesker's neck. It seemed that Wesker spent more time hiding something on his neck – with a plaster, scarf or turtle-neck – than not.
Chris ran his hands down Wesker's thighs. Insulated by clothing – they were still a little warm. Cold enough to be clearly dead, but warm enough to be pleasant.
"Why wouldn't you let me do this? You look so much better with your legs spread," Chris commented.
He climbed over Wesker's legs to straddle his waist instead, and shuffled on his knees until his crotch hovered above Wesker's face. The sunglasses were knocked askew on his nose, revealing his unseeing eyes. Chris's heart ached at the reminder that his captain was, in fact, deceased.
"Here," Chris said softly, easing his slowly hardening cock out of his trousers. "Since you're lying there with your mouth wide open."
He pushed himself into Wesker's bloodied mouth. It was still wet and warm. And familiar. He fucked himself down the welcoming throat, and, as he did, Wesker seemed to groan, making Chris freeze. But the body was still motionless, eyes still visionless.
"You like that?" Chris chuckled. "It feels good for me too."
The sounds Wesker's throat made as it was fucked was eerily similar to that of a live person's. That fact drove Chris down a path of telling the carcass how well it was sucking him, how good it looked doing it.
Eventually, Chris pulled out. His cock was now smeared obscenely with blood and saliva. It was gory and disgusting, and Chris liked it. Because it was Wesker's.
He returned between Wesker's legs, lined himself up, and pushed inside. Air rushed out of his lungs at the feeling. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. Still so warm.
"You feel amazing," Chris told his lifeless captain. "You know that, Wesker?"
He tipped forward, and braced his hands either side of Wesker's head. Each thrust rocked Wesker's body. Chris moved the sunglasses off his face, and, gently, as though handling glass, moved Wesker's head to face him. He tried positioning it to make an illusion for himself, to make it look like Wesker was looking up into his eyes. But, no matter how hard he tried, Wesker always stared straight through him.
Instead, Chris used his thumb to shut Wesker's mouth, and pressed his lips to it. Then, slowly he let the jaw fall open to taste his tongue. All he could taste was blood, but it wasn't unpleasant. Not when it was Wesker's blood. He groaned into the kiss, speeding up his hips.
"I bet you – would have loved this, Wesker," Chris panted against cold skin. "You would have been moaning – like a porn-star. I know you'd sound so good. I wanna—I wanna hear it." He trailed kisses along Wesker's jaw. "I wanna hear your – voice again."
Pressing his body down against Wesker's, Chris pulled Wesker's arms up to rest along his shoulders. He could feel Wesker's blood wetting the front of his top, but he didn't care about that right now.
Chris caressed Wesker's sides. He planted loving kisses all over the cold skin. Wesker was able to make Chris feel good even as nothing by a limp back of bones and organs. He was driven closer and closer with each buck of his hips.
"Oh, Wesker." He pushed himself up to look at Wesker's face one last time as he came inside. "God, Wesker."
Chris didn't redress the corpse. He wanted the traitor to be found in this demeaning manner. It was what he deserved for betraying S.T.A.R.S., and for dying and leaving Chris.
--
When Wesker awoke, he felt incredible, invigorated. He could already feel the power he had coursing through his veins. He sat up, and noticed his bare legs, trousers carelessly flung beside him. Another movement, and Wesker could feel something ooze out of him. He smirked slightly. Of course, Chris couldn't stop himself.
