Chrisker One-Shots

Dearheart, your home

Wesker is very proud of his bathroom—giant bathtub, customizable water pressure, shower big enough for two, large hot water reservoir, an aesthetic that looks good under any kind of lighting—but it means the most to him when Chris is in it with him, to share it with him.

Chris has not been in it, recently, because Chris was on a mission for the BSAA that had him—who knows where, because Wesker sure didn't. He's allowed to know where his son goes, mostly because Sherry tells him, but gods forbid that he knows the details of his significant other's mission.

Being in the blind as he is, it is surprising to step into his apartment and to distinctly hear the echoing of the water coming from further in. He hurries his movements, hanging up his coat and putting his shoes on the shoe rack as quickly as he can meticulously. He heads towards the sound, hearing as he gets closer that Chris has a playlist running on the stereo, at a volume that would probably cover up the vast majority of background noises for a human with a normal level of hearing.

He takes off his clothes, tossing them into the hamper, before padding in. Chris has his back towards him, so he gets to watch Chris for a moment before stepping into the shower stall with him. A glance at the control panel had told him that Chris had the water set to a warm temperature, which calmly settles something inside of him. When they had first gotten together, Chris had a habit of taking cold showers, typically in five minutes or less. Now, he luxuriates in long showers and baths at soothing temperatures for all of his needs.

He rests his hands on Chris's hips and Wesker isn't sure whether it's a testament to the security of the apartment or how comfortable Chris is with him that he doesn't jump even slightly at the touch. In fact, Chris leans back into the touch, arching his neck to the side, allowing Wesker to nuzzle and mouth at it.

Chris lets out a soft sigh before a lazy smile settles on his face. "Hey babe."

"Dearheart," Wesker responds as he moves up his neck. The water is coming down from different spots in the ceiling, a bit like rain, so he's thoroughly wet already. "How was your day?"

"Long. I'm just glad that I'm home, finally."

"You didn't have to quarantine?"

"No virus outbreak, for once, ended up bringing in the target without that happening."

He refrains from pointing out that, either way, it's BSAA protocol to quarantine, but he's happy that Chris is home, and it's not like he's going to catch anything from him anyway. He would be more than happy if Chris got to spend the minimum three days at home, even if all they did was watch mindless TV.

He hums in acknowledgement of what Chris said, glad to hear that it was an easier mission than normal. Chris wasn't old—only in his mid thirties—but running himself ragged for the past decade wasn't easy on him, mentally or physically.

Chris turns around, taking Wesker's glasses off and setting them in a safe spot next to the soap bottles, before looping his arms around Wesker, bringing his head closer for a kiss. It's odd at first, because he can taste the water and Chris, but as it continues on, it's mostly Chris. He must have had something to eat before his shower, or to drink at least, because his mouth tastes fruity and sweet like jelly or juice.

"We should finish showering before this goes any further," Chris tells him after breaking away, even though Wesker could feel him plumping up against his thigh. "How was your day?"

"Tedious," he replies, grabbing the shampoo from the indent in the wall. He pours it out and runs his fingers through Chris's hair. It's so short at the moment, not quite as long as the width of his fingers, that it almost feels unnecessary to use conditioner, but he follows up with it anyway, if only because Chris deserves all the pampering that he could provide.