Chrisker One-Shots

Prey To My Enemy

Summary:

It's not really clear to Chris how he ended up fist fighting his goddamn Captain, but he can't really bring himself to care about the why and the how as his ribs sing with pain from where he was kneed just seconds before.

"Don't," Chris spits, "don't hold back," and with that, he goes to swing a punch at Wesker.

Of course the fist is caught dead in its tracks before it can connect with the bastard's face, "Oh Chris," Wesker says in that condescending tone of his, "if I didn't hold back, I'm afraid I would kill you."

-
It's not really clear to Chris how he ended up fist fighting his goddamn Captain, but he can't really bring himself to care about the why and the how as his ribs sing with pain from where he was kneed just seconds before.

"Don't," Chris spits, "don't hold back," and with that, he goes to swing a punch at Wesker.

Of course the fist is caught dead in its tracks before it can connect with the bastard's face, "Oh Chris," Wesker says in that condescending tone of his, "if I didn't hold back, I'm afraid I would kill you." Wesker twists the fist in his grasp and uses it to pin Chris's arm behind his back.

"Then kill me," Chris bites, not really believing Wesker would have the balls to end it for them right here and now.

Wesker grabs the back of Chris's neck and swoops down to speak into his ear, "Now why would I kill such a perfect little soldier?" Apparently the question is rhetorical, because Wesker doesn't give Chris time to answer before he's throwing Chris's head down onto his knee.

Pulling back, Chris feels dizzy, and he feels a warm liquid dripping on his face. When he touches just under his nose and pulls his hand away, he realizes his nose is bleeding from the impact. He makes to charge at Wesker, but before he can even think about it he's being pinned against the wall, Wesker's forearm pinning him by the throat.

With a gloved hand, Wesker sweeps some of the blood onto his finger tips. Chris watches with horror as the other sticks his tongue out and licks at the digits, the red spreading onto his tongue, "You even taste delicious, who would have thought?"

"You're sick," Chris stares dumbfoundedly, "fucking sick in the head."

Wesker laughs in response, the sound cruel and without any real humor behind it, "You don't even know the half of it."

It's all the warning he gets before Wesker smashes their mouths together. That's what it is, not even a kiss as it's all teeth and biting and claiming and bruising. Even so, Chris feels something within him stir, and it stirs even further when Wesker pulls Chris's bottom lip between all too sharp teeth.

"You are weak to your carnal desires, Redfield," Wesker says with a smirk, like he knows everything, like he has Chris down to a science.

But Chris knows that he isn't that hard to read.

The hand not holding Chris against the wall slides down between them, and gropes Chris through his pants. He lets out a sharp hiss from the contact, already feeling himself half hard and growing harder in the palm of his Captain. Part of him really wants this, part of him really does fucking not want this, but the former part of him is screaming to give in. But he knows better than that, knows better than to stop fighting for his life when it comes to the man who has him pinned. If he gives in, he's weak, he's nothing, and certainly not worth his Captain's time. If he fights it completely, if he says no, if he puts his guards up, he's a worthless subordinate that doesn't know his place.

But if he goes through with it, keeps it harsh and bloody and painful in all the right ways, he'd fall right into Wesker's palm.

There's really no winning.