Chrisker One-Shots

Where He Belongs

Work Text:
Wekser's gloved fingers tightened around Chris' airway, making him feel breathless and lightheaded as he scrabbled for purchase, pinned under the other man's body.

Wesker held him up with a single hand, a cruel smile twisted on his handsome lips as he looked down at him. He stroked Chris' face almost tenderly with the back of his free hand.

"I love when you struggle, Chris; it shows just how helpness you are."

Humiliated, Chris felt his face flush, at the same time as dizziness started to overtake him. He levered himself against Wesker to push him away, and took a deep breath as the other man dropped him, only to feel a starburst of pain light up as Wesker's fist connected hard with his jaw. It was the same hand he'd been caressing him with a moment earlier.

Chris' body connected with the ground in a heap, and he gasped as he tried to recover; but it was pointless. Wesker was too fast. His boot connected with Chris' ribs in another starburst of shooting pain, and then pinned down his chest. Chris felt the heel of the leather boot digging into the place just above his chest. Along with the throb of pain through him, it sent a tight heat in his body– between his thighs.

Catching his breath, he spat out blood as he glared impotently up at Wesker.

Wesker pressed harder down on his chest, and leaned down, the curve of his back catlike, as his face came close enough to Chris' to feel the heat of his breath. He sneered at him, and smudged the blood across his lip over his cheeks with the thumb of his black glove.

His other hand snaked down and traced the bulge between Chris' thighs.

"Does your sister know how much you love it when I beat you up, Chris?" Wesker demanded snidely. "Does Jill?"

"Fuck you," Chris hissed beneath him, his cheeks burning as he kept struggling, unable to find purchase, or maybe unable to find the will, to truely shove Wesker away."

"Say please. Say please, and I'll ease your suffering."

Chris felt Wesker's fingers tighten slightly around his bulge, feeling his grip through layers of fabric. The blood was still hot, and tangy in his mouth as he panted for breath.

Damn it!

"...please," he growled out in a low voice.

Wesker's smirk grew. He hooked his bloody thumb from Chris' cheek into his mouth, over his tongue. "Say it again."

Chirs squirmed under him.

"Pleash!!" he yelled. It came out slurred as Wesker held down his tongue in his bloody mouth.

"Good boy." Wesker patted his cheek, and Chris felt a fresh surge of embarrassing heat throughout him.

The pressure on his chest eased as Wesker lifted his boot, and stood up, pressing it against Chris' face. The black leather boot loomed in his vision, the edge up it rubbing against his cheek.

"Kiss it, Redfield," Wesker commanded in a tone that brooked no argument.

Chris's heart thudded in his chest as his lips met the same boot that had just been abusing his ribcage. His whole body throbbed with desire.

He hated and loved that this was where he belonged, on his back, kissing Wesker's boots.

There would be plenty of time to be angry about it later, assuming Wesker let him live when he was done fucking him.

He always had so far.