"I will not bow
I will not break
I will shut the world away
I will not fall
I will not fade
I will take your breath away."
The rush of air was his only warning. He had just enough time to turn around, but not enough to raise his gun before his back slammed into the wall, forcing all the air out of his lungs. A vase shattered nearby, covering the the sound of impact as a leather-gloved hand pinned him to the temple wall by his throat, the other slamming his hand into the chiseled rock hard enough to make the bones in his wrist creak. His pistol clattered to the ground, taking his chances of survival with it.
Wesker was calm and motionless while Chris struggled against his grip, clawing at the hand on his throat and twisting his arm in an effort to free it. He goes as far as to try and throw himself to the side, managing to wiggle free for a split second before Wesker kneed him in the stomach hard enough that he almost throws up then and there. The distraction didn’t last long, but it was enough; the grip on his wrist shifted to pin his arm behind his back, and then there’s a hand on his throat again, and a cool puff of breath on the skin of his neck that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine. It made him pause for a moment, but then he’s struggling again until the hand twisting his arm pulled tighter and he stopped, taking the pain for the warning that it was; he had no doubt Wesker wouldn’t hesitate to dislocate his shoulder.
Wesker was been silent the whole time, waiting for Chris to tire himself. Over the intense hate and seething anger he felt towards the monster holding him captive, he found it a little unnerving.
A small huff sets his blood boiling again; Was Wesker was laughing at him? “Is that all?” He said mockingly, and a tiny, unheard part of him wished he could see his enemy’s face. “You’ve spent all of ten years hunting me down, and that’s all you’ve got? I have to say, Chris, I’m disappointed.”
“Wesker I swear to g-- ughk--” The fingers tighten on Chris’s throat, undoubtedly bruising all the delicate biology under his fingertips as he cut off the agent’s air supply. Chris’s free hand scrabbled at Wesker’s arm, arm muscles bulging with the effort to keep Wesker from strangling him, for all the good it did.
“Hm, no, I don’t feel like listening to every uninspired insult you’d no doubt waste your breath on; after all, we don’t have much time, do we?” The man continued. His tone of voice made Chris think of someone talking to a pet, and it made his skin crawl in disgust.
“It’s almost a shame that we’re trying to kill each other every time we meet; makes me nostalgic for the old days. But you’ve certainly grown since then, haven’t you?” Wesker said leisurely, like Chris wasn’t practically chomping at the bit to get free. The hand on his throat loosened, sliding up to caress his jaw. Chris shivered, desperately sucking air into his heaving lungs. Wesker’s hand wandered down, sliding over the muscles of his chest and down his stomach, which ached fiercely where it had met Wesker’s knee.
“What are you playing at?” Chris demanded hoarsely, shamefully aware that he was no longer fighting as he had been just a minute ago. His nerves stood at attention, painfully aware of the light touch that found a way under his shirt, caressing his abused stomach muscles. Chris had only crossed paths with Wesker once before in his time with the B.S.A.A., and they had done little more than exchange blows and bullets before Jill had followed him out the window and over a cliff two years before. He’d thought enough time had passed to forget that Wesker was anything but a monster, but his body’s reactions told him otherwise.
Wesker’s hand slid over the front of his pants and he gasped, a spark of electricity running up his spine, weakening his knees. “St-- don’t, ” he said harshly, grabbing his forearm. Wesker gripped him firmly and a reluctant groan escaped his gritted teeth, and he pressed back hard into Wesker in a futile effort to escape his touch.
“Have you missed me, Chris?” Wesker asked, voice saccharine. Leather-gloved fingers gripped his chin and turned his face, and then cold lips met his and a tongue slipped into his mouth, fighting for dominance. Caught between his bitter hatred and the overwhelming need he hadn’t realized existed inside him until, Chris didn’t realize that both his arms were free, swept up in Wesker’s attention.
Shame welled up inside him, warring with need, and Chris bit Wesker’s tongue. Wesker drew back with a hiss, blood smeared over his bottom lip and eyes wide and glowing in the split second before Wesker yanked his head to the side and latched feverishly onto his neck, held fast to him by an arm across his chest. Chris writhed with a strangled moan, balancing on the line between pleasure and pain as Wesker attacked his neck with lips and tongue and teeth, palm grinding between his legs as he struggled against Wesker and himself at the same time. Angered by his own weakness, angered that Wesker still had this kind of power over him, he grit his teeth and reached for his knife, angling it and stabbing it straight into the arm across his chest.
With a pained roar Wesker ripped away from him and appeared on the other side of the room. Chris immediately dropped for his gun and trained it on Wesker.
His finger hovered on the trigger, frustrated with his own hesitation, but didn’t pull it.
Wesker glared at him furiously, gripping the handle of his knife and yanking it out without so much as a flinch, blood splattering all over the ground as he dropped it unceremoniously. They stood in tense silence for a few beats.
Just as Wesker looked ready to speak, a quiet beeping went off, drawing both of their attention. Wesker raised his arm and silenced his watch, training his inhuman red eyes on Chris again. An unnameable emotion flashed over his face, and Chris refused to acknowledge that it looked something like regret.
With a quiet breath, Wesker smoothed his hair down and squared his shoulders, drawing his sunglasses from his pocket. With one last, long look at Chris, Wesker put them on and turned away.