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Notes: Written for this prompt from the old Resident Evil kink meme. I... okay, well, this didn't actually turn out the way that I'd originally planned, so I'm actually planning a second fill for it. Except that one up... later. I have another prompt that I want to get up and finished today, but have a little something to wet your appetites.
Title: Similarities
Fandom: Resident Evil
Pairing: Jake/Piers; Chris/Wesker
Rating: r
Words: 516 words
Similarities
Piers’ neck is a mass of red and purple splotches.
The scarf hides the marks. Chris only notices them when it comes free in the wind, revealing an entire column of hickeys that stretch from the collar of his shirt up to his jaw.
Wordlessly, he hands Piers back his scarf.
He says nothing about the marks.
Chris remembers hiding hickeys under the collar of his uniform. Finding hickeys hiding between his thighs, the small of his back, and, once memorably, on his ass.
Hickeys gave way to bites, winces when he shifted and pulled the punctured flesh. The worry of infection, the fear that maybe – one day – he will be something more than he is. But that fear never comes, and he shrugs into his shirts and misses the ache when it fades.
Bites between his thighs that he doesn’t know to love or hate. That he clenches his muscles to feel the burn of them. That he refuses to treat, letting them scar over until there’s thin white lines of scars between his legs.
He ignores the memories of the smirks when Wesker saw those scars.
“Sentimental, are we?”
And there’s more.
The scars are all he has left.
He makes no comment in the showers, after a training match, when he notices the line of hickeys that trail down Piers’ spine. He looks away, cheeks heating, when he realizes that there’s a bite on the crest of Piers’ ass.
Chris shouldn’t be looking, but he does. Sneaky looks when Piers isn’t looking or distracted.
He’s looking for the Wesker in Jake.
Jake is his father’s son.
Possessive, but reckless in ways that Wesker never was.
For one, he never locks the damn door.
Chris walks into the office he shares with Piers and has to back out again, cheeks flaming red and blotting out the image that he just saw.
Jake, pinning Piers down to the desk, teeth in his neck and grinning as though he isn’t drawing blood. And Piers looking completely blissed out, arching up and pressing up against him.
And Chris remembers.
He remembers nights of being bent over Wesker’s desk, the burn of a palm against his ass. The thrill of getting caught; the knowledge that this was his and his alone. That he was the only one who got to see this side of his captain.
He remembers the love, soft and vulnerable. Remembers his heart cracking at the realization that none of it was real.
Or was it?
Problem is, Chris can’t tell anymore what’s real and what’s not.
Chris doesn’t say anything about the limp. He says nothing about the way that Piers winces when he sits at his desk, or how he shifts and tries to find a comfortable position.
When he leaves for coffee, Chris pilfers a pillow from the lounge and leaves it on the chair.
Chris remembers the pain, the satisfaction, the teasing.
He says nothing when Piers thanks him, quietly, and with pink high in his cheeks. He just grunts in acknowledgement and returns to his reports.
Chris remembers.
Title: Similarities
Fandom: Resident Evil
Pairing: Jake/Piers; Chris/Wesker
Rating: r
Words: 516 words
Piers’ neck is a mass of red and purple splotches.
The scarf hides the marks. Chris only notices them when it comes free in the wind, revealing an entire column of hickeys that stretch from the collar of his shirt up to his jaw.
Wordlessly, he hands Piers back his scarf.
He says nothing about the marks.
Chris remembers hiding hickeys under the collar of his uniform. Finding hickeys hiding between his thighs, the small of his back, and, once memorably, on his ass.
Hickeys gave way to bites, winces when he shifted and pulled the punctured flesh. The worry of infection, the fear that maybe – one day – he will be something more than he is. But that fear never comes, and he shrugs into his shirts and misses the ache when it fades.
Bites between his thighs that he doesn’t know to love or hate. That he clenches his muscles to feel the burn of them. That he refuses to treat, letting them scar over until there’s thin white lines of scars between his legs.
He ignores the memories of the smirks when Wesker saw those scars.
“Sentimental, are we?”
And there’s more.
The scars are all he has left.
He makes no comment in the showers, after a training match, when he notices the line of hickeys that trail down Piers’ spine. He looks away, cheeks heating, when he realizes that there’s a bite on the crest of Piers’ ass.
Chris shouldn’t be looking, but he does. Sneaky looks when Piers isn’t looking or distracted.
He’s looking for the Wesker in Jake.
Jake is his father’s son.
Possessive, but reckless in ways that Wesker never was.
For one, he never locks the damn door.
Chris walks into the office he shares with Piers and has to back out again, cheeks flaming red and blotting out the image that he just saw.
Jake, pinning Piers down to the desk, teeth in his neck and grinning as though he isn’t drawing blood. And Piers looking completely blissed out, arching up and pressing up against him.
And Chris remembers.
He remembers nights of being bent over Wesker’s desk, the burn of a palm against his ass. The thrill of getting caught; the knowledge that this was his and his alone. That he was the only one who got to see this side of his captain.
He remembers the love, soft and vulnerable. Remembers his heart cracking at the realization that none of it was real.
Or was it?
Problem is, Chris can’t tell anymore what’s real and what’s not.
Chris doesn’t say anything about the limp. He says nothing about the way that Piers winces when he sits at his desk, or how he shifts and tries to find a comfortable position.
When he leaves for coffee, Chris pilfers a pillow from the lounge and leaves it on the chair.
Chris remembers the pain, the satisfaction, the teasing.
He says nothing when Piers thanks him, quietly, and with pink high in his cheeks. He just grunts in acknowledgement and returns to his reports.
Chris remembers.