Title: The Ultimate Revenge
Fandom: Resident Evil, the games, especially the latest, Resident Evil V
Author: P’al Kwai
E-Mail: isisbaast@aol.com
Ratings: 17+ for language, violence, images of torture, and nonconsensual m/m slash. If this offends you, please do not read.
Pairings: Albert Wesker and Christopher Redfield
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to their respective creators.
Feedback: Welcomed and adored.
Author’s Note: Every once and a while, I get the urge to write something really nasty. So be warned!
Location Unknown, March 13, 2009
The first thought that occurs to him upon regaining consciousness is that he would sell his soul for a sip of water. His mouth feels like someone took a piece of sandpaper and scrubbed the inside of his mouth and tongue until they were raw. Head pounding, he tries to study his surroundings but his vision is blurry and for the moment he can only make out indistinguishable shapes. Trying to focus makes him dizzy, so he closes his eyes and breathes shallowly, fighting the wave of nausea that overtakes him.
Bits and pieces of memory flash across his eyes, as he remembers: the volcano, Uroboros, Wesker, and Jill and Sheva flying off in a helicopter, their hands outstretched to him, their lips mouthing his name. They were safe, and that’s all that mattered.
Letting sleep overtake him, his mouth curls in a sad, small smile; his conscience is clear.
**
Location unknown, Date unknown
The second time Chris Redfield awakes, his mental faculties are more alert, although his mouth still feels like the Sahara Desert, and his entire body is one giant ache.
“Well, well, well, returned to the land of the living.”
The voice is familiar, too familiar, and Chris closes his eyes quickly, hoping that perhaps when he reopens them, the voice will have disappeared and his long-time nemesis will not be standing in front of him.
“Come now, open your eyes, Chris and stop being a coward.”
The word coward has Chris’ eyes snapping open, and he manages to growl out, “I. Am. Not. A. Coward.”
His response elicits a chuckle from the tall, slim, blond man, his eyes covered by sunglasses, which makes him almost impossible to read.
“Where am I?” Chris raises his head. His vision is clearer, and he sees that he’s in a makeshift infirmary. What worries him is that he’s hooked up to an IV. Drugs? Some kind of awful virus?
“A saline drip, pain medicine, and antibiotics,” Wesker says, without even being asked.
I guess part of his special abilities is reading minds, Chris quips to himself, as he looks over at Wesker in surprise. “I’m shocked. Why would you give me medical aid?”
“Because you’re no fun to me dead.”
Ominous words that send a chill through him, as he watches Wesker leave the room.
“Jill and Sheva, they’re safe. They’re safe; that’s all that matters,” Chris repeats this over and over to himself, as he tries not to think about what his future will bring.
**
Location, still unknown, Date still unknown
As far as Chris can tell approximately two days have passed since he first woke up. Surprisingly enough, he’s treated well with a doctor monitoring his recovery, and a muscle man, who provides him with meals and clean clothes. Other than those two people, he sees no one else and is confined to the medical room. No sign of Wesker, which has him both relieved and worried. He has no idea what the man’s plans are for him but tries to keep his imagination from running wild because a wild imagination can lead to panic. And he has no intention of giving Wesker the satisfaction of seeing him unnerved or frightened.
On the third day, he feels so much improved that he does a light work-out while assessing his situation thoroughly. His military training has him on the look-out for any kind of opening for a possible escape. But before any battle plan can be implemented, Wesker makes another appearance.
“Recovered so quickly?” he taunts him. “One might think that you’re not totally normal, perhaps some type of virus has slipped into your system.”
“What did you do to me?” Chris can’t help but lash out, His greatest fear, to be infected by one of Umbrella’s experimental concoctions.
“I told you,” Wesker says with a smirk. “You were given nothing harmful, only medications to aid your recovery, but your recovery is over. . .Chris.”
Wesker’s tone turns from mocking to menacing in an instant, which has Chris wondering if the man was always psychotic, or if all the viruses that have been injected in his system over the years have made him so. The blow comes quickly, giving him no chance to avoid it, as he lands on the floor with a grunt.
“This is my dream.” Wesker easily picks him up by the back of his shirt. “To beat you to a pulp at my whim.” A swing of the arms and Chris is tossed through the door into a corridor.
Basic instinct tells him to run, even though his rational side knows that it is useless. But he runs and then runs some more. Through long hallways, numerous rooms, looking for a weapon, any kind of weapon, that can at least slow Wesker down. But in the end, just like he’s known all along, he’s caught and the fight commences.
Chris loses track of time and has no idea how long it lasts. Minutes? Hours? He fights back as well he can, considering his condition, and is able to land a few punches, a few kicks. But battling Wesker is like battling a tank, and the most damage he can deliver is knocking the man’s glasses off.
“The chase is over; this is where the true fun begins.”
Too tired and beaten, Chris is unable to even raise his arms, as Wesker hauls him up effortlessly and pushes him against a table. Bent at the waist, his arms are cuffed to two of the legs.
“Now, to really make you my bitch.” Wesker begins tearing at his clothing, which has Chris struggling with one last gasp of desperation. He now understands what Wesker’s ultimate revenge is going to be.
“No!” he protests, kicking out his legs, which only gives Wesker an excuse to knee him in the back. “Son-of-a bitch,” he swears, as the breath is knocked out of him. His pants are now bunched around his ankles, and his shorts are torn off his body.
“Never took you for a pillow-biter.” Chris’ last defense is a disdainful slur, but Wesker is unfazed.
“Interesting insult to be throwing at me, Christopher, since you’re the one with his ass on display.”
Using a booted foot, Wesker is ripping his pants away, so he can spread Chris’ legs further apart.
“You bastard!” Chris tries to move away but the handcuffs and Wesker’s hard body keeps him immobilized. “I’ll kill you for this!”
“I hear that same threat from you every time we meet,” Wesker mocks, as he uses one hand to spread Chris’ butt cheeks apart and the other to unzip his fly. “But I’m still here. You talk big, Redfield, but you can’t back it up with much.”
With a hard thrust of the hips he pushes into the other man until he’s completely buried. His objective is to cause as much pain and humiliation as he can.
“Ahh!”
Tears fill Chris’ eyes, and he shuts them quickly, as he grits his teeth and clutches the chains of the cuffs, feeling the cool metal dig into the palms of his hands. He continues to twist and turn, hoping to dislodge his attacker.
“My, my, my.” Wesker savors the excitement of having the younger man spread open and pulsing around him. “This is quite the experience, should have done this years ago, might have knocked some of the arrogance out of you.”
“Fuck you!” Chris spits out and then lets out another cry, as Wesker thrusts again. “You’re the one, who’s has delusions of godhood.”
“Keep fighting me, and I’ll literally tear you apart. ”Wesker bends down and whispers in Redfield’s ear. “You won’t be able to keep the shit from leaking out. So stand still and take it like a man.”
Realizing that fighting was only using up his energy, Chris acquiesces and stops struggling. He bites his bottom lip and hopes that it is over soon. But Wesker with his superhuman strength and stamina is determined to draw out the moment as long as he can.
Time passes and the initial pain has dulled a bit and the shock has worn off, so Chris concentrates on his breathing and tries not clench up, because from the sounds he hears behind him (he refuses to look back), clenching only excites Wesker more. After what seems like eternity, the degrading act is finally over, as he feels the hard object in him soften and then leave his body. Fluids leak out of his widened hole and run down his legs.
Wesker enjoys the view of an open and totally exposed Redfield. Patting Chris’ ass, he zips up while hissing, “such a bitch you are, Christopher. My bitch.”
**
South America, April 8, 2009
As Chris Redfield rests on the narrow cot in the medical room, he wonders how he has managed to survive the nightmare that has become his existence. He lies on his stomach, because his sore ass makes it uncomfortable to be on his back.
Wesker is insatiable, so Chris has to endure sexual violation almost on a daily basis. His only hope for the future is that Wesker will tire of him and finally kill him one day. Death would be a welcome relief. He clings to the images of Jill Valentine and Sheva Alomar; they’re safe because of him and he tries to find solace in that fact.
“Christopher!” The door of his room swings open, and he hears the hated voice of his captor. “How are you today? Me, I have a craving to feel your sweet ass around my dick.”
Wesker pounces and immediately tries to flip Chris over on his back, but Redfield anticipates the move and fights back, kicking out both legs. He knows that Wesker wants to take him face-to-face, but he just won’t give the man that satisfaction. They tumble off the cot onto the floor, as Chris attempts to squirm out from under the other man. But Wesker is too strong, too fast, and Chris is worn out from weeks of beatings and rapes.
He still manages a “fuck you”, as Wesker tears his pants off (he no longer is being provided with any type of undergarment).
“Still defiant, are you?” Wesker presses a knee down into a tender calf causing Chris to yelp in pain, giving him the opening to spread the other man out. “How many times do I have to do. . .this?” he asks, as he forces himself in and past Redfield’s anal ring. “Before you submit to me?”
“I’ll never. . . .” Chris lets out a groan, as the violation is complete; he can feel Wesker completely engulfed in him. “I’ll never submit to you,” he spits out between clenched teeth.
“We’ll see about that.” Wesker places both hands on the back of Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts hard and deep.
Wrapping his arms around his head, Chris pressed his face into the cold floor and waits for it to be over.”
**
April 25, 2009
The last Saturday of the month finds a naked Chris with one ankle chained to a bed in what could only be called a jail cell. An eight by eight space with a metal bed bolted to the floor and a metal toilet, sink, and small shower in another corner. Other than a Dixie cup and a roll of toilet paper the room is completely bare. He’s been kept this way for over a week with the doctor still monitoring his health and the male attendant serving his meals, and bringing him soap to shower and toothbrush and paste to brush his teeth.
Wesker is taking no chances with him ever since he attempted to kill himself about two weeks ago. A failed mission that only served to make his circumstances worse. At least in the medical room, during his free-from-Wesker periods, he had access to a satellite TV where he could catch up on World events on CNN or watch reruns of Seinfeld or Everyone Loves Raymond. Now he had nothing, and boredom was eating his brain.
“Okay, Redfield, look alert.” His attendant, whose name he recently discovered was Ulrich, appeared. “Time to get ready.”
Chris immediately sits up; a visit from anyone, even Ulrich breaks up his the monotony. “Dinner already?” he asks, looking at the watch on his wrist, a watch which Wesker magnanimously let him keep.
“No dinner for you today,” Ulrich says, as he enters the room and sets down a tray, whose contents looked ominous.
“So, what’s going on?” Chris instinctively backs away, as he eyes the enema kit along with shaving cream and a sharp razor on the tray.
“Getting you ready for a party,” Ulrich answers briefly, as he unlocks the long shackle around Chris’ ankle. “Now go lay down in the shower.”
Resigned, Chris stands and obeys because he knows any protests would be useless.
**
Hours later, Chris is still lying on the shower floor, exhausted and mortified. There’s nothing like having another person witnessing you shitting your insides out, and in-between the bouts said person shaves off all your body hair.
‘At least, the cramping seemed to have stopped,” Chris consoles himself, as Ulrich completes the front half of him and motions him to turn over. Rolling over, he hears someone enter the room and isn’t surprised to hear Wesker’s voice.
“Is he ready yet?” Wesker asks impatiently, and then smiles; Chris’ humiliation gives him great pleasure.
“Shortly.” Ulrich is a man of few words.
“Good. As soon as he’s prepared, let me know. I’ll be waiting,” Wesker orders, as he leaves the room as quickly as he entered.
“He talks like I’m a Thanksgiving turkey,” Chris gripes to Ulrich, who ignores him and continues with the task at hand.
“Spread your legs,” Ulrich commands, as he has reached Chris’ anal region.
Closing his eyes, Chris holds his breath, as he feels the razor cut away the hair between his buttocks. He pictures a slip of the fingers by Ulrich and can almost feel the sharp blade piercing the tender skin of that area of his body. “Goddamnit, just get this over with.”
**
“So, what are you planning to do, sell me?” Chris can’t help but ask a few hours later, as he and Wesker climb into a limousine. It a strange feeling to be sitting on expensive leather butt-naked, but Chris again is resigned. He figures Wesker must stay up late at night thinking up new ways to debase him.
“Funny that you should ask that.” Wesker sits opposite him, holding the chain, whose one end is attached to metal band around Chris’ neck. “Because that may be exactly what I’ll be doing.”
Swallowing hard, Chris feels his blood run cold. Wesker has had his fun with him and is now going to sell him into slavery, a fate worse than having a Reaper run him through with a spiked limb. The rest of the ride is done in silence, as he tries to reign in his fear. Wesker has the ability to smell it out, and Chris has no desire to provide the man with more pleasure.
Their destination is large warehouse in the middle of a now deserted industrial area of the city. Upon entering Wesker is immediately given the red carpet treatment; he’s obviously well-known, and not one of the workers bats an eyelash at Chris and his nudity. He’s just another bare-assed slave.
They’re shown into a large room, where many women and men, the majority young, are caged or chained waiting to be sold. The unlucky ones, the ones already sold are being tried out by their new owners. Looking around, Chris feels his legs go weak but tries to keep his face neutral. Wesker brought him here to shock and repulse and now wants a horrified reaction from him, but he has no intention of giving his captor that satisfaction.
“Come, let’s sit a while and enjoy the sights and sounds,” Wesker mocks, as he motions toward a couch and then to a servant. “Bring me your best whiskey, and for him. . . .” He points to Redfield. “A glass of apple juice.”
“I can’t get a whiskey too?” Chris asks, hoping that Wesker will agree. Any kind of alcohol or drugs that would dull the senses would be most welcome. “After all, you’re selling me, can’t I get one last request?”
“Whiskey on top of an empty stomach and an enema won’t make you feel very well,” Wesker answers, not looking at him, his eyes glued to a scene, which was taking place a few feet in front of them. Two men had a young, male slave sandwiched between them, his legs spread wide, as they double-fuck him mercilessly.
“I don’t feel good now, a whiskey can’t hurt,” Chris replies, as he looks over to the left, where a young woman is on her knees, her mouth held open by some type of metal contraption, and a man shoving his cock down her throat, holding it there as she chokes and gasps for air.
“You’re determined, aren’t you?” Wesker asks, as the servant returns with their drinks. “But what you don’t understand, Christopher, is that this may just be a sight-seeing trip for you. Come.” He stands and gives the chain a small tug. “Let’s see another exhibit.”
Chris is led into another room, where upon entering, he involuntarily steps back as the smell of blood and death hits his nose. Now his legs actually buckle a bit, as he feels light-headed and has to quickly put his glass down on a table next to the door. The first room had been sickening, but it still could not compare to what was going on here.
“Once the slaves are used up,” Wesker explains. “Which in most cases doesn’t take long, they’re then brought here, where buyers pay a high price to do this.” He waves a hand around to the different scenes.
Jesus fucking Christ!” Chris’ legs become so weak, he wobbles to the nearest chair and falls into it. A member of the Air Force, the elite Alpha team of S.T.A.R.S. and then an agent and founding member of the Bio-terrorism Security Assessment Alliance. BSAA, he had seen death, destruction, and terrible acts of brutality, but that violence had at least its reasons, whether it was political (Air Force), defensive (S.T.A.R.S), or strategic (BSAA). But this senseless torture by humans (not infected by some ghastly virus) on other humans was an abomination.
“Ahh, there’s the owner of this unique establishment.” Wesker points out a dark-haired man, dressed in a very expensive suit.
“A typical entrepreneur overseeing his business,” Chris says bitterly to himself, as he averts his eyes and concentrates on staring at the floor. Killing a person with a bullet to the head or chest was an experience he knew and perhaps understood, but dismembering one, while he was still alive was a whole new ball game.
“Al, how nice to see you.” The owner has approached them and greets Wesker warmly, while eyeing Chris up. “And you brought me some merchandise? A white man, so hard to find but so much in demand. I’ll give you top dollar for him.”
“We’ll see, Gio” Wesker answers, his manner unreadable.
“Of course.” Giovanni immediately backs down. Wesker is an important client, and he certainly does not want to offend. “Is there something you have an interest in tonight?”
“No, just. . .browsing.”
Giovannit bows low. “Whatever is your pleasure. Don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything I can help you with.”
Chris watches him leave with an inner sigh of relief; the man radiated power and perversion, a deadly combination. After meeting Giovanni and witnessing his lair of torture, he decides that perhaps Wesker is the lesser of two evils.
“Alright, Wesker, you have terrified me in submission. What do I have to do, so you won’t leave me here?” he asks as a particularly loud scream has him looking up. He immediately regrets it; blood spurts, as a nipple is cut-off from a breast. “Fuck,” he whispers softly to himself. The scenes before him would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Submit to me totally,” Wesker replies, seemingly unperturbed by what was happening around him. “Total submission, total obedience.”
At this moment, Chris would give just about anything to be able to leave this den of horrors, he still delays his answer. “And Jill? My sister, Claire, Sheva?”
“They don’t interest me.” Wesker waves a dismissive hand. “Make your vow to me, and they’ll remain safe from me, unless of course, one or more of them decides to pay a visit.”
“I’ll swear my obedience, but you must allow me to contact Claire and warn her not to look for me and to warn the others.”
Chris takes a deep breath, wondering for a moment, as he deliberately keeps his eyes on Wesker, how he found it in himself to be negotiating with the man when people were suffering and dying around him.
“Fine,” Wesker agrees without hesitation, which has Chris looking at him suspiciously. Since when was he so amendable? “Now down on your knees.”
“Not here,” Chris quickly protests. He just wants out.
Wesker smirks in amusement but says nothing, as he reaches over and unlocks the metal band around Chris’ neck. Throwing the shackle on the floor, he then leads the way to yet another door.
Entering a different room, Chris is relieved to see it empty, even though the screams of the previous area are still ringing in his ears, and the hideous sights still flashing across his eyes.
“Now, down!” Wesker commands, as he lays a heavy hand on Chris’ shoulder.
This time Chris doesn’t hesitate, as he falls to his knees in front of Wesker, who is unzipping and pulling himself out. Chris has no idea how to perform fellatio on another man, as he draws Wesker’s penis in his mouth, but he gives it his best effort. Licking and sucking his way around the crown and the shaft, he uses the knowledge of what he likes to guide him, but isn’t surprised, when his head is held and the other man begins pushing in, harder and deeper, causing him to gag and choke.
“Swallow,” Wesker commands, as he’s now on the edge and has no intention of stopping or slowing to allow Chris to catch his breath.
Half-coughing, half-gagging, Chris tries to focus on relaxing his throat muscles while breathing through his nose. Minutes (which seemed like hours) pass and with one last thrust, Wesker lets out a small grunt, as his cock pulses and then begins to ejaculate but before his orgasm is complete, he pulls out and spews the last drops of cum on Chris’ face.
Still on his knees, Chris remains motionless, swallowing hard, glad to have that hard piece of flesh out of his mouth and throat.
“Lie down over there.” Wesker pulls him up by the arm and motions toward a bed. “And spread your legs wide.”
Standing awkwardly, Chris stumbles toward the bed, noticing that even though Wesker has just finished, he was already half-hard. “Guess one of the side-effects of the viruses has given him quite a bit of stamina,” he jokes to himself. He has to find humor in something or go insane.
Looking over, he sees Wesker disrobing and stares with interest. The last time he had seen the man without a piece of clothing was at the volcano, when he was infected with Uroboros. There is no trace of the virus anymore, except for scarring. In fact, Wesker is pretty much covered in scars, a trait common with himself.
Climbing onto the bed, Wesker settles himself between Chris’ legs and shoves himself in. Exhaling loudly, Chris is surprised when the penetration is easy and not too painful. Perhaps it’s because Wesker’s penis is covered in spit and cum, and earlier Ulrich had oiled him up inside and out. Muttering a ’Jesus’, Chris feels Wesker push in completely and then draw out.
“Wrap your legs around me,” Wesker commands as he takes off his glasses and throws them on his pile of clothes.
Seeing his red-eyed stare, Chris has the sensation that he’s being fucked by the devil himself, and perhaps he is. The fuck starts out like usual with Wesker thrusting hard and heavy, unconcerned by his discomfort. But this time is different, as Chris begins to feel the blood rushing to his penis. Wesker is hitting something inside of him that’s causing his cock to stiffen. Squirming around, he raises his arms and hooks his hands through the headboard, trying to damper his arousal. The last thing he wants is to have an erection when being fucked by Wesker.
“Trying to run?’ Wesker asks, as he pauses and readjusts his position.
Chris grunts a reply, as he squirms a bit more, trying to stop his blood flow. Breathing heavy, he feels Wesker resume his movements but this time he lowers his body and now his hard stomach is rubbing the upper half of Chris’ penis. Between that and the stimulation of his prostate, his excitement mounts. Arching his back, he tightens his legs, feeling like he’s on a runaway train and out of control. White flashes burst before his eyes, as his cock pulses and suddenly an orgasm rips through him like a tornado. Groaning loudly, he grinds his hips upward, as cum squirts and sphincter muscles clench tighter.
Chris’ climax stimulates Wesker even more, as he feels the spasms around him; one last thrust and he’s spurting cum into the other man.
Muttering a couple fucks to himself, Chris keeps his eyes closed tightly. He has no desire to look at Wesker’s mocking face. He hears a snap of the fingers and turning his head he slits his eyes and sees a servant materialize out of nowhere holding some clean, wet towels. The man carefully washes the cum and sweat of Wesker.
“Give me one,” Wesker commands the servant. “I’ll do him.” He points to Chris.
Flushing red, Chris watches, as Wesker deftly wipes his stomach, penis, and anal area. More humiliation. Finishing, he moves over Chris again and whispers hoarsely:
“See how submitting to me can be so very pleasurable.”
****