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Sitting at the bar, downing a glass of whiskey, Chris Redfield of BSAA fame looked completely unassuming, your average patron. His hair was askew and eyes tired, the bags deep and bruise-like. The faint stubble along his jaw only added to the exhaustion that radiated off of him, as if sleep - and maybe every other bodily necessity - had evaded him for months.
Zeno wasn’t supposed to be here, watching this man. The Connections hadn’t authorised this detour. But once he’d heard Chris Redfield was in his vicinity (if ‘an hour away from his destination’ counted as ‘his vicinity’), he’d been unable to resist the urge to see the man his predecessor had been so infatuated with.
So far, he wasn’t impressed.
He'd found Chris Redfield sitting in a dinghy bar, drinking himself senseless into the late hours of the night. The bulge of his biceps was impressive, a body carefully cultivated for combat against B.O.W.’s… but still, he’d thought he’d find the man in fighting spirits, not like this. The only things he appeared to be fighting right now were his demons, and he was losing that battle.
Nonetheless, he was pleasant to look at. A fine facial structure, soft blue eyes, short brown hair, a face Zeno had occasionally stroked himself to after watching him tear through B.O.W.s on video. His build was pleasant on the eyes too, broad-shouldered and powerful. He’d lost some weight since his fight with Wesker, presumably out of stress or grief (why Chris was grieving Wesker’s death was beyond Zeno, but he didn’t linger on the thought) and finding reprieve too often at the bottom of a bottle. But it hadn’t eroded his looks any. He still looked like he would be formidable on the battlefield, and Zeno appreciated that sort of thing.
After twenty minutes or so, Chris abruptly stood from his seat. Zeno watched him, taking a long drag of his cigarette as Chris staggered his way across the bar and right over to Zeno. It didn't surprise him. He had expected Chris would notice him staring sooner or later.
In Zeno's shadowed corner, Chris didn’t seem to register the similarities between Zeno and the man he’d recently killed. He'd positioned himself too far to get a good look, a few feet away, an instinctive safety measure.
“You’ve been watching me,” said Chris. His voice was steady despite his inebriation.
“Yes,” said Zeno mildly.
Chris frowned at him. “Why?”
“Most people are compelled to stare at train wrecks.”
The similarities between his voice and Wesker's seemed to register, because Chris paused and squinted. But it was still too dim here for him to get a good look at Zeno's features.
“Enjoying oneself at the bar is a train wreck now, is it?”
"Three watered-down whiskeys in a row is a train wreck," Zeno corrected him. He crushed his cigarette out into a nearby ashtray and rose, his shadow falling over Chris.
Chris, predictably, stood his ground. At least, as much as he could while his legs were wobbling under him. Zeno almost reached out to steady Chris, but restrained the reflex - he didn’t know if Chris would see it as a provocation if he suddenly closed the distance between them, and he didn’t want the man to try to take a swing at him in a bar full of drunkards that would happily observe and/or join in.
“There’s another reason I've been watching you,” he said, fishing a fresh cigarette out of his jacket pocket and flicking his lighter. His dark glasses were illuminated briefly when he lit the end, and he couldn’t tell whether or not Chris noticed his unnaturally coloured irises.
When Zeno didn’t elaborate, Chris sighed and asked, “What?”
“I thought you could use company,” said Zeno. He exhaled a stream of smoke from his nose, fouling the air between them, and Chris turned his head and grimaced. “I have a hotel room near here,” he said. “Just for tonight.”
It took Chris a moment to understand what he was proposing. The grimace slipped from his face, replaced first by shock, then suspicion, his gaze sweeping over Zeno's coat, checking for any bulges suggestive of weapons.
There was nothing to see. Zeno hadn’t brought Redemption with him for this encounter. He didn’t expect to need it.
“Are you propositioning me?” asked Chris uncertainly.
Zeno didn’t mince words. He was unimpressed with what he’d seen of Chris so far, but he’d held a latent attraction to the man ever since seeing his videos. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to bed him. “Yes.”
“Wow,” said Chris with a breathless laugh. “You’re not very good at it.”
“I don’t think I have to be when you’re this drunk,” said Zeno. “I can give you more effective and much more pleasurable oblivion than these drinks.”
Chris snorted, but he didn’t turn to leave. Promising. His intrigue was winning out over his caution.
“I’m not that desperate,” said Chris, so Zeno stepped into the light to erode what little resistance Chris had left.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, tilting his head in a distinctly un-Wesker sort of way, but Chris froze nonetheless.
He blinked a few times, his gaze fixed on Zeno’s face, taking in the familiar cut off it, just half an inch off in some areas. His chest didn’t move for almost a minute. And then, slowly, Chris sucked in a breath and leaned back, his pupils blown wide like a cat that had caught sight of something interesting.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Zeno offered a fleeting smile. “You can call me Zeno.”
“Zeno,” said Chris, voice strained. “Odd name.”
While Zeno didn’t appreciate the remark, he did like the strained quality of Chris’ voice. “It sounds pleasant on your tongue, nonetheless,” he said smoothly. “And will sound even nicer in an intimate context.”
Chris scoffed, the sound thin with disorientation. “Your flirting is getting better.”
“Glad you approve,” said Zeno. He reached into one of his pockets and deliberately jangled his room key. “You’ll have to make your decision now, I'm afraid. If you refuse, there won't be a second opportunity.”
Chris cast his gaze over Zeno one more time. Whatever internal struggle he had, it didn’t last long before he settled on a decision. “How far is the hotel?”
“Twenty minutes if you walk. You can stay overnight instead of staggering your way back here, if you like. I imagine you’ll need the time to recover.”
“Sounds… good,” said Chris uncertainly, still staring at him, scarcely even blinking. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach up and maybe touch his jaw or remove his glasses to see what colour eyes they hid, but he managed to wrestle down the reflex. “Just let me pay my tab and-”
“I’ll pay it for you,” said Zeno, and stepped past Chris to present his card to the bartender. They’d processed the payment before Chris could protest.
Almost two hundred dollars. Either Chris had been getting top-shelf stuff, which Zeno doubted, or he’d been drinking here for days, glass after glass of whiskey and brandy and Highball cocktails. He tossed the receipt at Chris.
“You should treat your liver better,” said Zeno.
“You should treat your lungs better,” Chris shot back, giving the cigarette hanging from his fingers a pointed look.
A bold retort from a fellow smoker. Not that Zeno should know that, so he couldn't bring it up.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he lied. “As long as you do the same.”
Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making the sweaty nest of it even messier. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll keep that in mind too.” He gestured toward the exit. “Let's go, then.”
Side by side, they exited the bar, and it was a little surreal to be walking next to the man his predecessor had been so obsessed with. At this proximity, he could feel the heat radiating off of Chris and smell the alcohol on his breath, and it made him want to get closer, to bury his face into that warm skin and smell the salt on it. But there would be time for that later.
He guided Chris to a discreet, black Volvo and invited him into the passenger seat. While he typically preferred to have other people drive for him, he had his license and he wasn’t opposed to driving when he had personal matters to attend.
He pulled away from the curb and idled down the street. In a car, the drive was only five minutes, maybe less if you drove faster than the speed limit allowed, but Zeno was in no hurry.
“So,” said Zeno, eyeing Chris in his peripheral. “How should I address you?”
Chris eyed him right back. “Oh, come on, you know who I am.”
“Do I? What makes you think that?” asked Zeno, faintly amused.
Chris shot him a dry look. “Yeah, I'm sure it's a coincidence that a guy who looks and sounds almost exactly like my old captain approached me in a bar. And then there's your clothes. You think you can be discreet dressing like that? Everything about you screams expense. You aren’t the sort of person I’d expect to approach me in a bar, unless you were seeking me out specifically.”
Even drunk, Chris was perceptive. Zeno was impressed. “You’re surprisingly sharp for a drunk man. Doesn’t that get tiring?”
“I'm not that drunk,” said Chris with mild reproach. “And I can’t just turn it off. It's kept me alive too many times.”
“You must have succeeded to some extent,” said Zeno. “You have agreed to accompany me to my hotel, despite any misgivings.”
Chris shrugged. “You caught me at the perfect time for bad decisions.”
How fortuitous. Zeno was tempted to attribute his success to fate despite not wanting to tread the same ground as his predecessor in that respect. Chris wasn’t Zeno’s enemy; he wasn’t Zeno’s fixation. He was simply a warm body Zeno wanted to spend the night with for the novelty.
“It’s Chris, by the way,” said Chris, snapping Zeno from his thoughts. “Chris Redfield. But you already knew that.”
A smile flicked across Zeno’s lips. “Perhaps.”
The garage for the hotel he was staying at was underground, so he carefully guided the vehicle down a ramp and into a largely empty car park. November was one of the busiest work periods of the year, everyone scrambling to finish their worklog before the holidays, and the lack of patrons left plenty of open spaces. He selected the one closest to the elevator and parked.
Chris was still unsteady when he joined Zeno in the elevator. He looked nauseous on the ascent, his stomach of alcohol lurching as the elevator shot up. Zeno barely withheld a remark about excessive drinking.
The hotel was nice enough. Less ritzy than the places Zeno would usually hole up in on missions, but it would fulfil his needs for tonight. It had a table with a single chair, a small kitchenette, a television suspended above a dresser, and most importantly, a bed. A big one, king-sized, perfect for his purposes.
He nodded toward it. “Undress and lie down, Mr. Redfield.”
Chris regarded him warily. “You aren’t even going to seduce me first?”
“I would offer a drink, but you’ve already indulged,” said Zeno, turning to Chris and taking a drag from the dredges of his cigarette. “And I was under the impression I already seduced you, in any case.”
“You really think that you-?" Chris cut off as he perched himself on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the laces on his boots. "Have you even done this before?”
Zeno looked mildly annoyed. “Seduced and propositioned a stranger, or had sex?”
Chris appeared to give this some thought. “Both,” he said, which annoyed Zeno even further.
He hadn’t slept with, nor seduced many people, but he hadn’t thought he’d come across that badly. The sort of people he had the opportunity to sleep with in his day-to-day life weren’t the sort he usually needed to seduce. A co-worker here, a servant of the Connections there. He’d entertained himself with the body of a young, blond thing for six months, at one point. That was more experience than Chris Redfield had ever had, he suspected.
“What issues do you have with my approach, exactly?” he asked.
“Maybe the part where you’ve been so stiff and formal this entire time that I half-expected this to be a trap?” Chris kicked off one of his boots. “I’m not criticising you or anything. I’m trying to gauge where you’re coming at me from.”
Stiff and formal. He supposed that wasn’t wrong, but Zeno still resented the description. He sighed and began removing his own outer layers.
“Would you prefer I be more forthright? Tell you I want to fuck you until you cry and whimper?” he asked, speaking in the tone one might use when discussing the weather. He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and threw his still smouldering cigarette into a nearby ashtray. “Or perhaps that I want to lodge my cock so deep down your throat that you taste it for weeks?”
Chris made a faint, choking sound and dropped his shirt into his lap in an effort to hide the growing bulge there. “That’s, uh- okay.”
“Too strong?” asked Zeno, shrugging off his jacket. He wouldn’t bother with the rest of his clothes. “Should I speak about putting my tongue down your throat instead?”
“Okay,” Chris wrangled out. “Okay, I get it. You’re not a swooning virgin.”
“No, I am not.” His hands descended to his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the room. Chris was already half-naked, with only his pants and underwear remaining. “All of it,” he said, gesturing to Chris' remaining barriers.
“What about you?” asked Chris, hands fumbling as he unbuttoned and unzipped himself.
“I find it more arousing when my partner is undressed while I remain clothed.”
“Jesus,” said Chris, letting out a breathless laugh. “Okay, fine. I can accommodate that.”
When the final layers fell away, Zeno paused to admire the vision before him. The generous slope of Chris’ chest, his powerful biceps, his sculpted abdomen, and the thick thighs with an equally as thick cock between them. His rosy skin was already dappled with sweat from a long night of drinking. He smelt of musk and salt and something vaguely spicy, some sort of aftershave.
Wesker had been a lucky man indeed to have this all to himself for two years. How many times had he stretched those long, powerful legs back until they touched Chris’ shoulders? How many times had he seen that pretty mouth fall open around pants and cries?
He licked his teeth. This territory was now his to claim.
He stepped close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of Chris’ body, his fingers closing delicately over Chris’ chest. He tested the muscle there, pressing gently, watching it dimple. With Chris so relaxed, they were quite soft and heavy, like a pair of breasts. His preference usually ran more feminine, but he could definitely work with this.
“You maintain your body well,” he murmured, sliding a gloved hand under one of Chris’ pecs and squeezing it, watching the flesh bulge between his fingers. They seemed adequate for a tit job. “But these are still soft like a woman’s.”
A deep flush rose on Chris’ face. “Do you not sleep with men often or something?”
“Not men this well-built.” He crushed one of Chris’ nipples with a thumb, watching it pearl. “But I can see the appeal.”
Chris leaned back on his palms and gazed up at him through his eyelashes. “Go on, then. Fuck me.”
Zeno had to smile at the enthusiasm. “In good time,” he said, dropping his free hand to his waistband and peeling it aside to draw out his cock. It was already half-hard and red-tipped, and growing even more so as he positioned it between Chris’ pecs, letting it glide through the sweat there. The head bumped Chris’ chin. “I’m going to fuck your chest first. Hold your tits together.”
“Huh-? Oh.”
The colour on Chris’ cheeks deepened. He reached up to curl his fingers around the sides of his pecs, pressing them together until they cradled Zeno’s cock. It wasn’t as effective as a pair of women’s tits, but they did the job, a warm cavern for him to fuck into. He rocked into the embrace of Chris’ chest, bumping his cock into Chris' chin with each upward thrust.
“Lower your head,” he said, grunting. Hitting Chris’ bristles with his cock wasn’t ideal. “And open your mouth. Let my cock slide in there.”
It was a little surprising how obedient Chris was. He didn’t hesitate to do exactly what Zeno had asked, lowering his head and parting his lips so Zeno’s cock could go sliding past them with each thrust. He might have thanked Wesker, were the man still here - he’d taught Chris well.
The saliva made Chris’ chest slippery, made the skin shine as he fucked it, and emphasised the generous swell of his pecs. Zeno got a knee on the edge of the bed so he could rock between those breasts with greater force. It was somehow hotter than fucking a woman’s chest. It smelled different, felt different, was hotter and harder. It was bringing a predator to heel rather than prey.
“Lick it,” he murmured, and Chris did that too, sweeping his tongue over the head and underside of Zeno’s cock each time it breached his mouth.
The obedience gave Zeno a thrill. He had always enjoyed having people under him, in every capacity. It was part of the reason Elpis excited him so - the potential to be empowered with mind control abilities, to have hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people at his disposal, to wield them for his designs (which he hadn’t yet worked out, because what did one do with thousands of people at their disposal? He had no desire to seek godhood like Wesker, nor did he want to control the world as an overlord of some kind… but he would figure it out).
“There,” he murmured, head falling back and eyelashes fluttering, finding a rhythm that made his cock throb and tension coil in his pelvis. “There, yes… perfect…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the wet slap of his cock hitting the roof of Chris’ mouth. His sac dragged through a mess of spit with each thrust, which was oddly pleasurable.
Chris licked to the best of his ability, sliding his tongue over the rigid head of Zeno’s cock whenever Zeno paused long enough for him to do so. Eager to please. Zeno liked that, he really liked that. The eagerness to submit just made this whole thing more arousing.
“Good,” he breathed, his hand trembling around Chris’ shoulder. “You’re so good, just- just sitting there for me, lovely and pliant, taking everything I give you.”
Chris watched him through half-lidded eyes, his tongue lapping at the head of Zeno’s cock. He couldn’t respond, obviously, but that expression - the yielding of it - said enough.
Zeno’s hands moved to the back of Chris’ head, lightly gripping his hair so he could pull Chris into every stroke. It enabled him to better fuck Chris’ mouth, drive deeper and harder, dragging strings of drool out that further wet Chris’ chest and fingers. It was a deliciously smooth slide now.
His sac drew up, his cock twitching within the frame of Chris’ chest. It was too early to be so close to his peak; it’d barely been two minutes, and he’d reliably lasted at least five - at minimum - in the past. But none of his prior partners had been Chris Redfield. None of them had been one of the most effective B.O.W. hunters in the world, submitting to a B.O.W. And none of them had had a rack quite this pleasurable.
Having this man under him was unexpectedly affecting. He tried to restrain himself, and he… couldn’t. He was so close to the precipice that he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from coming even if he’d extracted himself from Chris.
With a low groan, he slammed his cock all the way down Chris’ throat and used his enhanced strength to hold Chris in place as he came. It wasn’t necessary; Chris made no attempt to push him off despite being choked on Zeno’s girth, but Zeno held him down anyway, making sure every drop of his seed reached Chris’ gullet.
“God,” he breathed into the air, quivering as Chris reflexively swallowed around him. It was so good that his vision almost whited out. “That’s it, that’s good, that’s perfect, you’re perfect,” he babbled, a mindless stream of words that he might look back on later with some embarrassment. “Keeps swallowing just like that, good, you’re doing so good.”
That he was still standing by the end of his orgasm was something of a miracle. He came down in a daze, drawing in gasping breaths and slowly sliding his cock free of Chris’ mouth. It was hard to tell which one of them was more breathless, despite him having nearly asphyxiated Chris on his cock.
One of the benefits of the improved progenitor virus he'd received was a short refractory period. By the time Zeno had recovered his bearings, he was already stiffening up again, his cock bobbing between his legs, ready for the next round. Chris looked surprised, his eyebrows jumping toward his hairline.
“You’re already hard again?” asked Chris, his voice a croak.
“Clearly.” Zeno gripped his cock about the base and gave it a stroke. “Are you ready for the second round, or do you need some time to recover?”
Chris laughed breathlessly and wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. “I’m fine. Just- keep going. I can take anything you give me, Zeno.”
“Good to know,” said Zeno, who had a lot he wanted to give Redfield.
He pushed Chris down onto the bed and moved to kneel over him, his half-hard cock bobbing in front of Chris’ face. When the man obediently parted his lips, that was arousing enough to harden Zeno the rest of the way. He grabbed the base of his cock and guided it back into Chris’ open mouth, groaning softly as the silky walls of Chris' throat embraced him again.
He buried one hand in Chris’ hair to keep the man still while he fucked his throat. The snaps of his hips were hard, crushing Chris’ nose against his pelvis, but Zeno had seen Chris take beatings from twelve-foot amalgamations of flesh and tentacle; he knew Chris could endure this. A few bruises at the back of his throat were nothing compared to the kinds of injuries he would come back with after a mission.
Chris’ hands moved to rest on his hip and thigh, an offer of stability and further submission. The man really did enjoy being subjugated, didn’t he? Zeno hadn’t expected it, but considering how compatible they were with his own proclivities, he was glad.
He paused periodically just to look down at Chris sheathed on his cock, admiring the wet, half-lidded blue eyes, the drool on Chris’ chin, the cheeks dark with a blush. A pretty picture. If his phone didn't automatically upload his images to The Connections, he might have snapped a photo for posterity. Alas, he would have to content himself with the memory.
“You take this well,” he murmured, sliding his cock almost all the way out before punching back in. “Were you often on your knees in that S.T.A.R.S office, Chris?”
Chris’ only response was a groan, which vibrated up the length of Zeno’s cock and made his head spin. He tightened his grip on Chris’ hair for stability.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Of course he had been. He was taking Zeno’s cock to the root without gagging, which one couldn't do without plenty of practice.
He continued his rough, merciless use of Chris’ throat, helped along by the hands on his thigh and hip pulling him into each thrust. Chris drooled and cried and choked, but not once did he try to retreat - on the contrary, he seemed insistent on taking Zeno as deep as he could, as though he couldn’t stand not having his throat full. It was so arousing that Zeno was having a hard time battering down the urge to come again in the span of five minutes. If Chris came out of this thinking he had issues with premature ejaculation…
But the fact Chris was so willing to take everything Zeno gave him made it hard to maintain his usual degree of self-control. A few minutes in, and he was already panting and trembling, his fingers spasming around his handful of Chris’ hair.
“Such a mess,” he said, breathless and uncharacteristically soft. He curled a hand around Chris’ cheek, smearing the tears and saliva there until the skin shone under the oily light from above. “Should I make that mess worse? Come on your face?”
A soft moan crawled out around the girth of his cock. There was no answer discernible in it, but Zeno hadn’t expected one.
“Perhaps I will,” he murmured, smiling to himself.
Chris would look good dripping with his seed. A spill of white on his mouth and a cobweb of it between his powerful thighs… the thought really wasn’t helping his efforts to hold back his orgasm. His cock twitched within the warmth of Chris’ mouth, so close to the precipice that he could feel every drag through his pelvis, right down to his toes. He slowed his thrusts, savouring the little sparks of pleasure rippling through his abdomen and cock.
“Almost,” he breathed. “Almost there…”
Chris obediently tilted his head back and stuck his tongue out further. Zeno hadn’t even needed to ask, and he couldn’t- he couldn’t hold back; no one had been this attuned to his desires before.
He tore himself free of Chris’ mouth just before spilling thick, creamy strings of come over Chris’ tongue and cheek and the bridge of his nose, leaving him glazed in it. The cry that tore out of him might have been embarrassing if he’d had enough self-awareness to hear it, but Zeno was too deep in the throes of his orgasm to notice, his ears full of rushing blood and his vision darkening around the edges. He shuddered all over as he came, his fist tightening reflexively in Chris’ hair to hold him still - not that it was necessary. The man made no attempt to move while Zeno sullied his face.
Then, all at once, Zeno fell slack. He leaned his weight on Chris’ shoulders, gazing down at the wreckage he’d made of Chris’ face. The seed dribbled down his cheek like a glaze. It mingled with the sweat and followed the path of his tears. It looked perfect on Chris. He’d marked Chris thoroughly, overwritten anything that had ever been there before.
Now he just had to do it to the inside of him, too.
“On your back,” he said, sweat dripping off his hair, the silvery stands spilling over his forehead. Usually he wouldn’t let himself be seen in such a state, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to care right now. He was ravenous. He needed to be inside Chris; he needed to fill the man up and mark him inside and out. “Spread your legs.”
Chris was as obedient as ever. He shuffled further up the bed, his legs falling open in invitation. The furl of his hole was perfectly pink, inviting-looking. The sight of it made Zeno’s mouth fill with saliva.
His cock rose to half-mast, already ready for a third round. His enhanced stamina really was a blessing. By the end of the night, he’d make sure Chris was dripping with him.
“You look-” Chris swallowed, regarding him with half-lidded eyes. “Pretty hot right now, I’ve gotta say.”
A laugh scraped out of Zeno. “Are you saying I didn’t before?”
“Oh, no. Just more now. This whole dishevelled look suits you.”
Zeno somewhat resented that, but he made no attempt to right his hair or clothes. “Consider it a privilege. I wouldn’t let just anyone see me like this.”
He gathered up some of the come on Chris' face and used it to slick up his cock, a slapdash form of lubrication. It would have to do. Zeno hadn’t planned for this detour before setting out on his mission, so he didn’t have anything else on hand that he could use.
He stroked his cock a few times to get it hard again before positioning himself between Chris’ spread legs, the head of his cock nudging that pretty pink hole. Chris slid his hands behind his knees, drawing them back, ensuring there was enough space for Zeno to fit himself all the way inside.
“Take a deep breath,” Zeno instructed, his voice trembling slightly. “And exhale when I start to push in.”
Only once Chris had sucked in that breath did Zeno begin to sink inside, entering Chris by fractions of inches, taking his time. Without proper lubrication, he had to go slower than he would have liked. But Chris exhaling did help, relaxing his walls enough for Zeno to wedge in the first few inches.
It was dizzyingly soft and warm and wet in Chris. He had done anal before; he’d even slept with other men to do it, but Chris seemed to run hotter than most, his insides gripping him like a furnace and driving warmth into his preternaturally cool body. Zeno hadn’t known he could harbour this much heat. He so rarely felt warm, and now he was sweltering, flushed and sweaty and panting as he slowly ground himself deeper into Chris.
Could he really satisfy himself with only doing this once?
Well, only time would tell.
At the half-way point, he curled his hands around Chris’ hips and began to rock into him, carving out a little more space for himself with each thrust, working himself incrementally deeper. His cock was being swallowed up by Chris’ hole, slowly but surely. Chris’ pink rim stretched obscenely to accommodate it.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his grip tightening around Chris’ hips, holding him still while he worked his cock deeper. “You look beautiful, Chris.”
Chris whimpered and reached for the bedsheets, fingers trembling where they twisted into the fabric. When Zeno finally looked up to admire him, Chris’s face was flushed and damp with sweat, loose strands of hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks. His jaw hung open around hard, ragged breaths. He already looked thoroughly undone, and Zeno hadn’t even bottomed out yet.
What a perfect, beautiful man. He was going to fuck him until both their bodies gave out. If he was going to leave here with his thirst even moderately slaked, he needed to fuck Chris until neither of them could walk anymore.
So he rocked deeper, harder, and Chris responded by lifting his hips so Zeno could better feed his cock into him. That emboldened him to begin thrusting proper, all the way in, all the way out, driving the breath out of Chris with each thrust. Slowly, steadily, he closed the remaining distance between them, lowering his gaze back to the join of their bodies to watch his cock disappear inside Chris entirely.
He had done it. He was all the way inside, wedged so deep he could feel Chris viscera throbbing around every inch of him.
“Look,” he said, sweat dripping off his jaw. “I’m all the way in.”
Chris let out a reedy little moan. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, reaching up to curl his warm, clammy hands around Zeno’s biceps and pull him down. Zeno let him, burying his face into Chris’ neck the moment he was low enough to do so. “You can move faster,” Chris murmured. “I want to feel you moving inside.”
Every word out of this man’s mouth made Zeno feel as though he was going to spontaneously combust.
He sighed and wrapped his arms around Chris’ torso, holding him against his chest while he thrust. It was just slow rolls of his hips to start with, getting them both adjusted to the new depth, but he gathered by the way Chris was rocking back onto him that the man wanted more.
“Impatient,” Zeno said, low and breathless. He couldn’t muster up any force behind the word.
“Damn right I am,” said Chris, arching his back to press down with greater enthusiasm. Zeno almost saw stars. “I- I need you to fuck me. Properly. Just fuck me. I took everything else, and I can take this too.”
How could Zeno possibly say no to that?
He tightened his grip on Chris and obligingly increased his pace, jarring his hips against Chris’ backside with each inward stroke. The wet sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans, his own loud and reedy, more affected than he would have liked. In fact, he would have liked to say he maintained at least some measure of poise, but that was not what happened.
He lost control entirely.
He hadn’t intended for Chris to see his eyes, but his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose mid-thrust and he was far too gone to bother fixing them. He hadn’t intended to demonstrate his superior strength either, but he did that too, holding Chris in place with far more efficacy than any normal man could have achieved, his hands twisting like vices around Chris’ hips. He pounded him into the mattress, the springs shrieking under the ferocity of his thrusts.
Being given permission to wreck Chris had opened the floodgates. Now that he had Chris under him, so sweetly begging to be taken apart, his sense of self-control and decorum and - frankly - self-preservation fell to the wayside.
Zeno didn’t usually lose himself during sex. He could certainly become passionate, but this was something else. The need to rut into Chris, to bite and bruise and ruin, was all primal. It was hunger in its rawest form.
His mouth wandered restlessly across Chris’ skin, leaving sharp impressions along his throat, collarbones, shoulders, and chest before soothing them over with long swipes of his tongue. Chris shuddered beneath him with every new bite, pressing back into them instead of trying to alleviate himself of the pain. He clearly wanted more, to be bitten deeper and harder, an insatiable man, and it fed into the animal in Zeno.
Each mark that bloomed on Chris’ skin seemed to encourage the hunger rather than soothe it. He needed more just as much as Chris did, his hips stuttering as he fought to get himself as deep inside Chris as he could.
“Chris,” he groaned. “Say my name, I need to- to-”
Chris barely managed to give him what he wanted. “Zeno,” he breathed, and that - embarrassingly enough - was it.
He was so aroused he was seeing stars before he’d even come, white flashes floating before his eyes as it crawled up on him like a viper.
His orgasm hit like a tidal wave, tearing a string of obscenities from him, “Fuck, oh fuck!” He compulsively slammed into Chris, pumping him full of his seed, pushing it in as deep as it could go, as though seeking a womb Chris didn’t have. There was a lot of it. Another gift of the enhancements he’d received from the progenitor virus.
Chris squeezed their bodies together, slick arms sticking to Zeno’s jacket as he held onto the man like a lifeline. They lay forehead to forehead for a moment, sharing panting breaths. Then Chris broke the silence.
“Ke-keep going,” he rattled out, and that was all the encouragement Zeno needed to start getting hard again.
He curled his hands around Chris’ waist and resumed his thrusts, making soft, wrecked little sounds, lost to the gyrating of their bodies.
When Zeno woke up from a slumber he didn’t even remember falling into, the first thing he became cognizant of was how wet and sticky everything was. His skin, the sheets, the mattress, his clothes, everything oppressively filthy.
He could hardly believe most of this had come from him. He was a man who prided himself on his appearance, never letting so much as a hair fall out of place. Yet, here he was, lying in a pool of his own filth and slathered in the odour of sweat and come.
He slowly sat up to examine the damage, and it looked like he’d torn up the sheets, too. Crusty with come and ripped apart. The staff here would curse their names after having to clean this room. Despite that, Zeno wasn’t inclined to help the process; he didn’t want to have to touch this mess any more than he already had.
He slowly got to his feet, grateful for the immediate healing that had dealt with any lingering aches he might have had. His spine felt a little stiff, but that was easily resolved by arching his back until the vertebrae cracked and settled back into place.
Chris didn’t rouse despite Zeno’s absence. He looked thoroughly wracked, his body tangled in the sheets, littered with bite marks and bruises and his parted legs displaying a deluge of come drying between his thighs. Zeno definitely didn’t remember coming that much, but evidently he had.
He needed a long, hot shower after that. And maybe to put his clothes through dry cleaning a few dozen times.
His legs trembled as he carried himself across the room and into the bathroom. While he did heal most injuries, he could experience some fatigue, and fucking Chris that hard, for that long had required a lot of exertion. More than he used on most missions, in fact, which was a little embarrassing to recognise.
He took a fresh set of clothes into the bathroom with him. The mission was expected to last several days, so he’d had a servant prepare a suitcase for him before he left. He stripped out of the soiled clothes and folded them, sealing them inside a plastic bag to keep them from creasing too badly before they reached the cleaners (who were discreet, thankfully; they’d dealt with cleaning worse fluids than semen off his clothes).
Zeno always brought his own toiletries when he travelled, so he stepped under the spray of hot water and had the privilege of washing down with his own brand of soap, shampoo, and conditioner rather than the hotel's pitiful offerings. He scrubbed the sweat from his hair with a dollop of shampoo and tilted his head up to the showerhead, letting the water sluice any remaining suds from his face.
The creak of bedsprings caught his ear even through the door. He turned his head, and a moment later, Chris pulled it open and peeked inside. While Zeno didn’t normally like people to see him naked - there was a vulnerability to it he wasn’t fond of courting - he couldn’t find it in himself to protest after such delightful, rigorous sex.
“Come in,” he said, waving a hand. That was clearly what Chris wanted to do. And since he could smell the man from here, he rather wanted that as well. “Get under the water. You smell terrible.”
“I smell like you,” said Chris as he stepped inside.
That was true, but Zeno could only tolerate his own scent for so long, even on such a pleasant carrier. He could replace it with the smell of his bathing supplies, in any case.
“And you’ll still smell like me once you’ve showered.” Zeno gestured for Chris to stand under the spray. “Come, let me clean you. Back to me.”
Chris wobbled his way over, practically dragging himself into the shower. It was impressive that he managed to walk at all after being fucked for roughly six hours. If Zeno had had the forethought, he might have packed some painkillers for him.
Once Chris was under the spray, Zeno squeezed an unnecessarily large amount of shampoo into his palm and began to work it into Chris’ hair. He was thorough to the point of excess, scrubbing it into Chris' scalp and behind his ears until the entire bathroom smelt of herbal musk. He wouldn’t let Chris walk out of here smelling like anything less than a boudoir.
He pressed his nose to Chris’ scalp after and inhaled. “Much better.”
Chris eyed him over a shoulder and decided to ruin the moment by asking, “You gonna explain those eyes at some point?”
Zeno sighed and set the bottle of shampoo aside, reaching for his conditioner.
“I’m a B.O.W. developed by a syndicate I expect you'll fight at some point,” he said simply, which made Chris suck in a breath. “But I’m of no danger to you, nor people in general. If I were, I would have disposed of you rather than taking you to bed.” He squeezed two dollops of conditioner into his hand. “In any case, you aren’t a fool, Chris. I know you suspected it, and you still accepted my advances.”
Chris was silent for a moment. “I did,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Do you regret it?” asked Zeno, trying not to cringe at the thought.
“I don't, I just... feel like I should,” said Chris.
Zeno slid his soapy fingers through Chris' hair, working it into his scalp, onto every strand. He was always fastidious about these things.
“I disagree,” said Zeno. “You carry too many regrets as it is.”
Chris paused. “You speak like you know me.”
“I know you well enough,” said Zeno. “This was an enjoyable night between two strangers. Think nothing more of it.”
“That’s a little hard, considering my job,” said Chris, shifting restlessly as Zeno finished up washing his hair. “I want to ask questions I know you won't answer.”
“I might be willing to answer a few later. But we're enjoying a shower right now, you need to relax.”
“It's just-”
“I know it's hard,” said Zeno. “But you look like you need it, so try.”
Chris regarded him strangely, then. Zeno didn’t know what that expression meant until Chris said, “You really aren’t like him at all.”
Zeno looked down at him, his brow furrowed. “Do you want me to be?” he asked, bracing himself and feeling stupid for it. What did it matter if Chris would have rather had Wesker? Zeno had exploited their similarities to get Chris into his bed. He'd always known that was a possibility.
“No,” said Chris, and Zeno’s shoulders loosened. He hadn’t even realised he’d been holding himself rigid. “You’re… sweet,” he went on. “He wasn’t really like that. Not often, at least.”
“I don’t take that as a compliment,” said Zeno, a little bemused. Him? Sweet? He’d been called a lot of things, but never sweet.
“Well, that is what I meant it as,” said Chris.
“If you insist.”
“I do,” said Chris, rolling his eyes.
Zeno chose not to engage the topic of his ‘sweetness’ any further, turning his focus back to the task of cleaning Chris. He knelt on the tiles, gathering a handful of soap and sudding up Chris’ legs, making sure to scrape away the mess between his thighs. There were so many bites on the insides of Chris’ thighs that he almost blushed.
While he was on his knees, he pressed his cheek briefly to Chris’ backside and closed his eyes. It was so soft and warm. It would have made for a pleasant pillow if he’d had the forethought to put his face there before falling unconscious.
Chris looked down at him and let out a strangled laugh. “Enjoying yourself?”
Zeno cracked open an eye. “I was,” he said. “Before you interrupted me.”
He applied a bite to one cheek as chastisement, which just made Chris giggle. Who would have thought a man like Chris could make such a sound?
Once he’d had his fill of Chris’ ass, he slowly dragged himself back to his feet. The warm water had made the various bruises and bite marks on him more vivid, and Zeno took a moment to admire them before pressing on.
“Your back, now,” he said.
He guided Chris forward until his forehead rested against the cool tiles, one hand steadying Chris at the waist while the other worked another generous handful of soap across Chris’ back. He paid special attention to the slope of Chris’ spine, making sure to wash away any salt and sweat lingering in the dip there.
There were knots all over Chris’ back, throbbing faintly against Zeno’s fingers. He took the time to massage them out before moving on. By the way Chris groaned and shuddered, he gathered that they had desperately needed the attention.
Once he was satisfied with the state of Chris’ back, he pulled him out from under the spray just long enough to turn him around and sud up his abdomen and chest. He paused at the sight of Chris’ pecs. He must have bitten the areolas at some point last night, because there were several deep, bruising rings encircling both. The fact he’d gotten so into the sex that he couldn’t remember half the things he’d done to Chris was a little troubling, but he would worry about that later.
“You may want to consider wearing looser shirts,” he murmured as he circled one of the bruises with a thumb. It was a good look on Chris.
Chris snorted. “I’m going to need to consider wearing looser everything after that.”
Zeno’s fingers slid up to Chris’ face, cupping his jaw and tilting it back so Chris was looking up at him. “If I recall correctly, you were the one who begged me to ‘fuck you properly’.”
“I’m not complaining- mostly.” Chris tilted into his hand and closed his eyes. “You gave me what I wanted, and I’d let you do it again if we had the opportunity.”
If they had the opportunity, which they wouldn’t. But Zeno chose not to divulge that. Best not to initiate final goodbyes when they were nowhere near the exit. He stroked Chris’ jaw instead, sliding his fingers along the bristles there.
“We have a few hours yet before my claim of the room expires,” said Zeno. “And a shower to wash away any mess. Perhaps you would like something… gentler, before we leave? Since you apparently like my sweetness.”
He pressed his lips to Chris’, not demanding nor hard like it had been last night. Just a soft, sweet little kiss. Chris went limp under him, melting into the kiss and wrapping his arms around Zeno to draw him closer.
This would serve as a better ‘goodbye’ than any verbal dismissal, thought Zeno.
He truly had left that hotel under the impression he would never again see Chris Redfield. That had been the plan all along, after all; address his curiosity, slake his thirst, and leave. Let Redfield remain a pleasant memory rather than a recurring presence in his life.
And then they found each other again, and again. It would have been less egregious if their paths had been crossing naturally, but whenever Zeno heard that Chris was a few hours away, well… he had access to helicopters and the like, and he made ample use of them. If he kept this up, The Connections would eventually find out; they could rescind his privileges and make it impossible for him to transport himself to Chris at his convenience. They might even kill him for how much information he'd divulged. But he kept on seeking out Chris anyway.
“This is the last time,” he would tell himself, and it always ended up being a lie.
He never tired of waking up in a tangle of sheets with Chris. There were times he awoke to Chris wrapped in his arms, and that sent an unfamiliar, unsettling flutter through his chest. Whatever he was feeling, he had no word for it, and perhaps that was for the best - he might have dug himself deeper into it if he’d had any sort of reference point.
What he did know for certain was that he couldn’t stop. He needed this almost as badly as he needed Elpis. And sometimes when he awoke tangled with Chris, the man’s head tucked beneath his chin and his breath warm against Zeno’s throat, it even overtook his desire for Elpis. Just for a moment, just for a breath.
Maybe, if he’d been anyone else, he would have been happy with just this. He might have left his aspirations behind to pursue something simpler. But he always, always extracted himself from Chris and left.
Zeno made sure not to look at Chris when he passed through the exit of whatever hotel room they’d used for their rendezvous. He was afraid of what he would see in those eyes, should he look back.