Archive of Our Own

Silent beating of a man’s heart

Wesker’s heart was truly beating, from the moment his rapturous globes set down on Ethan Winters.
    The frame of Ethan was no business man, no scientist, no doctor. (no crazy oom experimenting on innocent people and creating monsters made out of viruses because he has humanity issues.)
No, he was special.
  It seemed, he was sure, that the God he himself was pinning his hopes on, made a creature so perfect there was no way to let go –or a being full of nothing but mold.  He was a gorgeous display to watch as he swayed in white curtains of his own life – Wesker’s deepest desires crackling to wrap strings around his soft wrists and long knuckles, drown the pretty thing into his own dark waters. 

Teach the smart brain of his to listen, obey and be his. His own for the sake of pleasure covered in want.

Wesker has fallen in love with observing the living beauty swing around, watch every little detail he could catch in on the divine face – honey blue eyes melting in, shining with golden, red lips that would often get bitten and bleed down, amber hairs decorated from bottom to top with deep blonde and somewhere would shine like a bright sun, brushed into a specific style or a mess all round his head.
  The air would fill with his heavenly soft voice, goofy jokes alongside flying breathtaking smiles. It’s like the spunky creature has poisoned Wesker’s mind, there was certainly no way he would waste in any spare seconds he possessed to stay and watch the blonde blessing be.
  Wesker began to dream about him – that was the first time in this mortal coil he had any dreams. 

Sometimes, the dreams would lead him into a never-ending darkness with no light peeking at the end of the tunnel. He would hear singing; Ethan so scared in his own mind, lost in the place only Wesker could know about and bleating for help. 

Wesker wants to leave him there, just stand and watch as the creature gets sunk into the silent place, soil the grounds wet and spill his insides out on the pitch, black ground. Gaining excitement, pleasure, reeking of greed afterwards. Then, his cruel mind would tell him he should want to run up to the poor, lost soul to save it from the pits of despair, grab him by the cold hand with no pulse, show him the way and lead him out.
      Yet, in his dream he’s only allowed to bear inside his mind as soft frame plunges into the darkness. He’s standing in the very distance, not too but still so far away from the one he wants to touch; thought black tinted glasses lighten by carmine gleam of awaken but shut lids. It feels like the air gets thicker as each second runs by, he knows it’s not real. But he knows it’s true, the air does tighten their bodies, sucks up their flesh and he, wonders if the pretty one notices. Wesker sees the smallest, watery tears full of salt swell at the corner of his alluring eyelets, sparkling down his pretty cheeks. 

Wesker has never thought he could get this nervous, unsettling . Lips pursed in a think line, brows furrowed. There’s little time before it comes to his awareness there is a hand, his own, spread out in the air reaching for someone. Long knuckles reaching into cold air. It’s so cold. Ethan doesn’t tell him but he’s freezing, and Wesker feels like he stopped moving.
        Then, his brain would wake up, because it’s time to welcome him into the world of consciousness. 

He wants to eat Ethan alive he wants to rot him down the grounds and stomp his head down ; again and again until there’s nothing but corsage of blood and brain loaming the dirt –even in death, the lovely face Wesker could never tear his eyes from would be stuck up in the dirt, hiding from the world but not aware of it. Not anymore. Sometime later, he tries not to imagine how bugs and worms would eat him whole, clear the body all away so it would be hidden down the earth from Albert Wesker.  

He doesn’t want to. And he doesn’t know how to sew them together, either. Now, he’s over these thoughts because he doesn’t want them. He knows just right what he wants.  

       He knows all of Ethan’s likings, all bout the little things the little man likes to do along in what his liking hates. Sometimes, Wesker would look at the small beauty and think about how fragile he truly is. Wesker knows that if he wanted, his desire would lift Ethan Winters’ small, porcelain body in his large, veiny arms, hoist the pretty up to be carried around, not a single thing to be worried about. 

Mold carries Ethan around but Wesker doesn’t know that.  

Ethan would sing for Wesker, so kind to show him the right path that leads down the drains to his past. He knows that the older man wants it so much, yet, he doesn’t want to give it to him. He keeps all of it locked away far from him. He knows how much Wesker wants to destroy the wall fixed straight between them; 

Chris Redfield. 

The large, hot, mountain-muscle man is what stands in Wesker’s way, he’s the one who’s hands possess Ethan’s past and every little important detail about it. He keeps it locked away under a heavy-stainless lock that even the cute critter doesn’t get to touch. It’s not like he wants to, anyway.
  Wesker wants to get the asshole out of the way; squish him out and leave him hanging, however, there’s no way he can fulfil his desires while he knows just right how heartbroken Ethan would be.   

He harks. Overhearing Chris apprising something to the small fragileness in a hushed, low voice that hid heated thirst deep inside – he knows because Redfield’s nose was buried deep in the crook of Ethan’s soft neck, solid hand tangled in those blonde hairs as the other took place on the hip, bodies brushing against each other. Delicious smell scattered from Ethan and Wesker’s blood boiled he couldn’t be close to him, that it wasn’t him whom held the pretty little thing like this. 

     “Ethan..” 

Not the mold , even so Ethan can’t tell which of the two men he heard say his name, the two voices being so coiled together he’s overwhelmed. He always hears Wesker mumble and stumble at the back of his head, talk to himself and whisper un-audible things. He’s not sure if he wants to know what the man says, what meaning the words he can’t hear hold.
   
    Every so often, Ethan would notice, at the very quarter of his blue eyes how a large shadow watches him, finding it amusing as the obviousness crawls out of him. Ethan giggles and Chris asks what’s funny.
Once, a few months ago, Ethan Winters waved his gentle digits at the same dirty blonde man with deep-black glasses who keenly studied him from behind, clearly in a variety of world that he’s unseen. Ethan likes to think that he startled the older one – and maybe he’s right, gathering on the way he stopped, on the sharp breath he snuck into his lungs, looking away.
  Then, there would be a warm embrace of fingers lacing his into a clutch, his replica of a heart would beat faster, pump blood into his veins, feeling so warm and receive so much joy when he looks side to meet Chris’ brown eyes. Chris would be looking at him with one raised brow and a slight smirk painting his lips to what Ethan grins with white canines. The mold senses jealousy somewhere from behind, keeping it a secret away from its host. 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Wesker.” A dully voice chimers Wesker’s ears to tear him away from his loud thoughts; it’s not long before he realizes it’s Ethan who has spoken to him, just when he walked past by him with Redfield by his side, of course. There was a nice smile resting on the younger man’s face when he enjoys the wimped-out gaze, beams to himself, feeling Wesker’s eyes follow after his corse until he vanishes beyond white walls. There are fingers making an airy contact with his chin, again, pulling him by into a warm embrace as he’s not displeased to give in. 

     Chris has told Ethan to keep away from Wesker, that it is truly better if he doesn’t speak to the dangerous man that he’s sure peeks and listens thought every corner and wall there is to hide behind. He has told him so many times in the past, present, and will do in the future, but the ex-engineer never listens and for sure, never pays attention to whatever important The Captain has to say. Chris knows , that Wesker is but a selfish, ravenous, disgustingly powerful asshole, that has attempts on killing him several fucking times in the past and even now. So, there is a large no from Chris when he sees Ethan babbling happy and sweet with the visous man, it’s like he doesn’t care at all.

  So stupidly lovable and gorgeous.
That glamorous face of his – how does the stupid virus even dare.  

Wesker grits his teeth, sound of sore clenching and kneading of teeth –enamel ripping down, staining between curs. It is visible how his sharp jaw tenses, muscles so cramp like a hard rock, dangerously soon to crush in.
  Chris smirks, wide sharp not close to overcoming Wesker, but close ‘nough to make the man’s brow twitch furious. Wesker is never ample to speak real words with the soft wight, long ago, and it made him wroth glass, fist into his personal desk, grunts leave his throat; he would go limb.
But now, he’s learned that a creature as vise as Ethan Winters comes by himself to him, never turns him away, never being spattered by want nor nasty reek of power like he is. The being is grateful for its existence, knowing it’s the best to never turn away the man of hound.

  Wesker likes it that way, pleasure soaking him wet the moment he sees it is now Chris’ turn to sense rage on his skin. 

  –

  Chris Redfield fancies for truly everything Ethan Winters has to offer; because he has never fully realized before, that this human with a shattered soul that begged to be fixed needed Chris and that Chris needed him, to help him find all the burnt pieces of his soul, cowped in the grounds of Dulvey –so he can put them together, place the small thing back into Ethan’s chest and watch with heavy eyes as the man would let himself be pulled into Chris’ arms, keep him from monsters that crawl in the dark corners. 

 Albert Wesker wants Ethan Winters for many, many reasons. He wants to absorb all of this creature’s secrets and eat on them, fess them slow a’ spill them out when he’s done chewing. Keep the thing close so he can drink in all sights of him –so he could feel the soft skin against his own. And as the time would fly by, he would want the critter to love him, and he would want to love him, too. Harmless, Faithfull, Honest. He craves his hands on Ethan; because he’s not another asshole in this overpopulated world, cash-grabbing freak.   Nothing but special .    The only way to complete satisfaction leads through plaint love. 

And until then, Ethan will sit back and watch thought honey blue eyes, with fingers tangled into silk-white curtains as two men fight bloody for someone that isn’t even alive.