Work Text:
He’s never quite sure how the two of you end up in these situations, but particularly himself. Wesker, being the extremely generous lover that he is, was far from used to being on the receiving end of things. But you have your ways. He could hardly call it trickery since you’d given him ample opportunity to refuse, but he just couldn’t.
What turned into simply sitting by your side atop the bed turned to a loss of control so blissful that his jaw trembles with every breath he takes in vain attempts to steady himself. You’d coaxed him so sweetly, pretending that you were shuffling behind him to simply rub his back. And you did for a time. Stripped away the shoulder holster and kneaded taut, stressed muscles for so long he’d almost been convinced his body turned to jell-o. When your soothing touches slipped around to unbutton his shirt, he knew he was in for it. The very second you tugged on his belt, he knew he was all too happy to let it happen.
He huffs an open mouthed breath, chest rising and falling, heartbeat like a drum in his own ears while he cranes his neck further to the side for your wandering lips. The buckle of his belt clinks with every mindless shift of his legs. You feel so nice… your hands are so warm and soft as you stroke him slow and steady.
He grips your leg with his left hand and the right reaches back to thread in your hair, anchoring himself to you like a docked ship in preparation for a storm. Wesker can’t help but arch back into you, body seeking more and more contact as he fights each gasp and whine that threatens to expose how easily you’ve wrapped him around your finger.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.” You coo in his ear, breath tickling the shell of it and sending a shiver right down his spine. There’s an air of humor in your words like always. Amusement that you’d turned the tables and taken apart the man who usually unmakes you. Wesker’s eyes flutter open, half lidded and dazed. He dares to look between his splayed legs and your hand moves just in time to feel his balls tighten at the sight. You hum a small laugh when he does little more than swallow thickly and exhale. “Even if you won’t use your words, your body still tells me all kinds of things.” Your thumb circles his weeping tip with an agonizing slowness and your lips fall to the junction of his shoulder.
He nearly jumps out of his skin, choking off a sharp keen into panting breaths when a wandering hand pinches his nipple, rolling the hardened bud carefully. It’s then that he truly loses himself, completely leaning his weight back onto you and hissing through clenched teeth. “Y-You…” He tries, but his train of thought derails entirely when your fist twists down to the base, squeezing gently. Wesker’s legs shift haphazardly, one bending just enough for leverage to thrust into your grip.
Your touches halt suddenly but you don’t release him. “Yes, honey?”
Fuck, he thinks to himself. This again.
Not too long ago you’d learned that he wasn’t quite so unbreakable. That iron will and stoic demeanor ran incredibly deep, but for you? Oh, you have the key to his heart, which means you’re privy to sights and sounds that leave him red in the face and practically squirming.
You planned this, didn’t you?
Now you were going to get exactly what you wanted…
“Come on, Al. Tell me.” Each word drips with love the likes of which he could drown in. It drives him insane in ways he could never dream. You hold release over his head like bait but give freely that which makes you so special. “Tell me so I can take care of you.”
Wesker’s jaw quivers, teeth practically chattering. “You… I want you to…” He’s whispered filth in your ear so many times just to guarantee your pleasure, but to reverse the roles? To tell you how badly he wants you to… t-to… “Please,” he gasps, voice a tad higher than he’d prefer, “anything, I– ah!” Wesker gasps sharply, head falling back against your shoulder as you trail the tip of your index finger along the length of his cock.
“Anything?”
“M-More!” He mewls. It’s all so undignified and the embarrassment swirls deep in his gut, but it’s washed away by a fingerpad teasing a bead of precum. Heavy breaths turn almost to snarls. “God, just– please!”
You always did show him mercy when he used the magic word. The very second your strokes begin again, his eyes roll back and he succumbs.
“That’s it, Al,” you murmur between kisses and suckles to his exposed neck. He writhes and thrusts and pushes against you like his life depends on it, seeking more sensations, more pressure, more of you while he comes undone. “Shhh, just feel it…”
He’s unsure of just how loud his pathetic litany of whining had been, but he’d much rather not know at all. Fuck, if he felt like jell-o before… he’s practically a ragdoll now, limbs like lead demanding that he simply lie still and bask in a haze so powerful he can’t even open his eyes. He tries to give you a hm of acknowledgement, but it comes out as a breathy whine that leaves him wishing he had the energy to curse himself for such a weak display of self control.
“You did so well.” Your praise erupts his flesh with goosebumps. “You deserved this. You deserve to feel so good.”
Wesker tilts his head just enough to nuzzle your cheek, hissing a hot breath against it when he feels your fingertips dance through the mess he’d made on his abdomen. His eyelids are so heavy…
“Get some rest, sweetheart.”
He wants to. God knows there’s nothing else his body screams for more in the moment, but he also wants so badly to return the favor. You wiggle out from behind him carefully, slipping his shirt free and slowly helping him descend into the plushness of pillows and blankets before stripping away the remainder of his clothes. You disappear for but a moment, promising him you'll return before you do, and you bring a warm, wet cloth to wipe away the mess his bliss had caused.
“There we go,” you say. There’s not a single word necessary, but he knows you do it to reassure him that he’s clean. A soft thud signals that you’d tossed the cloth elsewhere and then you’re climbing in right beside him, tugging soft covers up onto the both of you and snuggling close to him. “You should sleep,” you tell him. “The world will still be here when you wake up, okay?”
“In some state of chaos, I’m sure…” Wesker mumbles, pulling you closer with a heavy arm. Lips press to his temple, then his cheek, then his lips which curl into a lazy grin. Within seconds, he’s out like a light.
He always sleeps so well after you take care of him.