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"I don't have time to play with you," Wesker starts, an unexceptional cadence to his voice. Somewhat bored. His back is turned to her for a considerable, significant moment.
Thinking.
Wesker spins around in his chair, then. Unhurried. He hears her before he sees her, the tell-all click of her heels against industrial floor.
Ada. In his control room. Uninvited.
Maybe unwanted. He hadn't decided yet.
"No?" She asks, polite enough. She stops for a moment, one leg in front of the other, hands behind her back.
"Hm."
Wesker looks at her for a long moment. Ada assumes, anyway. He could be looking at the sliding doors behind her. He could be looking anywhere but. She wouldn't be able to tell.
Those stupid glasses.
There's a part of her that wishes she could tell.
"Mm," She hums instead.
"How'd you get in here?"
She tips her head in consideration, eyes scanning him up and down. Quick. Easy to miss if she wasn't the focal point in the room, but she was. She was taller than him like this, too. Towering.
Any other day, he would've never allowed this.
"Security isn't as tight as you thought," she says.
Wesker grunts a faint sound of acknowledgement. His gaze moves down, that much she can follow. All the way down to the empty hostler on her thigh.
"Acting out. Is that something you enjoy?"
She creeps closer. Just a few inches.
"Somewhat."
He pushes the chair back with his legs until it bumps gently against the edge of the large desk. He leans back, one arm relaxed and straight on the armrest, and the other propped up by the elbow. Contemplating.
"Brat," Wesker says finally, voice steady. Immovable. He brushes a finger against his lips. "Extraordinarily bratty. Repulsively, one could say. Is it attention that you want?"
He changes his position. Drapes both arms against the chair. Stares her down. He's still as can be. Hardly breathing. A marbled statue of a terrible, terrible man.
Ada's eyes are less than scrutinizing, but more than probing. Her lips twitch, like she might respond.
She doesn't. No bark.
He smirks. The barest little tug of his face to the left. Oh, she knew how to get under his skin, scarcely doing anything at all.
"It isn't fun babysitting your boyfriend, is it?" Wesker notes. "Aren't you tired of saving him?"
Ada steps forward again. Three feet away.
"…We keep running into each other," she says, glancing down at a gloved hand, the other still behind her back. As if she were analyzing her nails through the shiny leather. Absently.
"You have time for him."
"Give or take."
"You like toying with him. I get it. To a degree."
Another step. Closer.
"Only?" She sighs.
"I don't think much about Leon Kennedy," Wesker says, disinterested. "A nuisance, but he'll be dealt with when the time comes."
"Mm."
"But your time is my time. And I'm not fond of you—"
"—wasting it," she finishes. "I know."
Ada goes to put her hand down. Wesker catches her by the palm.
"Will you save him, then?"
She looks at him. Almost smiles.
"Depends…"
"On what's in it for you?"
"On what's in it for me."
Wesker hums. Thumbs at the exposed skin of her wrist. Her pulse jumps, but her face doesn't move.
"Take this off," he says.
"Just this one?"
"Just."
Ada bites her lip for a split second. Thinking. Then—
She moves her hand to her mouth, using her teeth to peel the glove off. Slow. Her gaze remains locked on him for the entirety of the movement, sultry.
Wesker grunts lowly in approval. He doesn't mention the arm, still behind her back. He knew it was obvious. She knew it was obvious. It had nothing to do with their little game.
Yet.
"What do I give you?" Wesker asks, gripping her hand again. Bare skin against bare skin now.
He was very, very warm. Red-hot where Ada runs tepid at best, and cold at worst.
"Hm?"
"You keep coming back. I must give you something."
He presses his thumb against the middle of her hand, pressure firm. Her hand flexes, eyes darkening.
"I know it's fun for you. Out there, with all your shiny new tech. I have you all dressed up. You like being in control, I don't blame you."
He tugs her near, finally closing the distance. She goes without effort, settling between his thighs. Still standing.
Ada looks down at him. Close enough she can see the gel-slick shine of his hair catch in the light of the monitors behind them. Close enough she can see the bobble of his Adam's apple as he swallows, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
"But you keep coming back," he murmurs. "To me. Do you like me that much?"
Ada scoffs gently. Amused, but affected nonetheless. She doesn't let it show.
"Hardly at all, actually," she whispers.
"Bullshit. You like to play. You play with everyone. Stick your claws into everything that comes around and blinks at you once. You're good at it," He murmurs. "That's why I like you."
"Oh? You like me?" Ada teases clemently. "Who would've thought?"
Wesker hums. It sounds more like a dimmed growl. A boulder being moved.
"You shouldn't mistake my cordial neutrality for weakness," he says. "I don't think you fully understand."
"Understand…?"
Wesker leans forward, the motion sudden and fast, wrapping a hand around Ada's throat. He holds her in place. Squeezes just enough to coax a sweet little noise out of her.
The snap of a mouse in a willing trap.
"What you get of out this…. you like it," Wesker growls, "You like to feel powerful. Tell me, who allows you to play God?"
If she tries to speak, she doesn't put much energy into it. Ada wriggles for half a second, adjusting to his grip before settling into a limp complacency, her cheeks dusted pink.
It doesn't hurt. He wouldn't hurt her like this. It would be too easy.
Wesker chuckles.
"Everyone looks better like this. Giving it all up. Is that what I do to you?"
Ada doesn't respond. Doesn't give that to him. Her head tilts, and for a moment, Wesker thinks she might bite.
She's beautiful. He can't deny that. Beautiful. Resisting. Especially then.
Ada takes a deep, shaky breath. Purses her lips like she's going to say something, but she doesn't.
"You like when I get mean," he says, voice deep. Gritty on purpose. "What would he think? If he saw you like this? Does he know?"
Ada swallows because she knows Wesker can feel it. Feel her twitch against him. Hums to let him feel the vibration.
"There are many things Leon doesn't know," she says, barely enunciating. She half-lids her eyes, hardly blinking.
Wesker brushes his thumb against her jawline, tempts to dip against her jugular.
It's hard to think over the rabbit-thump of her heart. Even her ears feel hot now.
"Play coy all you want," he mutters. "We're alone. You know the only person you're really lying to."
She pulls the gun then, gentle as can be. Hovers it to where it's nearly touching his forehead, but she doesn't press.
Her finger is on the trigger. Wesker smiles. He isn't impressed, but it's something close enough.
She'll take it.
"It's a shame," he says, looking directly at her. "All you keep from him. Heartbreaker."
Wesker manhandles her smoothly, hand on the barrel, tugging it out of her grip and sliding it onto the desk with practiced deftness. It skids for a few beats before stopping several feet away from both of them.
It happens briskly, the typical speed of Wesker's progression of events. He has her bent over the surface quicker than she can attempt to flail out of it, chair pushed aside, stomach against the cold metal, hands secured by sheer will behind her back. He comes up after her, settling his body over hers, the buckle of his belt pressed up along her ass.
He doesn't restrain her with anything but his weight, and even that's a half-measure. She's still because she wants to be.
"I can tell when you want me," Wesker murmurs. "Should I give it to you? Make you beg?"
"You'd have a rather low success rate," she replies, a tad winded. She wills her voice to anchor.
"Oh, but I have fun trying," Wesker says, brushing a strand of hair back into place with gentle fingers. His touch trails down her spine, light enough to get her to contract her shoulder blades, clutching them together in anticipation.
"I thought you didn't have time for fun," she quips. She tries to adjust, but the desk is uncomfortable. All of the strain is on her chest.
"Mouthy," Wesker breathes. He leans down just enough to graze his lips over her back, but they never pucker. He doesn't kiss her. He's never kissed her, anywhere. "Nearly unemployable. How does anyone put up with you?"
For a moment she thinks he might be smelling her.
"What's that saying?" She asks, pressing herself against him. A half-grind. He doesn't react, and he isn't hard at all. He never is. She knows better than to think he'd give in so easy.
"The heart wants what it wants."
"Nothing about this is heart," he murmurs, watching her wiggle. His hand presses against her lower back, fixing her position. Forcing her deeper into the bend.
"Come on, Wesker…" Ada whispers. She wouldn't dare whine. "Throw me a bone."
"Save it for your dog."
Ada twists back a little to look at him. She bats her eyes. Once, twice. The fuck-me eyes. All pin-up girl. Playboy magazines and perfectly manufactured fantasies. She looks perfect. Not a single flaw noticeable to the human eye.
"That doesn't work on me," Wesker says. "But good try."
"Right," she says, dropping the act and turning back around. Near petulant. "You like the downed kitten look…"
"You know what they say. A downed kitten is a dead kitten."
"…I don't want to think that way about kittens."
He stops for a moment. Swats her hands away from where they're loosely gathered together, leading them back upwards.
Instead of using them for leverage, she extends them fully. A big stretch. Lets it feed into her arch. Sensual. Almost vulnerable, if she wasn't trying to be tempting on purpose.
"Cat person?"
"Somewhat."
"I learn something new about you everyday, Ada Wong."
"Wish I could say the same about you."
"Cheeky."
She smiles. He can't see it. "Tongue-in."
"I know you meant it," Wesker says. "You wish you knew me. You wish I would touch you. I have you all but belly up."
"Missionary," she purrs. "Fitting."
"Funny. You're very funny, but I'm still thinking..."
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Ada can feel his stare fixed on her back.
"I don't know how I should punish you just yet," he says. Impartial. Like this was any other decision, on any other day. Should he wear a blue shirt, or black? Gloves or no gloves?
Something coils in her stomach at his indifference. She can never tell if its feigned.
There is so much she doesn't understand about him. So much she'll never know.
"Punish?" She asks. There's a flicker of eagerness in her voice she couldn't catch in time.
Fuck.
"You've been a very bad girl."
Ada lets out a breathless, clipped hah. It shouldn't have worked on her, but it did. God, it did.
Whatever's wrong with her is wrong with him, too.
"Agree to disagree..." She says, but it doesn't sound like an argument.
"You're not fighting back," he comments. "I like it when you get feisty. But I don't think you want to."
"Is 'no' the magic word?"
The question leaves her before she can workshop it.
Wesker pauses.
"Only if you mean it…"
Ada squeezes her thighs together at that. It isn't butterflies. It's a sinking feeling.
The knot inside her tightens, then unravels.
"We're more alike than you think," Wesker says, voice low. "Dirty girl."
"Are we on the clock?" She says, an attempt to pull herself back together.
"Would you like to get paid for this?"
"Depends on if you're actually going to do something," Ada says dryly, arching her back. "Or would you rather lead us not into temptation?"
"You're very far from Catholic."
"Don't we all pray to something?"
"Why pray," Wesker murmurs, "to a God so feeble?"
Wesker cups her ass with his hand, creeping his touch down to her thighs, open palmed, hovering over where she's all wet-heat.
"Shall I part the River Jordan?"
Ada laughs at that. Genuine. Almost surprised.
Wesker makes a noise that's all the surprise he could ever muster.
"Corny, cheesy, disgusting—"
"—Enough games."
He hikes her dress up, thumbing over the fabric of her tights. He thinks for a moment, giving her fleeting time to complain—
"Don't rip—"
The nylon tears like tissue paper.
"Not exactly easy access," Wesker scolds. "Skip these next time."
"I didn't exactly… have you in mind when I got dressed this morning."
"Shame."
"On y——oh."
He palms over her thonged cunt, patting it gently. Like you'd pet a cat on its rump.
"You don't deserve this," he sighs. "Always giving me trouble…"
"Wesk—"
A harsher pat. An almost slap, right over her center. A pearl of slick wells up and drips down her thigh. Ada squirms because she wants to. It doesn't change anything.
If anything, it's part of the entertainment.
"Stay down," He murmurs. "Make this easier on yourself."
"Easy…" Ada huffs. "Funny. Keeping the boots on?"
"Mm."
Wesker knows how to touch her. Ada knows that Wesker knows how to touch her. He doesn't budge.
"Is this the way into your heart?"
Ada's as wet as she is annoyed. She scoffs at the question.
"Less talking," she breathes, shutting her eyes.
"And let you enjoy your punishment?"
"Yes—"
A real smack this time. Fingers close together. A full swat. Then another to her thighs. The noise that leaves her is the only real thing in the room.
She takes it like a goddamn champ.
"Good girl," Wesker hisses through gritted teeth.
"You like hitting women, Wesker?"
"I enjoy putting anything in its place," he rasps. "None omitted. You know that."
"Very—altruistic—of you," she shudders, deathly aware of her current state of arousal. She couldn't deny it even at gunpoint.
"You're still talking, huh?"
He pushes the soaked fabric aside, pushing a single finger in. Zero resistance. She flutters around him for a beat. A half-clench, like she caught herself midway. If there's a moan, she stops it before it ever leaves her throat.
Stoic, stoic, stoic.
Ada's gone quiet, and Wesker knows exactly what that means.
"Opened up for me," he grunts. "Like you always do. Doesn't it feel good?"
Ada shakes her head, clawing the desk in an attempt to grip it. She tries to steady herself just as he begins to move—
Leisurely. Painfully languid. He presses all the way in, and she squeezes on the way out without meaning to.
"Shh," Wesker tuts. "We won't get anywhere if you try and keep me inside."
She shivers. One finger becomes two, pointer and middle. A press in, a curl, then back out. Over and over again.
"Give me something," he rasps. "I know you want to…"
Her cunt squelches with his endeavors, coating his fingers in an embarrassing amount of glossy slick, but she doesn't moan. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of her unravelment.
"Ah—" She whispers, sliding up to her knees. She's settled into an awkward kneel now, voice breaking on a tiny, choked sound.
Wesker huffs, amused. He glides his fingers uphill. Circles her clit with deliberate pressure, tight little circles. Right where she needs it.
"Human anatomy is a frivolous thing," he murmurs. "So simple. So easy to please…"
Ada lets out a long, shaky breath, turning her head to look at him, ass up in the air. There's a subtle sheen to her eyes now, and the look she gives him—disheveled, needy, barely holding on—
Oh.
"Come here," Wesker murmurs, fingers sliding out of her. He wipes them on his pants before helping her shift onto her back.
Ada goes willingly. The relief is instantaneous, her neck, back and knees already aching from being held in a compromising position for so long. She blinks up at him with something that can only be described as thinly veiled gratitude, but she doesn't say much else.
"Better?" He asks, not expecting an answer. "Spoiling you again…"
She parts her legs for him, kicking a leg up to his chest as he comes closer. Nothing about it is rough. Her heel barely digs into him. Wesker hitches it over his shoulder, lips dangerously close.
"Comfy?"
"Mhm."
"Mm. I thought you were going to cry," he breathes, pressing his fingers back into her. She sighs prettily in response, grinding her hips down against his fingers. Not quite riding, she wouldn't push her luck like that, but almost there.
"Didn't wanna stick around and see it through?" She asks, voice soft.
"It's pathetic," he says. "To cry when I'm being so nice to you."
Ada tries to laugh. It doesn't come to fruition.
"Wouldn't feel—ah…earned?"
"Something like that," he says, curling his fingers. He pumps them deeper than before, barely pulling away before pressing them back in. Slow and intense. A rhythm. One-two, one-two. An excruciatingly steady pace that kept her on the edge just long enough to make her exceedingly desperate as time went on.
Ada manages to keep herself mostly quiet until Wesker's free hand lets go of her leg, coming down to rub at her clit again in tandem to the fingers inside of her.
She clenches around them with an abrupt moan, static in her belly sending heat all the way up to her brain. Stupidly fuzzy. She could hardly think.
The thought mortified her. Hurt her ego more than her physical body could've ever been hurt by the nasty creatures she'd killed for him.
"That's it," Wesker purrs. "That's what I was looking for."
She tries to arch up again, but this time he clicks his tongue, a chiding little 'tsk tsk' that should otherwise only be reserved for dogs. A noise that stops her in her tracks almost instantly, anyway.
She lays limply on the table. An offering, and—
God. She's fucked. Absolutely fucked. But the shame didn't burn brighter than her need, this overcoming need that felt like it was going to end her—
"Wesker—" She whines indignantly. Not nearly loud enough for the man's liking, apparently, because he barely reacts. Smug bastard.
"Sounds like you need something…" he says casually. As if she wasn't dripping onto the table underneath them. As if the leg on his shoulder wasn't shaking, moments away from kicking him away out of pure sexual frustration.
As if she wasn't miserable enough for him.
She could hurt him if she wanted to. He could hurt her if he wanted to. The air stills.
He moves her leg off of him, leaning down far enough for her to meet him as she attempts to prop herself up on her elbows.
It's the closest he's ever gotten to her, she thinks. Face to face. He's close enough to kiss.
The thought is more tempting than ever. Far more temping than her prospective, impending orgasm.
At least she hopes.
"Say please," he murmurs, face hovering over hers. "And I might think about letting you finish."
"No." She breathes, struggling to keep her eyes open.
Wesker grins. The eat-you-alive grin. The grin that means whatever he's thinking about is about to have disastrous consequences for whoever on the other side.
Lucky her.
"Fine." He says. Simple. Definitive. "Have it your way."
The quality of it changes, then. He'd been far too gentle up until now. Uncharacteristically gentle. The sort of intimacy reserved for lovers and almost-lovers, and they were neither, yet—
Wesker pulls out his fingers, slapping them against her cunt without an ounce of tenderness. Ada barely has the time to muster out a squeak before he's pressing back in. Middle and ring this time. Fast. Almost brutal in their fervor, but not any less controlled. So ridiculously set on making her fall apart as soon as physically possible.
"I gave you the chance to hold onto whatever dignity you have left," he rasps, "but I'm done being nice to you, Ada."
The considerate circling of her clit had turned into a vigorous swiping of left to right. His only concern was friction, overwhelming pleasure so much so that it'd meld into pain somewhere along the way.
The sound that is forced out of her is unbecoming. Had she any room for embarrassment, she'd feel it.
There was nothing in this room except Wesker.
"How unsightly," he murmurs, close enough that his breath was now hers. "Where's your resolve, huh?"
"You—" she starts, gritting her teeth. Her head falls back.
Wesker leans in. Ghosts over her throat, but doesn't touch her. Molten hot. His presence there like the threat of a cattle prod.
Oh. She was so close.
Impossibly so, Wesker sped up. Like a machine running to failure, except she wasn't quite sure if Wesker was capable of that. Failure.
To what capacity?
For a moment, a long, catastrophic moment, Ada thought she might pass out. The coil in her stomach had long begun to overheat, wound up to the breaking point with nowhere to go. She moans; wanton, blatant. A distraught ah that bordered on a sob. There was no use in hiding the effect he had on her. The proof was all over his fingers. On the table. Probably on the floor, much to Wesker's amusement.
"Wesker…" she tries. "I'm…"
His lips finally brush against the side of her neck. The faintest of touches. Vague enough to deny, if needed.
Her hips meet where he's working her open. Up-down, up-down. Where she's already flayed, slick and ruined. He doesn't stop her. Lets her fuck herself down on his fingers shamelessly. Take what she needs.
"Go on," he breathes. His voice stands apart from the humiliating plapping noise filling the room. The only steady thing. Her thighs are shaking—have been shaking, when he at last says: "Finish."
If it felt like mercy, it was at worst a red herring.
The man inside her was the harbinger of death. She's known that for a long, long time.
She finishes.
Her orgasm hits her like a punch to the stomach. She sucks in a deep, quivering breath, brows furrowing in what would look like disgust or irritation to anyone on the outside of it, before settling down into a forgiving ecstasy. She clenches. Once, twice. Then there's nothing. Depleted bliss. She puffs her cheeks, then exhales, her eyes completely closed.
Cute.
Wesker's fingers halt to a stop, but they remain inside of her. The touch on her clit turns into a lenient pat, as if to alert her nervous system, tell it that whatever has just happened is now over, yet—
The aftershocks were always more embarrassing than the road there.
Ada feels Wesker's fingers slide out. He takes his time, tempts to push them back inside right at the cusp of leaving her. He hovers, and she feels a short stream of warmth leak down once again.
The first thing she notices, right at the second her brain decides to turn back on, is that she suddenly feels cold. Unfavorably cold.
Wesker dips the tips of his fingers back inside. Knowing.
"Messy," he murmurs. "Did I break you?"
Ada sighs, leaning her head back on the table. She stares at the ceiling for a moment. Darkness.
"Just resting my eyes."
"Mm."
His fingers leave her completely. The trembling of her legs has ceased enough that she'd regained moderate control of them, only for there to be—
Touch. Sluggish rubs over her oversensitive clit.
She hisses, attempting to close her legs, but Wesker forces them back open with a patronizing shh, thumb stroking the inside of her thigh in a vile attempt to console what he's trying so hard to destroy.
Evil. He was evil and she'd known that. It shouldn't have been a surprise.
Silly her for thinking otherwise.
"I'm done," she gasps. She braces her core and it aches, her abs weak and tired. Overused.
"Are you?"
"Yes…"
Ada sits up, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but Wesker places a palm over her stomach, pressing down. Immobilizing her.
"Doesn't feel good anymore?"
Ada almost snarls in response, and Wesker's lip twitches. That was new.
Pleasure wouldn't be her undoing. It was anger, instead.
A sweltering, rare display of anger. He hadn't gotten an expression like that out of her in all the time they've known each other.
Interesting.
Anger at the complete and utter loss of emotional control. Physicality was one thing, but—
"There she is," Wesker croons. "Baring your teeth, huh?"
Ada doesn't act on impulse. Impulse was for rookies. Impulse meant running with a blundering, uncoordinated, abruption of feeling that couldn't always be trusted, nor guarantee survival.
Impulse was, well—
Unconscious.
She hikes her leg up again, but this time, kicks it against his shoulder with force.
Wesker is slightly jolted, having to adjust his stance, but his hand doesn't move. Ada continues to kick at him, irrespective of what may or may not happen after her tantrum is over.
The sharp of her heels dig into his skin, leaving indents and scuffs all over his black vest. Sloppy. Mean. A kick that would've otherwise throttled anyone else, even a fraction.
Everything she was taught—all the time, energy, blood, sweat and tears poured into her training, rendered useless at the hands of Albert Wesker.
"Ouch," Wesker all but smiles. "Is that what those are for? And here I thought you were just a fashionista…"
His fingers continue their assault, and the pleasure is starting to build again, despite herself. Lighter than the first. Less pleasurable in the way it would be if it wasn't forced out of her, but pleasurable all the same.
Hah, hah, hah—
Oh. She'll be at war with her body later. Traitor.
"Pretty hurts," she keens. "Right?"
"It sure does," he murmurs, rubbing faster. Harder. "Doesn't it?"
She tries to twist her hips away from him. It doesn't work.
"Yeah," she gasps, blinking wetly at him.
Wesker grins. No teeth. All mirth.
"You're good at that," he says. "The kicked puppy thing. Did it work on your inamorato?"
Ada doesn't want to think about Leon. Couldn't. Not like this.
"You may have…a thing about hurting animals—you know," she redirects, stopping momentarily to hold back a shaky moan. "Serial killer trifecta…"
"Oh, Ada…" He whispers, void of kindness. "You've got bigger things to worry about, don't you?"
She lunges up again; this time, managing to get two hands around his throat before he could register what's going on, let alone stop her.
Warm. Pale. Solid. One bare hand, the other still gloved. Right where he'd left her.
He swallows and she can feel it. It travels all the way down between her legs, right where he's ruining her.
She squeezes his neck, and her cunt follows suit around his fingers.
Shocked doesn't describe it. She can't describe what may or may not be passing through his head as she stares at him. Defiant.
God.
Wesker freezes. Briefly. Considering. Then, he's leaning down. Drifting over her. Letting her grip in both ways, and she does.
"Atta girl," he grits, fingers moving. Determined. Ruthless. She's right at the cusp again, and she's sure her face is red because she can feel it—the disorienting heat. Once more.
It's always heat with Wesker. A flame feeding a flame. Difficult to suffocate. Overwhelming.
"Just like this?" He asks, slightly muffled by the pressure around his throat. "Filthy…"
If only he knew the extent of her debauchery. Perhaps he was the only one who had ever come close to knowing.
What a horrible thought.
His free hand reaches up to her neck again. He only needs one. One remarkably calm, unfaltering hand.
He squeezes, careful of her windpipe, and she moans. She hadn't even thought about his. She clutches at his nape in return, burying her nails into his skin.
Ada could hardly breathe.
It's all that it takes.
She finishes with nothing on her lips. It's more of a sigh, the noise she makes. Quiet, but her vision blacks out for a moment despite the strength of it, incomparable to the last. It wasn't as powerful, yet—
Ada is quiet for a long, long time.
Wesker lets go of her neck. Stops the onslaught of attention to the spot he's rubbed raw. He pats her thigh. Once, twice. Then he's smoothing the fabric of her dress back down. Hiding the area on her tights he'd ripped through. Fixing her up.
He brings his fingers—two, dewily coated fingers, up to her mouth.
She doesn't think about it when she takes them in. Tasting herself. Cleaning them off with gentle kitten-licks. Her tongue felt strange in her own mouth; heavy and ardent. She felt thirsty and sated all at once.
Degradation sat at the back of her mind, but she wasn't nearly prepared to face it yet. So she doesn't.
Wesker pulls his fingers out, offering a single, trivial, wet stroke to her cheek.
"Get changed," he murmurs, moving away. Prying her hands from him. They went easy. Ada watches from where she's splayed out on the table as he wipes his hands down. Adjusts his glasses. Cracks his knuckles. Entirely unchanged, like all of this was a mild inconvenience.
"We've got work to do."
"Yeah," she breathes. "We do."
Ada really, really does.