Chapter Text
You were something else. Frankly you always have been, but now more than ever.
Despite waves of self loathing and rampant depression of which he would never confess, Wesker’s recovery has been as smooth as you could make it. Pain medication kept most of the lingering aches away and Uroboros had ensured he lived to see another day. Other than a weakened body riddled with scar tissue from his little dunk in the fires of the Earth, he couldn’t complain terribly much.
Even after his fusion with Uroboros, Wesker was still a mere man unable to escape the more… basic urges. He’s always considered arousal to be like an itch. Sure he could scratch it, but he could also ignore it and let it go away. He often chose the latter, but, with little else to occupy him besides literature or your company, such a choice became significantly more difficult.
You notice his state quickly, though you say nothing of the tented blanket that only seems to continue rising the more he tries to ignore it. You simply take his hand and squeeze, occupied with your laptop while Wesker rereads the same line of his book over and over again in a poor attempt to settle down. When he tips his head back against the mountain of pillows he’s propped against, you give him a knowing look.
“Want some help?” You ask, thumb brushing against his knuckles.
Does he? He did go waist deep in lava. Thus far, it had seemed Uroboros took care to heal his nerves in all other places, and he’s never noticed a lack of sensation in the times where he’s had to touch himself to bathe, but what if he can’t feel enough to… perform well for you? Was it even the full act of sex that you were offering or simply assistance in relieving him?
Perhaps the uncertainty was written across his face because you turn to face him, hand rising to stroke his cheek and trail into his unstyled hair. Your touch spurs another aching pulse between his legs. “Only if you want to,” you say sweetly.
He pretends to consider your offer, but his answer was yes the very moment you spoke. The second your thumb brushes his lip, he’s tugging you onto his lap. He swallows your protests with ease, groaning weakly into the kiss. Wesker knows you’re afraid to put your weight down on him, still so worried about agitating his aches and pains. He has half a mind to grip your hips and help you grind against him, but you’re taking charge before he can.
“Let me,” you murmur, lips trailing down his neck. You halt at the collar of his sleep shirt, moving away only to help him pull it over his head. Your hands land on his sides, smoothing up and down slowly, stroking reverently at the juxtaposition of softness and patches of scarring. Each motion brings you closer and closer to his chest until you’re kneading his pectorals, thumbs brushing against rosy buds in such a way that leaves him panting.
It really has been a while… the throb of his cock confirms it. He has half a mind to just tear at your clothes and rush you to take him, but you seem to sense his impatience just as easily as you’d noticed his need. “M’gonna take care of you,” you whisper sweetly, palms coaxing him to rest fully against the pillows. “You deserve it.” You slip so easily down his body, blanket falling away to reveal black boxer briefs that have clearly garnered a little wet spot from such light teasing. “Just relax. Shut your eyes, sweetheart.”
He does as you say, releasing a shuddering breath in anticipation for what’s to come. It turns to a gasp the second your tongue laves the dip of his hips. Your hands steady him with gentle pressure, shirking their duty when you decide to skim your nails over ticklish flesh and wring a breathy giggle from him.
He can feel your smile as you kiss further down, sensation dulling when your peppered love finds its way to the band of his underwear, renewing once more when you peck sweetly at his inner thighs. Wesker’s hips seek you of their own accord and he’s lucky enough to feel at least one press of your lips to his covered length before you make your way back up. He practically bucks into your grasp when you take hold of him.
“Seems like everything's in working order,” you coo playfully in his ear.
Wesker finds his lower lip to gnaw on while you stroke him slowly. His hands paw at your clothes, eagerly trying to expose you. His eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide around distorted hues of red and blue still vying for dominance over one another. He’s just about got your shirt off when that hand of yours dives beneath his waistband, milking the most humiliating whine from him imaginable.
What's wrong with him? Why is he so… desperate?
His hands leave you to shimmy out of his underwear, hissing at the cool air and the mere sight of your hand around his weeping cock. He turns back to you, keening into a kiss as he tries once more to tug at your clothes. He hoists your leg over his hip, palm smoothing to take a greedy handful of your rear, playing with your flesh as you’d done with him. Everything about you is bliss itself, from your slow, torturous strokes to his cock to the slide of your tongue against his. You should be bare against him, skin to skin, letting him feel every inch of you. He needs it. He needs you.
Suddenly, a humming laugh escapes you, reverberating against his tongue before you break away. “Again, huh?” You breathe.
Again… yes.
Once more, tendrils have wound their way around you to do his bidding, but this time for more… salacious reasons. Each one wriggles under your clothes in some way or another. You aid them in their quest to strip you, tugging your shirt and pants away with ease while the masses slither just as eagerly as his hands explore.
It’s so cute how you squirm for him. It’s as if the tables have been turned oh so perfectly, leaving you just as red in the face as you’d made him. He may not have his full strength yet, but this? This more than makes up for it. One tentacle coils at your waist, holding you perfectly in place as the others find themselves far more… occupied. Your giggles turn to breathy moans, each one sung perfectly for him. You’re like an instrument only he can play, your pleasure a melody only he can create.
“W-Wo– Ah!” You gasp, head lolling to the side the very second one of those slimy appendages creeps between your legs. Your first instinct is to clench your thighs together, though you don’t get very far with having been straddling him. The tip of it ghosts over the length of your cock, making you buck and whine. “Al!”
Tantalizing was… not a strong enough word for the sight before him. These appendages have always carried a degree of wetness, some leaky black ooze that only ever left a small mess, but now? Oh, now they leave clear glistening trails along your flesh that make his cock utterly ache. It’s as if he’s painting you with his own arousal, picture perfect and drenched in his love just like you should be. The tentacles trail over where he wants to see you marked most: your chest, your neck… all the way down to your twitching shaft.
“Al, I–” You try, but you’re whimpering as more slithering lengths join in to curl around your thighs. He didn’t even have to lift a finger… There’s so many things he could do with you. He could lift you, surely, to his face. Slide his tongue that’s been so starved for you from base to tip and wrap his lips around the head of you, suckling away at your dribbles of arousal. Or he could lower you onto his cock right now. Forget effort; you wouldn’t have to do a thing. He could simply maneuver you accordingly, bounce you up and down with their grip on your body until you were both fucked senseless. Or…
Wesker’s chest rises and falls with each open mouthed breath, watching with wide eyes as three smaller tendrils approach your hole. You squirm, but you show no sign for him to stop even as they alternate swiping along your opening.
“I-I thought– mm!” You try, words as shaky as your trembling body. “T-Thought I was gonna t-take care of you instead…”
“You are…” he breathes, utterly hypnotized as more tentacles join the fray and suddenly, without warning, you’re spread completely for him, slithering lengths taking your legs while smaller ones find their way to your rear, baring your hole to him. You’ve been put on exhibit, and oh… how you writhe and keen under his sopping touches. All Wesker can do is simply lie there, cock torturously hard at the sight of you like this. He dares not touch himself; he dares not even imagine it lest one of those lengths creep to coil around it to satisfy the urge.
“A-Albert– ngh!” Every cry you make fuels whatever hidden desires lurk below the surface of his mind. Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the sight of an extra thick tentacle slinking along your leg, coiling up and up until it presses at your entrance. “O-Oh my god!” You mewl, head falling back. “I don’t– I don’t think I can– that’s too big… Al, I don’t think I can– Ah!”
Exhilaration runs down his spine as though every nerve in his body fired at once. Watching it press into you, seeing every ounce of slick drip from its effort to wriggle inside as you keen and mewl and cry out his name over and over again as if to pray to him… Wesker licks his lips, panting heavily, fighting to keep control despite that knot in his gut threatening to give at any moment. His fists bite into the sheets, threads popping as they give way to his strength.
“O-Oh g-god,” you sob, barely audible over wet squelches. “P-Please… Al, p-please!”
“I…” he tries, but he has no words. Nothing in the world could possibly explain this– why it was happening, why he was allowing it, why… why he fucking loves it.
But he does know why, deep down. Past that layer of perfect prudence and discipline lies the truth. You deserve this. You deserve every ounce of pleasure he can stuff into you. For all that you’ve done for him… you deserve everything.
You cry out over and over again as the thickness fucks in and out of you, slick drizzling from your ass onto the bed. It soaks his hips and cock, oozing off to coat the sheets and surely seep down into what was now a ruined mattress. But he doesn’t care. Not one bit.
The tentacles wriggle all over you, slithering and rubbing against tender flesh, restraining the intense trembling of your legs as you dangle helplessly. He can practically hear it hitting the depths of you, each noisy, wet thrust coupled with your sweet songs a promise of your never ending pleasure. And oh… you deserve it. You deserve all that he can possibly give you. You were there for everything. The good, the bad, the horrifying… Every part of him is yours, which means you get this, too.
The first time you cry out his name is perfection in and of itself. You come undone so beautifully, cock spurting your release onto his chest. He has to grasp himself and squeeze the base damn near to the point of pain just to keep from blowing his load right then and there. Watching you practically seize in his slithery grasp, hearing you gag and gurgle on one that had slipped between your lips, knowing you’re so fucked out of your mind that you could do little else than suckle its length as if it were his cock…
Even then, it’s like he can feel it. The sensation is dull, but it is there. Your lazy tongue, the clench of your throat, the warmth of your breath, the throbbing quiver of your walls– it’s all fucking there, and it’s all for him. You belong to him. You’ve shown him so many times, over and over again that he has you, heart, mind, body, and soul.
“That’s it, dearheart…” he coos, shaky voice barely more than a murmur. “You’re– you’re doing so perfect… You’re taking me so well.”
He feels you clench up again, walls trembling as you approach your next release. You always did like when he’d purr such things in your ear. It warms his heart in the strangest way to see it work just the same now.
“O-One more for me.” Wesker rasps brokenly, heavy breaths leaving him as he watches with an unyielding gaze. He will not miss a second of this. “It feels good, doesn’t it…? I can feel it too.” He wants nothing more than to hear you come undone for him once more. As if understanding his thoughts, the appendage in your mouth slips free, prompting you to gasp and choke desperately for air.
You moan nonstop as if it were the only sound left that you could make. It’s like you’ve been robbed entirely of higher thought and fell into a mindless state, one that could only comprehend the thickness ramming in and out of your hole. Your sweet noises pitch up more and more with every passing second, signaling your next climax is near.
Wesker wills the tentacles to tilt you upright, the big one still fucking into you despite the position shift, and you whine weakly at the change. “Come for me, my sweet.” He commands, rising from his position to cup your cheeks between his hands. As if fully understanding his order, you do exactly that, falling apart with a breathless scream cut off by the thick length slipping from your ass while the others force you down onto his cock. “Oh, god!” He roars, face falling into the crook of your neck to muffle his own cries as his release hits him like a lightning bolt, coating your ooze slicked walls with his seed in heavy spurts.
Albert’s eyes are clenched shut, but he swears his vision has gone white. There’s nothing. Nothing at all is left in this world except for your limp form in his hold and the heat of your flesh between his teeth. Even when the oxygen in his lungs has gone stale, he still forgets to breathe. It’s your trembling fingers curling at his nape that remind him he’s even still alive.
The two of you remain like that for some time, long enough that his legs go stiff and each slithering length once wrapped around your body retreats back into him. You’re both covered in ooze, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not yet, at least.
You’re limp in his grasp, but he can tell you’re awake from the occasional scritch to the base of his neck or breath fanning against his skin.
“I… apologize.” He eventually murmurs. It’s all he can think to say. Certainly, you both would be having quite the conversation about this eventually. But, for now, this much is due. “For… having lost control.” It isn’t even an exaggeration. At some point, all thought went out the door. There was only the two of you and every salacious desire he couldn’t suppress.
He needs to become better at that.
“Mm,” you hum weakly, fingers threading through his hair the way they always do in the afterglow. “You’re full of surprises…” There’s a hint of amusement in your voice. That good natured softness with which you’ve always treated him. “We gotta… mm, when my legs work again… it’s shower time.”
He couldn’t agree more. For now though, he means to simply hold you, still buried within your heat. You feel like home. What luck to have found you…
And what bliss to know you’ll stay.