Chapter Text
It was Christmas time in the Fog— or, at least what everyone called Christmas. After tens of thousands of Trials, the Entity would “bless” them with one night all together as a way to relax or catch up. In all actuality, it was hell itself.
As soon as the Houndmaster began her annual Christmas speech, Wesker did everything in his power to tune her out. He could never understand why they would all be sent to the same area, expected to actually speak with each other, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the opportunity of rest it provided. He glanced up at the Nemesis standing rather menecingly next to him, appearing to be listening to the Houndmaster’s rehearsed speech and sighed. Even an bio-engineered weapon cared more about this than him.
With arms crossed tight over his chest, Wesker watched with disdain as the speech ended and the hardened killers broke into groups— the Houndmaster with the Onryō; the Wraith with the Huntress, the Hag, and the Nurse; the Dredge with the Unknown and the Singularity. Everyone had someone and Wesker only had the Nemesis, who was breathing very loudly rather close to his ear. He looked up at the B.O.W. with furrowed brows.
“Can you believe this?” He mused, gesturing towards the large group of killers mingling about, trying desperately to not seem so awkward. The Nemesis stared straight ahead, appearing to have not heard him at all.
“…S.T.A.R.S.…” It growled in response. Wesker just rolled his eyes and looked away, staring straight through two killers caught in an embrace. As the Nemesis continued its quiet grumbling and grunts, Wesker lost himself in his own thoughts. He was supposed to be something better than this. He had changed his very being to dominate the world and where did it get him? Stuck with a group of 40 other killers and enemies who couldn’t even put up a fight. He yearned for his old life like nothing else— just for the power and control alone. Although, he could swear that every once in a while he would see the tail end of an all too familiar red dress, hear the distinct clacking of heels that he had become so familiar with. It couldn’t be from anyone else but her, that damned spy he had put so much trust in only to…
A flying object was coming straight for him, shaking him out of his own misery. Tendrils shot from his wrists to wrap around the object as he grunted and stepped to the side. Upon inspecting it, it was just a stick. A rather large stick that seemed to be covered in some sort of fluid, almost like saliva. Oh no. Wesker looked up to see three monstrous beings on a rampage with no way to stop them. In an instant, Wesker was lying flat on his back with a black alien crushing his chest and screeching in his face, the second mouth hidden within its main one reaching out to try and snap at his nose. He pressed his head back against the grass and grimaced, the tendrils that writhed around the stick shifting until the pointed end of it was facing the aliens eye. Before he could jab it deep through the skin to pierce the socket beneath, a slobbering dog bounded up and ripped it out of his tight grip, pulling some of his tendrils off with it. The dog went barreling deep into the woods, snarling with each breath he took, while the alien pushed off of his chest and began to go running after him. Wesker could feel his ribs crack and frature from the force of it as it became very difficult for him to breathe. Thankfully though, the Uroboros coursing through his body reacted instantly, already beginning to knit together the shattered bones and mend the punctured lung.
Wesker pushed himself up with a deep gasp, one hand clutching his ribs while the other kept him propped up. Another large creature approached him, seeming to sniff him curiously despite the fact that it had no nose. It prodded its flower-like head against the hand on Wesker’s chest and let out a quiet noise, almost like a whine. Wesker let out a long sigh before pointing in the vague direction the other two beasts ran in.
“Go— go get the stick.” Upon hearing the last word, the creature cocked its head and looked in the direction Wesker was pointing. It was gone in an instant, running on all four limbs with its head split open, leaving a trail of thick drool behind it. The Nemesis finally turned its head towards him, its thick neck straining with the effort of the motion. Wesker glanced up at it, hoping that it would offer some sort of assistance— but it just grumbled something about those godforsaken agents as it slowly turned its head away.
Just as he thought he would get more time to himself to wallow, a tall shadow came over him. His eyes locked on to brown cowboy boots with steel toe caps, shiny with blood. They dragged up the figure, taking in the sight of long, long legs with a leather brace clasped around the left one; a black pair of pants to match with the black duster coat; and a rather formal vest and tie. His face was hidden behind a cowboy hat, the rim wide and down low over his face. Wesker knew who it was before he flicked the rim up, glowing white eyes piercing through his own that were beginning to flare red— Caleb Quinn, the Deathslinger.
“Mighty fall you took. Y’alright?” Caleb’s voice was low and smooth, a strange thing for Wesker of all people to be hearing. He had worked closely with Caleb in the past during one of the Entity’s beloved events— two killers hunting down eight helpless survivors. They were a formidable team, though getting along was another story. Constant arguments about who gets to cage the downed survivor, whose kill that was (it was always Wesker’s kill), who guards which gate— everything could be made into an argument with them. Wesker squinted at him as Caleb furrowed his brows and sent a light kick to his leg. “Didn’t ya hear me, boy?” Wesker grit his teeth as the red of his irises began to break through the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“Yes. I don’t need some backwater hick checking in on me— I am just fine.” Caleb leaned down slightly, his hand extended in an offer to actually help Wesker up, though it was quickly smacked away before he pushed himself to his feet. As Wesker stood shakily, he rubbed his ribcage with a quiet groan which only made Caleb chuckle.
“Wasn’t quite sure you had a weakness, doll.” Doll? Against his wishes, Wesker’s whole face flared a bright red. He pushed his sunglasses up in an attempt to disguise the heated glare being shot at Caleb.
“Yes, well… It appears that everyone does in this place. Mine must be a 600 pound monster.” Caleb’s chuckle turned into a quiet laugh as a chill went down Wesker’s spine and his stomach twisted into knots. Something was watching him, he could feel it. He slowly turned his head towards the woods only to make eye contact with the beast that would have killed him, its mouth open in a silent growl with its body perched in such a way that it looked like it was going to charge him again. Caleb followed his gaze, smiling at the sight of the creature.
“Must’a taken a likin’ to you.” Caleb said, his voice laced with amusement. Wesker watched the way he stared at the alien with an almost fondness, one hand on his hip while the other loosely held the Redeemer at his side, a look of ease on his face.
“It appears to be stalking me.” Wesker muttered, taking quick glances over his shoulder every few seconds just to make sure it would not approach him again. Slowly, he sighed. “No matter. What do you want, Deathslinger?” His title on Wesker’s lips was spat out like venom. Caleb’s brows raised just slightly at the sudden aggression, the grip on his gun becoming more firm.
“Saw you playin’ fetch with those three. Thought you might wanna let ol’ Caleb take that stick and have you join ‘em.” As Caleb wheezed a quiet laugh, Wesker simply stared straight at him, his face a blank slate.
“Don’t you ever tire of comparing me to such a small-minded creature, you cretin?” He took a small step forward as he spoke in an attempt to intimidate him. The only thing it made Caleb do was press forward himself and subtly shift the Redeemer to pull it closer to his stomach.
“Yeah, I’ll think about quittin’. When I see you ain’t just some corporate dog.” Wesker grit his teeth as his hands curled into tight fists. Rather than reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh, he unleashed the Uroboros instead. Tendrils consumed his hands and wrapped themselves around Caleb’s neck, lifting him off the ground with ease. He relished in the flash of panic that shone in Caleb’s eyes, but it was soon morphing into a look of confidence, even as the tendrils around his throat squeezed all the air out of him. A sharp pain in Wesker’s stomach made him cry out. Looking down, he saw the spear of the Redeemer buried deep inside his flesh, the barbed tip mercilessly ripping his skin until the blood pouring out of him made him feel faint.
“One pull’a the trigger and you’ll be dead ‘fore you hit the ground, dog.” Caleb managed to choke out. The Uroboros was fighting against Caleb’s constant twisting and pushing of the rifle— and Caleb was winning. As Wesker felt it pierce through his stomach, he finally pulled back the tendrils, letting Caleb fall back on his feet. He gripped the spear tight and tried with all his might to push it out, but the viscera that coated the steel made it impossible to get a good enough grip on it. He looked up at Caleb through the top of his sunglasses, the blazing red of his eyes carrying just the smallest bit of fear. Caleb pressed his lips together for a moment before sighing. He ripped the spear out of Wesker, both men grunting at the force of it, and watched as the blood continued to flow out his stomach and onto the ground, only for it to slow and soon stop completely.
Wesker rubbed his stomach with a grimace as the layers of muscle and fat began to repair itself, though his stomach growing back what was once ripped out of him was the most uncomfortable of all. Caleb rubbed the back of his neck as the Redeemer fell back to his side, an almost ashamed look painting his angular features.
“Sorry.” Caleb’s voice was quiet, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to hear his apology— not even Wesker. As he turned to the side to wipe the gore off of his gun, Wesker scoffed and looked down to swipe the remaining flesh and guts from his shirt.
“Ignorant fool…” He muttered, so softly that he was convinced Caleb wouldn’t hear it. But he most certainly did. Caleb gripped the Redeemer tight and slammed it against Wesker’s chest multiple times until he was knocked flat on his back. Just as he went to deliver a swift and brutal kick to his jaw, tendrils that Wesker had planted deep in the ground came shooting up, catching Caleb’s ankles in a tight grip and flipping him into the mud. Wesker was quick to scramble to his feet to lift Caleb high into the air. His cowboy hat plopped into the mud as the Redeemer fell out of his grasp, a sharp panic rising in his eyes as he hung upside down. Wesker chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
“I must say, you move quick for someone of your age— but not quick enough.” Wesker flipped him around so that he could wrap his gloved hand around his throat, the tendrils slithering across the back of his legs to tangle themselves around his wrists and pull them behind his back. Caleb trashed for a moment, kicking up mud and grass to launch at Wesker’s legs.
“Was— was plenty fast with my rifle.” Caleb choked out. Wesker only tightened his grip. He was held suspended in the air until his movements became sluggish and his face began to pale. Just as Wesker went to set him down, Caleb spit right in his face, clearly using up the rest of his energy to smother Wesker’s sunglasses in thick, yellow phlegm. Wesker let out a shout as he tossed Caleb to the ground. With hands that were already beginning to shake, he carefully plucked the glasses off and grimaced before turning towards the Nemesis, wiping them off on it as subtly as he could. As he listened to Caleb’s ragged breathing, disgust coiled tight in his stomach.
“You are fucking repulsi—” Wesker was cut off by a shove from behind. He stumbled slightly, looking over his shoulder to see the teary-eyed Caleb sporting an expression of absolute rage. Large hands fell on Wesker’s chest, continuously shoving him further and further into the woods. The more Wesker tried to fight back or even use the Uroboros, the more furious Caleb became, as evidenced by his eventual kicking, punching, and slamming of the butt of his rifle into his chest. Soon enough, the flicker of the campfire was just a little blip behind Caleb, who was coughing and shaking. With a punch straight to the face, cracking the bones in his nose and forcing blood to gush from it, Wesker was knocked to the ground.
“Now— now you listen to me, you little bitch,” Caleb turned his head to cough, sounding as if it had literally clawed its way out of his throat. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ do that shit to me again, ya hear!?” Each word he spoke and each breath he took was accompanied by a slight wheeze and a rattle of his chest. Wesker tried to push himself up but Caleb just planted his boot straight on his chest and pressed down hard. With the Uroboros working overtime to fix each cracked and broken bone, to stop all the bleeding from every cut he received, he barely had enough energy to bring even one tendril forth— the one that did break through his skin growing to only a few inches long.
Caleb fell to his knees and straddled Wesker’s hips before pulling his fist back. A sickening cracked echoed through the woods, followed by a noise caught between a yelp and a shout. Wesker choked for a moment, swallowing some sort of foreign object while another one rattled around in his mouth, tasting of iron. He brought his hand to his jaw, rubbing the skin in an attempt to coax the soreness out as his tongue prodded around, trying to find the source of the blood— only to find two large holes where his molars used to be. He glared up at Caleb and spit at his face, coating his lips in blood and lauching the molar still in his mouth at his nose. Caleb made a quiet tutting sound as he grabbed the bloody tooth, bits of his gums still attached to it.
“This’ll make a nice trophy” Caleb mused, inspecting it for just a moment before pocketing it. “Proof that a whiny lil shit can learn t’play nice.” Wesker grunted quietly as new teeth began to push past his gums, forcing more blood to flow.
“You— you really are the freak of the frontier.” Wesker spoke, panting in between every other word. Caleb just chuckled and patted his back pocket where the tooth was tucked away.
“Somethin’ more original would be nice, pup.” Wesker furrowed his brows at Caleb’s teasing tone, his face flushing. He had seriously had enough of the strange nicknames for one day.
“Pup? Fuck you.” Wesker spit at him again, this time hitting him on the cheek and coating it with blood. Caleb simply smiled as he wiped it off with the back of his hand.
“No one taught you yer manners, huh pup?” Caleb chuckled as Wesker’s chest began to heave. Each breath he took wasn’t enough, his rage making it near impossible to fully inhale. With a cry, Wesker planted his hands firmly on the ground and kicked up his legs, the sudden movement of his hips throwing Caleb off of him and back onto the ground. He rushed to climb on top of the dazed Caleb before sending a flurry of punches his way— though, Caleb was able to block or just barely dodge nearly all of them. At the sight of his fists making zero contact with him, Wesker reached for his knife.
Moving to plunge it deep into his chest, Caleb reacted instantly. He caught Wesker’s wrists in a fierce grip as he pulled his leg up, slamming his boot straight into his stomach to send him flying off, the knife still clutched tight in his bloody gloves. Wesker coughed and grasped his stomach tight as Caleb climbed on top of him once again, gripping his wrists and repeatedly slamming them against a conveniently placed rock just above his head until, finally, he was forced to release the knife. Knuckles broken and bleeding, Wesker let out a quiet whine, appearing to make Caleb blush just a little bit.
“Christ…” Caleb panted. He continued to hold Wesker’s wrists with one hand, the other moving to push the blade away. As soon as Wesker began to thrash however, Caleb slammed his hands against the rock once more, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. Wesker tried to get even just a few tendrils out of his wrists, but each time Caleb had felt them crawling up his wrists, he just slammed his hands into the rock until the freshly knitted bones came cracking apart once more. “Quit squirmin’!”
Wesker’s mind was like a tornado, desperately searching for some way out of this. As his eyes fell on Caleb’s arms, he finally got a clear idea. He paused his thrashing, watching closely as the frenzied look in his eyes slowly faded into a soft annoyance, only to lean up and chomp down on the skin of Caleb’s forearm. Teeth broke through the skin as Caleb yelped and jumped back, going from straddling his hips to sitting on his shins. Wesker turned his head to the side, spitting out a chunk of flesh while a dark fog settled over Caleb’s gushing wound.
“Fuck! The hell is wrong wit’chu?!” He cried, holding his wrist tight as he tried to inspect the wound from beneath the fog. Wesker gagged slightly at the taste of Caleb’s blood in his mouth. He pushed himself up slightly, twisting his torso so that he could let a steady stream of drool and blood drip from his lips.
“Me? What is wrong with you? Can’t handle teasing, old man?!” Wesker’s words sounded strange as he was unwilling to move his lips, not wanting to draw any of Caleb’s blood back onto his tongue. After a moment, he spit out all that remained and flopped back against the grass, his hands coming up to cover his face.
“You call pullin’ yer goddamn knife on me teasin’?!” Wesker was silent for a few moments, his mind racing with thousands of homicidal thoughts. Slowly, he began to chuckle, followed by a quiet sigh.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” Caleb huffed softly as the fog on his arm slipped away, revealing a mostly healed wound— the only evidence remaining being slightly bloody imprints of Wesker’s terrifyingly straight teeth. Wesker pushed himself up, grabbing his knife as he went, only to stab it into the mud. He stared at Caleb as he propped himself up on his elbows, watching the way he carefully prodded at the skin with a slight grimace. The pressure on his shins finally registered in his mind— Caleb was actually sitting on him. Wesker pressed his lips together as a gentle pink dusted his cheeks. “You… Can get off of me.” Caleb looked up at him, blinking hard a few times before looking back down. He quickly pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and rubbed the back of his neck.
“My apologies.” Wesker raised an eyebrow at the genuine sincerity in his gravelly voice. Caleb’s once embarrassed expression harded just slightly. “I’d appreciate it if you quit drawin’ shit on me.”
“Does it look like I have a pen on me?” Caleb scowled, shaking his head slightly. Wesker took great pleasure in seeing his irritation come rising back to the surface.
“Yer knife, smartass. And yer teeth. Damn, you got a set’a jaws on ya.” Caleb brought his arm up once more, watching as his skin continued to mend itself back together very slowly. “And that, uh… Tentacle stuff ya got.” Wesker furrowed his brows slightly, sitting up straight to cross his arms over his chest only to shiver at the cold mud smearing onto his turtleneck.
“I would be more inclined to agree if you would stop punching me and pulling your gun on me.” Wesker paused for a brief moment, a small smirk toying with the corner of his lips. “And that, uh… Bone breakin’ stuff you do.” Wesker mimicked Caleb entirely— down to the poorly done southern accent. He watched as Caleb opened his mouth to speak, only to let out a quiet noise. With a huff, he turned his head to the side and grit his teeth.
“Sure.” Caleb grumbled. He leaned down, extending his hand out once more to the mud covered Wesker. This time, Wesker accepted the help. The second he slipped his hand into Caleb’s however, he could feel his mistake. His stomach twisted into knots as Caleb’s hand completely enveloped his own, the feeling of his tight grip instantly making his mind race with many unwanted thoughts. He shook his head slightly before pulling himself up, slipping on the mud as he went but ultimately keeping his footing. He stared at Caleb for admittedly much longer than he should have, fully taking in the sight of his features now that they weren’t shrouded beneath his hat or screwed up in a fit of rage.
His pale skin was covered in scars, the most notable ones being what appeared to be a burn scar on his right cheek that sunk the flesh in just slightly and a long line that ran from his left cheek just above his nostril all the way down to his jaw, forcing a slight divot in his lips and an empty patch in his mustache where hair refused to grow. His jaw was slightly offset and had an almost creaking sound to it as it moved— which he appeared to do quite often. His nose, hooked and downturned just slightly, sported another scar that split his right nostril in two— though, it was so small that one could hardly even see it. With high cheekbones and an almost protruding brow bone, his eyes appeared to be sunken in, slightly dimming the white glow of his irises and completely casting his sclera in a shadow. Despite this, Wesker could still spot the twinge of red in the right one, evidence of his previous strangulation. Wesker inhaled deeply as he finally met Caleb’s piercing stare, his face flushing.
How could he think that this thing was attractive?
All too aware of the the grip still on his hand— which was seeming to soften with every second that passed, but not pull away —Wesker ripped his arm back with a scowl, slightly rubbing the leather material of his glove as if to remove Caleb’s damn near tender hold of it. He looked down at the ground as Caleb rubbed his bicep, eyes trained on the serrated edge of his knife just barely poking out from its place in the mud. Just as he pulled it out of the ground and went to wipe it on his pants, Caleb grabbed his wrist and pulled it away.
“Lemme get that for ya.” Wesker narrowed his eyes at him as he pulled the blade from his grip, fingers pressing against his own for a moment almost intentionally. Caleb wiped the muddy blade off on his thigh until it shone like new before handing it back to Wesker, who grabbed it with such a tenderness that it shocked both of the men. He turned the knife over a few times, inspecting it as closely as possible. There wasn’t so much as a speck of dirt caught between the teeth. For the first time that night, Wesker smiled— truly smiled —and tucked the knife back into its sheath.
“No need to get strange, Deathslinger. I am not some maiden from one of your saloons— I am a god.” Caleb’s wheezing laughter made Wesker’s smile dissolve as his gaze flickered up to him.
“A god? Yer just waitin’ t’be struck down, huh?” Caleb teased, shaking his head slightly as he wiped his eyes. Wesker pressed his lips together for a moment and went to push up his sunglasses only to find they weren’t there— they were probably still back with the Nemesis, so long as it didn’t crush them without noticing.
“Do you really think there is a god in this place to listen to my words?” Caleb shrugged slightly.
“Nah. Do you think there’s really a god in this place?” Wesker gave him a blank stare for a few seconds before furrowing his brows and gritting his teeth.
“Of course. Look at me.” Wesker regretted his words the moment he said them. He watched as Caleb’s eyes dragged down his body and traced every slight curve of muscle beneath his clothes, practically drinking in the sight of him. As his gaze reached his chest, clearly following the outline of his pecs, Wesker crossed his arms and blushed. “Not like that, you old creep.” His insult was completely lost on Caleb, who continued his hungry stares all the way down to his boots before finally flicking back up to his eyes.
“Ya look like a man t’me.” Caleb chuckled quietly as he spoke, shifting slightly to put his weight on his right leg and place his hand on it.
“I cast off my humanity, Deathslinger.” Wesker barked, his face screwed into a slight scowl. “I became something greater. Uroboros courses through me— nobody else has this power.” Caleb’s almost amused look came crashing down into a dead-pan stare.
“I can name ‘bout five people who’re stronger than you, boy.” Wesker clenched his jaw for a moment before beginning to pace around, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
“This was not my plan. Coming here was not my plan, I—” Wesker paused his movements and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “I am a god in my world— believe me.” Though the breath had prevented him from yelling, it did not prevent the frustration that was beginning to bubble up, plaguing his mind once more and just begging to be taken out on Caleb.
“No shit, doll. Ain’t no one plan for this.” Caleb spoke, his voice almost patronizing. Wesker whipped his head towards him, a look of rage painting his features once more.
“Are you trying to make me angry?” His voice was a low growl, his eyes beginning to glow once more as he squinted at Caleb, who simply smirked at this display.
“Yeah. Maybe I am.” At the challenge in his voice, Wesker was seeing red all over again. He moved to tackle Caleb to the ground, already fantasizing about how it would feel to pummel his face until it was painted red with blood, but Caleb just stepped to the side. Wesker crashed back in the mud on his hands and knees, panting and gripping the grass beneath his hands. Caleb crouched down in front of him, the rim of his hat pulled low over his face— though, Wesker could still feel the condescending stare. “Y’wanna try that again, dog?” His hand fell on the top of Wesker’s head, stroking his hair as if he really were some animal. “Yer tail waggin’ yet? You miss mindlessly followin’ orders? C’mon boy, just listen t’my voice. It’ll be just like home.”
With a shout, Wesker pushed himself up just enough so that he could slam his head into Caleb’s stomach. He cried out, long arms wrapping around his stomach as he fell to his knees, giving Wesker a much needed window to grab the Redeemer from the ground and step behind him. The sling caught on Caleb’s neck and Wesker smiled at the sounds of his struggles, pulling the weapon back and twisting it to tighten the fabric strap. The subtle feeling of his windpipe being crushed from beneath the pressure sent a strange sense of calm pulsing through his body as Caleb was slowly being strangled to death. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting to hear the sound of his body hitting the mud.
A loud bang pulled Wesker out of his serene state. He jumped away from the rifle, watching as the spear shot up into the sky only to fall uselessly in the mud seconds later. Caleb was standing in about two seconds, his whole body swaying as he gripped the Redeemer as tight as he could. Without any sort of warning, he slammed it straight against Wesker’s throat, the impact ripping his trachea in two. Wesker wheezed, his hands flying up to grasp his throat as blood began to pool in his mouth and pour out. Despite this, Caleb wouldn’t let up. The Uroboros was now working overtime to repair the constant damage being done to his body: A fractured skull as he hit the tree behind him, his head slamming against the bark; a stab in the shoulder from the Redeemer as he tried to shove Caleb off of him; broken fingers from the butt of the rifle when he tried to reach for his knife; and worst of all, another broken nose and teeth when he tried to bite another chunk out of Caleb, this time aiming for the thin skin of his hand.
Minutes passed. They traded numerous blows, though most of them were from Caleb. The Uroboros, having been weakened by the Entity upon coming to this godforsaken place, began to struggle with the sheer amount of injuries he was sustaining, leaving many wounds to just loosely mend themselves back together. Wesker stopped fighting him all together as exhaustion began to overtake his body, simply leaning back against the tree and blocking his face to prevent any sort of serious damage. Caleb gripped the collar of Wesker’s jacket and lifted him off the ground, slamming him back against the tree.
“You gon’ be a good boy, you lil’ shit?!” Caleb’s shouted words made Wesker turn his gaze to the ground, jaw clenched tight. He was slammed against the tree once again, the force making him grunt and look up at Caleb once again. “Answer me when I speak t’you, boy!”
“Fuck you— yes, just stop already!” Another slam. This time, Wesker’s head smacked against the tree. He groaned, his head rolling back to stare straight up at the sky, wishing that this horrendous exchange would just end already.
“Say it nicely, dog.” Wesker squeezed his eyes shut as his hands fell limply to his sides.
“Yes.” Wesker panted, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as a pounding headache overtook his brain, clouding his thoughts and making it almost impossible to see straight.
“Yes… What?”
“Eat shi—” Caleb was quick to slap him. Wesker’s head jerked to the side as he let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, his vision pulsing slightly as the Uroboros tried desperately to fix the throbbing headache that rattled his brain. “Yes. I will be… A good boy.” Caleb finally released him and took a small step back. Wesker fell to his knees, fingers pressing against his temples to rub slow, firm circles into them
“You gonna play nice, pup?” All Wesker gave in response to Caleb’s taunting words was a slight nod of his head as the headache finally began to ebb. Caleb chuckled softly. “Good. Now, stand up— lemme see ya.” Wesker rose shakily to his feet, using the tree for support so his legs wouldn’t collapse underneath his weight. As Caleb brought his hand towards his face, Wesker couldn’t help but flinch. He was expecting a punch, a slap, a poke in the eye— something. But all he got was a gentle grasp of his chin, tilting his head up so that he was giving Caleb a dazed stare. Caleb's eyes seemed to almost soften at the sight, his thumb rubbing across the line of his jaw for a brief moment. Everything about this just felt so wrong.
Caleb’s hand shifted, sliding up to his left cheek to cover the spot where he was slapped multiple times, thumb tracing the outline of his own handprint. Wesker leaned into it slightly, just grateful that it was not another punishing blow.
“I think I would prefer you to hit me. Compassion is not a good look on you.” Wesker’s voice was quiet and strained as Caleb brought his hand up to the top of his head, brushing back some of his hair that had fallen in his face with a soft laugh.
“Don’t think yer in any sort’a position to be sayin’ that, pup. Better keep yer mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for ya.” Caleb let out a low whistle as his hand drifted to Wesker’s throat, pressing his thumb against his Adam’s apple, still black and blue from the earlier blow from the Redeemer. “Sure is a looker. And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this bruise.” Wesker’s energy returned just enough to glower at him.
“You will regret this, Deathslinger. That I can promise.” His voice was strained and weak despite how hard he tried to sound threatening. In an instant, Wesker was on the ground as a searing pain began to bloom on his cheek once again. He tried to rise by himself, the action of standing becoming more difficult with each hit he received, but Caleb got to him first. He grabbed him by the wrists and yanked him up, only to press him against the tree once again with his hands scraping against the bark above his head.
“Sure I will, pup. ‘Cause yer so threatenin’ right now.” He laughed, the grip on Wesker’s wrists tightening painfully and making him moan in pain. “Listen to me, boy. You will calm down when I tell you to. You will shut yer mouth when I tell you to. And you will sit, bark, play fetch, and wag that lil’ tail of yours when I say, the moment I say it,” Caleb closed the distance between them, his face mere inches from furious Wesker. “Do I make myself clear, dog?” Wesker couldn’t breathe— he felt so powerless. He opened his mouth to say something, to challenge or threaten the man before him, anything, but it all fell flat.
Without a second thought about it, Wesker leaned forward as much as he could to press his lips to Caleb’s, kissing him with such a ferocity that he loathed himself for it. It wasn’t long before Caleb was taking a large step back, a more than shocked look on his face. Wesker stared at him through glazed over eyes as he stuttered a few times, the grip on his wrists loosening just slightly. Caleb sighed softly, shaking his head.
“So, ya run outta ideas, then think that kissin’ me is the solution? You think you can fuck yer way outta this one?” Wesker pressed his lips together, the bright red evidence of his humiliation beginning to bloom all across his face.
“Just— just put me down then. We can forget about this whole nightmare and—” Wesker was cut off by Caleb’s quiet shushing. Wesker’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest with each tense second that passed. Slowly, Caleb’s lips curled into a terrifying grin.
“Nah. No, this’ll do.” Caleb’s grip on his wrists tightened once more as he was tossed to the ground, falling on his side without so much as an attempt to stop it. Wesker grunted as his head hit the earth, closing his eyes and letting his whole body go limp— that is, until he heard the sound of Caleb unbuckling his belt. He pushed himself up, leaning against one hand with his legs curled to the side as Caleb leaned back against the very tree he nearly met his death on. “Haven’t gotten any in what feels like a decade. A pretty mouth like yours’ll do just fine.” As Wesker went to stand, Caleb held up his hand as if to strike him once again.
“Nuh-uh. Back on the ground, pup. You can crawl t’me.” Wesker blinked a couple times before slowly lowering himself onto his knees, his face burning red with shame. Caleb chuckled softly and shook his head. “Atta boy. You can listen when you want to, huh? You like bein’ ordered around, dog?” Wesker’s stomach churned with each degrading sentence. Just as he let his hands fall to the ground, one leg already moving forward to actually crawl towards him, Caleb shook his head. “You’ll answer me when I speak t’ya. You like it when ol’ Caleb bosses you around, huh pup?” Wesker’s fingers curled against the grass beneath his hands, tugging on it slightly as he stared straight at Caleb’s mud-covered boots.
“Yes.” His words were like a hiss. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as the urge to slaughter this man in the middle of the woods came crashing back, but in his weakened state, he wasn’t even sure if he could give Caleb a slap across the face. Finally, Wesker began his humiliating crawl towards Caleb, who was towering above him just chuckling softly. As Wesker approached him, Caleb leaned down just enough to run his hand through his hair, once again pushing back the many strands that had come loose.
“Quite a sight, seein’ you down on yer hands and knees like that. Not such a god anymore, huh?” Wesker just clenched his jaw tight. He rose to his knees, mud covered hands coming up to grab Caleb’s hips in a tight grip, which had only earned him a smack to the back of the head. “Jesus, not so tight, ya little prick. Don’t wanna break yer master now, do ya?” Wesker rubbed the back of his head, his other hand loosening its grip and sliding down his thigh.
“You… Fucker, I—” His sentence fell apart completely with multiple soft grunts and stutters, the intense emotions swirling around inside his head completely impairing his ability to speak. He brought his gaze to the ground for a moment before glaring back up at Caleb, the red of his eyes casting a soft glow around the sockets.
“Anger suits ya, Wesker. Those eyes of yours…” Caleb chuckled softly, bringing his hand down to rest on the side of Wesker’s head, his thumb tenderly rubbing his temple. After a moment, Caleb leaned back against the tree and pulled out a cigar and a matchbook he had undoubtedly stolen from the Clown. “Now, I’m gon’ tell you what’s gonna happen here. Gonna…” He paused as he perched the cigar between his lips and struck a match. He brought the small flame to the end of the handrolled cigar, puffing on it carefully until it was lit before tossing the flaming match on the wet ground. “Fuck that pretty lil’ throat of yers. Then, we’re gonna go back to that party like ain’t shit happened. You got that, pup?” Wesker furrowed his brows as he scowled at him.
“You dare speak to me th—”
“I do, darlin’. I do dare. Yer in no position t’be talkin’ back t’me, what wit’cha lookin’ so eager to follow my orders.” A sudden pressure on Wesker’s groin made him gasp and close his eyes, the feeling of Caleb’s boot carefully prodding against it sending shocks of pleasure through his entire body. “Now, get t’work. I can see yer tail waggin’ from just bein’ in that position.” Unfortunately, Wesker’s own humor got the better of him. He let out a laugh, the sound quick and quiet, before clamping his mouth shut in hopes that Caleb didn’t hear it. But upon glancing up at his face to be met with a sly smirk, he knew he did. As Caleb puffed on the cheap cigar, he brought his hand down once again to run through Wesker’s hair while he worked on the fastening of Caleb’s formal pants. With a slight grimace, Wesker reached inside his pants and briefs to pull out Caleb’s still soft cock. At the sight of it though, he couldn’t help but laugh softly. It was simply average both in length and in girth.
“With such a big gun that you insist on carrying around, I was not expecting something like this.” He spoke with a soft laugh as he gestured towards the length, pulling a soft chuckle from Caleb’s lips. For the first time since they had known each other, they shared a genuine laugh.
“Trust me, pup,” Caleb started, tilting the brim of his hat to rest low over his face, obscuring everything but his scarred lips. “I ain’t a looker at first.” The confidence in his voice made Wesker peer up at him curiously— though with the brim of his black hat hiding everything but the cocky smile he wore, there was no telling. He brought his gaze back to Caleb’s cock which was hardening just slightly under his gaze alone, only to find himself hesitating. His thoughts swirled in his mind, all questions of why— why was he doing this, why was he down on his knees for someone else, why Caleb of all people? It wasn’t until Caleb pulled on his hair, forcing him to look into the glowing white eyes, that the racing thoughts finally slowed. He didn’t even need to say anything— Wesker mentally filled in all of the insults and derogatory nicknames that Caleb was sure to have said. Caleb pushed his head back as he released his hair, the action ripping out a few strands rather painfully. With a quiet grunt, Wesker reached up to smooth back his hair, only for his wrists to be caught in a tight grip.
“Chrissakes, boy— quit stallin’! Was hopin’ for a quick fuck, not this shit!” Wesker glowered at him as his wrists were shoved away. He turned his hateful stare back down to his length and, with a soft sigh, removed his gloves to tuck them in his pocket and spit in the palm of his hand. The subtle grimace returned as his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and began to slowly slide across, coaxing it to harden just from such a simple touch. Caleb let out a low hum of approval as Wesker’s hand glided across his shaft, stopping briefly at the head to drag his thumb across the already leaking slit. He glanced up at Caleb, trying to gauge some sort of reaction, only to be met with a stone cold expression.
With each slow stroke, Caleb’s length continued to harden until it was a rather impressive size with just the slightest curve. Caleb wasn’t lying— he was definitely a grower. With a small sigh and a subtle scowl, Wesker slid his hand back down to his base to apply a light pressure, keeping it all the way up to the head before dragging his hand back down. Wesker’s ears strained to try and catch some sort of noise from Caleb, but the only thing he could hear was the way his breathing just barely changed at the pressure, quickening slightly and becoming just a tad more shallow. Wesker let out a quiet sigh as he continued his lazy strokes, already becoming bored by the repetitive action— if Caleb wasn’t making any noise, wasn’t showing any sort of interest in this, why should he care?
He let his head rest on Caleb’s thigh, something that earned him a very curious stare as Caleb flicked up his hat. As he stared at the length, now beginning to twitch from his touch, a vague idea passed through his mind. Without thinking twice about it, Wesker pressed his lips to Caleb’s base in a gentle kiss. The feeling of Wesker’s lips on his cock finally pulled a noise from Caleb, letting out an almost silent grunt at the feeling. So Wesker did it again to elicit the same sound, a bit louder this time. He found himself actually smiling at the soft grunts and sighs of pleasure coming from Caleb, something that shook him straight to his core— but not enough to erase his slight smile. With a groan, Caleb gripped Wesker’s hair and pulled his head away. With Caleb's eyes shining as bright as the moon above them, Wesker swallowed hard, his hand stuttering to a stop.
Without having to be told, Wesker moved back to his original position of being face-to-face with Caleb’s cock, precum dribbling from the tip. Caleb’s hand drifted from the top of his head to the back, pressing his fingers against the nape of Wesker’s neck in an effort to draw him closer, but Wesker pushed back against it with a small frown. He was quickly shot a glare as Caleb’s fingers dug into his scalp just slightly.
“Open wide, dog. ‘Nd if I feel the slightest bit’a teeth, I’m breakin’ yer nose.” Wesker let his mouth fall open immediately, watching as Caleb’s eyebrows perked up just sightly. Wesker was acting as if he had done this before but, in reality, he hadn’t. There was a guy back at Umbrella he had a short fling with, but he was never on his knees for him— it was always the other way around. As Caleb pushed his head forward, Wesker flicked his tongue out to briefly lap at the beading precum before his lips were forced around the head. Expecting to be stopped there, Wesker’s eyes widened slightly as Caleb continued to push his head forward, a drawn out sigh escaping him at the feeling. Caleb glanced down at him as Wesker put his hands on his hips, trying his hardest not to gag as his lips approached Caleb’s base. “Christ— breathe, pup. Through yer nose.”
At Caleb’s command, Wesker inhaled deep through his nostrils, finally suppressing the gag that threatened to escape him as his leaking tip grazed the very back of his throat. The second he had done that, Caleb began to thrust his hips just slightly, sighing and muttering soft words of praise under his breath. Wesker, on the other hand, was not enjoying this as much as he was. Wesker was practically fighting for his life— the far too foreign act of having to breathe through his nose while his mouth was being used was practically impossible and his habit of grinding his teeth was not helping him in this situation. His jaw was stretched painfully, his breathing shallow and quick, as his nose was pressed to Caleb’s pubic bone with a sigh, slightly higher-pitched than the ones before.
This was where Wesker had to draw the line, lest he suffocate or— Entity forbid —be sick. It took all his force to pull his mouth off of Caleb, pushing against his hips until his mouth was finally free. He took a deep breath and doubled over slightly as he gagged, a couple of tears that were pricking the corners of his eyes slipping out and down his cheeks. Caleb stared at him for a while. Just as he went to mutter an apology, Caleb broke out into a harsh laughter at the sight of his face, teary eyed and red.
“Some— some god you are!” He howled, one hand coming down to hold his stomach while the other clutched the cigar tight. Wesker took a deep breath as he wiped at his face, the skin stained a bright red from the humiliation of it all. He suppressed a small cough as Caleb’s laughter dwindled into a quiet chuckle, then an almost tender stare. He reached down, cupping Wesker’s cheek with his free hand in an almost sweet gesture. Wesker even found himself leaning into the touch. Well, it was sweet— until Caleb had suddenly shoved his first two fingers past Wesker’s slick lips, pushing them back as far as they could go. Wesker grasped his wrist with both hands and tried to pull them out to no use. As they prodded against the back of his throat, Wesker stared straight up at Caleb with the most pitiful look in his eyes he had ever made in his whole life.
“Lord— don’t look at me like that. Didn’t know you’d have the puppy eyes t’go along with that whole obedient dog thing. Just breathe, damn it.” Wesker closed his eyes as he began to breathe through his nose once more, finding the two fingers to be much easier than even just the head of Caleb’s cock. As soon as he had gotten used to them, the grip on Caleb’s wrist loosened slightly. Sucking softly on the digits, Wesker pulled his head back until just the tips remained in his mouth. He paused for a brief moment, mind scrambling to remember how in the hell his fling had made him fall apart so easily, only to press forward once more. Caleb let out a low chuckle as he pulled his hand away, quickly wiping his fingers on his jeans before finding his previous hold on the back of Wesker’s head. This time, Wesker would be prepared.
Before Caleb could even push on his head, Wesker moved on his own accord as memories of a past life came flooding back to him. He pressed a kiss to Caleb’s tip, smearing his precum across his lips before licking it off with a rather provocative gaze. Caleb huffed quietly, the hand on Wesker’s head slipping away to rest on his stomach. Wesker paused for a brief moment before grabbing his base, applying the slightest bit of pressure as he moved to the side and tilted his head back, dragging his tongue all across the underside of his cock up to his tip before finally wrapping his lips around it. Caleb let his eyes fall shut as Wesker began to very slowly bob his head, his lips only ever reaching about the halfway point of his shaft before pulling back.
“Christ— I knew it’d be a close fit, but damn.” Caleb let out a low hum as Wesker pressed the tip of his tongue to Caleb’s slit before moving once again. Upon feeling his hand on the top of his head, fingers gripping the blonde strands of hair, Wesker could feel his anxiety begin to bubble up once again. Thankfully, Caleb seemed to be taking it slow this time, only forcing Wesker’s head to move as far as two-thirds of the way down before pulling him back. Wesker placed his hands on Caleb’s thighs and began to run them up and down, his gentle touch barely being registered through the thick fabric of his formal pants. But with that light, teasing touch coupled with the warm heat of his mouth sliding across Caleb’s cock, Wesker could tell that he was falling apart under his touch— just as expected.
In a bold move, Wesker pushed himself forward, not stopping until his nose was pressed to Caleb’s groin once again. He let out a groan followed by a low chuckle, the grip on his hair tightening. He took a small step forward, forcing Wesker to bend backwards just slightly before he began the shallow thrusts of his hips. The need to gag was still very much there, but with the sounds of sheer pleasure that Caleb was making— along with the fact that he was actually breathing properly this time —he was trying his hardest to push it down and out of his system.
Drool dripped from his lips as Caleb’s thrusts became rather enthusiastic, pulling out as far as the middle of his shaft before sliding back inside, each accompanied by a heavy sigh or a quiet groan as Wesker dragged his tongue across his cock with each movement. Listening to the sultry sounds coming from Caleb’s lips was making Wesker’s own needs skyrocket. His hands absent-mindedly drifted to his pants, making quick work of the fastenings so that he could shove his hand inside. He grasped his own aching cock and pumped his hand across it to the same rhythm of Caleb’s quickening thrusts, his mind crumbling apart as one simple thought came to mind: He had to cum. Before he could get anywhere near that point however, Caleb was pulling his mouth off with short, shallow breaths, his chest heaving just slightly.
“Stand— stand up.” Caleb commanded, to which Wesker followed immediately. He looked up at Caleb who seemed unnaturally dazed, his whole face flushed as he took off his hat and tossed it to the side. His hand shot out to grip Wesker’s chin as he stepped to the side, only to pull him forward so he was standing right in front of the tree, his back to Caleb. Wesker quickly pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the side before grabbing Caleb’s wrists, bringing them around to the front of his body. His hands immediately drifted towards his chest— groping the muscles through his turtleneck as Wesker leaned back against him. Caleb’s hands ran down his torso, rubbing his sides, his stomach, his hips— everywhere he could possibly reach.
The only sounds between them were Wesker’s soft, breathy moans as his nipples were toyed with through the fabric and Caleb’s own occasional soft chuckles. Wesker stood on the very tips of his toes to press his hips back against Caleb’s, savoring in the groan that was ripped from his lips as his cock was pressed against his ass. Caleb ducked his head low as his hands drifted to the zipper of Wesker’s turtleneck, tugging down on the gold material just as his lips found his neck. Once the shirt fell open, Caleb shucked it off of him before trailing his lips down to his shoulder. His hands gripped Wesker’s sides, rubbing firm circles into the flesh with his thumbs as Wesker let out a quiet moan and tilted his head to the side.
“Ri-right there, Deathslinger— fuck.” Wesker muttered as Caleb’s lips found themselves on the crook of his neck. He pressed another kiss to the skin before sucking on it. The pressure made Wesker’s head swim as he whined, one hand coming up to press against the back of his head while the other mindlessly groped his own chest, finger and thumb rolling his hardened pink nipple. Caleb pulled of of his neck after a few more moments to press a gentle kiss to the dark bruise, his hands sliding further down to Wesker’s hips to press him flush to his body.
“Wasn’t gonna do this, y’know.” Caleb muttered, his warm breath in Wesker’s ear making him shiver. He placed his hands over top of Caleb’s, pressing them further into his hips. “But wit’chu whorin’ yerself out t’me… Can’t quite figure out how t’say no.” Wesker furrowed his brows and dug his nails into Caleb’s hands. He whipped his head around, glaring at him.
“‘Whoring myself out’? Fuck you— I am not doing that.” Caleb just chuckled and pressed a kiss to his neck once again, his teeth nipping at his skin to draw out another quiet moan.
“What else d’ya call this, doll? You were so quick t’drop to yer knees the second you realized I was gonna fuck yer throat— not to mention the way you been lookin’ at me. Just eager to please.” As he spoke, Caleb dragged his hand across Wesker stomach, carefully rubbing the skin just above the waistband of his pants. Wesker grit his teeth as his face burned. Caleb was right and he couldn’t stand it— but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to continue. At the feeling of calloused hands sliding up his bare sides, Wesker let out a quiet whine and leaned back against Caleb. It didn’t last long however as Wesker was quickly spun around to face Caleb. His eyes held an intense look of desire that Wesker had never seen in anyone before. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it.
“Get those pants off, dog.” Wesker blinked a couple times and pressed his lips together. Of course he was expecting it, but now that it was actually happening, he found himself frozen in place. Not once had he ever considered being on the receiving end for anyone— the power and control he held when someone else was at his mercy was intoxicating and he would never pass up that opportunity. But with the look that Caleb was giving him; the feeling of his hands on his sides and hips, groping and stroking them with an almost hunger… How could he say no? With a quiet huff, Wesker took a small step back to kick off his boots, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of the cold, unpleasantly squishy mud beneath his bare feet. Caleb leaned back slightly as he pushed his pants and boxers down swiftly, glowing eyes locked solely on his cock that was dripping precum. Wesker crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight between each leg every few seconds as he tried to ignore Caleb’s invasive stares.
“Do you mind?” His voice was unnaturally quiet and strained. Finally, Caleb brought his eyes back up to Wesker’s as he flashed him a grin.
“No, not really.” Caleb leaned down slightly, hands moving quickly to grab the backs of Wesker’s thighs just beneath his ass and lift him up, grunting quietly with the effort. Wesker gripped Caleb’s shoulders with wide eyes, his legs immediately wrapping around his waist in a desperate effort to keep himself steady. As his back was pressed against the tree, Wesker grunted softly and arched his back to stop the irritating scratching of the bark. Caleb’s fingers dug into his ass as his lips found Wesker’s neck. The bothersome feeling was quickly pushed away as another hickey was sucked on the crook of his neck, the feeling forcing a hushed moan from Wesker’s lips as his legs squeezed Caleb tighter. He pulled back after a few moments, hungry eyes stuck tracing the purple bruise that was left behind as his hands shifted to better grope Wesker’s ass. Just as he began to suck another dark hickey— this time on his jaw —Wesker dug his nails into his shoulders.
“Enough.” He said, his voice high-pitched and almost whiny. Caleb pulled back with one eyebrow cocked, an amused look on his face as Wesker swallowed hard. “Just get on with it already— I tire of waiting.” Caleb’s slight smirked curled into a grin. Wesker wished he hadn’t said a word.
“Spoken like a proper slut.” His insulting words and demeaning tone of voice only made Wesker’s heart pound. Not with anger, no— with lust. He couldn’t believe how low he had fallen in just one night. With a quiet grunt, Caleb lowered the blonde down just slightly who grimaced at the scratchy feeling of the bark. Wesker leaned his head back against the tree, watching as Caleb shifted Wesker’s weight onto one hand as the other undoubtedly grabbed his cock. At the simple feeling of it being pressed against his hole, Wesker let out a quiet gasp and closed his eyes.
Without any sort of warning, Caleb pushed the head of his cock inside with a quiet groan. Wesker grit his teeth as he inhaled sharply while Caleb moved his hand back to his ass, opting to lower him further and further down on his cock. Wesker buried his nails into the leather coat, his eyes squeezing shut while a groan was ripped from his chest. He never thought about how painful it would be. Caleb grunted softly as Wesker’s tight walls completely enveloped his cock and tilted his head down, planting a rather tender kiss on Wesker’s forehead. Wesker grimaced once he was lowered completely on his length, the pain of being stretched out overtaking his body until it was all he could think about. Upon inspecting Caleb’s face, however, it was clear he didn’t care about his discomfort. Panting, Wesker leaned his head forward until his forehead was resting against Caleb’s shoulder.
“Fuck, you…” He drifted off as Caleb began to slowly rock his hips, opting to grit his teeth in order to suppress what would have been a quiet moan. Wesker whined rather pathetically, the noise making his face heat up as one of his hands came down to cover his mouth. Giving Caleb any other indicators that he was enjoying this— despite the pain —would certainly be a death threat to his ego. With every shallow thrust, Caleb let out an almost silent groan or hum, his face screwed up in what looked like a deep concentration. Wesker leaned his head back against the tree to study him, hand pressing tighter against his mouth as his hands moved carefully to grip his hips.
Inspecting each and every subtle twitch of Caleb’s face muscles would prove to be impossible, however, as Wesker was now being bounced on Caleb’s cock. The hand covering his mouth wasn’t enough as the head of his length just barely pressed against his prostate, a breathy moan escaping him. Caleb flashed him a knowing grin, the look only lasting a brief second before he groaned.
“Christ, yer tight.” Caleb muttered, his voice low and raspy. The hand still on Caleb’s shoulder gripped his coat tight as Wesker’s mind came crashing to a stop, the only thoughts able to come to mind being about Caleb and Caleb only: How big he was; how unbelievably good he felt buried deep inside of him; how he would kill to feel his yellowed teeth break the skin of his neck; how he would do anything he could ever possibly want. The only thing that slowed the thoughts was the sound of Caleb’s moan, low and raspy. The sound embedded itself in Wesker’s brain and played on loop with no way to stop it.
All the air in Wesker’s lungs were pushed out as Caleb’s thrusts became borderline brutal— lifting Wesker all the way up to his tip only to slam him back down. He moved his hand away from his mouth just as a sharp moan escaped him, letting it fall on Caleb’s cheek while he stared at him through half-lidded eyes. Caleb met his gaze with just the slightest hint of a smile.
“Keep—” Caleb paused, cut off by a sudden wince as he dropped Wesker back down on his cock. “Shit, keep makin’ that sound— yer drivin’ me crazy.” The blonde moved his hands behind Caleb, tangling his fingers in the black hair that reached the nape of his neck. He pulled him forward until their lips met in a fierce kiss— tongues tangling together, teeth clashing, lips swelling. Wesker moaned into Caleb’s mouth, the sound only egging him on. With what was almost a growl, Caleb’s raising and lowering of Wesker quickened— though, now he was only going as far as the middle of Caleb’s shaft.
“Y-you don’t— ah!” Wesker was cut off by another moan at the feeling of Caleb’s tip being constantly rubbed against his prostate. A stream of shameful whines, whimpers, and moans escaped Wesker’s lips as the pleasure radiated throughout his body, infecting his mind and forcing it to turn into complete mush. The sentence forgotten, Wesker simply rested his cheek on Caleb’s shoulder while the tight grip on his dark hair loosened until his hands dropped to his shoulder blades, pressing against the skin. In what little autonomy he had left, he leaned forward to press weak kisses to Caleb’s scarred neck— though, most of them were landing on his bandana rather than the skin itself.
“Yer takin’ me so well, pup.” Caleb muttered between his grunts and groans, Wesker’s mind barely registering the words. He raised his head slightly and tried to speak— though, the action only continued his whimpers and whines. “God— ‘nd you sound fucking incredible. ‘Bout ready to cum just from the sound of ya.” Caleb pressed a kiss to his cheek, having to crane his neck awkwardly in order to reach it. The rhythm of Wesker’s forced bouncing became unpredictable, alternating between shallow and quick to deep and slow. Wesker furrowed his brows as Caleb bottomed out once again, his cock jumping at the feeling. The need to cum overtook him once again until it was all he could think about. One hand fell from Caleb's back and down to his own cock, wrapping his fingers around the throbbing shaft to mindlessly run his thumb against the slit.
He tried his best to match the tempo of his strokes to the intense feeling of Caleb's length thrusting inside of him, though the alternating speeds were throwing him off entirely. Eventually, he gave up entirely, opting to fall into a slow and steady rhythm as Caleb continued his frenzied thrusts, each one forcing a sharp moan from his throat. Upon feeling the muscles of his stomach tighten however, Wesker's strokes quickened until he was practically fucking his own hand. With a pathetic, drawn-out whine, he came hard on Caleb's shirt, his hand finally falling to a stop. Thankfully, Caleb didn't seem to notice— he was far too busy muttering soft words of praise into Wesker's ear until the phrases were spinning in his head. You sound amazin’— don'tchu dare stop. God, you look just beautiful bouncin’ on my cock like that. Yer my good boy, ain't ya pup?
“Ain't ya?” Caleb's voice pulled Wesker away from his repeating thoughts. Only one word could come to mind.
“Yes— fuck, I-I am. I'm your good dog, good boy, I— whatever the hell you want, I am.” His words, pitched up and quiet, seemed to be Caleb's breaking point. Wesker's movements stuttered slightly as Caleb exhaled shakily, quickly followed by a long groan. What felt to be years worth of pent up sexual frustration spilled deep inside of Wesker, the pressure of it making him sigh with delight. Caleb stood there for several seconds, panting and damn near shaking, before slowly pulling Wesker up and off his length, already beginning to soften. Wesker swayed slightly as he was set on the ground, his whole mind clouded and fuzzy, He leaned against Caleb, his forehead which was dripping with sweat pressing against his chest. His hands came up to hold his sides, telling himself that it was just to keep him steady as his legs threatened to buckle under his weight knowing deep down that he just needed an excuse to touch Caleb. With a soft grunt, Caleb pulled his pants up, having slipped down his hips during their depraved act, and watched Wesker with a curious stare.
“Yer a goddamn mess.” This muttered insult brought some of Wesker’s energy back. He gave Caleb a weak shove as he scowled before crossing his arms tight over his chest. Caleb put up his hands, his eyebrows shooting up. “Never said I didn’t like it— shit!” Wesker pressed his lips together for a moment before a small smile began to slowly rise on his face. He gave Caleb a feeble chuckle, though he was not quite sure what he was laughing at, chalking it up to exhaustion rather than anything actually funny. Just as Wesker went to lean down to retrieve his clothes— having to use Caleb’s outstretched arm for support —he could feel some of Caleb’s cum leak out of him. He stood up straight and grimaced, the gentle grasp he had on Caleb’s arm tightening.
“That is… Uncomfortable.” Caleb furrowed his brows slightly, watching as Wesker reached behind him to swipe at some of the fluid. He brought his hand up to his face, inspecting it for a brief moment, before smearing it across Caleb’s coat with a small smirk. Caleb stuttered a few times before letting out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping at the exaggerated sound. Despite the obvious frustration already beginning to affect Caleb, he still extended his arm for Wesker to use for balance as he leaned down to grab his pants and boxers. He just barely lifted one leg up off the ground before it was being slammed back down, an intense ache in his hips radiating throughout his legs. He looked up at Caleb who chuckled at the sight.
“Need some help?” Despite his lack of an answer, Caleb grabbed Wesker’s mud-covered pants and crouched down. Wesker leaned back against the tree as a hand wrapped around his ankle and lifted it, pulling the pant leg through before moving on to the next one. Caleb began to rise, pulling his pants up with him as he went— even going so far as to fasten them. Wesker ran his fingers through his hair as Caleb glanced around the damp grass, searching for something.
“Where’s yer belt?” Wesker nodded towards the ground just to the left of him, the gold buckle gleaming in the light of the moon and stars. Caleb clicked his tongue as he knelt down to grab it, handing it to Wesker before continuing his hunt for the rest of his clothes. Just as Wesker got his belt through the loops and went to buckle it, Caleb stepped up to him with a mound of black clothes in his arms. He grabbed the top one and threw it over his shoulder before holding out his shirt. Just as Wesker went to grab it, it was pulled back. “Hold out yer arms.” Wesker narrowed his eyes at the stone-faced killer before, slowly, extending his left arm. He watched with a curious gaze as Caleb pulled the thick fabric over his limb, only to carefully spin him around and grab his other wrist to repeat the action. As soon as both sleeves were on, Wesker turned back around and reached to zip it up— but Caleb beat him to it. His large fingers fumbled with the zipper for a moment, trying desperately to lock the bottom of it together, until he finally got it with a quiet grunt. As he zipped up the black shirt also stained with mud, Wesker put his hands on his biceps, rubbing the muscles just slightly. Thankfully, Caleb did not help Wesker put on his jacket, opting to hand it to him instead before turning to search for his forgotten hat and both of their weapons.
With a soft huff, Wesker leaned back against the tree and buried his head in his hands. The weight of his reality came crashing down on him— he really was a whore. He threw himself to Caleb without a second thought about it, going so far as to actually let him fuck him. He never believed that he could be brought down by anyone, let alone someone like Caleb. He was everything that Wesker loathed— crude, irritating, impulsive, and headstrong. But the way he looked at him, touched him, and sometimes, sometimes, spoke to him— it all drove Wesker wild until he was just as impulsive and damn near slutty. The clearing of Caleb’s throat forced his head up, his hands dropping down slightly as he studied his expression— brows just barely creased in an almost worry, mouth opening uselessly as if he were unable to speak, skin flushed a gentle pink. He cleared his throat again before holding out his hat. Wesker furrowed his brows as he looked at it.
“I’m… Glad you found it.” His words were uncertain as he tried to figure out what in the hell he could possibly be doing. Caleb let out a quiet sigh before clasping one hand on Wesker’s shoulder, the other rising to plant the cowboy hat firmly on his head. It was just barely too big for him— the brim flopped down his face and obscured his vision. Caleb chuckled softly as he flicked it back, the felt now resting comfortably on his head with a slight backwards tilt. Wesker reached up and grabbed the brim, stroking the felt between his finger and thumb as he frowned.
“Now people’ll know yer mine.” Caleb’s voice was terrifyingly gentle as he spoke. The sound coupled with the almost adoring look in his eyes made Wesker’s stomach churn.
“…Great.” Wesker muttered. He pressed his lips in a fine line as he stared up at Caleb, whose face was flushing more and more the longer Wesker stared. He watched as a crushing awkwardness took over Caleb’s body; every muscle stiffening, his brows knitting together, and his gaze falling to the ground.
“I, uh— Imma nap. Can’t remember the last time I got some rest.” Wesker simply shrugged. They walked together in uncomfortable silence through the woods, only splitting apart once the killers around the campfire looked less like distant blobs and more like people/monsters. Wesker felt as if everyone was staring at him as he half-limped back through the party, eyes deadset on the sunglasses that were abandoned so long ago. With a pounding heart and a flushed face, he bent down to grab them, trying desperately not to wince at the aching pain in his hips. He rose slowly, having to use the thick arm of the Nemesis for support, and inspected the glasses. There was a crack in the left lens in the bottom corner— no doubt from when Caleb began shoving him as he was wiping them off. Suddenly, all he could see was Caleb’s phlegm. Even though there was no trace of it on the glasses, he still wiped it on the Nemesis just in case.
Wesker put them on as he turned towards the campfire. He reached up and plucked the black felt hat off of his head, staring at it curiously. Why would he need this? It was never going to happen again, so why would people need to know that he was supposedly Caleb’s? He looked over his shoulder towards the wood and moved as if to throw the accessory, but as he remembered the sincerity of his voice, the almost reverent look in his eyes, Wesker simply pulled it close to his chest. With a heavy sigh, he looked across the open area— past the small groups of killers and the even bigger one that surrounded a barrel of the Clown’s well-known homebrewed alcohol and straight to Caleb. He was leaning back against a tree, nursing a cup of liquor that was actively being passed out and looking almost thoughtfully into the distance. As Caleb slowly sank down to the ground, his long sturdy legs stretched out in front of him, Wesker began moving towards him while setting the hat firmly on his head.
He was hoping to sneak up on him and sit with him without his realization, but he took one wrong step and came crashing down on the worlds smallest twig. The quiet snapping managed to alert Caleb, whose head whipped towards the noise almost instantly. He furrowed his brows at the sight of him until Wesker gave him a small, only slightly awkward smile. His gaze softened at the sight of it as he returned the expression.
“Hey, pup.” A word once filled with so much frustration and disrespect now came off as an almost endearing nickname. Wesker blushed a little and pressed his lips together, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.
“You owe me new glasses, Quinn.” Caleb’s smile grew just slightly, his eyebrows perking up.
“Guess I do, Wesker.” They stood in an almost comfortable silence just staring at one another without the need to attack, insult, or kill. It was a very strange feeling for Wesker— but not strange enough to make him stop. After about a minute, Caleb scooted over and patted the spot next to him which was, thankfully, free of mud that Wesker had become far too acquainted with. He hesitated for a couple seconds before moving closer and carefully sinking to the ground, his leg pressed against Caleb’s own. With his back leaned against the tree, he let his head fall against Caleb’s bicep, listening to the laughter, songs, and endless chatter that rang out through the woods from the already drunk killers.
His sunglasses were pulled off his face before the hat was pushed down low. Just as he went to complain, he was cut off by the feeling of Caleb’s arm slipping around his waist and a gentle pressure on the crown of the hat from what could only be a kiss. An urge rattled around Wesker’s mind until it had to be done. He took of the hat and pushed himself up, pressing his lips to Caleb’s with a tender kiss. He blocked their faces with the hat, but judging by the sounds of amused chuckles and quiet gasps coming from a few people in the crowd, he knew it was in vain. Caleb hummed softly, bringing his hand up to cup Wesker’s cheek and run his thumb across the skin. Wesker pulled away after a moment to give Caleb the smallest of smiles before leaning back against the tree and placing the hat back over his face. Caleb gave Wesker’s side a soft squeeze as he closed his eyes and let his fatigue take over his body until he was fast asleep next to him.