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Wesker paid no mind to Chris’ surprise now, his fingers falling into a gentle rhythm as they stroked his head fondly. He wasn’t one for bodily contact; he’d avoided becoming close with anyone for many years and that meant keeping physical distance. This was oddly different. Uniquely comfortable.

“Christopher,” he replied, almost mockingly. He studied his face, the image of the redness in his subordinate’s cheeks burning into his mind. Interesting. He allowed his hand to venture a little further down, fingers finding the soft skin of Chris’ neck first, and his whole body curving gracefully forward until he was close to Chris’ ear again.

“That’ll do. I don’t actually care about the paperwork,” he said, almost a purr, and his hand slid down to stroke his back. Wesker understood that he was pushing the boundaries now, past acceptable work place contact, into the realms of harassment. Chris had every right to push him away and call this inappropriate, but he couldn’t resist finding out just how far he could take this now he had the idea in his mind. Despite his mistakes, Redfield had never been so disobedient as to completely deny him something he asked for, or at least not in his immediate memory. He brought his other hand up to gently turn Chris’ head to face him. “Tell me. Am I making you uncomfortable right now?”

[Flashback] After hours.

Chris obeyed the command, but not because Wesker gave them; it took the marksman a moment to realize what the sensation on top of his head was, but when it finally came to him, he froze up.

Was the captain petting him?

The feel of his superior was so foreign to Chris. Yes, there were times when the brunet placed his hand on Wesker’s shoulder, or his upper back, or maybe even a jovial punt to his chest after a particularly successful mission—but all incidents were brief, respectful (as respectful as Chris could be, that is) and, more importantly, one-sided.

“Captain?” he murmured and chanced a look up at Wesker. His expression was, as always, expressionless. This was a good thing, right? He didn’t seem upset that Chris had struck him, but only God knew what hid behind those stark lenses.

The point man couldn’t bring himself to say anything else, even if he wanted to; his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, and a shiver darted down his spine in response to the other man’s surprisingly gentle touch. He simply stared up at the blond, mouth slightly agape.

If this was a test, he was failing.

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As always, his subordinate was a constant source of amusement. Wesker didn't flinch as Chris knocked him with his shoulder. Not even a flicker of the pleasure it had brought him knowing that he'd caught Chris out crossed his face.

Instead, he drew back an inch and regarded Chris with the same deadpan expression that he maintained most hours of the day. He held the other man's eyes for as long as Chris would allow, in utter silence, his eyes practically piercing through his glasses. He studied his face still, even as Chris turned away. Wesker made a formal decision. He had to get to the bottom of this.

Perhaps it was Chris' boyish looks that appealed to him. Something inside of him, something deeply buried, could have been pining after his own lost youth.

Chris was everything he'd never been, after all.

Or, perhaps it was just that. Redfield represented his opposite. Something he wanted to harness.

Control. It could have been as simple as that Chris' insubordination drove him up the wall, and he did love to be challenged. Chris was a wild card. His attraction was an obsession, perhaps. An obsession with training the untrainable into a perfect soldier.

And then Chris spoke again. Wesker tensed this time, a movement so slight that it would take knowing him well enough to even notice it, because he hadn't realized he was still staring, standing so close. "Hmmh." He mumbled, and drew back. He'd been caught off guard. Then, it was now or never. An urge struck him, and he'd never held back on taking what he wanted before. Besides, he'd drive himself crazy if he resisted. Wesker reached up and, very gently, ran a hand through Chris' hair.

"Alright," he said, his tone soft but firm, his fingers still bristling against Chris' head. "Stop there."

[Flashback] After hours.

Chris shot his superior another lopsided grin before really settling down to work on his report. The unease he felt prior to their conversation had all but vanished; he even found himself preferring the comfortable silence with Wesker to the boisterous drinking with Forest he had been doing hours ago.

This bothered Chris, to an extent; he shouldn’t have preferred this. No one should prefer this. He came here, wanting it to be an ‘in-and-out’ thing—which, now that he thought about it, he broke his promise to the night crew—and it turned into a ‘take-off-your-coat-and-stay-a-while’ thing.

The weekend was supposed to be his, not Wesker’s. Chris stopped writing for a moment to chew on the back of his pen. Being okay with this bothered him, and he wished he was bothered by this so he would be okay.

His focus was no longer on the file, but on Wesker. He was focusing so hard on Wesker, in fact, that he had forgotten Wesker was there with him.

It was no surprise, then, that Chris didn’t notice when the blond stood up from his desk. It was also no surprise that he didn’t notice when Wesker moved behind him. So when Chris finally discerned that his captain wasn’t where he should have been, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Shit,” he flinched, his shoulder bumping Wesker’s cheek, “I didn’t—I was getting to it, I just…” 

The point man’s cheeks were red with embarrassment and alarm, and he ceased his stammering after realizing he had indirectly hit the man he worked for.

“Sorry,” Chris turned to face Wesker, giving him a sheepish smile while rubbing the offending shoulder, “guess I didn’t see you there, Captain.” 

‘Guess,’ Chris? He scolded himself. You fucking guess? Really?

He glanced back at the paper—thank God he had a legitimate excuse to look away from the other man—and hurriedly made the adjustment. 

“There,” he sighed, as if it would fix the entire situation.

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Wesker wasn't sure whether Chris' failure to notice his suggestive tone was purposefully to avoid dealing with it, or whether it had gone over his head, but he had to bite back a sniff of laughter as the younger man shuffled in his seat like an excited child. It was the same childishness that made Chris so different to most of the soldiers and officers he'd met, and the same again that caused Wesker constant frustration on the job.

"Really," He said simply, giving a curt nod and pretending to look back down at his work, although his eyes remained fixed on Chris from behind his shades, the light from the lamp glinting at it touched the rim.

The grin on his subordinates face was more than endearing; it was appealing. Wesker told himself it was simply pleasing to see Chris want to work with so much vigor, but he wasn't one to lie to himself and there was more to it than that. He wasn't sure what it was about Chris' company, his smile, provoking and teasing him - but it was intriguing, and addictive.

"I'm sure you will," he murmured in response, and tried to put it from his mind. He could deal with any misconstrued emotions when he was alone again, and had time to sort them into their rightful places.

The time ticked by in a comfortable silence once again, and Wesker poured his attention into his paperwork, marking it off efficiently and stamping each file with his approval to go into the RPD archives. As he slid his last file into his out-tray, he closed his eyes and rubbed his finger and thumb behind his glasses, massaging his eyes. Enough, for tonight.

Standing up quietly, he walked around the desk and stopped behind Chris, watching him work for a moment.

"Hmmh," he murmured in thought, and leaned over him, head next to Chris', pointing out a mistake he'd missed the first time around. "Make sure you get everything, Christopher."

[Flashback] After hours.

The marksman blinked as his Captain spoke; he didn’t really think Wesker would converse with him about something unrelated to work, especially since Wesker had given Chris an earful about it mere minutes before. It pleased the brunette, which he expressed with a goofy smile. His expression soon returned to one of confusion, however, when the blond mentioned the names of the films he saw last.

It was all Greek to him. Well, German, actually.

When Wesker asked about the report, the point man none-too-gracefully returned his attention to the papers in front of him, giving an affirmative grunt to the question. How could he not miss the notes? The blond’s handwriting was clean and with purpose—nearly opposite to Chris’s.

It wasn’t until Wesker offered to take the younger man to the movies that he perked up from his work again.

“Really, Wesker?” He couldn’t mask the excitement in his voice. Chris shifted in his seat, the sudden feeling surprising even him.

“That’d be great! We’ll have to make sure the girls don’t spoil anything about it to us, though.” He tapped his cheek with his pen. “I think Rebecca’ll stay quiet, but Jill can be such a tease about that kinda stuff.” He twisted his mouth into a passive frown, twirling the pen in between his index finger and thumb.

“I’ll be real good, Captain,” Chris gave his superior a teasing grin, “in fact, this report will be the best you ever seen from me.” As if to prove his point, he went back to writing diligently with his (now trusty?) pen. The brunette considered this a challenge, and he was never one to back down from a challenge.

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And of course I forgive I've seen how you live Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes You pick up the pieces And the ghosts in the attic They never quite leave

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Believe in me baby and I'll take you away From out of this darkness and into the day From these rivers of headlights these rivers of rain From the anger that lives on the streets with these names 'cos I've run every red light on memory lane I've seen desperation explode into flames And I don't want to see it again. . .

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Chris’ silence was both amusing and somewhat surprising. Wesker had expected at least some complaint from the young man about having to stick around on a Friday night. He wasn’t going to bring it up – he’d been wishing for company not ten minutes before.

He paid the file in his hands mild attention as Chris worked, keeping the other man focused in his peripheral all the time. Wesker could tell Redfield was a ticking time bomb and it came as no surprise when the younger man’s short attention span gave way.

He didn’t look up. No point giving Chris the satisfaction of knowing he’d successfully distracted him from his work. After a few moments of simply ignoring Chris’ questions, he put a hand on the back of his neck and rolled his head, cracking it before he spoke. “I saw Donnie Brasco last week. And Das Lieben ist eine Baustelle two weeks before that,” he said non-chalantly, and offered no other commentary on the subject. Apollo 13 was a good movie, one of his favourites, but there was no reason to divulge that information to Chris. “How is your report? I’m sure you’ve spotted my notes.”

It was dismissive. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy light conversation, but Wesker could feel the beginnings of a serious migraine ebbing at the back of his head. At least, that was the excuse.

Wesker finally looked up at Chris, in an obvious gesture that made it clear he was staring.

“Perhaps if you’re good I’ll treat you to a showing of The Fifth Element.”

His words were altogether suggestive and Wesker wasn’t sure what he’d intended to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Oh well. It was out there now, and they’d simply have to deal with it.

[Flashback] After hours.

The marksman wasn’t a fan of being lectured. It took a lot for him to not roll his eyes, let out an augmentative huff, or otherwise protest; he had a great deal of respect for his Captain, after all, and didn’t want to give him a bigger headache than he probably already had.

So Chris stayed quiet, giving a nod when appropriate to show Wesker he was listening. When the blond mentioned how messy the brunette’s desk was, however, he couldn’t help but wince and nervously rub the back of his neck as he took the folder from the other man. “I’ll get right on that after finishing this case file, sir.” 

Well, shit. Now he was committing himself to staying even later than he had originally planned. Why did he go and open his mouth, again?

The brunette knew that look—and he didn’t like it. He briefly left the Captain’s office to fetch a chair from his work desk (from Hell) and carried it back to place it where the other man had made space for him. Chris wasted no time sitting down and penning through the file, but it didn’t take long for him to become fidgety.

Paperwork was boring, sure, but it was a necessary evil. He knew that, everybody knew that, so it normally didn’t get under his skin. But working like this? After hours, in a small room, directly under the hawk-like eyes of his boss? It was difficult, nearly impossible, for Chris to stay focused.

“So, Wesker,” he had to break the silence, it was killing him, “seen any good movies lately? I think Jill told me she and Rebecca were seeing—oh, what was it?—The Fifth Element, I think? It’s got a bunch of really good actors in it. I’m kind of jealous.”

He took a chance and glanced up at the blond, grinning. “Been forever since I saw a movie in theaters. I think the last one was that Tom Hanks movie, Apollo 13…”

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askawesker started following you laduobeau started following you oswellespencer started following you thefoxthatrocks started following you the-sultry-succubus started following you umbrellaspetproject started following you wolfandlizard started following you darckcarnival started following you

(( Thank you all of you guys. Unless you want to do a flashback plot-orientated RP, this blog isn't really up and running yet, but thanks for following and I hope you enjoy the ride as the story unfolds! ))

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Wesker found the embarrassed flush on Chris' face quite endearing. It amused him to watch his officer's writhe, but Redfield was particularly fun to tease. Keeping his grip firm, he leant his chin on his other hand, eyes fixed on the younger mans face.

"I'm sure you would very much enjoy that," he repeated with as much repugnance as he'd heard in Chris' voice. It didn't matter how much Chris wanted to go home or how long ago their shifts had ended. If this report wasn't finished, Chris' ass was his for the rest of the night.

He nodded in acceptance of the apology and let go of the file. "Forgetting is not good enough. I'm happy to let you off because you're here now, but other people might not be so leniant, Christopher."

Starting to shift the rest of the files off his desk and make a space, Wesker indicated to the other side. "Pull a chair over and work here. Your desk is a nightmare. It had better be clean by Monday morning."

A touch of a smirk spread over his face. He couldn't wait to observe his subordinate trying to work under his watchful eye. Leaning back in his chair, Wesker crossed one leg over the other and flipped open another file, tapping his fingers on it and as he looked impatiently at Chris. He didn't have to say it aloud. Hurry up.

[Flashback] After hours.

Chris pinched the file between his thumb and index finger on impulse, but frowned when he realized Wesker had no intention of immediately letting it go. However, the frown soon faltered when his Captain mentioned the deadline—Chris’s cheeks flushed, humbled. The marksman wasn’t as punctual as, say, Rebecca, but he didn’t totally disregard due dates like Forest. Life just… happened sometimes, and it would go over his head.

“Company,” the pointman echoed, giving the file a little tug to no avail. “I would like that, sir.” No, I wouldn’t.

The night was supposed to be his; he just wanted to go back to the bar and drink more with Forest. Forest, who was so hammered he probably forgot that Chris left. Forest, who was probably fucking some girl he managed to charm right at this moment.

The idea of staying suddenly became more appealing.

“Sorry about missing the deadline, Wesker. Guess I forgot.” He tried to smile, cheeks still tinged with embarrassment—and now the image of Forest and some faceless woman tangled in sheets—giving a hopeful, almost ‘may I?’ tug of the file.

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"Monday night, Friday night - it's all the same to me," Wesker shrugged casually, allowing himself a brief ghost of a smile as Chris began to babble. It was a nice, familiar atmosphere, even though he feigned irritation most of the time. There was no point in explaining further, as Chris' rambling came to an abrupt stop.

He looked like he'd just been electrocuted, Wesker mused silently. It was a look he knew well, and he clasped his hands together as he waited for the explanation.

"The Stoneville robbery," the Captain spoke slowly, rolling the words off his tongue like he couldn't remember what Chris was talking about. Dropping his hands to the pile of paperwork, he slid the file out from the bottom and held it out to the pointman, keeping his grip on it tight enough to keep Chris from taking it. "This one, you mean?"

He opened it, keeping his gaze on Chris for a moment and then sniffing in amusement. "This was supposed to be done by 4pm today. I assumed it was finished. Perhaps you could stay a while and get it done.. keep me company."

[Flashback] After hours.

“I know,” Chris rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “but that’s an hour, maybe two, after a shift. This is four hours, Captain. And on a Friday night to boot. I’m sure there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.” He smiled and started talking with his hands like he always did when he got caught up in the moment. 

“The girls went out to a movie, Barry’s spending time with his family, Brad said he had a date—I totally think he’s lying, but don’t tell him I said that!—and me and Forest went to the bar for a couple of drinks. The workload’s been pretty small lately, I don’t think—oh, shit.”

Chris nervously rubbed his mouth and his eyes widened as he suddenly remembered why he came back to work in the first place. He glanced up at the blond, trying in vain to gloss over his embarrassment.

“I came back because I forgot  some paper work,” he turned his body to look back at his desk, glaring at the mess on it as if to will it away. “The, uh, Stoneville robbery. You remember that? It’s not done yet and I wanted to work on it over the weekend…”

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Without flinching as the light from the main office poured in, Wesker looked his officer up and down lightly drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk. Chris had definitely left the office. Even if he hadn't seen him go, he would have been able to tell by his appearance alone.

"I," Wesker said slowly, bringing one hand up to itch his chin, "could ask you the same thing. I'm positive that I sent you home already. You should be celebrating the weekend, or whatever it is you lot do."

He glanced down at the paperwork he'd been reading, and quickly neatened it into a pile. He'd given up asking himself the same question - he was here every Friday night, after all. Things didn't happen if he didn't pick up the slack and work over the weekends. They'd be drowning in paperwork otherwise.. besides, there was little for him to do at home, on his own.

"I have work left to do," Wesker finally explained, tapping the pile of files on his desk with one finger. "You seem surprised. This is not uncommon for me, you know."

[Flashback] After hours.

The brunette’s pout only intensified when he heard his Captain’s unmistakable voice. Working so late is just unhealthy, he thought. Wesker worked hard enough as things were (members like Chris, Forest, and Brad were partly to blame for that); if anyone should get out of the office on a Friday night, it should have been him.

Chris gripped the handle and opened the door to Wesker’s office, briefly squinting as the light from the lamp met his eyes. He scanned the room from right the left before refocusing on his Captain.

“Wesker, what are you still doing here? It’s—” he glanced down at his watch. “It’s going on eleven o’clock. Our shifts ended like, four hours ago.” He didn’t mean to sound accusatory; Chris cared about all of his teammates, Alpha or Bravo, and if something was going on he wanted to know.

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The door made a familiar sound as someone entered the main office. Wesker capped the flask the second he heard it, returning it to the drawer and sliding his feet down off the desk; just a precaution, should whoever it was enter. Straightening up, he rolled his shoulders and adjusted his glasses, slicking a hand over his hair to neaten it.

The file Chris was looking for was in his hand; he'd picked it up when he was tidying the office after the team had left, assuming it was finished. It wouldn't be the first time a report hadn't made it to his in-tray. Wesker continued to leaf through it, but his attention was on the scuffling coming from the main office.

He relaxed, entirely unsurprised when he heard Chris' voice. He considered staying silent for a moment, but Redfield wasn't the sort of man to just leave it if he was curious. "Mmm," Wesker grunted in response. "It's open."

He lay the paperwork down on the desk and leant forward on his elbows to watch the door, running through possible reasons why Chris was back at the department this late in his head.

[Flashback] After hours.

“Shit.”

Chris wasn’t the forgetful type. He didn’t think he was the forgetful type. Yet here we was, back at the RPD at some ungodly hour because he couldn’t remember to pack one file with him when he took off for the night. Forest tried to goad him into staying at the bar, to put off grabbing it until the next day, but Chris knew if the two kept knocking back drinks, he’d be in “weekend mode” and wouldn’t want to go anywhere near work.

He felt his heart skip a beat when he realized the building was locked (of course it was locked, he should have known better), but Lady Luck must have decided to give him a break because it didn’t take too long to get the attention of one of the nightlies. “It’ll take just a second,” he promised. “Gotta get into the S.T.A.R.S. office, that’s all.”

Chris practically sprinted up the stairs and down the hallway, trying to be light on his feet so as not to disturb the few who were there. He let himself into the division’s area—he had double-checked to make sure he had his key before coming—and hurried to his desk, cursing under his breath at the mess that greeted him. Jill was right; he really needed to do something about it.

The point man rummaged through the various papers, folders, and miscellaneous personal items, looking for the specific file, but stopped himself when he finally noticed the light coming from Wesker’s office. The Captain wasn’t seriously still here, was he? Chris stuck his bottom lip out in a bit of a pout and approached the source of the light.

“Wesker? You in there?”

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[Flashback] After hours.

The dull glow burning from his desk lamp illuminated Wesker's face. It was the only source of light in the room, casting dark and strange shadows on the walls around him, bouncing off his glasses. The Captain looked strangely ethereal as he poured over his paperwork, feet up on the desk, occasionally bristling a hand through his hair and trying not to yawn.

One hell of a way to spend Friday night, he thought boredly, flicking through a few pages of reports about an attempted bank robbery in Stoneville earlier that week. The station was pretty much empty, except for the night staff, who were stationed in another wing of the old building to the office he was holed up in. He didn't care much for their company, or anyone elses. He'd sent his officers home an hour ago. They always got itchy to leave at the start of the weekend, and it's not like anything exciting was going on here that needed their immediate attention.

Although, it did get a little lonely. He eyed his drawer, and eventually slid it open, trying not to let himself get too distracted from his work. Wesker grabbed the hipflask without so much as looking at it, deftly unscrewing the cap with two fingers and bringing it to his lips. As he took a swig, he noticed a really stupid spelling mistake and rolled his eyes. Dammit, Redfield. He was a Captain, not a grade school teacher.

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