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A child’s scream echoed in his ears from his last dream. But that had been over four days ago.
Chris's gaze remained fixed on the rain-soaked streets outside the motel window. The droplets raced down the glass like tiny rivers. His head thrummed and his ears hurt. He leaned on the windowsill; the coolness of the metal seeped into his skin, offering a reprieve from the stale air of the room.
The rain had become the backdrop of their lives over the past few months – 14 weeks in a Podunk town investigating alleged leads and horrific rumors of bioweapon experimentation and missing children. The never-changing landscape of the port town was a constant reminder of their dreary reality: always more deaths, always more horrors, always more loss.
Anyone could see the exhaustion etched deep within the lines of his face. The shadows beneath his eyes grew darker with each passing night. His partner sat in silence with him, her back in a defeated slouch against the flimsy dining chair of her room.
Their constant battles defined Chris and Jill’s existence, they had since the world flipped upside down in that mansion eight years ago. But for some reason, this mission had taken more of a toll on Chris than anything he’d lived through yet – their leads always falling through, their witnesses disappearing or ending up dead, the children they’d met, vanishing from the town. It just had to be children, didn’t it?
Chris had come to her room to go over the day’s events, discuss Jill’s progress with the hospital, debrief.
And then the call had come in. They were to be pulled out. Mission failed. Lost cause. The BSAA. needed them in Thailand.
They’d been waiting for over two hours for updates from HQ.
Mute.
Jill’s room was sparsely furnished, a testament to the transient nature of their stay. A single bed with rumpled sheets, a worn-out dresser with a flickering lamp, and a small round dining table littered with case files and empty coffee cups. Yet, it was still cleaner than Chris’s motel room – warmer, somehow. A woman’s touch was evident in the clean surfaces and scattered knickknacks, shoes lined up at the door, a picture frame, a journal.
The phone on the nightstand buzzed, shattering the quiet. Chris flinched, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at his side before realizing what it was. Jill's eyes never left him, her unease palpable as she watched him slowly pick up the receiver. The voice on the other end was curt and to the point: "Extraction in 18 hours. Pack your gear." Chris nodded, but the person on the line couldn't see it.
The silence after the call was deafening.
The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. Chris's eyes never left the rain. His hand tightened around the phone, knuckles white.
“When?” His partner asked, somber.
“18 hours…” he heard himself say.
Jill reached out to him, knowing gaze on the bags under his eyes, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "Get some sleep." He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge her touch. But the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly.
With a nod, he turned away from the window, his gaze meeting hers. His spine froze. Jill’s face started falling apart, skin grey, mouth unhinged like the undead.
“Chris?”
The soldier blinked his vision clear.
Red, glowing irises stared into his.
He squeezed his lids shut and behind them, bodies flew, monsters roared, people screamed. When he opened them again, Jill’s face was fine, nothing off about it besides the concern she couldn’t hide behind her pinched brows.
Gunshots still rang in his ears.
He wasn’t sleeping tonight either.
“Yeah,” he breathed, turning to leave the room, “you too.”
He felt her soft hand around his forearm, stopping him. “Here…” she breathed. “…Stay here, Chris.” His red eyes turned to hers, searching for the meaning of those words.
The weight of their shared experiences hung heavy in the air.
Her palm stroked soft against the bone of his wrist. Warmth. She offered— she wanted warmth, release, escape, soothing. Something that had never transpired between the two before. But it didn’t sound bad.
Without a word, Chris turned back to his partner.
He allowed Jill to lead him to the rusty bed in the corner of the room. She pulled off his boots. The act felt odd. He felt rigid but boneless all at once.
Chris laid down, his body aching from the days of relentless running, combat, failure. Jill joined him, her warmth seeping into his side.
She leaned over, and then her soft lips were brushing against his neck. He shivered, the sensation sending a wave of longing through his body. He looked at her, differently now, conceding to a want he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before – too much respect for his fellow agent.
His partner of nearly a decade gently began to unfasten his utility belt, the buckle’s metal in her fingers so similar to the metal of the gun that so often rested in her grip. His breath hitched as Jill revealed more of his skin, her hands deft and sure as she peeled away the layers of protection wrapped around him.
Their eyes met again, and he made the question clear in his eyes, the unspoken "are you sure?" She laughed soft, a puff of her nose.
Chris reached down and gripped the hem of her shirt, starting to draw it up her back. But she stopped him, lightly grabbing his hands and pressing them to the bed. She held them there for long seconds, soft but firm, until the point was understood. He kept them there.
Jill slid her hand down to the button of his pants, her eyes on his. Chris’s heart pounded in his chest as she took control. The room grew warmer, the air thick with something new.
Chris's breath grew ragged as Jill's hand continued its journey, her touch feather-light against his skin. He could feel his body responding.
The rain outside grew louder, a steady beat that mirrored the rhythm of his racing pulse. Jill straddled him, her eyes filled with a fierce determination that sent a shiver down his spine.
With a delicate but unyielding hand, she guided him to lie back. He fought the instinctual need to take the lead, allowing the partner he trusted so much to control their direction. She drew his shirt up to his collarbone and left it there. The air was cool on his skin. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment, to her. The sound of the rain grew distant as she leaned in, her teeth grazing his earlobe, whispering words of reassurance that only he could hear. And it felt odd, a heat rising to his face.
Her hand slid down his body, caressing the planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his abs, until finally, she reached the zipper of his pants. Slowly, she pulled it down, her movements deliberate and unhurried. His pulse quickened with every inch of skin she revealed. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his neck as she kissed and nibbled her way down his body.
Chris's eyes remained closed, his mind racing. He felt her hand wrap around him, and he couldn't help but gasp at the contact. Her grip was firm, her touch tender, and it sent a bolt of electricity straight to his core.
Her lips followed the trail her hand had made. When she reached the juncture of his thighs, she paused for long seconds. He lifted his lids. She was looking up at him, waiting, as if demanding his eyes on her. He swallowed on nothing. She moved.
The sensation of her mouth on him was unlike anything he had ever felt. He'd had blowjobs before, but this... wasn't just that. It felt like more. It felt different.
He didn’t know where to put his hands, so they twitched in the sheets at his sides. There was a strange mix of vulnerability and power, and Chris found himself craving more, even as he struggled to process the newness of it all.
Her tongue danced along the length of him, teasing and exploring, and he could feel himself getting harder with every stroke. The rain outside had become a crescendo, the thunder echoing the pounding of his heart. Jill's hands gripped his hips, keeping him in place as she took him in deeper, her rhythm growing more insistent. His breathing became ragged, his body arching off the bed in response to her ministrations.
Chris's eyes clamped shut, the pleasure overwhelming as Jill worked him over. But she squeezed him, rough, as a reminder; his eyes groggily cracked back open, doing their best to focus on his partner.
Her mouth was a wet, warm heaven that he never wanted to leave. But time was not on his side. He could feel the tension coiling in his belly. His hand lightly carded through the hair behind her ear.
His muscles tensed. He knew he was close. "Jill," he groaned, his voice thick with need.
Her response was to suck harder, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of his tip. He felt his body start to tremble, the pressure building, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, she paused. The groan that came from him stuttered out like a quiet sob. He looked down at her, brows pressed with confusion, only to see her smirk before she moved up to kiss him deeply.
While their tongues danced together, one hand gripped his rib cage, pressing into the muscle that jumped and flexed beneath her. Jill’s other hand slipped lower, her fingers dancing along the sensitive skin behind his balls. She explored with a gentle touch, thumb lightly kneading his cock, hand arching over his sack as her longer fingers trailed down, smoothing against his perineum; she pressed, rubbing with confident, delicate digits. Waves of heat spread through his body, his ears going red. He choked back a groan as she devoured his mouth.
Her nail brushed against the tight ring of muscle below, a flash of warning in Chris’s head, but the finger slid away just as swift, returning to massage against the flesh above the taboo territory.
Her tongue delved deeper into his mouth as she applied more pressure, her hand squashing his balls as her thumb caressed the base of his shaft with a gentle but insistent touch. Chris's body reacted on instinct, dizzily pushing back against her palm.
She bit his folded lower lip. Hard. The room shifted. “J-Ji—” he stuttered through the haze.
Her middle finger pressed flat and firm over his hole.
His hand seized the thin forearm lodged between his legs. But he didn’t pull. Didn’t push. He just held onto it in a loose, unsure a grip.
Jill continued, unfazed, taking the opportunity to kiss his Adam’s apple, her teeth grazing the skin there as her digit continued its exploration. He could feel her smiling against his neck.
He stared at the ceiling, his quick breaths sounding so loud in his ears.
The intrepid digit was petting and circling his rim, assertive as it subdued the trembling pink muscle.
She withdrew to pump his neglected shaft once, gathering the accumulated precum on the upstroke, before returning the now sticky hand between his cheeks.
And then her finger was inside of him, down to the first knuckle.
Chris’s eyes went wide, a sound caught in his throat. His legs involuntarily squeezed shut, but the long digit inside him wriggled slow and insistent as it crept deeper.
The pressure was strange, but not unpleasant. Jill grunted into his collarbone, wet and airy. She stroked him internally, her movements gentle and precise. The room was fire. Her slender body was massive and dense, tungsten bearing down on him. Suffocating.
His legs spread wider of their own accord.
Jill was staring at him, her face strained. The bold finger curled and dug inside; she slid down, and her other hand moved to grab his half-hard cock, stroking the shaft slowly in time with the movements.
Chris’s eyes rolled back.
His body vibrated. Little ‘uh’s came from his throat with nearly every breath. Jill was sitting on her haunches, watching her busy hands and the body that rolled with them.
Another finger was entering him.
Chris felt the burn of being stretched open. He tensed up, but Jill's grip on his cock tightened, stroking him steadily. The fingers pumped and explored, in and out. Up and down. The pressure grew.
She hit something inside that made the ceiling fuzzy and white. His hips twisted and bucked against it. “Chris.”
She focused on that spot, relentless.
His body was convulsing, jumping and twitching, incessant. And he couldn’t stop.
At some point, a third had been added.
The room was so bright. His head burned. His ears rung.
He was about to come. So close.
Again, her hands pulled away. He groaned out a sob, his stomach twitching, she left him heaving alone on the bed.
Chris stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights glaring like foggy glass.
And then she was back.
She was leaning over him, holding something long and black in front of his face. Chris’s woozy eyes slowly took it in, recognition.
He looked to her.
Then looked back at the thing.
How had he gotten here?
“Can I?” She whispered, eyes half-lidded, face unreadable.
He swallowed.
***
“Uuhhh— AaaAAHHH!” Chris's hands clutched at the bed, knuckles white. His moans grew louder with every stroke, crying and babbling on her black rubber cock.
Jill pressed her palm between his shoulders, shoving his chest further down into the mattress, her hips pounding into the rippling meat of his ass. His shiny pink hole gulped and squeezed over the surface of the sizable dildo. “Jesus Christ,” she shivered. The squelching of lube and air filled the room.
Jill stared at the writhing soldier beneath her – the stoic, trustworthy partner she’d known for years. Chris Redfield was reduced to a quivering mess beneath her.
Who knew he’d be a natural?
The bands of her strap-on tugged against her hips with each pull back, the tight clutch of Chris’s hole gripping desperately to keep the cock inside.
His eyes were wild, his mouth agape. Tears and drool were soaking the sheets around his face. The weight of his knees made dents in the mattress, the springs groaning beneath the large, pliable man. He screamed every time she plummeted just right into his thick, upturned ass.
Each thrust was deep and deliberate, her hips moving like a piston, claiming him in a way that was both fierce and tender.
The smell of sex filled the room, mixing with the faint scent of gunpowder. His legs were spread wide, his thighs red and trembling.
Her hand came down hard on one cheek, the slap echoing through the room like a gunshot. His body jolted, a strangled cry tearing from his throat, the rubber cock never once missing a beat as it plunged into him.
Chris's eyes rolled back, gasping and spasming around the toy filling his guts.
Jill’s grip on his hip tightened, her breaths growing harsher as he squirmed beneath her.
Light steam emanated from Chris' body, the heat of him too much for the cool of the room. He took the abuse with an animalistic need. The muscles in his back rippled with every thrust, the pained sound of his fuck-drunk pleasure driving her on.
She leaned down, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh of his dorsal muscle. He wailed, bowing his back, pushing himself deeper onto her cock.
His reddened dick dangled, firm and twitching between his legs, lube and his own spend coating his thighs and the bed beneath him.
He had already come twice on her cock.
She fisted his hair, arching his neck and chest up from the mattress as she angled her hips down. With masterful aim, she lined up the tip of the black toy, ready to drive it straight into his abused sweet spot.
Jill held the larger man there for long seconds, unmoving. She slid her other hand up to find purchase on his narrow waist.
Something like recognition flashed almost imperceptibly behind Chris’s watery eyes.
“Look at me,” she croaked.
As ordered, Chris’s eyes danced to the corner of his vision, doing his best to hold her in his periphery.
“Good boy.”
Jill’s hips snapped, the dildo driving into Chris’s prostate like a fist. He choked on the sound that was pulled from his lungs.
She drove it home.
The strap-on was a battering ram against his fucked-out hole, a deadly weapon that demolished the bundle of nerves inside of him, pummeling his g-spot until it was mush.
The sound that came out of him wasn’t human, a keening wail that shouldn’t belong to a soldier.
Chris's body jerked with each hit, lungs locking up.
His eyes rolled into the back of his skull.
He didn’t scream.
His arms hung at his sides, nothing on his cock. Cum shot from him like a geyser, landing watery and thin between his legs. His body was a rag-doll, limp and useless.
Jill’s shivering grip squeezed his waist, nails digging into the meat as she pulled the sticky rubber toy from his ass, unfastening the straps around her hips with manic fingers. His pucker winked, gaping and sloppy with lube. In a fever, she threw the instrument off the bed, shoved him onto his back, and mounted his face.
Her legs straddled his skull, her hand woven into his hair, her grip tight, as she rode him.
Her hips bucked and rolled, grinding her cunt against his twitching mouth, clit flicking against his nose. His blown-out eyes fluttered and lolled between her legs.
“Chris,” she wheezed, brows pinched, frantic.
The dazed man beneath her mewled, the sound muffled, as he was smothered and used.
She bowed over his head, cradling it as her hips stuttered through the wildest orgasm of her life.
Blood rushed through her ears.
Her chest heaved, the dampness of her shirt clinging to her skin.
Jill looked down at Chris; his eyes were shut, face buried. She pulled off, wiping the sweat from his temples.
At his lack of movement, she tapped his cheek… nothing.
Then again, a little harder.
He squirmed and peered up at her through heavy lids.
She fell onto him. Slowly, her body began to match the rise and fall of his breathing. The pads of her fingers ran over the patchy stubble on his jaw.
The room was quiet now, the storm outside having passed. The only sound was the steady drip of rain on the windowsill.
And she watched as Chris fell asleep.
Finally.