Chapter Text
He never knew how to live up until now. Well, as much as one could given his situation.
It had now been a month since he was taken in like a stray cat by Chris, stashed away inside a large house up in the mountains where no one bothered to visit or explore. He was given the necessities, of course. A room of his own, clothes, activities to do to help pass the time.
He was also given permission to help out with Chris’s work when it came to writing documents and such, but not much else. He wasn’t allowed to know most things, which was understandable. That would be like asking someone in the FBI to spill all their secrets, and Zeno was smarter than that.
The days had become a steady, albeit comfortable routine. Zeno had become accustomed to living in this new environment, learning to navigate the nuances of a normal life. And yet, there was something missing.
Every now and then, he would catch himself watching Chris intently as he worked, his eyes lingering on the way he moved, the way his shoulders tensed and relaxed under the fabric of his t-shirts, the slope of his neck…
He cursed his mind. His unwanted awareness of the man's presence around the house. He was driving him insane.
Whats worse is his brain had been supplying him with new memories from Wesker.
It was subtle at first, just barely there. A sharp breath caught in his throat, a shiver down his spine, when he least expected it. A faint scent that left a strange sense of longing settling deep in his chest.
Sometimes a memory would come to him unbidden, too vivid to ignore.
He could feel the warmth of another body pressed up against his own, the taste of alcohol and cigarettes… the rough scrape of stubble on his jaw. The phantom sensations made him tremble, and he didn't know why, but he ached.
It was like a sick game in his head. One minute he'd be washing dishes, and a memory from Wesker's perspective would pop into his head. The next, he'd be sitting on the couch reading, and a memory from his "source" would play like a movie projector in his brain.
Had Wesker been in this house before? It seemed extremely likely from how often he was being bombarded by them…
Each memory had its own unique feel. Some were tender, like the sensation of gentle hands running through his hair. Others were rough, filled with teeth and bruises. He didn't understand the range of emotions that accompanied these moments, the way they left him conflicted and confused.
But at night, things were worse. That was when things got intense.
He was asleep when one of them assaulted his mind, throwing him into the body of Wesker bent over what could only be his personal desk, with Chris behind him. Inside him. Albert’s sunglasses were barely hanging on as his head was shoved against the wood, backside arched almost painfully as quieted whimpers spewed from his mouth.
Zeno jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he clutched the sheets beneath him, nails digging into the fabric hard enough to tear. The image burned behind his eyelids—too vivid and real.
He hadn’t just seen it, he’d felt it. Every sensation from Wesker’s body had seeped into him like poison: the stretch of muscle around an intruder's grip, Chris' ragged breath against Albert's ear…
"Fuck." He choked out on a shuddering exhale and pressed both hands over his face as if trying to physically block out any more intrusive memories before they could take hold again. His legs shifted unconsciously under thin pajama pants when another phantom pulse shot through him at some long-dead nerve ending that shouldn't even be reacting this way.
His skin felt tight in a way he had never felt before. It was odd, yet made him feel more human.
Zeno's breath hitched, sharp and punched-out. His entire body locked as the phantom sensation of teeth grazed his lower lip, a phantom tongue dragging hot and wet over it.
The memories weren't just images anymore… they were sensations, flooding him like an open floodgate. The pressure of fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to sting… the rough drag of stubble against his throat as Chris murmured something filthy into skin that wasn’t even Zeno’s.
A slow trickle between trembling thighs where he was leaking from grabbed his attention.
He was hyperaware of every inch of himself in the moment; the sweat cooling on his skin, the throb of need between his legs, the ache in his throat where something was trying to crawl itself out.
But his brain kept sending him memories, almost as if it wanted to drive him over the edge. Memory after memory of Albert Wesker. Being bent over or pressed into sheets, or the wall, or his desk, or the—
Zeno clenched his jaw and slammed a hand down against his bulge, roughly grabbing at himself with a sharp hiss. His hand was trapped between his legs, heat and friction building with every desperate grind of his hips.
The phantom sensations worsened: teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder; a calloused palm wrapping around him from behind like Chris had known exactly how to touch him even before they'd ever met. A muffled groan against damp skin that wasn’t his but felt too real to ignore. He bit down hard on a whimper when another sharp throb pulsed through him, this time laced with shame so thick it choked at the back of throat.
"Get out," he whispered harshly toward the ceiling. "Just get out."
A rush of sensations flooded his system, almost too overwhelming to bear. The rough bite of Chris' stubble against his inner thighs; the heat of an open-mouthed kiss pressed hungrily against his hip. He'd never realized just how sensitive he'd become, or how intensely he'd react now that those sensations were no longer locked away in a memory.
He was in Chris’s lap, stuffed full of him as his hips moved rhythmically up and down. His nails were digging into the man’s back but he didn’t seem to care too much, just grunted in a slight wince before leaning forward to press his lips against the shell of his ear.
”You’re doing good. You’re a good boy.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
He never knew he wanted to hear that until now. This was certainly a new development for him.
Zeno let out a strangled sound of surprise, his head falling back to expose the pale column of his throat to the imaginary mouth trailing down to his collarbone. He hadn't thought about being praised in any capacity, let alone so easily, yet the words sent a surge of heat rushing through his core. His thighs shook violently at the praise that shouldn't be doing that much for him.
His hands scrambled to grab at a strong, solid shoulder with desperate hands, trying to find something to anchor himself with. “Y-Yes I am… yes I am… yes I am..!” He chanted to himself, burying his face into the crook of phantom Chris’s neck as he continued to move eagerly. Zeno shuddered a full-body, violent tremble as the phantom praise sank into his skin like a brand. His hips stuttered, grinding down harder in desperate circles as he chased the friction with a whimper caught between his teeth.
"Yes… fuck," he choked out against damp fabric that didn't exist. "Say it again." His fingers dug bruises into broad shoulders as if trying to drag Chris closer through sheer will alone. He was drowning in sensations that weren’t even real anymore but felt too vivid to ignore.
The way Wesker’s body had clenched around Chris' cock echoed in Zeno's own muscles now; phantom fingers pinching at swollen nipples just hard enough to make him cry out quietly under breathless moans of "Y-Yes! Like th-that!"
He was suddenly shoved onto his back, Wesker’s legs moving to wrap around Chris’s waist as the man thrusted back into him like an eager animal in heat. Those soft grey eyes were staring into his soul with so much love despite the brutal pace, looking out for any sign of pain.
Chris was such a fucking angel.
”Y-You take me so well, sir… such a good boy…”
A sob ripped from Zeno’s throat as the phantom sensation of being filled to bursting overwhelmed him. His hips jerked up, chasing a friction that wasn’t his, but he couldn't stop, couldn't think beyond the way Chris' voice had melted into something so unbearably tender.
"Sir—?" The word tumbled out in a shattered gasp as his back arched off sheets. He clawed at empty air where strong hands should be pinning him down; teeth gritted against another wave of white-hot pleasure threatening to consume him whole. His vision blurred behind sunglasses still stubbornly clinging to his face, despite sweat and tears streaking down flushed cheeks.
He was thrusted back into his own body when a spurt of cum splashed the front of his boxers in his pajama pants, seeping into the fabric and against his trembling hand.
Everything was still for a moment.
Then it all came crashing back; the intensity, the desperation, the heat... the loneliness.
He was alone.
The memories were just that—memories.
He was nothing but an empty shell trying to fill a gap that wasn't meant for him.
He curled up on his side, biting his lip hard enough to almost draw the taste of fresh blood. His body was exhausted, his mind a mess. He was exhausted, confused, and lost.
He felt empty.
The sensations faded, but the emotions remained. Shame crept in, heavy and unwanted. He wanted to be angry, at himself and at the memories, but his mind was too tired to do much else.
He'd just experienced some level of intimacy for the first time, and it wasn't even real. Not really. It was a ghost of someone else's memory; stolen from a cold, dead man who'd done unspeakable things with a smile plastered across his face.
And yet, he ached for more. Ached like it hurt.
Ached for the man who was probably just a few rooms away, hopefully sleeping peacefully.
He couldn't go back to sleep like this. He couldn't face Chris tomorrow morning, knowing just how badly he'd been craving it, how badly he'd needed it…
His thighs clenched at the sticky mess in the front of his pants, and he shivered, shame rushing through him again.
He'd just gotten off to Chris, someone who'd saved his life, offered his hospitality while asking for nothing in return, only to have his mind plagued by memories from a dead man.
He felt sick.
Breakfast was awkward, as one would expect.
Zeno stalled for as much time as he could before Chris came banging on his door to yell at him about the food getting cold. He forced himself to move despite feeling a bit dazed from the lack of sleep he’d gotten, throwing on a black t-shirt and sweatpants. One hand reached up to readjust his sunglasses, taking comfort in the thin metal before heading out the door to make a beeline toward the kitchen.
Zeno kept his eyes low as he padded quietly into the kitchen, hands shoved into the pockets of gray sweatpants. The dark bags under his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but he felt every bit as sleep-deprived as he probably looked.
His stomach let out a loud rumble at the sight of food sitting on the table; bacon, eggs, toast. But the guilt and shame from last night weighed even heavier on his chest. "Morning," he mumbled, taking a seat without looking at the man across from him.
Chris looked up from his coffee, eyebrows furrowing as he took in Zeno's disheveled appearance. "Morning," he muttered back, voice gruff with sleep and lingering irritation. "You look less… elegant than usual." He pointed a fork toward him without any real heat behind it. "Eat something before you pass out on me."
Zeno's fingers twitched around the edge of the table, his throat dry as he swallowed hard. "Elegant," he repeated quietly to himself before scoffing under his breath like it was a joke. He pushed a piece of toast around on his plate instead of taking a bite, too aware of Chris watching him with that sharp gaze.
"...Didn't sleep well." A weak excuse at best; one that made him wince internally when even he didn’t buy it for half-a-second.
The phantom sensations from last night were still clinging stubbornly in the back corners if not entirely gone yet. The scrape between legs beneath sweatpants suddenly unbearable all over again whenever they rubbed together just slightly wrong...
Chris' brow furrowed even further, concern beginning to replace the irritation. He set his fork down, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "You look like a damn zombie," he said bluntly, his eyes still studying Zeno intently. "Not the first time you've had problems sleeping, is it?"
Zeno clenched his jaw, the corner of his mouth twitching as he felt that sharp gaze scrutinizing his every move. It was as if he could feel those calloused fingers tracing along every muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. "No." he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I—" He paused, biting down on his lip. "It's just been… worse lately."
He felt like a child; making pathetic excuses for something that was not his fault. It was humiliating.
Chris' gaze softened slightly, his expression one of thoughtful curiosity. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"Worse?" He echoed. "How so?"
"Just." Zeno’s mouth felt dry, words catching in his throat. He took a sip of water to clear it, his hand shaking just slightly. "I just..." He trailed off, his fingers clenching into fists beneath the table. He couldn't bring himself to look at Chris, the memory of what he'd done last night fresh in his mind.
"I—" No. He couldn't tell him about that. It was shameful. Pathetic.
Perverted.
"Nevermind," he muttered, shaking his head faintly. "I don’t want to talk about it… right now."
Chris studied him silently for a moment, his gaze sharp. "Fine, then. You don't have to talk," he said gruffly, picking his fork back up to poke at the eggs on his plate. "But if whatever's messing with your head gets worse, you need to let me know. Understand?"
Zeno exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound of relief mixed with gratitude. "...Understood." He murmured before finally taking a bite of toast, chewing slowly as if stalling for time. His eyes flicked up to Chris again briefly before looking down at the table.
The silence between them wasn't entirely uncomfortable anymore; just… heavy. Like there was too much left unsaid in the air between them.
It wasn't until Chris took a long sip of his coffee that he spoke again. “Y’know, i’ve been meaning to ask… what’s with the sunglasses?” He grunted. “I mean at first I thought it was just a weird fashion choice on your part, but I don’t think i’ve ever seen you without them on.”
Zeno paused midway through his next bite, a flash of discomfort crossing his face. He finished chewing slowly before swallowing, delaying the inevitable. "...Light sensitivity." He said flatly. "I’ve got astigmatism. They’re double lenses. When I was given my powers from the T-Virus, it severely damaged my eyesight.”
Chris raised an eyebrow, surprised by the explanation. "Astigmatism, huh? That explains a lot actually." He took another long sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving Zeno's face. "And here I thought you just liked looking mysterious," he said gruffly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So… you’re basically blind without them?”
Zeno let out a short, breathy chuckle. "Not blind blind," he corrected with a small shake of his head. "But yeah, I couldn’t see shit if it wasn't for these things." He adjusted the frame slightly on his nose.
"...Do you want me to take them off?" The question came out hesitant; as if part of him was genuinely considering it despite how exposed that would make him feel right now.
Chris froze, his coffee halfway to his lips. He lowered the mug slowly, studying Zeno with a look that was equal parts surprised and wary. "...Do you want to?" He countered carefully. "Because if it makes you uncomfortable, I don't need to see your eyes."
Zeno took in a deep breath, his heart doing that strange flutter in his chest he hadn't understood until last night.
He did want to take them off. He wanted to see how Chris would look at him after seeing his eyes, wanted to know if there would be disgust on that rough face. He was a glutton for punishment apparently.
"...Yeah. Yeah, I want to." He mumbled. His hands shook as they reached up, his breath quickening with each second. His fingers hovered near the frame, hesitating for only half a second before pushing them up and over his head in one swift motion.
His amber eyes, sharp and slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep, met Chris' with an intensity that felt too raw now that there was nothing left hiding it. He instinctively began to squint, trying to catch the man’s extremely blurry reaction.
"...They're not red," Chris finally muttered out loud, more to himself than anything else, as if confirming this fact made it realer somehow. He swallowed hard before forcing himself to look away first. "Guess I owe you an apology for assuming they were. You don’t… have his eyes.”
Zeno sighed heavily through his nose, the breath shaky and uneven as if he'd been holding it since the moment he took off the black glasses. He could only see the blurry shape of Chris' head across the table, the rest of his form nothing more than a hazy haze in the bright lighting of the kitchen. His eyes watered slightly, trying to clear that fuzzy filter as his chest squeezed tight with something akin to grief.
"...Do you... like them?" The question slipped out before thought could stop it and Zeno immediately regretted it with how stupidly hopeful it sounded.
Chris' fingers tensed around his mug, his jaw clenching reflexively. “Of course I do," he said gruffly. "They look good on you. They look damn good. If anything, i’m relieved they’re different.”
Zeno's heart twisted in his chest, that same stupid hope rising in him again as an unfamiliar heat crept up his neck. The relief in that rough voice was almost palpable; like a vice that had been clenched around Chris' throat for a long, long time had just loosened. Zeno's gaze dropped down to the table, trying to hide how those words affected him.
“Oh. That’s… nice.”
Chris cleared his throat roughly before reaching out across the table to nudge one of Zeno’s hands with two fingers. “Quit acting all embarrassed about it," he muttered gruffly, though there wasn't any real annoyance behind it. "They're your eyes." He gave him a smile. "Good eyes.”
Zeno wanted to snatch his hand away in some kind of reflex, but he couldn't bring himself to move for fear of losing the warm contact. His fingers twitched unconsciously, curling slightly against Chris' in an almost desperate urge to hold on.
Please hold me.
"Y-yeah," he murmured, his own voice sounding foreign and rough to his ears. "I guess they are."