Chris always found a certain peace would settle upon them after a mission, almost as if a shroud descended to muffle the world outside their insular group. It felt comforting just to sit after such violence, to focus all his attentions on caring for his weaponry – always the most important part of their kit, no matter the circumstances.
Chris found it satisfying to watch Wesker clean his Samurai Edge during those times of quiet; his head bowed, a glint of eye showing above his sunglasses, a near-imperceptible smile touching his lips like a jewelled dragonfly hovering over a still pond. Chris wanted desperately to be the one to bring that smirk to Wesker's lips, to be the cause of that tiny crease of emotion.
Maybe it was voyeuristic, the way his eyes were always drawn to Wesker, but Chris simply could not help himself. He loved to watch the muscles of Wesker's forearms ripple under creamy skin; he loved how the gathered material of rolled up sleeves pressed Wesker's skin whiter; he especially loved how Wesker would, without fail, get a single smear of gunoil on his forearm and then tut upon noticing it and erase it with a swipe of his thumb.
Chris lost himself in an imagining of those forearms holding him by the wrists, the hardness at Wesker's groin mixed with his own which, he realised sharply, was beginning to be somewhat more than a daydream. He flushed and darted a look at Wesker, snapping his eyes away when he realised that he was being watched. Shit! He dared a second glance – Wesker was smirking, damn him. Chris thanked all his lucky stars that they'd not invented mind-reading technology yet and smirked right back.
Wesker crooked an eyebrow in a question and suddenly all Chris' false confidence dissolved. He fixed his gaze firmly upon his gun and rubbed the barrel furiously.
A shadow fell across him and he looked up, right into Wesker's crotch. He glared up at Wesker, daring him to make a snide comment, but he simply smirked again.
"If you want to ask me something, Chris, I suggest you grow some balls and get on with it." He looked at Chris over the top of his sunglasses and his voice dropped low. "Or I might find mysef embarrassing the both of us by ravishing you right here in the office."
Blood rushed not to Chris' face but to a somewhat more embarrassing part of his body and he shuffled in his seat, covering himself surreptituously with his oilcloth. Wesker glanced down and the ghost of a smile graced his lips. He tilted his head, mouthed later and then stalked out of the room leaving Chris gaping after him like a hormonal teenager.
Later, he thought with a grin of anticipation. Later.