It was over.
The rain hadn't started yet, but the air was thick with the promise of it. Chris Redfield stood at the edge of the factory's vast, shadowed parking lot, the bulk of the derelict structure looming behind them like a rotten tooth against the bruised purple of the evening sky.
It was over.
The mission—a routine inspection of a suspected bioweapon parts fabricator that had turned into anything but—was done. The evidence was secured, the rogue security team neutralized, the self-destruct sequence aborted with seconds to spare. The usual yearly incident.
God, he hated it. But it was necessary for this ever-growing cruel world. Without people like him, it would all go to shit.
"Signal's still scrambled. Back up won't be here for twenty minutes," Chris murmured, lowering his satellite phone. The adrenaline was leaching away, leaving behind the familiar, heavy fatigue. He glanced at his sister.
Claire was a few feet behind. The fellow Redfield harboured a similar kind of confidence as him. He was proud of that.
Like her brother, she was a fine specimen. A brunette that had guys turning, even in the grime and in the red, sleeveless vest. Following missions, Chris was often asked by his low-operating agents about her marital status. He was happy to give it away but…nothing ever came of it.
Damn shame that Claire hadn't found a boyfriend yet. Unlike him, she had the chance. She had the personality. She had the…normalcy.
But Redfields were Redfields, Chris supposed, and it didn't seem like the bloodline would be continuing anytime soon. 'Not as long as this keeps happening,' Chris thought, glancing at the factory once more.
Claire caught up, eyes fixed on the chain-link fence gate at the lot's perimeter. She had been fiddling with her phone before this.
"So? You too?"
"Yes, it's scrambled, but don't worry. I texted someone beforehand," Claire said.
"You did?" Chris huffed, a short, exasperated breath. "Claire, protocol—"
"Protocol was a plasma cutter to the main reactor housing, Chris. My protocol was don't die." She finally looked at him, a flash of her familiar, stubborn smirk visible in the gloom. "I sent a pin. They're coming."
"They? Who's 'they'? H.Q. is still dark."
"My H.Q.," she said, turning back to the fence. "Just… be cool, okay?"
Chris was flabbergasted. 'Talk about vague. My HQ? What in the world does that mean?'
Headlights speared the darkness, twin orbs growing rapidly larger down the long, deserted access road. Not the boxy, armored shape of a B.S.A.A. transport. This was lower, sleeker. And the engine sound was wrong—a strained, four-cylinder whine, not the diesel growl he was expecting.
"Is this a damn sedan?" Chris murmured.
Yes. Yes, it was. A decade-old compact sedan in a faded shade of blue, bounced over the potholes with a disregard for its own suspension that made Chris wince. The door opened too. Chris tensed up, if only on instinct. There was still a fence between them, not to mention his pistol had two bullets left.
The man who climbed out was…untrained. He had a civilian's hurried shuffle, not a soldier's tactical advance.
Chris's hand drifted instinctively to the sidearm on his thigh. Because this kind of wrongness had to be bad. Right?
But Claire, fully confident and with what Chris swore was a smile opened up the fence door and went through.
The young man—he couldn't have been older than twenty-five—slammed the car door and hurried toward Claire, his face pale and anxious in the backwash of his own headlights. He was tall, lanky, dressed in jeans and a rumpled black shirt. Completely, utterly ordinary.
"Hi, babe," Claire greeted, trying to be casual about it. Chris was still behind the fence door, holding it open.
His jaw dropped.
'B-babe?'
Claire greeted oh-so casually but it was a ruse. He heard her giggle. He swore he did. The flashlight dropped then too, its beam painting their feet. The rigid, survivor's tension that had defined her frame for the last six hours evaporated. A smile broke across her face, a real one, wide and unguarded, and she met the young man in two long strides.
He opened his arms and she flowed into them, her body pressing flush against his. Chris saw her hands come up, one cupping the back of George's neck, the other sliding down his back. And then her mouth was on his.
It wasn't a peck. It wasn't a chaste reunion kiss. Any guy or girl could tell that from the hug alone that it wasn't going to be. Claire's head tilted, her lips parting George's with an urgency that was palpable even from ten feet away.
That was when Chris's soldier instincts screamed, and he jerked his gaze away, scanning the dark factory windows, the empty lot, the tree line. 'Perimeter secure. No movement. All clear.'
See, a kiss meant it was all over. Which meant just in case—just in fucking case—he had to triple-check. People were most vulnerable when they were the happiest; the safest. Chris missed out on it then: the way George's hands were everywhere—one tangled in the auburn hair at the nape of Claire's neck, the other splayed possessively on her ass. How Claire surged against him, one of her legs—the one clad in tight, practical tactical pants—bending at the knee and sliding up, hooking around George's thigh, hiking herself even closer.
When Chris looked back, they were still kissing. He couldn't see exactly where Claire's hand, but the way George's whole body shuddered, his head falling back for a second before Claire chased his mouth again, told him everything.
It felt like it lasted an hour. It was probably thirty seconds. It was the most erotic and romantic kiss Chris had ever seen. Sliding a leg up, cupping his balls, and moaning into it.
'Who…in the world is this guy?'
Not a government worker and certainly not a face he had ever seen anywhere. He squinted when they finally broke apart. It was only by inches, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in ragged, visible puffs in the cold air. Claire's eyes were closed, a look of profound, dizzy relief on her face that Chris had only ever seen on her after the most harrowing of escapes.
When they finally broke apart, it was only by inches, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in ragged, visible puffs in the cold air. Claire's eyes were closed, a look of profound, dizzy relief on her face that Chris had only ever seen on her after the most harrowing of escapes.
"You okay? Your text…"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm okay. We're okay. It's over." Claire's voice was softer than Chris had ever heard it. She leaned in, brushing her nose against his. "You came really fast though. I'm impressed."
"Of course I came. It was an hour-long drive. I think I broke every traffic law in the state." He let out a shaky laugh. "You're sure you're not hurt?"
She shook her head, finally opening her eyes to look at him. "Just need a shower. And you."
Chris cleared his throat. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet.
Two heads turned toward him. Claire's expression shifted, the private, loved-up glow tempering into something more recognizably Claire. Kind of. As though remembering he was there, her cheeks went red in embarrassment. George's eyes widened slightly, taking in the hulking, armored figure of Chris Redfield for the first time. He kept one arm firmly around Claire's waist.
"Oh! Right. George, this is Chris, my brother. Chris, this is George." Claire paused, and the next words hit Chris harder than Wesker ever did. "My fiancé."
Fiancé. The word bounced around his skull, not finding purchase. Fiancé. Claire.
"Whoa," George said, extending a hand gate, a slightly awestruck and nervous grin on his face. "Chris Redfield. Man, it's… it's a real honor. Claire talks about you all the time."
Mechanically, Chris reached out and shook the hand. It was a good, firm grip, but it was a civilian's hand. No calluses from weapon drills, no scars from tactical lines. "Yeah," Chris managed, his voice gruff. "Likewise."
"Yeah, wow. You're way bigger than you look."
George laughed awkwardly a little more. He wasn't intimidated by him, but by his state. The grime and smudges of blood, it was off-putting for a civilian.
Especially a civilian who smelled like burgers.
'Don't tell me…'
The first fat, cold raindrop splattered against Chris's forehead. He had to put that thought on pause.
"Shit, it's starting," George said, looking up at the sky. "Let's get out of here. Come on, get in the car."
George ushered Claire to the passenger side, opening the door for her with a hand on the small of her back. Chris stood frozen for a moment longer before walking stiffly to the rear door and sliding into the back seat.
The interior of the car was clean but worn, smelling of pine air freshener and burgers. A university parking pass hung from the rearview mirror. A stack of graded papers sat on the back seat, which Chris moved aside with numb fingers. 'He's a teacher? A student?' he tried to tell himself.
Claire settled into the front seat with a sigh that was pure exhaustion and relief. As George jogged around to the driver's side, Chris watched his sister. She pulled off her fingerless tactical gloves, one after the other, tossing them onto the dashboard. And there, on the third finger of her left hand, was a ring.
It wasn't a massive diamond. Far from it, it wasn't a diamond at all, a solitaire set on a slim, silver band.
Wow. Wesker had nothing on this George guy. Chris thought his eyes were bulging and his lungs had stopped. 'Holy fuck. She really IS engaged.'
George got in, the car rocking with his weight. He turned the key, and the engine coughed to life. He didn't pull away immediately, just reached over, his hand finding Claire's on the center console. Their fingers laced together, resting on the worn vinyl of the glove compartment. It was a simple, unconscious gesture, one of deep familiarity. Chris stared at their joined hands. At the ring.
"You sure you're okay?" George asked again, his voice low, just for her.
"I'm sure. Now that you're here." She squeezed his hand. "Did you feed Mr. Whiskers?"
Who the fuck was Mr. Whiskers?
"I did right before leaving. Also, I definitely woke up Mrs. Henderson's dog again peeling out of the driveway. She is going to knock on our door at seven a.m. tomorrow with another 'concerned about the noise' lecture, I guarantee it."
Claire giggled. It was a light, musical sound that was right on her. Chris stared at the back of her head. It wasn't wrong or anything, just...it had been a while since he heard that out of her.
"Tell her you're a national security asset responding to an emergency," Claire said, a playful lilt in her. Not just in her voice but her body language too.
"Oh yeah, that'll go over great. 'Sorry for the revving, ma'am, my girlfriend was fighting bioterrorists.' She'd call the men in white coats to take me away."
"Wait, so, did you manage to get to work or…?"
"Oh no, I got off early."
"Thank goodness. Didn't want you skipping out and having no explanation."
"Right. Less people suspect me at all, the better. Man..." His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "It sounds so cool when I say it out loud."
Chris had had enough. "So," he said, his voice louder than he intended, cutting through the thick atmosphere. "Fiancé."
The two in front jumped slightly, as if they'd forgotten he was there. George laughed, an awkward, nervous sound. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. Nice to meet you, man. I, uh, kinda know how it is. Secrets and military stuff."
"That's not what I mean," Chris said, leaning forward between the seats. He focused on Claire. "I'm her brother. I'm not just 'military.' I should know."
Claire's shoulders tensed. She didn't turn around, but she glanced at George, a silent communication passing between them. "Chris… I wanted to tell you. I really did. But there was never a good time—"
"Really?"
"Yes, really. You were in Eastern Europe for that six-week op, and then I was embedded with TerraSave in South America, and then this factory thing came up… the last couple days were spent prepping for this."
"So how long has this…" He flicked a finger between them. "Going on?"
"W-well, we met a year ago and a half ago. Got engaged…" George looked at Claire for permission. She gave it. "Two months ago. Ish."
"Two months," Chris stated flatly, looking at George. "You've been engaged for two months."
George nodded, meeting Chris's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Yeah. Two months last Tuesday. We, uh, we went to this little Italian place by the river. I had the ring in the tiramisu. She almost choked on it."
Claire smiled at the memory, a private, tender smile that made Chris feel like an intruder. But then it fell when she heard his little tacked-on joke. "I did not almost choke. I was surprised."
"You squealed. You squealed like you'd seen a mouse, not a diamond."
"I did not squeal!"
"You totally squealed. It was adorable."
Chris fell silent, sinking back into his seat. He looked out the window. The rain was coming down in earnest now, sheeting across the empty fields that surrounded the factory complex. The wipers slapped back and forth in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The city lights were a distant, hazy glow on the horizon. A fifteen-minute drive, at least. Fifteen minutes in this tiny, warm, love-saturated box.
The silence stretched, filled only by the rain, the wipers, and the soft rustle of Claire shifting in her seat to look back at him.
"Chris… I'm sorry. I should have found a way."
"Yeah," he said, not looking at her. "You should have."
George cleared his throat, clearly trying to defuse the tension. "So, uh, Chris. We're heading back into the city. Where can we drop you? Your place or…?"
Chris didn't have a 'place' here. He had a B.S.A.A. safe house hotel room, booked under a false name. The thought of going there, to a sterile, empty room, while his sister went home with her… her fiancé…
It was like he didn't know anything anymore.
Before he could answer, Claire spoke up. "He should come back with us. Our place. It's late, it's pouring. You can crash on the couch, Chris. We have a guest room, but it's full of… boxes." She said the last word with a slight hesitation.
George nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, absolutely! The couch is super comfortable, I swear. And we have beer. The good kind you can't get on base, I bet."
Our place. We. Us.
Claire had a home. With a man. A home with boxes in a guest room and good beer in the fridge.
Chris just grunted, a non-committal sound. He was too busy trying to process the tectonic shift in his family. He looked up at George.
'Is this guy going to be my damn brother-in-law?'
Apparently fucking so.
George took Chris' look as assent. "Awesome. Okay. Home it is." He flipped the turn signal, though there wasn't another car in sight for miles, and guided the sedan onto the on-ramp for the highway leading back to the city. The tires hissed on the wet asphalt.
"...so." Chris couldn't end the conversation here. "George. What do you do for work?"
"Oh, I work at a burger place! Part-time, actually. I'm going to community college too for costume designing."
"Costume…designing…?"
"Like cosplay!"
"...right."
What the fuck was cosplay?
"Ah, how about burgers for dinner?" George said like it was an announcement. "Trust me, I've learned a lot over the past year on how to make a mean burger."
Claire giggled. "The best burgers."
Chris Redfield, veteran of countless bioweapon outbreaks, slayer of horrors, felt lost. He sat in the back of the cheap, rattling sedan, watching his little sister's engagement ring glint in the passing streetlights, and wondered when, exactly, the world had changed without telling him. The factory mission was over. But this, he realized with a sinking feeling, was just beginning. The car turned onto a tree-lined street, heading toward a place Claire called 'home.'
***
The couple did not live in some grand place. Nope, not at all. It wasn't a fortress, not a sterile barracks or a temporary safe-house. It was a home. An actual home. Poor old Chris was shell-shocked by how ordinary it was. Nestled on a quiet, tree-lined street, it was a narrow three-story townhouse in a soft cream color. A tiny, wrought-iron balcony jutted from the second floor, potted herbs lining its rail.
The damn pots actually had Chris stand there and just stare. Those were grown, not plastic. Did Claire own this place? Or…or was this George?
He tilted his head back down, returning to reality. George fumbled with the keys, Claire leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Yeah, Christ was never going to get used to this fiancée shit. He stood a pace behind the short staircase, his bulk and tactical gear feeling absurdly out of place.
"Ah, there!" Clumsy George opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and said, "Please take off your boots, by the way!"
"Understood."
Like a domesticated attack dog, he dropped down to untie his shoe laces. These were serious, tactical hardware. They did not come off easily. Claire thought it was extreme considering the tour, but, well, he ended up being right.
George and Claire patiently waited for him and as Chris rose to his feet, he was gestured into a living room that was cozy. He actually drew in the air and liked it. Chris' jaw clenched and he pretended otherwise but…
He started scanning like any good soldier. A comfortable blue sofa had a colorful quilt thrown over it and was parallel to a huge family-sized television. Chris paused and couldn't believe he said family-sized. Movie posters and some simple paintings were pinned to the walls.
"Welcome to chaos," George said, grinning. "The guest room is, uh, currently a storage unit for my fabric collection. I'll try and clean it up when I can."
"Okay."
"And, uh…right, burgers!"
However, to Chris and George's surprise, Claire was near the staircase, already peeling off her red vest. "I'm gonna shower. You two… talk. Play nice, Chris." She gave her brother a look that was both pleading and stern before disappearing up the stairs.
"Okay, Claire! Have fun!"
Chris could hear her laugh echoing. George watched her go to the end, then he turned to Chris with that easy smile. "So. Burgers. I promised. Let me get the grill going." He moved into the kitchen. Not only was it surprisingly large but also surprisingly tidy. That same damn word pooped in Chris' head.
Family-sized.
"You can sit. I-if you want."
Chris remained standing, feeling like a statue in a dollhouse. He watched George flick on the stove and pull a package of ground beef from the fridge, gathering onions, cheese. It was so… mundane.
Just hours ago, he had been fighting for his life. His ears were still mildly ringing from it.
"You…really cook?" Chris finally asked, awkward and gruff.
"Part of the job," George said, not looking up as he began forming patties. "But yeah!"
"Your job…is to…flip burgers?"
"Mhm!"
"You own it or…?"
"Oh, no, no, I work the register and flip the burgers." George glanced at Chris. "Not very exciting, I know, haha! Oh, uh, if you want, you can take off your chest plate. The sofa can hold it."
Chris grunted. He walked over and unbuckled his chest plate, letting the heavy armor drop onto the sofa with a thud. The pistol he placed carefully on the coffee table. He felt exposed in just his dark undershirt, but, well, there was a time to relax. There had to be. Otherwise, there was no point to any of this.
George seasoned the patties with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Claire told me a bit. Not details, but I know what you do is really important! So please, feel free to relax."
"...right."
George didn't press. He just cooked. The sizzle of meat hitting the hot pan filled the room with a rich, greasy aroma. Soon, the smell of caramelizing onions joined it. Chris's stomach, forgotten for hours, growled.
Twenty minutes later, they were at a small wooden dining table in the kitchen nook. So far, Chris hadn't initiated the conversation. It was George that had to fill in the blanks. In front of him, Chris had a burger piled high with cheese, onions, pickles, and a special sauce George had whipped up.
Claire yet hadn't returned so…
"Eat up!" said George with a grin. Chris met his eyes, looked down, and grabbed the juicy burger with his stocky fingers.
Chris took a bite.
"Ah."
He took another bite.
The burger was, in Chris's unbiased opinion, fucking incredible.
The patty was juicy and perfectly seasoned, the cheese melted into a creamy blanket, the onions sweet and sharp. He ate with the focused intensity of a man who'd survived on military rations for years.
"Heh, is it good?"
"Phenomanl," George said. Bite after bite cut down on the burger and in a matter of seconds, it was gone.
"Haha, don't worry, I got another! I was told you have an appetite."
Indeed, George readied several burgers for him. Honestly? Overkill. But good gods, he was hungry. This kind of mission made a man's muscles feel like noodles and stomach starve. Put simply, he ate that shit up.
"So," George said, taking a bite of his own burger. "Chris. Uh, Claire says you were in the Air Force? Was that fun?"
Chris nodded, chewing. "Joined when I was eighteen. No, seventeen. Did a stint, then moved to police work."
"Police? Like, regular cop?"
"No. It was Special Services in Raccoon City," Chris said, the words tasting like ash.
George's eyes widened. "Oh. Wow. That's…"
Yeah, no need for elaboration. Chris eyed him. "So, Claire told you."
"A-a little bit, yeah…."
Chris took another bite, letting the flavor wash away the memory.
"Well, uh, I dropped out of college!" George said cheerfully. "Looks like we're both drop-outs!"
"Uh-huh." Bite. "You just work at the burger place?"
"Oh no, I do costume design at college."
Chris looked at him. Seriously? Like…Claire chose this guy of all guys? His jolly-good nature of everything was disarming. "Okay. Why costumes?"
"It's fun."
Fun. Right.
Chris felt a strange, hollow pang. Having fun in life…so this was what it was like. A home, a job, a partner. Claire was living a life. He took another bite, the third burger almost gone. "You…met at the burger place?"
"Nah. At my college library. She was researching something and I was sketching designs. She asked if I knew where the structural engineering textbooks were. I didn't, but I helped her look." George's smile turned fond. "She was so serious. So focused. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
There was a brief silence. Chris finished his burger. "It's good. The burger."
George's face lit up. "Thanks! I've been perfecting the sauce. It's a secret blend of mayo, ketchup, and a dash of smoked paprika."
"...mind putting that down on a notepad?" Chris cracked a smile. "It was a hell of a burger."
George grinned and winked. "Sorry, family secret for now!"
For now. Heh. Good confidence. Chris was starting to like this guy.
"So, what's your current work like? Got a partner?"
Chris thought of Jill. "I did. I do. She's the best."
"Sounds complicated?"
"...a little."
"That's good though. Complicated but you're still close! That's the best kind of relationship! I have a saying actually—there's no such thing as a simple, easy relationship! It's all tough."
Chris chuckled at that. "You're wiser than you look, George."
After that, somehow, the conversation grew. Chris settled. George was a talker, alright. He went on and on about his classes and about the joy of seeing someone wear his creation at a convention. Ever since he started dating Claire, he got to brush up on making clothes for women. He found out he was quite good at it.
The future brother-in-law talked about his neighbors, about the noisy dog, about his plan to maybe open a small costume shop someday. It was all so… small. So human.
"Ah, Mr. Whiskers! You're here!" George beamed at the cat that was walking into the kitchen. Chris glanced at it. It was a black cat. "He's a stray," George explained briefly before getting up to feed it. "Got any pets yourself?"
"Nah. Used to have a dog way back when though."
"Oooh, do tell."
Chris told.
Chris, for the first time in years, felt normal. Sitting in a warm kitchen, talking about life with a civilian. No missions, no protocols, no impending doom.
"Seriously!? You called him Dracula!?"
Chris exhaled and suppressed a chuckle. "L-look, I was a kid and I thought the movie was cool. And, uh…"
"Hah! Did he have the teeth?"
"Yeah, he did."
"You're lying."
"I'm not. They were real canine teeth, man."
That was when Claire arrived. Peeking from the doorway to the stairs, a towel draped over her shoulder, and seeing her brother laugh. They were getting along. Claire looked down at the floor, smiling.
Chris only noticed thirty seconds later when Claire spun. He tensed up, then relaxed. Seeing her, Chris even waved. George waved too, getting up to greet her.
"Claire! Great timing! Is it really true you named your childhood dog Dracula!?" George asked.
Claire shook her head. "Yeah, that was Chris' idea."
"You loved it too."
"Did not—and that dog left us too. It was barely ours," Claire replied.
Another twenty minutes passed of full conversation and laughter. Chris suddenly realized his lips had been stretching into a smile for far too long. As though the house was under attack, he stood up. He saw that the clock on the wall pointed to twelve.
"Uh, Chris? What's wrong?" Claire asked, head tilting.
"I should go. By now, backup will be mobilizing a search if I don't check in."
"Oh. Oh shit." Claire buried her face in her hands. "Right, right…"
George slowly got up. "Uhh, is it far?"
"A little," Chris replied.
"Take my car. It's shitty, but it's dry and it runs."
Chris blinked. "Your car?"
"Yeah. You need to get to your place, right? Or to wherever you need to debrief. Claire's safe here. So take it." George was already heading over and grabbing the keys from a hook by the door. "Just don't get it impounded. It's got a lot of sentimental value."
Chris got his tactical armour on and took the keys. Chris smiled. "Thank you." And almost, almost, he added "brother".
"No problem. Seriously." George smiled. "You're welcome anytime, Chris. Our house is yours."
"Uhh, not exactly." Claire was suddenly beside her fiancée, head cocked. "You're welcome most days but not the weekends okay."
"Ha. Fine."
Chris looked at George and his earnest face. He looked at Claire, standing beside him comfortably.
Chris reached out, a rare gesture, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Be safe."
Claire seemed surprised, but smiled and nodded. "You too, Chris."
Chris left. The door was open, the couple watching him. He walked the sidewalk and looked at the keys in his hand. He snorted seeing the cheap sedan. He got in. As he drove away, he saw Claire and George waving.
Seeing the silhouettes of the man and woman, a funny thought hit him: 'The Redfield lineage is going to continue on, it seems.'
From the doorway, Claire and George watched from the window as the blue sedan pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the night. George's arm slipped around Claire's waist, his hand settling on the curve of her hip.
"You know," George said, a playful note returning to his voice as he glanced at Claire. "If you're not too tired later… I was thinking we could finally break in that new showerhead. The one with the multiple settings."
Claire laughed. She swatted George's arm. "You're terrible. I just showered."
"Hey, we gotta be thorough."
"Uh-huh. Right."
"Mhm! After the day you've had, I think you deserve a thorough decontamination. One shower won't be enough."
She gave him that look. Smiling, eyes sharpening playfully, and licking her lips. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"I'm calling it fucking you senseless against the tile until you forget your own name, but 'decontamination' sounds more polite, honey."
Claire giggled again, that schoolgirl sound, and leaned over, kissing George on the cheek. "You're on, professor."
He smacked her ass—a quick, firm slap that sent a jolt of heat through her cunt—to push her back inside. Claire loved it. As the door closed, she didn't just walk to the stairs. She walked and stripped.
Her sleep shirt came off first, tossed over her shoulder onto the floor. Then her sweatpants, shucked down her legs and kicked aside. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her bra and panties, discarded after her shower, were still upstairs. Claire was nude in the middle of the living room, the warm light painting her skin in gold.
She looked over her shoulder and winked.
He could see her toned, round ass. He could see her pussy too as she walked.
Claire Redfield was a warrior, a survivor, a force of nature. But here, in their home, she was a woman.
She had a classic hourglass figure, lady-like curves that seemed drawn by a desire to be touched. Her breasts were a generous C-cup that jiggled as she spun to look at him fully. There was a necklace too, giving the lucky chance to be tucked right between her breasts.
Her waist was narrow and led down to hips that were made for holding. And her ass… her ass was a statement. Spinning, they jiggled with her tits. Round and firm, like two perfect peaches plumped with sin, they jiggled and jiggled as she jogged up the stairs. A hypnotic bounce that made George's mouth go dry and his cock throb. It was an ass built for grabbing, for slapping, for burying his face between its cheeks.
Claire turned when half-way up the stairs, catching his stare, and smiled a wicked, knowing smile. Then she bent over, picking up her discarded panties. Huh, she had left them here? Seriously?
"You perv," he called out.
Claire stung her tongue out and she threw them at him. The red lace landed on his face. He grabbed them, the scent of her filling his nose.
"Come and get me," she purred, and then the nude brunette walked the last steps up the stairs.
George didn't hesitate. He dropped his pants, stripping off his jeans and shirt in a frantic rush. His cock, freed from its confines, bounced out. It was a monster—over nine inches long even flaccid, a thick, heavy banana of flesh.
Thwap, thwap, thwap!
He ran and his cock swung between his legs, a fat, aching promise of what was to come.
He followed the sound of her laughter, up the stairs, into the bathroom. The shower stall was a modest size, but the new showerhead was indeed a multi-setting, rainfall-style affair. Claire was already inside, bending over to turn the knobs. The water burst forth, a hot, steamy cascade. Claire stood under it, the water sluicing over her shoulders, her back, dripping down the valley of her spine to run over that incredible ass.
Claire turned, her body glistening, water beading on her nipples, running down her stomach to the trimmed, neat patch of hair between her thighs. She eyed his cock, her gaze hungry and approving.
"Look at that," Claire murmured, her voice husky with want. "All for me."
Throooob!
"You're such a cock slut, aren't you Claire?"
"Only for you~!"
The young stud, the continuer of the Redline bloodline, was fully fucking hard now. He was a damn beast. A thick, veined pillar jutted out, a little over twelve inches. He joined her in the shower stall and pressed against her, his hands immediately finding her ass, squeezing the full, wet cheeks. His cock rubbed up and down dat ass too.
"So, how long we fucking for tonight?"
"Mm, not too long tonight. I'm exhausted after the mission."
"Heh. Fine."
Claire moaned, arching her back, pushing her ass into his hands. "But still, you gotta promise to fuck me senseless."
"I promise." He spun her around, getting her to face him. He ran his fingers up to her tits where the necklace was. He just wanted to fiddle with the feather necklace. The blue top part reminded him of her eyes. "Put your hands on the wall and bend over."
"Want me that badly?"
"Of course I do."
Claire giggled, spun around, and slammed her palms flat on the cool tile, her feet widening. The water poured over her back, over his chest. He positioned himself behind her, the tip of his enormous cock nudging against the slick, hot entrance of her pussy. She was already wet, her cunt ready for him.
Except his cock was merely teasing. Sliding up and down, as though he didn't know where her pussy really was.
"G-George, c-come on…!"
"Tell me what you want, Claire…"
Yep, he was doing that. Claire had no choice but to play along. "I want your cock," she gasped, pushing her hips back. "I want that big, fat fucking cock in my pussy. I want you to fill me up until I can't think, until I can't remember the factory, the mission, anything. Just you. Just this."
"Good." He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. "Love ya!"
The head of his cock breached her, stretching her open. Claire cried out, a sound of pure pleasure, her pussy welcoming the invasion. He kept pushing, inch by inch, his massive shaft sliding into her depths, filling her up, stretching her in a way that made her eyes roll back.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuck~! Fuckfuckfuck—!"
The water pounded around them, steam rising, the world narrowing to this stall, this joining.
"Oh, fuuuuck. It's so deep~! You're so deep…!"
"I'm not deep enough," George grunted. "I'm going to get deeper. I'm going to fuck you until my balls are slapping against your ass, Claire. Until you're dripping my cum."
"T-then do it."
She wasn't going to say, "You don't have the balls." She wasn't that kind of woman, she didn't want to challenge her man. She spoke with the cadence of a housewife. Of a woman in love.
…not to mention he did have the balls.
Smiling, he pulled back, earning a loud mewl and gasp, and then thrust forward.
"Oh god—!" Her eyes rolled back. A second thrust hit her cunt. "Oh god, it's SO good~!! I MISSED this~!!!"
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
"I missed this too, Claire." George said it calmly, like a statement.
"I missed this~!!" Claire said it pathetically, like a whining slut.
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
"Missed it, missed it, missed it soooo much!! Missed this cock SO MUCH~!!!"
The wet, tight heat of her pussy clung to his cock. His hands moved from her hips to her ass, spreading her cheeks wider, watching his cock plunge into her, seeing the way her body swallowed him.
"You really like that?" he asked, his thrusts becoming faster, harder.
"Yes! YES~!! Fuck, yes! More! Give me more!"
He gave her more. He fucked her with a intensity that bordered on possession, his hips slamming against her ass, the sound of their bodies meeting mixing with the spray of the water. Claire's moans turned into shrieks, her hands scrabbling against the tile for purchase. She was losing herself, just as he promised.
The mission, the danger, and the fear, all washed away under the hot water and the even hotter thrust of his cock.
Her back arched and her arms folded. Her lips kissed the wall and George smiled seeing her ecstasy. He leaned in.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his breath hot on her neck.
"You! I belong to you, George! I belong to this cock! THIS COCK~!! YOUR COCCCK~!!"
"That's right." He drove into her, a particularly deep thrust that made Claire's whole body convulse. "This cock is yours. Every time you go out there and risk your life, you come back to this. You come back to me fucking you like this, claiming you, making you mine."
"Cummmiiiiing~!!"
There it was.
Her pussy clenched around his shaft, spasming with need. Spasming because he had made her cum. But guess what?
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
It wasn't over. Not just because of George either. Claire was no ordinary woman.
"More, more, moore~! I want more, George! Make me cum moreeee~!!"
She could fucking take it. She forcibly bent herself over, ass slamming George back to stop whispering in her ear. Her auburn hair ran down her back, right above her spine. It was long and beautiful.
So was her ass and the backshots he was giving her. The wet jiggles were amazing to witness.
George laughed and slowed his pace, drawing out the pleasure. "Of course." Then wham, wham, wham! His thrusts hit her cunt nice and hard and she came again. At this point, Claire smiled and let him do his thing.
This was about dicking her down. This was about relaxing and winding down.
"I love it, I love it, I loooove ittt~!!"
This was about having his balls smack against her ass.
"So…!" CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! "We continuing the Redfield lineage."
"H-huh—? What are you—?"
"I want to take your last name," George admitted. "Unless…you want mine?"
"I-I—" She moaned. "J-just do it! Take it! J-j-just do whatever you want!"
"Aw, really?"
"Yessssh~! I need it! I need your CUM inside me, George! Please."
"Are you going to take the pill though? It always makes your cranky for the week."
Casually saying that…
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
Casually fucking her, a hand smacking her left ass cheek.
"N-no!" She sounded like she was babbling like a sex-addicted slut. But no, she was speaking with perfect clarity. "C-can't! T-took medicine earlier! Can't! Ngggh! C-can't take other pills!"
"Ahh. That's good." He grinned. "Okay then!"
He sheathed himself as deep as he could go, his cock pulsing at her very limit, and his baby batter released. Hot and thick, balls wincing, he groaned and got that pussy absolutely full.
At the same instant, Claire's orgasm erupted. It was an eye-rolling, blinding experience, emptying her mind of everything except the feeling of being utterly, completely fucked.
"Haah…haah…"
As he pulled out and saw his creamy cum overflow and fall in heaps, the fiancé could only smile and smack her ass. More cum fell. Claire's ass was unnaturally high up, parallel to her face, while her back arched deeply down. That was because she was trying to claw and keep herself up.
"Guess this time you'll be pregnant, huh? Hey, at least our wedding is in a couple months. We might get lucky and not get the shotgun marriage allegations, right?"
"R-r-r-right…" Claire mewled. Saliva spilled over too. Her light-blue eyes glowed with lust and her lips arched into a smile.
It was not over. Not by a long shot.
********
FULL PART ON PATREON