Running Up That Hill
(Here Comes the Sun)
The problem with Wesker (that is one problem since Claire could write an entire book about what was wrong with Wesker) was that he lacked a sense of humor. In fact, he lacked almost every emotion that made up the very fabric of a human being. He didn't laugh at dumb movies like Claire did. He didn't smile at babies and tear up over the numerous deaths he'd witnessed.
She got to see the real Wesker and even then the most she was able to get out of him was a smirk and a raised eyebrow, a cold comforting hand on a warm shoulder.
He was some forgotten god from Mount Olympus, larger than life and towering down over the insignificant peons. He was distant and foreboding, chiseled from marble by careful hands. A figure to be worshipped from afar but Claire refused to bow down to the altar of Wesker.
She knew he was made out of flesh and blood, just like she was, regardless of all of the changes his body had gone through. There was still some soul in him and each time she managed to get a genuine smile out of him, she felt as though she had just uncovered another piece of his forgotten humanity.
Even now, after the throes of passion were over and done with, she looked at him with a certain curiosity, trying to discover another piece of the puzzle. After so many years, the puzzle was far from being completed.
He tilted his head, unhidden red eyes tracking her every movement like she was some sort of prey out on the wild and he was waiting to pounce on her. "You have that look again."
Shit. She'd been caught. Claire smiled softly, quickly turning her head away "Just hungry," she said, trying to cover quickly. She was laying on her stomach, head resting in her hands, breasts mashed down against the mattress, legs angled up, swaying in the air.
Wesker's back was stiff against the mahogany headboard, cream Egyptian cotton sheets draped across his thighs. He cherished the idea of modesty, apparently. "Yes, you must be famished," he conceded, running his hand across Claire's bare back.
Claire shivered at the surprisingly soft hand ghosting across her skin, goosebumps rising on her forearms. She always expected his hands to be rough, callused from years of combat and things she didn't know about or want to think about. But each time he touched her, it was like it was the first time when his hands had no blood on them.
"You have no idea." Claire pulled herself up and sprawled across his lap, the sheet the only barrier keeping them from being skin to skin, stomach to thigh. Reaching her hand out, her fingers wiggled in the air, an inch too far from the ever elusive room service menu laying on the nightstand.
Wesker extended his arm, his hand passing over his magnum and her berretta resting together on the nightstand, within reach just in case. He grabbed the menu and handed it over to her. "You'd best hurry."
Menu in her hands, she looked up to see the sun rising over the city skyline, purples and oranges kissing the horizon in a good morning greeting. She always hated to see the morning arrive, the point where she would have to say goodbye and face the real world again. They'd return to being enemies, foes at the opposite side of the spectrum fighting for separate causes. She'd have to start the wait of another long month.
"We have time," she urged, grabbing the phone and placing a quick order for an omelet and hash browns. She didn't bother to order anything for him. He hardly ate and when he did it was always a rare steak, dripping with blood. Claire didn't ever ask, didn't want to know why he didn't indulge in food the way he used to. That would be crossing the imaginary line they had drawn between them.
He stared down at her, blood red eyes burning a hole into her body, skimming her figure like she was an open book. Sometimes she thought he could see the secrets she was carrying around. It scared the shit out of her. If she slipped up, she could ruin everything. The plans that were in motion, the lives they were trying to save. This could ruin all of it. She risked it all to be with him for these few stolen hours.
Over the years she had almost perfected the walls she had built in her head, the part of her brain that accessed her daily life. She blocked it all out and stored it away. The unspoken rules were the only thing keeping this alive, holding this abomination together. And Claire could barely manage to follow them.
She wanted to ask him so many questions. She knew so much about him and yet so little. The rules kept them from exploring the parts of each other's lives that came naturally to most couples. She wanted to know what happened to turn him into this monster. What was he thinking? What was he working on? Planning? How much blood was on his hands now?
Claire kept her questions, her thoughts, under lock and key. If she opened that barrel, she would never be able to close it again. She couldn't afford to lose this. Strangely enough, it kept her grounded. Sane. It gave her something to look forward to, something to live for. She couldn't deny the way she felt about him. If only he was someone else. Anyone else.
Wesker continued to rub his hand across her back, his thumb massaging small circles into her spine. When she tried to squirm off his lap, he held her firmly in place, fingers digging into silky flesh. "Going somewhere?"
She laughed, tilting her head to look him in the eyes, the demon eyes that haunted her when she slept. "Just getting comfortable." Pulling the sheet from his lap, she straddled his thighs, her hands pressing into his chest to keep her balance.
"Are you content now, dear heart?" he asked, his voice thick and drawn out, eyebrows raised in amusement. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
"Content? Never. But this will do." She leaned in and kissed him, pushing her tongue past his lips, seeking entrance into his mouth.
Wesker's body was strangely cold, a phenomenon Claire had grown used to over the years. At first she thought it was like kissing a dead fish, having sex with a day old corpse. But he was as alive as she was, thriving and breathing under her body. Wesker was no dead fish.
He opened his mouth to her, the only warm part of his body she was able to find. She gave her warmth to him. Beneath her, she could feel his length twitching and hardening against her thigh. Reaching down, never breaking contact with his mouth, she took him into her hand, stroking softly, eliciting a barely audible moan from the man below her.
She pulled her mouth away, moving down his body, his hands reaching out for her as she moved further from his reach. "I'll be back," she joked, her thumb swirling around the tip of his length.
Strong hands tangled in her auburn hair, free from elastic bands for the night, as she took him into her mouth. He pulled at her hair, almost guiding her head except Claire didn't need instruction on this particular lesson. She'd been told that she was pretty good at this even if she didn't have much practice outside of Wesker, and he certainly had never voiced any complaints.
Claire knew how to make him tick, how to take him into her throat and turn him into putty in her hands. A good blowjob could bring her worst enemy to his knees. Her tongue swirled around his flesh, mouth wide and wanting, her gag reflex lost long ago. Unexpectedly, she looked up at him and winked.
Grabbing at her, Wesker pulled her up and their mouths connected once again. He moved his mouth down her neck, his tongue darting out against her hot skin. He trailed down to her breasts, hands moving from her hair to push the round flesh together.
As he took a dark nipple into his mouth, Claire squirmed, a moan stuck somewhere in her throat. "I can't wait," Claire told him, her eyes closed tightly. She guided him toward her entrance and before he could chide her to be patient and wait, she pushed herself down, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
"Claire," he growled, his attention still focused on her breasts. He acted as if he were disappointed in her for being hasty, for not being able to hold off.
She knew he couldn't wait either. She pressed her hands to his face, one small hand on each side. "Albert, you feel so good." Claire wasn't much for the dirty talk, just plain honesty.
Wesker wasn't much for talk period. Like everything else he did, even sex was methodical and well thought out like he had a master plan branded into his brain. He didn't make a single move without thinking it out first, she was certain. The way he moved his mouth over her skin, his hips thrusting into her, it was all in a careful, meticulous manner. He never closed his eyes, just stared at her, his breathing jagged and uneven.
It was never boring though, never something she wouldn't crave a week later. She moved her body in an easy, smooth rhythm with his, innate and natural like this was the puzzle complete. A loud banging cadence reverberated off the walls along with them in perfect time.
Banging? No, wait. That wasn't normal. Claire lifted her head, auburn bangs falling into her face, stinging and burning her ocean eyes. She shook her head, the hair falling into place delicately around her features, and watched the headboard, waiting to see it thrash back and crash into the wall from the ferocity of their careful rhythm. The mahogany never moved.
Brow furrowed and glistening with sweat, Claire planted her hands on Wesker's smooth and broad chest, throwing the emergency brake on. "Shit," she swore, whipping her head around to look out into the main room. For a moment she thought they were in trouble. They had been found out and they were about to be ambushed. Her hand tentatively reached for the arsenal on the nightstand.
And then she started to laugh, a high pitched nervous giggle almost. "The door. Room service," she explained, her hand dropping back to his chest as her giggles deepened, nails clenching against his pale flesh. "Leave it!" Gasping for breath, she looked at him, eyes lit bluer than the midday sky, her mouth wrenched into a grin.
Wesker tilted his head to the side, looking at her with curiosity. He didn't seem nearly as amused by the whole thing as Claire was. Nothing ever amused him. "They will leave," he assured her, his hands reaching out for her.
Bright teeth standing out against dark lips, Claire yelled out again upon hearing the soft click of the door opening, "Just leave it!" She leaned her head against Wesker's shoulder, the cold metal of her necklace pressing into his skin. She shook a bit as she continued to laugh, deep laughs now pulling from her diaphragm.
Taking her head into his hands, Wesker lifted Claire's face to look at her, large hands enveloping her small features. There was no smile on his face to match hers. "They're gone." He leaned in to finish what she had started.
By the time Claire got to her omelet, it was cold as ice and the sun pouring in from the partially open scarlet drapery blinded her. She ate in silence, naked and freezing like her food as she sat at the large dining table by herself, one foot shoved under her body. This was the part she always dreaded.
Claire watched him out of the corner of her eye as he moved across the room, the knight putting his black armor back on. He was no knight and she was no damsel in distress. She watched as he pulled his arms through his holster, checking the clip before strapping it under his arm.
"It's that time, huh," she asked, pushing her half eaten plate away from her. Reaching down, she fingered the hilt of the bowie knife strapped to her inner thigh. She refused to be unarmed around Wesker, no matter what. If he had a weapon, so would she.
Wesker stopped at the window, pulling back the silk drapes to flood the entire room with sunlight. "The sun is at its highest peak." That was Wesker speak for "yeah, it's time."
Getting to her feet, she walked over to him, standing unabashedly in front of him. There was no need for modesty. "Later than usual."
"Yes. I'll have to make up for lost time." Wesker pulled his jacket on, completing his usual black outfit. It wasn't the same one he wore in but it might as well have been. Black was black and it all looked the same to a casual bystander.
But Claire could see the keen checker pattern, the intricate design, the linen lining of his jacket. He looked the part he played. As soon as he left the hotel room, so would she.
"Shame," she said flippantly, stepping around him to grab her bag. Sliding the front zipper open, she found an elastic band and pulled her hair up and away from her face, into it's usual ponytail. She needed to feel like herself again. The charade was ending.
A large hand wrapped tightly around her bicep, hard enough to leave finger shaped marks. Claire was suddenly pulled in close to Wesker's face, the red eyes still shining brightly yet to be hidden behind too expensive sunglasses. "What?" she asked, making no move to pull away. There was no point.
Wesker reached out and pulled the elastic band from her hair, the long locks flowing freely over her bare shoulders again. "Not yet," he demanded, breaking the elastic band with his fingers.
"That's the only one I had!" Claire huffed, pulling her arm out of his grasp. She inspected her skin to make sure he hadn't left a mark behind. She didn't need the questions that would come from them.
"You'll live," he told her, slipping the ever present sunglasses back over his eyes. Now the image truly was finished.
Claire rolled her eyes, walking away from him. She suddenly didn't want to be undressed anymore. As the real world blended back into view, she needed to rejoin reality just as he had done. "For how long?"
Wesker didn't answer her question. He gathered his bag, a black, leather laptop case. He never brought the laptop out that Claire knew of but she was certain he worked on his devious plans while she was asleep. The world was changing from the pounding of fingers against a keyboard while she slept next to the enemy.
Pulling a green and white wrap dress through her arms, tying it tightly at her hip, Claire felt a little better. She was at least dressed, armed and always ready for action. She itched to pull on the jeans she had sitting at the bottom of her bag, along with the large, cotton sweatshirt sitting on top of the pants that used to belong to Chris. She'd stolen it while he wasn't looking and later had convinced him that he had thrown it away. The second she was out of this hotel and into a cab, she was going to perfect the art of the quick change in a public place.
"Dear heart," Wesker snapped, shifting her attention back toward him and away from the comfort of a good pair of jeans, "don't forget to open your gift."
"Gift?" she asked, scanning the room quickly. Her eyes settled on a small box sitting on the dining table, next to her half eaten omelet. "Right. Thank you."
Wesker crossed the room, firm hands resting on her hips, pulling her towards him. "Next month." Leaning in, he captured her mouth with his but not in the ravenous way he had kissed her all night. This kiss was different, soft. No fight for dominance, no asking for entrance. His fingers crawled up her body and wrapped around the ring strung through her necklace, the ring that would be replaced with dog tags the second she got back to her apartment.
"Next month is too far away," Claire commented, her voice soft and barely audible. She prided herself on being a strong person, good with a gun and never afraid of the living dead. But this thing with Wesker turned her on her ass, flipped her upside down and inside out, pulled down almost every defense she had and set it on fire.
"It's closer than you think." He pulled away from her, his fingers now wrapped tightly around the laptop case. "Goodbye, Claire."
Before she could respond, say goodbye or beg him to stay for just a few more minutes, he was gone like he had never been there. He left no evidence behind except for the faint smell of his cologne and the box laying on the table.
He always gave her a gift and never stuck around to watch her open it. He'd given her almost every nice thing she owned. Rolex watches, Swiss chocolates, necklaces from Tiffany, perfumes from the most expensive and well known shops in Paris.
The gifts were like his calling card and she could always tell where he had been during the past month based on the gift. She figured it was his way of saying he thought about her outside of the hotel, when they were both on their own, pining for the time to pass. While the same rang true for Claire, she never gave him anything. What would she buy for a guy who could purchase France?
Claire gathered her things, armed herself to step back into the world, slipped on the highest and most annoying high heels she had worn the night before and strapped on her bright pink backpack before even approaching the box. She circled the table, her head tilted in thought about what it could be. Obviously some kind of jewelry. Another piece to add to her growing collection hidden deep within her closet.
After sizing up the box, squatting down by the table and inspecting it from every possible angle, she picked it up and shook it. "Albert, you fucker," she muttered to herself, pulling at the ribbon and watching it float to the ground. Inside the box sat a pair of diamond earrings, too many carats for Claire to comprehend.
She carefully took the earrings out and looking into a mirror, held them up to her ears. They were stunning, really. A pair of earrings that a celebrity would be seen wearing to the Oscars. Claire wasn't the kind of girl who wanted diamonds and flowers. She wanted a good handgun and new pipes for her bike. But the gifts were nice and she kept them as souvenirs, if nothing else.
Replacing the earrings in the box, she shoved it into the front of her backpack and left the room behind for another month. She stopped by the front desk to return her keycard, handing it back to Eric, the same clerk who checked her in, with a tight smile on her face.
"Enjoy your stay?" he asked, taking the card from her and putting it a pile of identical cards to be rescanned.
"It was something," she answered wryly, her thoughts still upstairs in the suite. A night together just wasn't enough but they couldn't afford anything else. Time was never on their side and neither was the rest of the world.
Eric smiled, that dumb grin that didn't seem to fade. "Something good, I'd hope." He handed her a statement for the room that showed the bill (the huge bill) as having been settled an hour beforehand.
"Something," she replied, nodding at him and walking away. She didn't need to explain herself to the front desk clerk or anyone else. Purposely vague was the way to go.
Shifting the bag on her back, she walked out of the hotel, the clicking of her heels on the tile announcing her departure. Ralph opened the door for her as she stepped into the too bright day.
"It's a fine day, isn't it, Miss Redfield?" Ralph asked, still immaculate as ever in his crisp, ugly uniform and pristine, white gloves.
Claire smiled at Ralph, the only person at the hotel who knew anything about her. He was someone she would shoot the shit with and not hide herself from. "Yes, just fine," she agreed, wishing for a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes.
"Who do you like?" he asked, jogging down the front stoop and lifting his hand into the air to hail a cab for her.
Almost swallowing her tongue, Claire furrowed her brow. "Excuse me?" Did Ralph know more than he let on?
"MLB playoffs start this weekend, Miss Redfield." He flagged a yellow cab down and opened the door for her, his hand sweeping from side to side as a way to usher her in. "Any predictions?"
Claire had little time to follow sports but always faked her way through it with Ralph. "Oh. Los Angeles to take it all." She figured LA had to have a team in the playoffs.
"Maybe. Just maybe." Ralph smiled at her, laying a hand on her arm to help her into the cab. "You take care, Miss Redfield."
"See you next month, Ralph," Claire told him, getting into the cab and pulling her dress tight around her thighs to keep covered up.
Ralph winked at her and shut the door, peering down at her through the open window. "Next time, introduce me to that young man of yours."
"Young man?" She asked, biting down on her lip. She hadn't said a word to anyone about who she was meeting in the hotel. She started to wonder if there was more to Ralph than met the eye.
"Surely you have a young man in your life," Ralph said, squinting as he stooped down to talk with her.
Claire laughed, shrugging her shoulders. Nothing to worry about. She was overly paranoid. "We'll see." She lifted her hand and waved as the cab pulled away. She mumbled out an address and then turned in her seat, pulling her legs up next to her, craning to see what she was leaving behind.
She watched as the hotel shrank in the distance, smaller and smaller until she couldn't even see the larger than life marble columns anymore. She had to return to her real life, where dangers lurked around every corner, where nobody would understand this hidden life. She pulled her jeans out of her backpack, the denim soft and inviting against her fingers.
She was ready to become the real Claire Redfield again.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and enjoyed this fic! I've written more in this universe but since it's a bit disjointed at the moment, I've decided not to post it up to this website yet. If anyone is interested in reading, the fics are at my livejournal and my username is the same there. Happy reading!