A/N: Hi! Just a quick note to say that this is my first try at 'drabbles' of any kind (I'm much rather one for longer, more intricate stories) and due to their nature, I'll be posting them in sets of three just so each chapter isn't too short. It's more a challenge to myself to flesh out odd and quirky ideas than anything else, really. A quick warning, these contain various headcanons that you may or may not agree with, depending on your stance in the fandom, and do range in rating from PG to very much M-rated. Hope you enjoy them anyway, and don't forget to review! Any critical feedback is appreciated.
Number 19 – Tattoo
One rather intimate fact that nobody actually knew about Wesker was that he had a tattoo.
It was a relatively small one, nothing outrageous. To be honest, when he'd learnt of his lover's piece of body art Chris had actually been startled that Wesker had one. It just didn't seem like the stuck-up, aristocratic blonde to have such a thing. Mind you, his relationship with Wesker was just full of surprises. Why couldn't this be one more?
The little bit of ink was actually on his left hipbone; a strange tribal design that Chris wasn't entirely sure of the meaning of. Studying the marks didn't reveal much information, as the way the tattoo was done it could be any one of a number of things. From one angle, it looked rather like a diving phoenix, and from another he swore it was a dragon. He'd also quite often been rather…distracted when that piece of flesh was in his sight, although he had traced it with his tongue once or twice.
When Wesker had first showed him it, the man had asked Chris if he liked it. Chris did, for two reasons – one, it was one of those odd little things that brought a smile to his lips, and two, he thought that it embodied Wesker perfectly.
Intricate, yet simple. Strange, yet wonderful. But most importantly, permanent – like Wesker's presence in his life.
Number 3 – Elastic
"I don't see why you buy these, you know, Christopher. They just get in the way."
Chris sighed dramatically, folding up another pair of his Y-fronts for the dresser. "Just because you'd rather I was either commando or naked all the time doesn't mean I want to be, thanks." With that he dumped the small pile of them in the top drawer and closed it, trying to effectively end the conversation.
However, Wesker either didn't notice or didn't care about the little social cue. Most likely the latter, knowing the smug prick. "I'm simply saying that your god-awful taste in underwear needs to improve."
"Hey, they're comfy, alright? At least I don't own ten pairs of silk-"
A tic started developing in Chris' forehead. "Heh?"
"It's twelve pairs."
"For the love of – twelve pairs of silk boxers, then. I'd rather not walk around feeling…like that all day, alright? So can we leave the subject of underwear alone already?"
Wesker simply smirked, getting up from the bed where he sat and walking over to the brunette, smiling wider when he noticed the light blush on his boyfriend's cheeks. Two large, strong hands gently gripped Chris' hips, who let out a rather undignified squeak.
"Tell me, Christopher…what do you mean by feeling like 'that' all day, hmm?" He started to lay kisses along the slim lines of Chris' throat, moving up to his ear so he could whisper, "Do you mean like this, pet?", enunciating the word 'this' by cupping Chris' groin through his loose sweatpants.
The breathy, barely audible moan Chris let out was answer enough. Blown away by the ensuing fuck that occurred, Chris never did learn Wesker's real reason behind hating his choice of underwear, which was quite simply he couldn't stand the elastic in the damn things. That, and they were another layer between him and Chris naked.
Number 7 – Sausage
Wesker could not cook for shit.
Chris had learnt this somewhat early on in their relationship, at the two-month mark, actually. The night before had been the first time they had made love (Chris still couldn't get over how brilliantly skilled Wesker's tongue was) and Chris had ended up sleeping curled up next to the blonde police officer, arse very sore but thinking that it was definitely worth it.
Only, his blissful moments dozing in bed the next morning had been shattered when he heard copious swearing coming from the kitchen. Extracting himself from the warmth and comfort, Chris had made his way to the kitchen after slipping on his boxers, curious but cautious.
He swore it had been the hardest he had ever laughed. Seeing his boyfriend covered in flour trying to cook pancakes for breakfast was just funny. That the great Albert Wesker had a flaw as simple as this was absolute gold for him. Eventually, after wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, he'd seen Wesker giving him a look – a mix of indignation, frustration…and embarrassment?
With a smile, Chris had kissed him on the lips, told him, "I'll cook breakfast, okay?" and taken a packet of sausages from the fridge. True, they ended up getting burnt when Wesker had the brilliant idea of sex on the kitchen counter, but it was the thought that counted.
A/N: Well, there's the first set. Hope you enjoy them, please review and I'll post more as soon as they're done! Thanks for reading!