( No Title )
Rest
‘No rest for the wicked’ was a dirty lie, Chris thought. It was the righteous for whom there was no peace. The wicked, he had found, knew all too well how to relax.
Chris, who had held on to righteousness so tightly, for so long, lay sprawled shirtless at Albert Wesker’s feet as he worked.
He eased his muscular, handsomely mutated body upward and rested his head in Wesker’s lap. Moments like this were when he felt the most at peace now. The blond tyrant smirked down at him, and ran his fingers through Chris’ hair.
“Good boy,” Wesker purred.
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