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The Penalty Game	By : Death's_Essence Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 3694 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Resident Evil or Capcom nor am I making any profit of my fanfiction. I retain all rights of any original characters and the plot as they are my intellectual property.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
The Penalty Game: Chapter Four – Abstract Revelations
Author’s Note:
I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!!!! I did not intend to take so long getting out the next chapter to all of you, and for anyone worried, rest assured that I will NEVER drop this story!!! That I swear to you, I will write this until the end. I’m sure you all must be thinking, “What? You’re still alive?” I know, I’m shocked too. I’ve had a lot going on for the last year (four jobs and I’m finishing my last two classes for my Computer Science degree so I’ll finally graduate in May!) and I really wasn’t happy with the writing quality of the previous chapters. It had been six years since I had written anything when I posted the first chapter, and it wasn’t until some wonderful readers pointed out some issues I had missed that I realized how much I had regressed as a writer. I don’t want to put out poorly written work, so I couldn’t update the story until I was sure the chapter was worth reading.
I’m super nervous to publish this chapter and see what you all think, because I put a lot of work into this and I want it to be well-done. I hope everyone enjoys reading this and that it’s easier to read it and lose yourself in the story now.
Please, please, please do not be afraid to leave me honest feedback in your reviews, I absolutely welcome constructive criticism and want to hear what you think. But obviously, don’t flame me. I can take constructive criticism, but attacking me or my story isn’t acceptable. If you don’t like what I write because it’s not your thing, keep it to yourself and don’t read what I write. If you like it, but you notice things that could be done better or didn’t work for you, let me know in a review or even a PM! I’m all for that! I want to improve as a writer and practice alone isn’t enough for that, I need feedback from my readers and I absolutely cherish each and every review, comment, and PM I get from you guys. Like, you have no idea, this chapter wouldn’t have happened even at this point if not for all the reviews, comments, and messages I received. I reread every single one all the time to keep my spirits up and remind me that I don’t suck as much as I think I do. I never thought I would get so much fan love for something I made. The support and love you all have given me totally blew me away. Like, I legit tear up when I read the reviews I’ve been lucky to receive.
For those who are curious, I’ve spent the last eleven months working on my writing, rewriting this chapter (I rewrote this chapter completely four times), researching the characters and forming their backstory, and also doing quite a bit of research into BDSM itself. **Check out my profile picture, THAT is the fruit of all my labor, the master binder for this story!** I realized as I was working on Wesker and Claire’s relationship going forward that I still struggled to understand the Dominant and Submissive mindset (since I myself don’t practice BDSM, but I think it’s incredibly fascinating) and what sort of thoughts and feelings they would have when they played together. And there was only so far I could get with research on the internet or from books. So way back in August I attended an educational event held by one of the few legitimate BDSM establishments in a city a few hours away from where I live.
It was amazing, I attended a bunch of lectures, got to see live demonstrations, and best of all, the attendees were more than happy to let me interview them! (I found out from my friend and her friend, a Dominant, who came with us that I was good-naturedly dubbed ‘The chick running around with the notebook’ by the other attendees.) After speaking with all the different Dominants, Subs, Masters, slaves, etc. who attended, it really solidified my understanding of the true nature of BDSM and now I’m dedicated to portraying BDSM as it truly is in my story. Because the reality of it is so different than what we see in the media, there’s so much affection and caring they show to one another. Even though I don’t practice BDSM, everyone there was super polite and nice, they’re all very accepting, and I never felt uncomfortable while I was there watching the demonstrations or talking to the people. I was welcomed and allowed to see a world I don’t normally get to see. It was a great experience and I’m so glad I went, because it was truly eye-opening for me and it corrected a lot of my own ideas of it. So I’m SOOOO excited to show you what I learned as Wesker and Claire’s relationship progresses into that territory.
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who has left me a review or comment over the last 11 months, or PMed me to check up on me and the story, or just corresponded with me for shits and giggles. Your support keeps me going. Thank you so much to Sunny for the extra feedback and to my best friend, Kaoru, who put up with reading every draft I wrote and change I made.
Now, without further ado, please enjoy chapter four! I’d love to hear your thoughts afterwards in a review too!

Obligatory "I don't own anything related to Resident Evil or Capcom" statement. I do, however, own the plot and any original characters or concepts introduced in the story. Do not use or modify any original characters or concepts I include without my express consent.
Cover image credit: WolfShadow14081990 (DeviantArt)

The door shut behind Claire with a muted click that echoed in the tiny space.

She shivered as the chill in the air forced its way under her clothes and robbed her of the remaining warmth from Wesker’s touch. The room shouldn’t feel this cold. It was early September, so even in the evening their A/C struggled to cool the house.

Why did it feel weird to come home? Nothing major had happened, she was still the same old Claire.

Right?

She stalled even as she moved to face the living room, hesitant to see it and find more evidence of this invisible change. But Claire never backed down from a challenge, real or imagined. She completed her slow turn and saw the living room exactly as she’d left it hours before.

So what the fuck was bugging her?

Okay, the room appeared darker, but her eyes were still adjusting after coming inside. And maybe the shadows stretched a little longer across the carpet. But her imagination could be messing with her. And yeah, Claire admitted that the air was a little heavier as she inhaled, but this was Missouri. The humidity always choked you this time of the year.

‘Still…something is off.’

She stood still on the linoleum square of the entryway and focused on the atmosphere of the room. With her eyes closed, she scented the air – ugh, the trash needed to be taken out – and then strained her ears to discern the foreign sounds leaking from the walls.

It was all as it should be, and it was also not. The difference now was the missing sense of welcome.

No. Not that. Well…not that exactly.

This was still her house, yet her lips squeezed into a hard line to stifle the sigh building at the back of her throat. Why?

Like usual, her instincts caught on before her brain did, and within a minute Claire figured out the problem.

‘I don’t want to be here…I didn’t want to come home.’

And the only reason she was at home instead of on Wesker’s couch…was because of the rules Chris forced on her.

Tonight, the metallic slide of the door latching in the strike sounded like the closing of a prison cell, snatching her freedom and locking her away from the outside world for crimes she hadn’t committed.

Blame her emotions on her still-unsatisfied hunger to revel in Wesker’s skin against hers, the lingering wine in her stomach, or the pent-up frustration from living under a dictatorship, however loving it may be, for the last six years, but right now, Claire was so done.

‘I’m so sick of all Chris’ rules! An 11 p.m. curfew, really? And why do I have to tell him where I’m going and who I’ll be with every time I leave the house?’

She wasn’t a child anymore, damn it!

Claire fell back against the door, her butt smacking against it with a thump, and twisted to turn the deadbolt and lock on the knob with way more force than necessary.

“Not that Chris will ever acknowledge that,” she muttered to the darkness.

She ground her teeth – her go-to response to stress – and once again wondered what it would take for her brother to accept that she’d grown up.

‘I wish you would stop thinking of me as that twelve year old girl waiting for the school bus with my hair a mess and my homework still sitting on the dinner table, Chris. I don’t need you making all my decisions and deciding what’s best for me anymore.’

Ha. Even if she grabbed his shirt and shook him silly while she screamed it that in his face, the message would still miss its target.

She’d obeyed him – mostly - without complaint since the day Chris had rushed into her quarantined hospital room wearing a baggy Hazmat suit – Claire was stuck in a scratchy hospital gown – and dropped to his knees by her bed. When she looked down at him, she noticed the stiff collar of his dress uniform underneath the Hazmat suit and remembered his graduation from boot camp was that morning.

Claire tapped the back of her head against the door repeatedly.

Guilt made her smother the little voice in her head that demanded she rebel each time Chris laid down the law and they butted heads.

Guilt made her play the good girl and walk the line Chris drew for her.

But guilt wasn’t strong enough to staunch her resentment towards her brother’s stupid house rules. It curled around her lungs like an anaconda, constricting her air intake in its coiled grip. The snake grew as it twisted round and round until there was no more space for it to expand, and the persistent itch of deprivation reacted like a caged wild animal desperate for release – if it couldn’t find an escape route, it would make one – and it thrashed against her insides, unconcerned with the damage it inflicted in its struggle. But breathing in the stagnant air of the house brought zero relief; it tasted like ash and soured grapes on her tongue and she resisted the urge to gag with each reluctant swallow.

She wanted to scratch at it, to tear at the source till it bled and exhume the release that had to be buried underneath.

There had to be something to free her from this. She needed a distraction, anything to focus on while she cut off the snake’s food source. The anaconda fed on anger and currently her body carried a full stock of that.

The muscles in her hands tensed when her eyes landed on a discarded pile of Chris’ work boots and dirty socks. Once again, he had left them by the door even though she’d told him a hundred times to stop leaving his shit there. Ohhhh, of all the times he chose to ignore her, he picked today. Lucky her.

She glared at her target with an intensity born from all the frustration she wanted to let loose on someone else. The mild sting of her nails digging into her palm escaped her notice; Claire didn’t mind pain.

‘I’m 18, why do I still have a curfew? Chris didn’t have one when he was my age. If it’s because he doesn’t want me fooling around, then he should know from his own experience how impossible it is to stop a horny teen.’

She kicked one of his discarded socks across the carpet, then the other when the first kick didn’t improve her mood.

Claire sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. The double standard sucked ass, but that wouldn’t stop him from grounding her till graduation if he caught her coming home past her curfew. Not that he would, since Chris usually dragged himself home around 3 a.m. when he went drinking with the team. Chris never came home early on the weekends.

…but what if he did tonight?

Apprehension dropped like a stone in her stomach and she cast a furtive glance around the living room, suddenly paranoid. In her mind, she imagined that her brother lurked around some dark corner, ready to jump out and catch her disobedience in the act.

‘Idiot! Just because his truck isn’t in the driveway doesn’t mean he’s not here. What if he got shitfaced at the very first bar and ended up being kicked out of the place for fighting another shitfaced idiot and then one of the others dropped him off at home?’

It could happen.

She took the first step and winced when the heel of her boot clacked on the linoleum. If he caught her by the door, it would only damn her further, but getting away from the door made so much damn noise.

Maybe she could say she’d only gone out for a late night jog?

She snorted in her head. ‘In this outfit? Yeah right, he’d sooner believe I’ve given up my love of motorcycles before he’d swallow that lie.’

Speaking of jogging, she had to get up early to go work out in the morning. She’d skipped Thursday’s workout to finish her AP Chemistry homework and Claire never worked out less than four times a week. Not after what happened.

Of course, that was only if Chris would let her go to the gym while she was under house arrest for sneaking out to play with his boss.

“Please don’t be here, please don’t be here, please don’t be here,” she chanted low under her breath.
Fear made her hands sweat and all her senses jump into overdrive. Every sound seemed like some sign of his hidden presence.

Was that shadow by the TV always that long?

She pressed forward a three feet, creeping low across the carpet till she reached the coffee table.

Was that muffled breathing she could faintly hear, or the quiet hum of the refrigerator?

She rested her hand against the table’s surface and her palm slipped, nearly knocking over a mug half-filled with that morning’s coffee brew.

Wiping her palms across her jeans failed to dry them, the clammy feel of perspiration clung to them still as she stood up to her full height, hoping to survey the hallway before she moved forward any further. But at five foot six, the only view available to her was its entrance and the top half of the kitchen off to the right.

‘Guess I’ll have to take my chances.’

Five more careful steps put her in view of the hallway. It looked empty enough, nothing she could see besides the picture frames lining the walls.

Wait…what was that by the couch?

Her pupils constricted as she focused on the large shadow on the floor at the far end of the couch. Just over the arm, she could make out the outline of what looked like the top of a head and shoulders. Like someone crouching down to hide themselves behind the side of the couch so they could ambush anyone heading towards the hallway.

Oh fuck…oooooooh she was so dead…

She froze where she stood, the terror of her brother’s impending wrath locking her limbs in place.

‘What do I do? Fuck! How do I get out of this?! I can NOT tell him I was at Wesker’s house, because then he’ll wanna know why and no way in hell can I tell him THAT. Chris will absolutely lose his shit if he finds out I was rubbing myself all over his Captain tonight. I don’t want to have to move again because he tried to clock his boss!’

Nor did she want to hear the painful things her brother would no doubt say to her if he found out. When Chris’ temper flared, his mouth raced miles ahead of his brain. And those were the times she got to find out what her brother really thought before his conscience censored him.

Her heart clenched in anticipation; shameless would be the kindest word he hurled at her.

Without warning, the A/C switched on with a sputtered click and Claire nearly jumped out of her skin from the shock of it. She toppled over onto the carpet with an almost silent squeal and scrambled on hands and knees to get to her feet, already embarrassed by her reaction.

‘Real brave, Claire. Now Chris will think I’m a slut AND a coward.’

She stared at the dark lump next to the couch, waiting for him to start the inquisition. But he stayed silent.

Very unlike Chris.

Since staying on the floor would only make her look even more like a dumbass, she got to her feed and approached the dark shape, looking for any sign of movement. Once she was up close though, the shape’s identity became obvious.

She threw her hands up in the air. “Are you fucking kidding me? God damn it, Chris, you left your dirty laundry by the couch again!”

All that panic over an overfilled basket of clothes.

Claire’s head fell back as she released all her pent-up anxiety in one long exhale.

“See, Chris never comes home early if alcohol is involved and he doesn’t have to work the next day. When did you become such a wimp, Claire Redfield?”

She laughed at herself, relaxing now that the danger was over. It was amazing what paranoia could do to a girl. It wasn’t like it was her first time sneaking out, but it was definitely the first time she’d done it to see a man.

‘Considering I didn’t get caught, the risk was worth it. But really, what was I worried about? Chris is a creature of habit, you know that. Just because I did something that would absolutely end up with me stuck in my room until graduation doesn’t mean today would be the one time Chris breaks his routine.’

Luck was on her side tonight after all. She’d had a homemade meal AND had gotten to make out with the guy she’d spent the last year fantasizing about every night in bed…and during class…and while checking him out - discretely, of course - each time she visited her brother at work. And then…she’d done way more than just kiss Wesker.

“Oh my god,” the lust wearing off welcomed reality back in, and it was enjoying giving her its first bitch-slap of the night. Now would be a good time for some more of that wine. “I pretty much shoved his face into my boobs! And I rubbed myself against him like some…dog in heat!”

Was it good to do that? Or bad? Did this make her a slut, or just not a prude?

What did Wesker think of her now?

‘And then I screamed his name when he said all those dirty things to me…it just felt so good to do it…’

Claire hung her head, not quite sure how to process this yet.

Was there something wrong with her? Her arms wrapped around her midsection as she stared down at her feet. Did other people act that way when they were turned on?

The jangling of keys interrupted her downward spiral into the pit of indoctrinated shame. Her head snapped to the left and she fixed her wide eyes on the wiggling door knob.

“Ah shit…stupid f’kin...too many damn keys…” said a familiar male voice outside the door.

“Son of a bitch!” Claire hissed under her breath.

She bolted for her bedroom, jumping over the pile of laundry spilling out of the overfilled hamper and into her path.

‘I knew my instincts weren’t wrong! Of course he came back early, that’s always how this shit goes! Fuuuuuuck, move it, Redfield!’

Her mad dash resembled an Indiana Jones movie, with Claire as Dr. Jones running for her [love] life as a ‘boulder’ chased her from behind. And the stray boxers that almost tripped her would be the dead vines covering the ground of her escape route.

Her brother’s underwear clung to her foot, like it wanted her to get caught, and she swore at it as she hopped down the hallway on one leg while she reached down to pull it off the bottom of her boot. In a last ditch effort to take her down, the boxers’ elastic band wrapped around the boot’s heel and she had no choice but to stop to get them off. She ripped the boxers free in one violent pull and nearly tore the band in the process, but the damn thing deserved the abuse. Out of spite, she hurled the boxers at Chris’ door and snickered at the sound of them slapping against the wood – wouldn’t it be nice if boxers could feel pain? - before rushing into the safety of her room.

The front door swung open and banged against the wall inside right as Claire spun around to close her door. At the last second, she remembered that extra noise was not her friend right now and stopped the door with the latch resting against the edge of the strike. With the same extreme care a bomb dismantler would use to handle a live explosive, she twisted the knob all the way to the right, and her hands shook with adrenaline as she applied the barest amount of pressure to close that last inch and a half of space.

She immediately scrambled away from the door towards her dresser, ripping her boots and clothes off in the dark. If she turned on the light, she’d give herself away.

‘I don’t normally go to bed this early on the weekend, but with the way I look he’ll know something’s up. Safer to just let him think I was in here sleeping this whole time.’

From the top drawer of her dresser she pulled out the first shirt and shorts her hands landed on. But the clunk of Chris’ boots stumbling down the hall towards her room informed her that dressing would be impossible.

She clutched her pajamas to her chest and glanced at the door. ‘I didn’t think I’d be naked in a bed tonight, but here I am. At least it’s mine.’

With all the stealth of a ninja, Claire slid under her bed sheets, tucking the comforter under her chin. After two deep breaths to slow her heart rate, the door cracked open and Chris peeked his head in to check on her.

She played her part and watched Chris from beneath her lashes as he stared at her from the doorway. ‘Why is it so hard to not move and breathe at the same pace when someone’s watching you? Stop breathing so hard!’

Claire fought against the urge to twitch. Now that she had to lay still, she’d never wanted to move so badly in her life. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She maintained the deep and measured rhythm and waited for Chris to leave for his own room.

‘God damn it, Chris, go away!’

Except he didn’t. Oh no, as if a demon planted the knowledge in his brain that it was the last thing Claire wanted him to do, Chris instead stumbled into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, right next to her head. He reached for her shoulder, then hesitated with his hand in the air. Was he debating on whether he should wake her up? Or had her ruse failed?

Apparently it was the former, because that same hand dropped down and jostled her shoulder as he whispered, “Claire, you awake?”

‘How could I not be with you shaking my shoulder like you’re mixing a cocktail?’

With no other option, Claire tested her skills as an actress and faked a deep groan, like he’d roused her out of a deep sleep.

“Chris? What’s wrong?” she asked, adopting a husky tone to drive home her ‘I was totally sleeping’ guise.

He let go of her shoulder and settled his hands in his lap, moving his gaze from her to them. “Nothin’,” he said, “just wanted to check up—“ a hiccup cut him - and his train of thought – off, and several seconds passed before Chris continued, “--on you. Anythin’ happen while I was out?”

‘Yeah, a bunch of things. I learned how to kiss and dry-humped your boss. Hope that’s cool with you.’

She swallowed twice to get rid of the saliva flooding her mouth and ignored the sense of doom festering in the pit of her stomach.

Why was he asking her if something happened? Did he suspect something?!

No way, it was just an innocent question, she reasoned. No reason to be alarmed. Chris asked it all the time. Ha ha. Worrywart Chris. Always fretting over his little sister like an overgrown hen.

Yep, it was a typical question on a typical night.

“Just the usual Friday stuck at home,” she said, and she forced herself to meet his eyes.

Because tonight wasn’t like every other Friday, and dread built a cold sweat along her spine and churned the acid in her stomach into a tsunami that smashed against its lining.

God, please don’t let him pick up on the nervous twinge in her voice. Or the smell of alcohol on her breath.

Chris said nothing in response and the pursed lips and faraway look on his face revealed nothing of the thoughts scurrying through his mind. Perhaps as a means to fuck with her head, Chris picked at a loose thread on the comforter, scratching at it with his pointer finger when pulling failed.

Unbeknownst to him, he was scratching more than just the blanket; her pelvis rested directly underneath his hand and she very much wanted him to scratch somewhere else. Nudity granted her hyper-awareness of everything touching her skin right now, and his innocent scratching set off every one of her internal alarms. The struggle to maintain her act went from manageable to torturous and Claire had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming, “Stop fucking with the blanket and say something!”

Instead she said, “You’re back early; it’s not even 2 a.m. yet. Did you have a good time drinking with Jill and the team?”

And as she expected, the mention of Jill revived Chris’ mouth.

“Yeahhhh. It was fun ‘n all. Till some dude jus’ walks up ‘n then…he starts talkin’ to Jill! An’ makin’ her ‘gnore…the rest of us. And she let ‘im! The fuck is with that?” He looked down at her as if he expected her to answer, except he didn’t give her the chance to, “An the guy was’n even that good looking…but she was givin’ him tha’ look. Ya know what I mean?”

‘No, I really don’t, Chris.’ But she nodded as if she did and that placated him.

“…that look...she gives me sometimes…”

He swayed in his seat, and Claire worried that he was on the verge of passing out. But instead he flopped backward onto the bed, pinning her legs to the mattress with his body. Claire grunted and tried to push him off with her knees, but his weight won against her leg strength.

“Well,” Claire nudged him one more time with her knee, hoping he’d take the hint this time, but it failed and she resigned herself to being trapped under him with a long sigh, “It’s not like you and Jill are dating, right? You both said you’d never date a person you worked with, so I assumed you guys are just friends.”

‘Who occasionally have casual sex,’ she added.

He groaned and turned his face away from her. Maybe he was embarrassed, or maybe he needed to throw up.

…It had better not be the second one.

“Yeah, but still…she’s my partner,” he emphasized the ‘my’, “An’ I hafta protect her from sleazy faces with pretty assholes…No, wait…pretty faces…ahh ya know what I meant!”

He sounded like a pouting child, sullen and lost, and if she could have sat up without exposing herself, she would’ve patted his head and told him it would be alright, the sleazy asshole with the pretty face wouldn’t steal his partner.

Chris went quiet again and he must have been deep in thought because the silence stretched on for a good three minutes before he spoke again.

“Claire?” He sat up without warning and rubbed at his eyes, then mumbled, “S’glad you’re not normal like other girls. I don’t hafta worry ‘bout you runnin’ off with some jerk and leavin’ me behind. I don’ want you to be like that, like one of those girls. Don’t you ever get a boyfriend, Claire!”

Drunk Chris had zero volume control during his slurred rants, so his voice rose and sunk with his shifting mood as he spoke and Claire alternated between flinching when he yelled and twisting her head about so her ears could catch his mumbling.

“Because—because, lemme tell you! Men…suck…and they all wan’ you. To do…stuff...to their dicks. An’ I don’t want you doin’ that! Iz…bad…to do that…’ven if it feels awesome…”

He pointed his finger at her and nearly fell on top of her when he leaned forward too far. “Don’t touch ‘em, Claire! You’re a…you’re a good girl. An’ good girls don’ touch dicks.”

She leveled a flat look at him, already tired with their conversation. ‘So I’m a bad girl if I touch a man’s cock? Hate to break it you, big brother, but at some point, I’m going to touch one.’

Especially if she kept playing this game with Wesker. Dick-touching was going to be on the line eventually. They’d only done one penalty so far and she’d started the game at kissing, so the next penalty would have to be stepped up to the next level.

But what was the next level after kissing?

‘I remember someone saying first base is French kissing, and second base is touching under the clothes. But how far does that go? Playing with my breasts? A handjob? Letting him finger me? But isn’t oral sex third base? Why are the leaps between bases so huge?! I don’t understand this system!’

She groaned. This was giving her a headache.

Time for the drunk Redfield to go to his room so the other Redfield could put her damn clothes on and try to catch a few ZZZs before sunrise.

“Chris,” she said, but his attention remained elsewhere. She repeated his name until his eyes focused on her and not on whatever depressing scenario he was imagining in his head. “You need to get some sleep. By the way, I’m getting up early to go to the gym, so is your truck in the driveway?”

If one of the others drove him home, she might not be able to go to the gym until she picked her bike up on Monday.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘s out there,” he said, waving a limp hand at her. “Rebecca took my truck home in me an’ Brad followed behind us. Cause Brad reaaaaaally wanted to make sure me an’ Rebecca made it here okay. Hrmm…beginnin’ to think Brad likes Rebecca…Chicken-heart and the shrimp…”

He stood up suddenly like a puppet on strings and said, “I’m goin’ t’sleep.”

“Okay…good night.”

He trudged out of her room, forgetting to close her door on his way out.

Then she heard him mutter, “Wha…why’re my boxers hangin’ off m’door?”

She smirked. Why indeed.

Chris didn’t linger on the mystery of the hanging boxers for long. His bedroom door opened and shut, then there was the soft thump of his body hitting the bed.

And then…blissful silence.

She sat up with an incredulous look on her face. ‘Jesus, what was all that? I forgot how weird Chris gets when he’s drunk. Seriously, does he expect me to stay a virgin forever? He’s the one who lost his virginity before he got his driver’s license.’

She rolled her eyes at the memory of her brother’s sex-crazed, high school years. Looking back, it really was a miracle he hadn’t gotten anyone pregnant back then. Their parents never caught him fooling around, but Claire had once when she was in the third grade.

She smiled. ‘He thought he was so sly when he’d sneak his girlfriends over before mom and dad came home from work. He used to feed me some bullshit line about how they were going to “study” in his room and to keep it a secret cause mom and dad didn’t allow company over when they weren’t there, but his girlfriend had to be home before six so this was the only time they could study together. But you can only expect a nine-year-old to accept the “studying with a movie playing in the background” excuse for so long before she decides to find out for herself why they’re making so much noise.’

And one Wednesday afternoon she did. She waited until he and his girlfriend started making all those weird noises in his bedroom before sneaking outside. 16-year-old Chris may have been diligent when it came to locking his door, but he always forgot to lower his window blinds until they touched the sill. All she needed was a big white bucket and cinder block stacked outside under his window to spy on his super-secret study session.

She’d stretched up on her tiptoes, clinging to the cracked wood of the faded white sill’s edge to hold her steady as she peered through the glass. The glass was dirty, so she had to press her face close to get a good look at the moving figures inside. There was a scattered pile of clothes on the floor – she recognized the bright top as the one the girl wore to their house – and up on the bed were Chris and his girlfriend. Chris was laying down with his girlfriend sitting on his thighs, and what was weird to Claire was that the girl’s head was resting against Chris legs, at least it looked that way. When Claire wiped at the glass and peered through the clean patch she’d made, she realized that the girl had her brother’s private part in her mouth.

And that was how Claire discovered sex.

A passing car had frightened her not long after that. She’d leapt down from the plastic bucket to scrabble across the dirt and rocks, catching herself on her hands and knees when she stumbled after her jump. Her bloody palms ended up caked with the chalky dirt - she would get yelled at later for wiping them off on her jeans - as she half-crawled, half-ran the short distance to the backyard.

She’d high-tailed it for the woods behind their house as if the sheriff was at her back, calling for her arrest while his snarling German Shepherds hounded her shadow. She was guilty for the crime of seeing something she wasn’t supposed to, and if anyone found out, she’d get in big trouble. She’d climbed the notched trunk of a huge maple tree and hid among the mass of red leaves.

Lost in thought, Claire reached under the covers to pull her pajamas out. She held them in her lap and fiddled with the ties on the shorts. The incident occurred years ago, but the shock of it still remained with her.

‘I didn’t understand what I saw back then. It was all a big, confusing mess to me. But it’s not like I could go to my parents and say, “Hey mom and dad, I was spying on Chris through his window and saw him and his girlfriend hugging each other naked, and they sounded like it hurt when they were hugging, but their faces looked happy, so now I have a ton of questions for you to answer.”’

In the end, it was the internet, not her parents, who answered her questions. And now she looked forward to continuing her sexual education with some hands-on lessons from an experienced teacher, Chris’ objections be damned. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

She yawned right then, the late hour taking its toll on her now that the threat of discovery no longer existed. Ready to end the night, she pulled the tank top she’d grabbed over her head and winced when the movement stretched the skin over her chest. Slipping on the shorts caused her a similar pain, but she assumed the soreness came from grinding her crotch against a hard surface. The chest pain she’d figure out in the morning.

As she laid back down and settled her head back against the pillow, she told herself that she could deal with the rest of her concerns after she woke up. But Chris’ little tirade was too fresh in her mind and just like the man, it intruded on her space and ignored her desire to rest so it could bug her.

‘What did he mean when he said I’m not normal like other girls? Because I haven’t shown an interest in dating anyone? Well, until now, but he doesn’t know that’s changed.’

What did he mean?!

She twisted around in the sheets, trying to get comfortable, trying to find that magic position that would take away all her problems and lull her to sleep. But that, just like the answer she needed, evaded her grasp.

The shadows cast from passing cars danced stretched and shrunk across it as Claire stared up at the ceiling, abandoning one dilemma to drift her thoughts to a different unsolved mystery.

‘What happened while I was sitting in his lap? We were laughing and then the mood changed or something. Then…I saw his eyes. And it’s like my mind and body switched to auto-pilot. Or like someone else was behind the wheel and I was in the passenger seat watching them drive. I thought I would feel guilty or embarrassed to be doing that sort of thing; I damn near had a panic attack getting ready for my first kiss. But there wasn’t any room for that while he was touching me.’

Not now though. Mortification gleefully made itself known, and Claire considered hiding under the blankets and never coming out as she remembered Wesker talking dirty to her.

“How can he say that kind of shit with a straight face?!”

She laughed quietly in disbelief. Who would have thought Wesker the Ice King would say stuff like…nope, even alone in her head, she couldn’t repeat any of it. And he’d said it all while grinding against her like he was fucking her and…oh god that had been so...

Claire suppressed a moan, squeezing her thighs together. Her – clearly - insatiable sex clenched and throbbed, protesting against the cruel neglect of its needs. She glared at the troublemaker below, wishing that cold showers worked on women.

‘Cool it, you. You got more than enough attention earlier. We can’t get addicted to that sort of thing, not when I have no idea when he and I will be alone like that again. The withdrawal would be a bitch to deal with if I did end up addicted to him.’

A flash flood of adrenaline surged through her veins, chasing away her exhaustion for a moment, as she wondered again how long it would be until she’d see Wesker alone again.

‘Whenever it is, it won’t be soon enough.’

Wesker was damn good at everything he did – kissing and grinding included, but it was his voice that posed the most risk to her resistance than his body. Although his body was a very, very close second. The deep, aristocratic timbre of his caressed her in places his hands could never reach. Like liquid gold, it flowed into her emptiness and filled it with a shining warmth that resonated to every corner of its new home. Exclusively for her, he dropped the cold indifference reserved for the rest of the world and she melted for him when his smooth baritone evolved into dark velvet sin.

The devil must have whispered to Eve with a voice like that.

His voice, more than the words that slipped from his lips, seduced her to abandon reason and allow herself to be enthralled by him.

A ragged groan escaped her lips as she covered her burning cheeks with equally warm hands.

‘It’s a fucking drug, I can’t get enough of hearing him talk. I don’t know how, but he can change his tone in an instant and suddenly you feel like you’re naked and alone in a room together and he knows every single filthy thought you’ve had about him.’

Even now the delicate skin of her ears sang with the pleasant sting of an electric current running along the outer shell. It had been pestering her since after their dessert, while they were sharing a slow, deep kiss on the couch, the empty bowl forgotten on the table. A hint of chocolate still clung to their tongues as they slid against each other. When he’d broken the kiss to give her air – ‘I forgot to use my nose during the kiss again, but I’m still new to this! Kissing isn’t nearly as easy as people make it look!’ - he’d nuzzled his cheek against hers and purred into her ear, “Breathe, love.”

Dangerous is what it was.

She rubbed her ears for the third time since then, pressing down hard to force the sensation out, but she couldn’t get rid of the delicious sting throbbing under the surface.

‘What’s even scarier is that he can do the same thing with his eyes when he wants to.’

Like when he dropped his head low, tipped his shades down the bridge of his nose, and gave her that look, the one that said she was co-starring with him in a scenario that involved way more sweating, a lot less clothing, an excessive amount of moaning and begging, and then BAM. Wet panties.

“No doubt about it,” she said to the empty room, “Every part of that man is dangerous.”

The digital clock across the room flashed on the hour change, catching Claire’s attention. She squinted at the red two and double zeros glowing atop her dresser and almost groaned again.

Shit, she had to be up in four hours if she wanted to get a workout in before everything else she needed to get done today. ‘I need to go to the store after that for sure, we’re out of pretty much everything but beer and tortillas.’

A long yawn brought tears to her eyes and her fingers automatically came up to rub the drooping lids. Bleary eyes counted each textured dot spread along the white ceiling absentmindedly as she mentally went down her to-do list.

‘Mmm…then I need to finish my AP Chemistry lab report and the AP Calculus problems I didn’t get to Friday. After that…’

Something moved, or may have moved, in the shadows covering the corner of her room, but when she glanced at the spot, she couldn’t find the source. Under normal circumstances, she’d have gotten up to investigate it. But Claire was fucking tired and she chose to believe it was just her eyes messing with her.

‘That’s all it is, Claire, there’s no one else in your bedroom.’

Resolute determination – or stubbornness, she was a Redfield, after all – fixed her line of sight straight up and she picked up where she’d left off in her count. She would NOT look at the corner like a child searching for the monster that escaped from the closet.

At the hundred count, she blinked and planned out the housework.

‘There’s plenty of laundry in the living room that needs washing…’

She blinked again and noticed an accumulation of dust on her ceiling fan.

‘I’ll clean that when I vacuum later…’

She blinked a third time, a slightly longer blink than the last one, and heard a strange whoosh, like air being sucked into a tunnel. Then she felt a soft weight against her nose and mouth and distinct difference in the temperature of the room.

Her eyes snapped open, unaware of how long they’d been closed. But it wasn’t white that greeted her when her vision focused.

It was black.

Dark nothing encompassed every direction her head twisted.

Claire’s arms ached from above her head, but when she tried to lower them, she found it impossible. Something cold and hard surrounded both of her wrists, binding them together.

“What the fuck?” she whispered, looking up out of habit, not because she could see shit at the moment.

Hadn’t she just been lying in her bed? So where she was now? Because she certainly wasn’t at home or Chris’ snoring would be disturbing the freaky silence in this place. Not to mention her arms wouldn’t be shackled up so high the soles of her feet barely laid flat on the rock-hard floor. But that was obvious.

Claire grunted, twisting her hips to tug at the restraints holding down her feet. At best, she moved an inch in on each side; nowhere near enough to gain a better footing.

‘It would help if I could close my legs, but the fucker who did this left me bound with my feet too far apart. What is this, some sort of yoga hybrid of the triangle and tree pose?! Where the hell is this jackass? I’ve got a cramp in my calf and I want out!’

She laced her fingers together, as if in prayer, but Claire didn’t intend to reach out to any deity for help; she’d given up religion when it abandoned her 7 years ago. Now she only relied on herself. If she wanted to pray though, right now the only god whose favor she’d seek would be the God of Carnage. Cause someone was getting their ass handed to them once she freed herself.

Using her weight, Claire pull down on whatever held her arms up, but her only reward for her efforts was the cacophony of metal shaking and clanking together. The sound reverberated around her in waves, so she had to be in a big room, right? Then again, hard to tell when she was blind as Tiresias.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she glared at the dark. ‘Too bad I’m not a prophet too. Then I could use my clairvoyance to figure out what the hell is going on. Come on, think, Claire. The last thing I remember is staring at the ceiling and then I heard a sound…’

The sound of her gasp multiplied into ten in here as the blood drained from her face.

That movement she saw in the corner, the one she convinced herself was nothing more than a trick of the shadows; it must have been a person!

Claire clenched her teeth to prevent herself from breathing too fast. If she hyperventilated and passed out, who knew what would happen to her.

‘There really was someone in my room! God damn it, why don’t I listen to myself?! Argh! But who the hell would sneak into my bedroom and kidnap me? One of the guys?’

No way, even they wouldn’t take a joke this far. Then was it a pervert, a stranger who just happened to pick her house to strike? Chris hadn’t mentioned that there were any break-ins happening on their street as of late. Not that shocking though, criminals tend to avoid neighborhoods with cops living in them.

It could be someone with a grudge against the police, but her money was on a different theory: that she was targeted by someone she knew.

‘Seventy percent of sex crimes are committed by someone the victim knows, after all. But I don’t know anyone who would do something like this, except maybe that weird guy who sits behind me in Cultural Anthropology. He never says anything and sometimes I see him looking at me while he’s scribbling in that notebook of his. But how would a scrawny guy like him manage to—‘

From behind her, she heard it: the heavy fall of footsteps. The clunky, hollow noise of it gave her the impression that newcomer wore boots. Based on the increasing volume and even pace of the steps, the person was heading towards her at a pace that said they believed they had all the time in the world.

“Hey, you!” she said, hiding her trepidation with bravado, “Where am I? What am I doing here?!”

They ignored her and continued their slow approach at her back. Yeah, whoever this was, they weren’t in any rush. Fucking with Claire Redfield must be the last task on their to-do list today.

Claire felt more than heard the stranger change course to circle her, because her skin reacted under the intensity of their gaze, each side of her body tightening as they passed it. Somehow, the stranger made no noise beyond the hollow thump of their boots on the floor as they moved.

‘How is that possible? I should be able to hear them breathing at least. This room’s as quiet as death; it’s unnatural. What the hell is going on here?’

She thrashed against her bindings again, pissed at the vulnerability she felt right now. “Hey! I asked you a question! Did you do this? What the fuck do you want with me?”

The footsteps stopped and for a satisfying moment Claire thought, ‘Got your attention now, fucker.’

But the stranger went back to circling her; guess they had better control of their emotions than her. She was afraid, she recognized that this was a fucked up situation to end up in. But with nothing happening, her temper overwhelmed the fear and her mouth lost its restraints.

Through gritted teeth, Claire growled, “Are you fucking deaf?! I want answers, damn it!”

Without warning, a small and firm object stung her bare thigh and she yelped. She pulled to the left automatically, trying to escape the thing that attacked her out of instinct, not because she thought she could actually get away from it.

“Ow! What the fuck, jackass?!”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, Claire.”

All of Claire froze at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Her muscles stopped flexing, her blood stood still in her veins. Even her mouth couldn’t form a syllable to speak.

‘No way, no fucking way…’

“Wesker?” she asked, because she refused to believe it was him. It couldn’t be him. Why would Wesker of all people kidnap her when they’d seen each other only hours before?

Another hit, right across her left hip. She heard it coming this time; the acoustics of the room amplified the sharp whistle of the instrument as it cut through the air, warning her of the impending strike. The hits annoyed her more than anything, and the pain they inflicted amounted to mild at most.

“You will address me as Sir, Claire. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t fucking understand!” She fired back. “I don’t understand what’s going on, why I’m here, or— Stop smacking me with that damn thing!”

During her tirade, he’d swatted her right upper arm with – she didn’t know what the hell it was, but considering the situation she guessed it to be a crop or type of flexible rod.

She’d have gone straight into another stream of demands and obscenities, but the crop came down on curve of her ass cheek and she whimpered. But not from discomfort. And if she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d have noticed a very important detail about her predicament when the crop touched her ass. But her mind was focused on other matters and she paid no attention to the other alarm going off in her head.

‘Wha…what the fuck? Did that just…feel good?!’

She squirmed, tugging hard on each leg to bring them together and hide the beads of moisture dampening her inner lips. That along with the rush of adrenaline as the muscles of her backside tightened when the rod connected with her flesh confirmed it; the strike delivered pleasure, not pain.

The mark it left behind on her ass tingled like a thousand pinpricks, the sensation strong enough for her to follow their trail as they outlined the developing welt. When she visualized the entirety of that trail in her head, she saw a rosy pink rectangle, the bottom of it dragging down the plump flesh of her own bottom. Like the stroke of a flat-head paint brush on a blank canvas.

~ The beginning of a work of art. ~

Claire’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Did I say that last part aloud?’

The words came from a woman whose voice sounded familiar to Claire, but she couldn’t put a name to the voice. She twisted her head around, trying to pinpoint the newcomer’s location with her hearing, but the woman’s voice filled the room like a voice-over on a commercial; present, yet separate from the action.

“And who the fuck are you? Nice PA system you’ve got here, by the way. They usually sound like shit so you must have wasted a lot of money making sure you could sound like you’re talking right in my ear while you watch the show in your creeper command center. Or do you have an observation deck attached to this room so you can get your kink on in person?” Claire said, her tone dripping with derision.

She jumped when the crop’s tip brushed along the edge of her jaw. For a second there, she’d forgotten about the other person standing next to her.

“I don’t tolerate disobedience, Claire,” Wesker - because who was she kidding, no one else had a voice like honey-coated razor blades – said. “You would be wise to not test my patience.”

Because it was him, Claire tilted her head towards the gentle touch of it before she thought better of it and jerked her head away.

~ Not a great idea to ignore him, he gets testy. If you want your answers, play the game. Call him Sir. ~

“Fine,” Claire snapped at the unknown woman. She’d play along. But only because she wanted answers, and maybe to satisfy her own curiosity.

She took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, “Did you kidnap me from my home and take me here, Sir?”

The revulsion, the uproar of her rebellious nature, all that she expected to occur once she spat out his title…never happened. What stirred in her the moment she obeyed resembled nothing close to those reactions. The presence behind the response was both foreign and familiar, and she dared not examine it further once it triggered a second wave of fear. Not of Wesker, but of herself.

“Better,” he said, “And no, you came here of your own accord.”

Claire scoffed, but it lacked her usual bite. “Funny, I don’t remember choosing to come here.” She immediately gasped, her back bowing slightly, when the crop kissed the back of her untouched thigh in retaliation for the dropped title. “Sir.”

“Be that as it may,” Wesker said from behind her, “the fact remains that you are the one responsible for how you came to be here.”

“Then are you the one who chained me up? –Sir.” She almost forgot his title again and only just saved herself from another swat by tacking it on in a rush at the end.

‘I could handle it if it just hurt. But when he uses that thing on me, my body doesn’t react right and that scares me.’ Claire stiffened, dragging in a ragged breath as anxiety launched a sudden attack on her. ‘What if there’s something wrong with me? Have I become strange…or was I always this way?’

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The rhythmic sound of an object smacking into flesh – not hers, for once - broke her out of the mini breakdown and gave her something to concentrate on. She timed her breathing to match the beat of the smacks and waited for Wesker to speak. After thirty seven beats, the thwacking ceased and then, as if commenting on the weather or some other dull topic that meant nothing, Wesker replied, “Yes.”

She gaped at him – well, really she gaped at the dark since she couldn’t see a fucking thing. Speaking of that…

“Did you blindfold me as well, Sir?”

His footsteps once again echoed around her, the sound bouncing off the walls and into her ears until she couldn’t discern where Wesker was. Without her eyesight to prove her wrong, a dozen Weskers circled her together. And they all watched her with roving eyes, taking in her shaky breaths, the tiny jerks she made when she perceived him to be on the edge of touching her, and the nervous swipes of her tongue over parted lips.

His breath ghosted across her sensitive neck and this time Claire jerked hard, biting down on her lip to keep quiet.

“Yes,” he said again. Simple. Concise. Exactly how she’d expect Captain Wesker to answer, not the Albert Wesker she’d become intimately familiar with earlier.

Claire turned her head away from him and ignored the way her skin perked up wherever his air caressed it, the translucent hairs standing on end to reach for him.

‘Was it all an act? Is the Wesker I’ve always seen in public the real Wesker and he just pretended to be the sensual Prince Charming to lower my guard?’

Her heart clenched at the possibility of it.

~ Do you really believe that? ~ The lady chided Claire.

“I don’t know,” Claire said, her words spoken like a confession, “I don’t know what to think. I have no fucking idea what’s right, or what’s wrong, all I know is that I feel like an outsider in my own body right now, like I’ve woken up to find that I’ve been sleeping on a web of lies. And even though the spider is coming to eat me, I can’t escape the web.”

The woman hummed in interest, and after a short pause, she answered, ~ Then don’t think. You think too much. Really, Claire, would it be so bad to let the spider eat you? ~

A large hand traced the contours of her abdomen, paying extra attention to the indents at her hips. Claire cried out for a brief second, twisting in her place as that hand traveled up to cup her waist. To her shame, she pushed her hips into that wandering hand, rather than away from it.

It took serious effort, but Claire struggled through the haze of desire he’d stirred up and said, “Of course it is, I’ll die if it eats me, won’t I?”

Wesker’s hand drifted away and Claire’s knees buckled. The shackles around her wrists dug into them as they supported her entire body weight and though she fought to straighten her legs and ease their burden, her damn limbs refused to obey her.

~ Not really. It’s not a literal spider we’re talking about, after all. You won’t die if you let go and allow nature to take its course. For things like this, it’s better to just give in instead of suffering unnecessarily. ~

Should she?

Claire’s heart raced out of control while her lungs decided to do the exact opposite. Each deep inhale bottomed out in between her spread thighs, stroking her walls until they wept, and she dropped her head low to hide the flush climbing up her neck and face.

“And what is this exactly?” she whispered, the best she could manage when his scent – the smell of a smoldering bonfire on the wind as it sweeps through the woods on a winter night – drugged her brain anew.

The end of the crop pushed up on the underside of her chin, raising her face up until her neck stretched in a long, graceful line.

“This,” Wesker said, “is your punishment.”

Ah hahahahaha I'm so evil. Some of you are probably like, "Da fuq I just read?!" Shhh, don't worry, it's all going to be okay. Trust me, there is a method to my madness and this story is NOT veering off into a different direction. Stay with me and wait until the next chapter and all will make sense after that. Many of you will figure it out pretty quickly (and a bunch have! Thank you for not revealing it in your reviews, awesome people!), but for those who don't, fear not. There is a point to this. I'm still unsure about the quality of this chapter, my focus is on showing more than telling in my writing from now on and I'm not sure how successful I was at it for this chapter. But at this point I'm just gonna post it and hope for the best, otherwise I'll keep trying to edit it forever.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed chapter four and I would love it if you’d leave me a review telling me what you think!! You probably noticed this chapter was shorter than chapter 3, and that’s because I’m trying to cut down the length of the chapters to stay between 20 to 25 pages from now on. Chapter 5 is a direct continuation of this scene (plus other stuff, of course!) and I’m already writing it now, so you’ll see chapter 5 come out in April, I promise! Thank you for your patience and support, friends!
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The Penalty Game