It was safe to say, Wesker was frustrated.

Wesker did not frustrate very easily, but even the seemingly emotionless blond could suffer from frustration. It wasn't common; normally he felt small amounts of irritation brushing him, or the faintest disapproval.

But Chris brought out feelings he wasn't used to. Things he wouldn't want to admit to, for the vulnerability of it. The weakness in admitting such a strong emotion. That sickening, detestable 'L' word that he took care never to use but slipped into his mind every time he thought of Chris Redfield.

Loathing.

Ugh, how he hated it. Loathing was such a primitive feeling, with such an implied lack of control, and he was always in control.

But he couldn't help himself.. Redfield had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly how to get under Albert's skin, and the blond could only tolerate him for so long. It helped that he felt just as much joy in causing the other to suffer, but it took a lot out of him; drained him, even. To go from being entirely apathetic to feeling that… that 'L' word so powerfully…

Of course, this wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for the incident early that night. Wesker, self-assured and confident as always, had sworn to a bet that he could romanticize Chris. How hard could it be? The brunet was childish in his ideals and disgustingly optimistic; not exactly the most difficult specimen Albert had ever been forced to work with. Sure Chris claimed he wasn't gay, but Excella hadn't been too fond of men before she met Albert Wesker either.

As with Excella, this had nothing to do with actual interest and everything to do with benefitting himself. Wesker was not attracted to anyone, really; most people were far too inferior to keep him engaged physically or mentally, so all the repulsion Wesker felt had entirely to do with who he was manipulating and little to do with Chris' gender. Humans were humans.

Wesker had been quite proud of his appearance; hair gelled back flawlessly, shades perfect, dressed in his tight dark trousers and long-sleeve vest, the sleeves of which were rolled up above his elbows to show off his broad forearms. He looked delicious.

Unfortunately, Chris Redfield was Chris Redfield, and with a complete grasp on his nemisis' plans he was able to shoot down any and all attempts of the other of 'romance'. Chris had to give Wesker some credit; he had a few charming lines. Unfortunately, the voice that would seem warm and sweet as honey was painful for Chris, who felt it was patronizing more than anything else. Chris hadn't taken the bait of a few interesting angles Wesker decided to stretch or lean at, instead making sure he wasn't similarly showing off any assets.

At one point Chris had gone to make a sandwich, and when Wesker came up behind him and ran a hand suggestively up the outside of the human's thigh Chris turned and struck him hard in the face, breaking his nose. Wesker had tried to pull him into a sudden tight kiss, taking a more dominant approach to the romantic attempt, but his tongue was very nearly bitten off and a number of hard blows to his stomach forced him to back off.

That had been hours ago.

Now, Wesker was standing over Chris, his glasses having been knocked away previously and both exposed eyes staring haughtily down at the other. The BSAA member was busy trying to pull himself up off of the ground after taking a kick to the ribs that sent him flying and had likely broken a few as well.

"Is there nothing I can do to interest you?"

"Sure there is," Chris responded sarcastically, teeth grit. "Drop dead."

"Hn."

With Redfield up again they resumed fighting, or rather Wesker resumed pummeling Chris who put up an admirable fight but was little match. Wesker had to constantly remind himself that he was trying to make Chris want him, then that he wasn't trying to kill Chris, and then there was a nagging sense he shouldn't kill him but he couldn't quite remember why so he ignored it.

After some time Wesker was straddling the brunet, leaning over him and pinning both wrists above his head to the ground with one hand, the other hand tight around Chris' throat. There was a sadistic pleasure present in the blond's face as he stared down upon the bloody and bruised Chris Redfield. A weak chuckle that vibrated against his palm caused him to pause however, quirking an eyebrow. "I fail to see what is so amusing, Chris." Albert's voice was a drawl, but just as pleased as the rest of him. He sounded more curious than annoyed; was even generous enough to release his vice-grip on the other enough for Chris to speak.

"You… lost, Wesker."

The other eyebrow went up as well. Chris was grinning, most of his teeth bloody.

"You unromantic… asshole."

Slowly both eyebrows fell, the older of the two narrowing his eyes at Chris. His hand tightened momentarily as he sneered, then released the throat of the other entirely.

"I was simply taking a break." He informed Chris, letting go of the brunet's wrists and standing up. "I wouldn't want you to grow… expectant. You always were so… naïve. And clingy."

Chris snorted, wincing as he slowly pushed himself up. Wesker calmly collected his sun-glasses, then righted his hair (which had been fine, but it was something of a habit). The kitchen was a mess, with only one table still intact. A number of cupboards were smashed open from both men taking turns smacking the other's head through them.

Redfield went to a cupboard, fishing out a First Aid Spray and healing himself, then tossed the can into a nearby garbage bin. It seemed somewhat pointless with so much chaos and mess cluttering the room, but Chris saw it as one less thing to deal with when the room was cleaned.

Huh. Were he and Wesker responsible for maintenance of the place as well, or would someone else deal with that?

Chris rooted around in a drawer, then withdrew six tootsie pops. Wesker, who had been finishing off a bottle of water, frowned. Chris found himself smiling, finding pleasure in the other's misery as well. "Tootsie pop experiment." He told Wesker, then moved to the table that could still be called a table and cleared it off, sweeping various jars and papers off of it. Albert sighed begrudgingly but grabbed a paper towel, wiping off a line of peanut butter that had smeared along a corner. Chris dealt with an exploded pop can.

With that finished, Chris grabbed a nearby timer and set it on the table. Then he sat down, waiting for Wesker to take a seat across from him. When he did he held up the tootsie pops. "This room is set to 21 degrees Celsius. The tootsie pops are cherry-flavoured. Anything else that needs to be added?"

Wesker snatched a tootsie pop, unrolling the plastic and eying the candy with a frown. "It is an original design, so we can assume the distance from the outside to the center is fairly consistent with others. You left it in the cupboard, which is room temperature. Have you had any cigarettes or alcohol today?" Chris felt that the tyrant was suddenly looking at him, but couldn't tell with the dark sunglasses.

"No. I don't smoke anymore—"

"Really?"

Chris nodded.

"Hn." Chris was slightly puzzled by a look that quickly passed Wesker, but didn't ask. "You haven't had anything to drink either, right? And you're not bulimic anymore either?"

Redfield knew Wesker rolled his eyes at that comment. "You must think you're terribly clever. Really, though, this juvenile behavior is unbecoming."

"That's hardly a denial, Wesker."

Oh, Chris was really pushing it. It didn't help Albert was already frustrated over his apparent losing of the challenge. Calmly he set his tootsie pop down, then with a certain rigidness slid his glasses off and quietly folded them, setting them on the table as well. Both eyes glanced up to Chris.

"I am trying very, very hard not to kill you Chris. I would appreciate it if you would not try my patience."

Chris smiled brightly. "Well if you put it like that, Wesker…"

"Thank you," Wesker began to slip his glasses back on.

"-I'll have to mention your bulimia more often."

Wesker scowled darkly, slamming his glasses down on the table. Then, smiling sweetly, responded; "I will kill you, Christopher. Slowly. Painfully."

Chris shrugged, tossing two additional tootsie pop rolls near Wesker's opened one. "Just start licking, Wesker."

It was good they had extra ones; Wesker bit the whole candy off the stick with one vicious chomp.

The first experiment went well, after Chris replaced the tootsie pop Wesker had bit in half ("You even swallowed the stick?? Who does that??" No response.), and didn't pay much attention to the blond, enjoying the strawberry flavor. Eight minutes passed and Chris had to pause, looking his tootsie pop over; it wasn't quite at the center yet. He resumed licking, and within a few minutes stopped the timer with a loud 'THWACK!' that startled Wesker.

Grinning like a child he held out his tootsie pop for the blond to see. "Four-hundred and fifty-seven."

"I'm impressed," Wesker told him drly, spinning his own slowly; it wasn't even halfway to the center. "I didn't think you could count that high, Christopher."

"I would have thought you would be better at it," Chris told him, amused. "Don't you like tootsie pops, Wesker?" His voice bordered laughter; Wesker glared darkly. "No, as a matter of fact."

"Oh. Well that's too bad; we still have to perform two more experiments. Plus, you need to finish that one so we can compare lick count."

"Can we not simply assume your results are adequate?"

"Nope." Chris hit the timer again, letting it continue from where it had been.

There was a grumble, and Chris momentarily feared Wesker was going to rip it right off the stick again; he didn't, but the fervor he licked it with was something like a cat. Except for the constant grimaces. A few minutes later Wesker pulled it away warily, Chris hitting the button on the timer. "All finished?"

"I think I'm going to vomit."

Chris shrugged, having already finished off the tootsie center of his own and ready for the next.

"I will kill you for this Redfield."

Chris smiled, imitating his drawl. "Promises, promises." Wesker growled, but said nothing, unwrapping the second tootsie pop.

Chris, enjoying his tootsie pop and more aware of what to expect, was able to cut his time down from over eleven minutes to just under nine. Again he found himself finished before Wesker, who was tentivly licking at it with the tip of his tongue. Chris tilted his head, voice mock surprised. "You're not going to throw up, are you? You can deal with zombies, but a little—"

"Shut up." The voice was somewhat muffled around the darting tongue and tootsie pop.

"Who would have thought the great Albert Wesker had a weakness for tootsie pops…"

"Stop." The other warned, still working on the vile concoction.

"You should just have at it, Wesker." Chris told him, sounding bored, his arms crossed on the table. "Get past the taste and go head on. You're only prolonging it..."

"I care… about what I put… in my mouth." Grumbled the other, around careful licks. He at least tried to use more of his tongue. Chris watched the timer drawl on to fourteen minutes and sighed, sitting back.

At twenty three minutes Wesker finished, grimacing and wiping his mouth on the back of his bare arm.

"We should take a break," Wesker informed Chris. Feeling an unusual amount of pity (he'd never actually seen Wesker green before) he realized the right thing to do was to let the other rest a minute.

But this was Wesker.

"It could affect the results," He told Wesker. "Better to deal with it now." He said as matter-of-factly as he could, biting back any laughter. Wesker looked queasy, but took the final tootsie pop roll.

After six minutes Chris could taste the tootsie center, but hadn't quite reached it. Wesker's tongue was slathering and wrapping around his own in a desperate attempt to deal with it as quickly as possible; it was somewhat hypnotic to watch. Like a frog, or some giant lizard. At six minutes and thirteen seconds he hit the timer harshly, holding his tootsie pop out triumphantly. "Finished."

Then a look crossed him; a look Chris had never seen before. He swayed, then made a disgusting sort of noise in the back of his throat, covering his mouth with his hand. Quickly the blond was up and out of the kitchen, racing off to the bathroom to vomit.

Chris celebrated his victory with a quiet chuckle, then turned the timer back on and resumed licking his own tootsie pop roll.

----

After seven minutes he completed his tootsie pop roll. At nine, he grew curious over what could be taking Wesker so long. At fourteen an interesting thought occurred to him, and still proud over having apparently gained some upper hand over Wesker for once went to find his arch foe. It was probably better that he found him anyways, Chris decided; who knew what puppies the man was probably kicking.

Wesker, for his part, was not kicking puppies. After being sick the blond had showered and changed, and was currently brushing his teeth with an electric toothbrush. Two whole rolls of floss had been used and now lay in the garbage bag, and a new one lay open and half used on the counter. Wesker had succeeded in cleaning his teeth at least five minutes ago, but just the thought of the tootsie's made bile rise in the back of his throat and set him brushing all the more.

When the door creaked open and Redfield stepped in he glared at the other's reflection, the motion of his hand becoming more violent and almost dislodging a molar. Chris sighed quietly, looking honestly apologetic; he leaned back against the door. Wesker sneered faintly, then went back to brushing his teeth, spitting harshly a few seconds later. He grabbed a glass of water nearby quickly and rinsed, making sure he spent thirty seconds rinsing before he spat it out. Then he grasped a cloth nearby and wiped his mouth, turning to Chris.

"Yes?" Wesker, his glasses set aside on the counter, really looked like a monster. The tyrant looked ready to murder Chris, and probably could have at that moment, as well.

Instead he was left to gape as Chris' lips crushed against his own, the brunette grabbing the back of the blond's head and pulling hard to try and pull him down to his height. Wesker previous irritation was forgotten in the sudden pleasure of winning, and possessively he grasped Redfield's waist and pulled him hard against him, opening his mouth in an attempt to swallow the human's very breath.

And then the most disgusting, grotesque taste filled his mouth; at first he thought it was Chris tongue, but the other quickly pulled away and Wesker was left hacking, leaning over the counter and coughing up the center of a tootsie Chris had oh-so-elegantly spat in Albert's mouth. The blond felt his stomach churn painfully again and, with a look of true pain, reached into his mouth and pulled out a brunet strand of hair.

Then Wesker was throwing up into the toilet again, and Chris was laughing, and it was bizarre to see such a reversal of roles.

The sound of retching stopped; Albert leaned back slowly, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm again. Then both red eyes set on Chris, and he lunged.

Redfield, having expected the move, had swiftly ducked around the door and pulled it shut, enjoying the satisfying 'boom!' from Wesker colliding.

"CHRIS!!!!!! The tyrant roared, pounding on the door.

"Shouldn't you brush your teeth?"

There was loud roaring and pounding, and then all at once it stopped. Chris paused, listening to the sudden silence. When Wesker spoke again he sounded reserved, calm, if not slightly quiet and disbelieving. "Chris… what did you put in my hair…?"

Redfield grinned to himself. Grabbing the other man by the head hadn't been so much about eliminating the height difference as it had been to smear what had melted of the cherry tootsie pop off of his fingers and into the other's perfectly kept hair. If there was a God, it would be hard to get out.

There were soft murmurs from behind the door, and Chris thought the blond might be in shock. Then the door (and consequently Chris, who was leaning on it) went flying. Wesker stormed out of the bathroom, eyes blazing red, entirely deadest on killing Chris. Some of the back of his hair was pushed up and now had red crusty spikes, and it was easy to imagine the back of his hair had a similar messy pattern with an additional splash of red.

Chris was finding it hard to breathe. Not from the blow, but from laughing.

"Heh… hah… Wes… Wesker… heh…."

The blond snarled, grasping Chris by the throat and lifting him up into the air. "Time to die, Chris."

And then Jill bodily tackled Wesker off of Chris, though she couldn't push the tyrant far. He growled, glaring down at her; that was the second time Jill had saved Chris and Wesker still wasn't certain why he had ever thought not killing her immediately would be a good idea.

"Come on Wesker, you know the rules. No killing each other."

Jill was surprisingly composed; Wesker's eyes narrowed. "There is a limit to what I will endure. And he," Albert pointed viciously at Chris. "Would be that limit."

Chris, ever the stoic hero… was still laughing.

Jill sighed. "Kill him after the segments are finished. We need him to answer the questions."

"I don't see why; you could just as easily take his place."

Jill sighed like a mother trying to mediate two fighting brothers. "Go get changed and wash your hair, Wesker. And," She said quietly, waiting to make sure Redfield was more caught up in breathing than listening. "You can't kill him, but why don't you try to get him back?"

"How?" Wesker's voice was a low rumble, the tyrant straining to form coherent thought, nevermind sentences.

Jill shrugged softly, smiling. With one last look at Chris he sneered, then turned sharply and strode back to the bathroom to do as Jill had said. Chris, not interested in seeing a nude Wesker (the other had no sense of modesty and the bathroom door was gone), headed back to the kitchen. A thought made him pause, turning to look at his old partner.

"Jill! Sandwich?"

--------

It had been a few hours since then. Wesker and Chris were now sitting at the computer monitors, Albert slick and clean once more, his coat set on the back of his chair. It had taken a lot of shampoo and a number of combs, but his super-human strength and persistence had let him get rid of the disgusting red candy smeared in his hair. It hadn't been that much anyways; Chris cursed not having thought of bringing a whole one to stick onto Wesker. See him get that off without leaving a bald patch.

Still, considering how utterly humiliated he had been, Wesker was showing remarkable composure once more. The blond sat at his monitor with a straight back and slightly raised chin, awaiting the first comment. Redfield was trying to imitate him, though Albert apparently hadn't noticed. Recalling the look on the other's face caused him to shake his head, chuckling softly once more.

"I don't know why you're laughing," Wesker informed him. "I won."

"Huh?" Redfield still sounded amused.

"You kissed me. Clearly you are romantically interested."

"Wesker, that 'kiss' was to distract you."

"And yet you've never employed that tactic before…"

Chris didn't lose any of his humor, taking it in stride. "You never would have thought you were winning before; it left you vulnerable. It was exploitation; you know, the thing you do?"

Wesker gave a sigh. "If you want to believe that, Chris…"

"Guys, please. Just get along long enough to do the segment, alright?" Jill was leaning against a table near the back of the room, arms crossed. The bickering really wasn't speeding up the answering of questions.

"And," She began, having come up with an idea. "I think you should read the other person's e-mail. That way no one will feel uncomfortable reading what was asked."

"Chris is the only one who has ever been uncomfortable," Wesker stated simply.

"Irregardless. Switch computers, men."

Both sighed but got up, Wesker grasping Chris when they passed and pulling him hard against himself again, staring down at him from behind his glasses. Chris stared up, raising an eyebrow. "Need something, Wesker?"

The other's lip curled slightly in disdain. "You smell bad." He informed the other, then released Chris and strode to the computer. The blonde wrinkled his nose at the pile of tootsie pop rolls set beside the monitor, glancing at Chris before resuming staring at the monitor. Redfield looked awkward trying not to touch the coat of the other (which had folded slightly over the inside of the chair because of its length), and grimaced faintly. Jill smiled, having accomplished her goal.

Chris glanced to Wesker, then began typing on the keyboard.

"Should we not discuss the results of the… hn, 'Experiment'?" Chris nodded. "It took me four-hundred thirteen licks on average. Wesker's average…"

"Was five-hundred and six licks." He looked like he might be sick again, though it passed.

"It must have been higher than that; you took twice as long as I did…"

"I licked slower than you, Redfield. In the time it took you to lick twice I was still starting."

Chris frowned, shrugging a moment later and accepting the simple explanation.

"Which means the average amount of licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop roll is four-hundred fifty-nine point five." Wesker said smoothly.

"Which we round up to four-hundred and sixty." Chris commented, to which Albert nodded.

"Now to resume the task at hand," Wesker began, Chris nodding.

"You have the first question Wesker." Fingers flew rapidly over keys.

It was difficult to hear what the other muttered, but it sounded akin to 'Oh goodie".

"Sythlia says, 'Albert, if Uroboros had really succeeded, wouldn't it have just turned the whole world into one big tentacle? Sure, some organic life might survive, but what would stop everyone else who joined into a bunch of tentacles from killing 'the chosen' outright? I don't think you thought this through very well…"

Wesker cracked his knuckles. "Assuming one isn't rejected by uroboros, the feats and powers at one's disposal are limitless. The rejected forms may be problematic, but the truly strong would force them into the submission they were destined for; else they would not be very strong, would they?"

"Also, those who are not rejected do not merge with one another. The only reason the rejected ones appear to merge is because they require a living host to control them, and without it are constantly attempting to replenish their depleting energy and health through devouring other living tissue. The less alive the tissue it devours, the less sustenance it gains from it; and the weaker it grows. A true uroboros would have had no difficulty dispatching Chris and Sheva."

"And yet we managed to defeat you…"

"After injecting me repeatedly, throwing me from a plane, and firing rockets at me inside the hangar bay. I was not in the greatest state of health at the time."

Chris shrugged.

"Sythlia would also like to know, 'What did the seven minutes thing refer to? Seven minutes till what?'"

"Until my hair gel dried."

Chris turned to him, shock and amusement written across his face. "Really?!"

"No you moron. I had to go and get an injection."

"Oh." Chris sounded slightly disappointed.

"The next one is for you Chris, and is also from Sythlia. 'Chris, do you punch boulders often? Is it to get revenge for the first one that chased you in the first game?'" The blonde turned to regard Chris, grimacing at the sight of his coat touching Redfield.

"I…" Chris looked baffled. "Uh… no? It was just a sort of… spur of the moment… I guess?"

"And you're certain you're not on steroids?"

A soft sigh.

"Sythlia also requests that we 'high-five'." Wesker droned. Chris frowned and braced his feet on the floor, then with a sharp motion launched the chair towards the tyrant. Wesker winced, tensing at the suspected impact, but Redfield showed remarkable precision in the quick timed event, grasping the counter sharply to stop himself. Warily, he rose his hand.

"No need to be so dramatic, Chris. I'm not going to break it."

Knowing Wesker, he just might have. Surprisingly, he gave a simple clap of the hand, none of his inhuman might behind it. Back on S.T.A.R.S. the pair had high-fived each other a number of times, and it was hardly a new sensation; except now there was the added desire to kill each other.

"SaYue-San asks, 'If you had to choose, I mean Life or Death, would you rather have hot kinky sex with Sheva or Jill?'" It was surprising the word 'kinky' was even in Wesker's vocabulary. Jill cleared her throat from behind them, causing the brunet to turn an awkward shade of pink. Wesker grinned.

"Well I mean, obviously I would never expect such a thing from Jill, and…"

"So you would have sex with Sheva instead?" Both men were surprised at Jill's comment, looking to her. Chris looked awkward. "Well, no, I mean… well, if I got to know her, and the relationship developed that way, then…"

"Just choose, Christopher." Drawled a bored Wesker.

"Well, if it was a matter of life or death, then…" His voice dropped a few decibels. "Jill." Wesker chuckled softly, Ms. Valentine fighting back her own blush.

"Wesker!" Redfield's sharp bark brought them back from their musings. "SaYue-San wants to know how you manage to keep your hair so still. 'How do you keep your hair so still? I mean it never moves even when you have your hands on it. It's crazy.'"

Albert smirked. "A lot of hair gel. Redfield used to gel his hair as well, but he's apparently given the habit up in the last few years… he's also given up shaving, and other basic hygienic habits." Redfield frowned at the insult, but didn't interject.

"I'm usually careful to not dishevel it when I touch it. During my first… 'encounter' with Chris and Sheva I was frequently righting it. It helped that most of the fight was spent with them running."

"NiaXie says…" Chris sighed softly. "NiaXie, not me, Wesker… 'Wesker you are so expletive sexy and I love you more than you love yourself… joking… I know that's not possible.'"

Wesker chuckled. "Well, I suppose I should be thanking you then, NiaXie. It's certainly nice to be appreciated." Albert's voice was a sultry purr. "It's certainly wise to prefer the winners, as well."

"Like Excella?" Redfield chirped; Wesker rolled his shoulders.

"Excella was an… unfortunate, albeit necessary, sacrifice."

"Right. Like S.T.A.R.S." Muttered Chris.

"Precisely." Replied Wesker brightly.

"Tiger Snaps has another question for you, Wesker. Tiger asks; 'Would you rather have sex with Jill in Chris's bed or Claire in Chris's Bed?'" Chris was glaring daggers at Albert, clearly ready to throttle the male if he said Claire. There was a pause where the tyrant obviously considered it, then he simply looked to Jill and smirked. "Well now that Ms. Valentine is a blonde…"

"Wesker…" Jill began in warning; again the blond shrugged.

"Can I not say both?"

Chris sneered, again causing Albert to chuckle. "Jill, of course. I'm not sure where the idea I was interested in Claire originated…"

"Didn't S. D. Perry start that whole thing?"

Wesker sighed. "I hate S. D. Perry."

Redfield grinned boyishly. "I know. Anyways, the next question is for you, and it's from Shadowl—"

There was the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. All three glanced that way, listening to the sound of a fridge opening and some cutlery being dug out of a drawer, then shrugged and went back to their segment.

"It's from Shadowlexis, and says; 'Albert, I've got some issues with you!" The blond raised an eyebrow. "'Wtf happened to your voice? It was decent in Code Veronica, and now in RE5 and Umbrella chronicles, it sounds like your trying to a cockney accent, and your failing miserably!'"

"My voice has simply gotten softer over the years, dear heart. I suspect I would have very little voice at all had I smoked when S.T.A.R.S. was active. It isn't that different; just a reflection of my age and travels. I suppose I could attempt to sound more closely to how I did in my younger years; though I'm not certain why I would."

"I always thought that Andrew Smylie did a pretty mean impression of you, Wesker."

Albert chuckled. "Andrew Smylie. Yes, he does do it well, doesn't he?"

Redfield continued. "Shadowlexis also says; 'And what in the name of Rick Astley happened to your clothes? You now look like a wazzak, a complete idiot.'" Wesker rose an eyebrow again. "I'm rather fond of my outfit, personally. What precisely is wrong with it? The gloves, the coat…?"

"I thought it was weird when you used to wear turtle-necks."

"Of course you would. You have no sense of fashion."

"There's another weird question. 'Would you prefer Chris to be in a maid's outfit or dressed as a catboy, with the ears and everything?'" Wesker turned his – or rather Chris' chair fully, eying the other male up and down slowly. "Hmm… I would say maid's outfit, but I don't believe your legs would look anything but repulsive. So, cat boy, I suppose."

The tyrant cocked his head. "I suppose you already are somewhat like a pussy cat. Suicidal tendencies, and what not."

Chris rolled his eyes, going back to looking at the monitor. "The last comment to you from Shadowlexis is, 'You're still a bloody awesome villain...go get yourself some alcohol to celebrate...then get Chris drunk for giggles!' You know, I'm fairly certain I have a stronger constitution than you, Wesker. Especially if the tootsies pop rolls are any indication."

"Please. You not only get drunk quickly, but you're a lush when it happens. You were embarrassing to be around at bars." Redfield stuck his tongue out. "At least I can eat tootsies pop rolls without barfing."

"Hn, perhaps that would sting more if it was something I actually cared about. What a shame I am not as juvenile as you. Now then, Shadowlexis' comment to you is thus; 'My main problem with you is what in Grim Fandango's name happened to you? You seriously look like you have been on steriods...or Chris-roids as my good friend says. And I don't like your partner in Resident Evil five, she sucks major. Also, would you rather be tied up and let Wesker have his way with you or be in a maid's outfit for the day and do everything he says. I think somewhere in my head, something hath broke'd...I BLAME YOU BOYS!' Well, there's no need to blame me dear." Both red eyes moved to the brunet. "Well Chris?"

"Why don't they ever ask you these questions?"

"Everyone is aware of your secret fetishes, clearly."

Redfield scowled. "Maid's outfit. That way whenever he saw me he'd be sick."

Albert laughed good-naturedly. "Now now, that isn't very nice."

"It isn't supposed to be."

Wesker sighed, but let it go. Jill was starting to realize just how crazy the pair were when locked up together. It was a little frightening.

"Angie thinks you rock, Chris."

"At least someone does…" The brunet murmured, sounding more pathetic than he meant. He shook it off. "Angie wants to know, 'Wesker, why did you have to kill Excella? What? Are you afraid of commitment or something? Yeah hehe don't hurt me.'" Redfield looked expectantly to his ex-captain, who leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.

"It was nothing against Excella, personally. When uroboros was released she would have been rejected as well; I simply saw more use in using her to impede Sheva and Chris than waiting until for the inevitable. It would have been a waste of a perfect opportunity."

"As for commitment… I simply am more loyal to myself than any other. Eventually those I ally with begin to deviate from my own goals, and I lose interest in continuing a partnership. I would like to think my commitment to killing Chris Redfield over the years hasn't wavered." Albert glanced cheekily to Chris, who pointedly ignored him.

Wesker continued. "Chris, Angie asks, 'Who do you like better, Sheva or Jill? Which one would you marry? And which one would you um want to 'do it' with? Cough cough. And oh yeah, BUY SOME LOOSER SHIRTS! It's not hot anymore, it's kinda annoying.'"

Chris sighed softly. "I like them both the same; they're both my partners, and a certain bond forms that's difficult to break…"

"I had a partner once."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. He was assassinated."

"By your hand, no doubt?"

"No. Not that he didn't deserve it."

Chris shook his head, going back to his explanation. "I would rather marry Jill I guess, since I know her better…" He risked a glance at the female, who looked totally caught up in staring at a small speck of dirt on the wall. "I… I guess if the relationship went that way, then I'd go… farther? And as for looser shirts…"

"He already does. Have you seen what he's wearing?"

Chris rolled his eyes. They'd end up dislodged at this point. "I try to buy for substance, not style. Maybe I make the shirt work, not the other way around?" The brunet raised an eyebrow slyly, as he'd seen Albert do. The blond stifled a cruel chuckle.

"Angie also has a comment on your fashion, Wesker. 'Where do you buy your clothes? Add some color to your life! What, is you favorite store "All Black R Us?" I think you would look good in green, and not that gay green, you know the hot kind.'"

"Chris, give me your vest."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Wesker, you have a ridiculous amount of clothing. Unlike you, I am not rich."

"I fail to see how that's of any point."

"You don't have to; you aren't wearing my clothing. End of story."

Wesker rolled his eyes. "Well, I believe I would look good in green; a darker shade, perhaps. I prefer darker clothing, it leads to being more easily over-looked. I used to wear a lot of blue as well."

"You looked good in blue."

"Thank you." Jill was surprised by the sudden show of comradery, but didn't comment lest the moment explode the universe.

"TntFriday13 says, 'Aw, Chris, you're a women only zone?...Hm, Wesker is hardly a woman, in fact he seems to be all man to me—' I certainly am. '…So that just won't do. Okay Chris, my next question for you is... Would you rather be wearing a really short dress on your date with Wesker, where later on you end up under him on a bed. Or would you rather wear a bikini on your date with Wesker, involving hot, steamy weather and water to cool you both off?' Hn, that second one sounds nice…"

"The bed. I end up under Wesker a lot."

Jill choked on a soft laugh; Chris quickly clarified. "And then I beat him off!"

Wesker grinned; Chris literally face-palmed.

"I meant when we fight. In a non-sexual way."

"Mhm."

"Your question from TntFriday13 is, 'What would you rather Chris be wearing in bed with you? Nothing or something kinky? If it's kinky would you please tell what exactly it is?'" Redfield looked close to hitting his head against the desk again.

"I suppose I would rather Chris be wearing all his clothing if he was in bed with me. He's hairy, and no doubt sweats like a beast."

Jill rose her eyebrows. "You didn't just answer that seriously, did you?"

"Why of course, dear heart. I am comfortable enough with my sexuality to not be offended by implications of homosexuality. Chris on the other hand…"

"I'm not gay!"

"Temper, temper. Anyhow, Jesture asks, 'Who did you have a better time working with? Jill or Sheva?'"

Chris looked thoughtful, calming down. "Well, Sheva was great to work with, but Jill… we have a history, you know? Though shooting you in the face with rocket launchers was great."

"Hn, I'm sure it was."

"Jesture asks you, 'Would you find it weird to have somebody want to try and "save" you from your insane mind of world domination and God complex?'"

Wesker laughed broadly, throwing his head back. Both eyes flashed from behind his glasses. "I would find it… endearing, and amusing. Possibly irritating."

"Reiji Neko Mitsukai has something to say, Wesker; 'You're a bachelor, and you love it- I get that. But for the love of all things furry, PLEASE wash your hair and leave it loose AT LEAST once in a while. All that gel can't be good for it, and we all know how much of a vain bastard you are.

Also, due to the feral appearance of your eyes, your designated name is now Whisker. You brought it on yourself.'"

Chris looked to Wesker to see his appearance; he was stoically impassive.

"I'm not certain how fond I am of the name 'Whisker'. Though I've been called worse, I suppose. As for my hair…" A small smirk quirked his lips. "I do leave it loose, now and then. I'm just careful not to be around anyone when I do. The formula I use is all natural, so there's no worries of it harming the roots. I certainly appreciate the concern, though. Chris, your comment is; 'Seriously? Just kiss Jill already. We all know you want to.'"

The brunet blushed and sputtered; Jill also blushed. Wesker smirked. After an awkward moment, a chirp caused Chris to look up at the computer. He hit a button. "DarknessCat says, 'Weskaah… did anyone call you Whiskas? You could do an advertisement of it.'"

"What is or are Whiskas?"

"You know, the cat food?"

"Ah. Well, to my knowledge I've never been called Whiskas. Perhaps if I had facial hair someone might?"

"You and your nicknames. I'm almost jealous."

"Don't be."

Chris smirked, pausing at another chirp. "Azrael 216 asks, 'Hey Wesker if you had a brother who had taken care of you throughout the years in childhood and would have gone against you with your cough insane cough plan to take over the world would you kill him? Just thinking.'"

Wesker shrugged. "Probably. I may have simply restrained him or attempted to control him, depending on how useful he was. I am not the particularly sentimental type. Chris, Azrael says, 'One little question how the hell did you do the flip in the laser room in the Umbrella Russian base? You never did it in the past why then?"

"The same reason I punched a boulder to save Sheva. Unlike certain people, I'm not a show-off; I only do what's needed."

"That's why I have more fans."

"Right. Azrael adds, 'Wesker your midnight version in mercenaries and versus suck!'" Chris snickered, Wesker looked taken aback. "I beg to differ. But to each his own, I suppose."

Another chirp. Chris opened the message. "Ada Wong TN, not to be mistaken for the Ada Wong, says; 'I love you! You are so sexy. Well... I want to know if you had some romance relationship with Excella before Chris arrives to Africa!! And, what kind of gel you use? The volcano's lava couldn't dishevel you!'"

Wesker smiled. "Thank you. Yes, I did have a relationship with Excella you might call romantic… I wasn't particularly interested in her, truly, but she was very… physical about her interests in me."

Chris raised an eyebrow in implication; Wesker nodded. Chris whistled lightly, Albert smirking faintly before recalling he was getting along with Chris Redfield and falling back into an impassive expression. "As for gel; I use an all natural formula I found in France. It's very, very good."

Chris paused at the second message he received, eye twitching faintly. "I think you're supposed to read this one…"

The blond got up, sauntering over to his desk and leaning over Chris to stare at the monitor. He chuckled lowly. "I agree. Chris, AdaWongTN would like to know; 'What you'll do if you find Wesker and Claire having sex??' And adds, 'You are cute! But Wesker is better!'" Chris elbowed the other to knock him away; Wesker simply chuckled, moving back to where he'd been originally.

"I would kill Wesker." Chris said. "Painfully. With something sharp. No! Blunt. It would hurt more." He frowned at the comment of Wesker being better. "Well, everyone likes what they like." He hit a key. "Hina-86 says, 'I'm sad to say this, but if you were going to kick puppies then Chris will be my favourite character. And how could you say that about Jill?!! She showed me the baby's ultrasound pictures...'"

"Say what about Jill??" The female strode over to Wesker threateningly, eyes narrowed. The male smiled innocently up at her. "You've been here the entire time, dear heart. Surely I have said little in the ways of offending you?"

She turned to Chris. "What did he say, Chris?"

Redfield frowned; apparently banging his head had knocked a few things loose. "Someone mentioned you two… you know. But he said he didn't…"

Wesker took on an odd little infuriating smile, looking up to Jill. "And we didn't, did we, Ms. Valentine?"

"I'm not playing this game with you Wesker." She turned, striding back to where she had stood previously; Wesker watched her go, then grinned at Chris. Chris scowled darkly.

"This comment is directed towards you, Chris, also from Hina-86. 'Stop denying the love you have for Wesker!'" The blond righted his sun-glasses; Redfield groaned. "I don't love Wesker. I don't have any interest in him. I hate him, pure and simple."

"Did you hate me when we are on S.T.A.R.S. as well?"

"Obviously not, Wesker."

"Hn. I didn't think you did."

"Anyways, these next two questions are for you, from RedHell. 'Did Neo ever call you and demand his look and moves back?', and 'I know that "Sunglasses at Night" song reference is probably the most overused gag in the history of RE fanfics, but honestly - do you secretly rock out to it when no one's looking?'".

Wesker stretched both arms out in front of himself, then rotated them slowly to release the growing stiffness. "Martial arts and extreme speed were hardly invented by 'The Matrix'. I'll admit to some similarity, but I was wearing sunglasses and trench coats long before Keanu Reeves. As for the song…" He sighed softly. "I've listened to it before, of course, I can still remember when it first came out. I prefer something with a more intense beat though."

"Like Dance music?"

"No, Chris."

"Hmph."

"This one is for you… RedHell says, 'I noticed how you were able to explain the meaning of the term 'yaoi' to your beloved archenemy almost instantly. So would you please admit your love for reading those fics and that you browse this site's RE section at least twice a day?'"

Chris frowned. "I honestly don't. Claire likes to read them, hopefully just to laugh at, and she likes to bug me by quoting parts."

"Chris?"

Wesker was towering over him; Redfield looked up without batting an eyelash. "Hm?"

Albert was suddenly kissing him again, the contact light and quick; as soon as Redfield had realized it the other had pulled away, returning to his computer. Chris blinked, surprised.

"Uh… what just happened?"

"Wesker?"

Both Jill and Chris were apparently confused. Wesker smiled, sitting back down. "Never mind. I believe the final question is for me?"

Chris still looked surprised; dazed, he hit a button. "Uh, yeah… This is from Shadownip, who says…" The brunet shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He was way too sleep-deprived. "Shadownip asks; 'Can you see yourself ever being with Claire? Why or why not?'"

Wesker grinned, setting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers ominously. "Tell me, Chris, is your sister good-looking?"

Chris smirked, catching on. Jill, oblivious, stared on in confusion.\

"Do you think she'd be interested in a little action? Because I have a hard-on…"

Both men shouted in unison, "Like you wouldn't believe!!"

They shared a laugh, Jill still horribly confused. As Wesker's chuckle died down he commented softly, "Damned S.D. Perry. Anyways, to answer your question Shadownip; no, I can't ever see myself with Claire. For one thing, she's a Redfield. For another, Chris is her brother. There's also a rather large age difference, and she's not all that interested in me if our last encounter is any indication."

Chris was still chuckling, shaking his head over the horrid line. "Hey Wesker, toss me a tootsies pop?"

The blond grasped one of the ones off the pile, tossing it over. "Get it on the jacket and I'll skin you, Redfield."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't throw up on my keyboard."

Jill smiled slightly; back to bickering. Now this she could handle.

---

A/N: I'm /so/ sorry this took so long! I had it halfway finished and my computer crashed, and I had to type it all up all over again. I hope it was alright, and no one was too OOC. As always, please comment/review/ask questions/etc.! ^_^