Yes, I've written another story. This one is much different than my usual bid. I'll give you all fair warning: this is a dark, sadistic, twisted story. It's not all, "I love you, Claire!" or "I love you, Alice!". In fact, it's pretty much the opposite. Yes, it is smut simply for the sake of being smut. If you squint, there will be some character development, but not much. Each chapter is written from either Claire or Alice's point of view.

If you're looking for a deep, moving plot, then I'll be honest: this is not the story for you.

To those of you still reading, I do hope you enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it. To clear any timeline questions up, this is set in a darker version of Extinction, after Alice rescues the convoy. For purposes of this story, they never went to Vegas and aren't really on their way to Alaska.

Summary: Alice is hardly a hero, she isn't gentle, and Claire loves it.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: If I owned Resident Evil, I wouldn't be sitting here writing smutty fanfics about Alice and Claire. We'd be enjoying it on the silver screen.

Sometimes it's like…

I can't breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe. My lungs refuse to work properly. I know they're fully capable of functioning, but my brain has all but shut down. Her lips are crushing mine with bruising force and her fingers find that spot, oh yes, that spot – and my mind is gone.

How did this all start? Honestly, I don't really know. I'm pretty sure I know when and where, but the details after that… they get a little fuzzy. That's what she does to me. When she's with me, I can't think coherently, all I can do is feel and God it feels good.

I think it would be safe to say this all started a few nights after she rescued us from that flock of undead crows. We'd never seen anything like it. We were all so sure that we were going to die. Out of nowhere, this blonde stranger showed up and I'm still not sure if I understand it, but she killed all of those crows without lifting a finger. Whatever she did knocked her out for a while, but we were all grateful.

"Alice," her name slips unbidden from my lips, but that's okay. I know she likes it, because I'm rewarded as she changes her pace and it makes me moan even louder.

After she rescued us, Carlos convinced her to stick around. I guess the two have a history or something, but I really don't care. He checked with me, just to make sure I was cool with her sticking around, and I didn't mind it one bit. She had saved my convoy, and that was all that mattered to me.

A few nights after that intense rescue, I couldn't sleep and found myself out by one of the dying campfires. Like a predator, she came from somewhere in the shadows and joined me. I knew she was watching me, I could always tell when she was watching me. It was like a heavy weight, something I hadn't felt until she'd joined us. I think it was a little more thrilling to me than it should have been – shouldn't it have been disturbing?

I attempted light conversation, but that got absolutely nowhere. We sat in silence for a while, who knows how long. Eventually, I give up on anything productive happening between us and wish I'd done it from the start. Before I can get up to leave, her lips are crushing against mine and after I get over the shock, I melt into the rough kiss. How long does it last – seconds, minutes, hours? I can't tell and truthfully, I don't care. I can't be bothered keeping track of the time.

The one thing I do know is that it's over far too quickly. As quick as she was there, she was gone. I wonder if I'd just been imagining things, but the sudden lack of warmth lets a chill settle in that I know I can't be making up.

Suddenly, her lips part from mine and I suck in the air that my lungs have been screaming for from the start. It doesn't offer much relief because of all the overwhelming sensations at the moment.

Her lips make a scorching path down my neck and find my collar bone, where her tongue traces fading bruises and hickeys. That was the one request I'd ever made of her – not making marks where anyone else would see them, because I can't have the convoy getting concerned. She didn't touch me for nearly a week after I made the suggestion. I should have known better than to make such a request, but I can't have anyone in my convoy wondering where the marks come from. When she does come back, she agrees to the term – not because I'm right, but because she thinks it's best to keep them in the dark too.

I know it's sick, I know I should be appalled by what she does to me. She never actually hurts me, though. Sure, there's some pain involved and it's easy to see the evidence later, but she's never actually hurt me. The pain enhances the pleasure that I feel – and no one has ever made me feel this good before.

My hands have the backseat of the Hummer in a death grip as she freshens up a fading bite mark. I know there are going to be bruises on my thighs because of the force she used to push my legs apart. When she's eager like that, that's when things can get dicey. I'm sure – I don't know for a fact, but I'm sure – that if I ever told her to stop or she actually heard pain in my voice that wasn't laced with pleasure, she'd stop. But please, oh please, don't stop now.

I can't help how my body reacts to her. It feels like I'm on fire every time she touches me, but she's the only one that can put out the flames.

Suddenly, I can feel the fire consume me. I stiffen, pressing into her as she works even more sounds out of me. Even though I'm crashing over the edge, she doesn't stop, she doesn't slow down. It feels like I'm going to break apart because the waves of pleasure are growing, rolling faster and I don't know how much more I can take.

I know she's watching me and I force my eyes to open so I can meet her gaze. She enjoys watching the product of her work, it's part of the rules. Though they are rather broad, the rules are simple: give Alice what she wants, and don't touch her. It's always easy to give her what she wants, simply because she makes it easy. All I have to do is let her do what she wants and try to survive the ride. The second part, sometimes that can be hard, but I manage. Thankfully there's usually something else to grip when she's around.

As if she can tell that I'm on the verge of bursting at the seams, she relents and pulls her fingers out of me. My breath is coming in ragged pants, lungs on the verge of total system failure. Though she stopped, the pleasure is slow to ebb away – sometimes it's like it will never fully go away, because I felt so much of it all at once.

I can hear her panting as well. She may have been the one working on me, but she gets something out of it too. She can try and hide it all she wants, but I know the truth. I know I shouldn't do it, I know how dangerous it is. If I don't gauge her mood right, if I make the wrong assumption, this could have disastrous results… but it's worth the risk.

I lean up and let my lips gently caress hers. It's stated plainly in the rules that I'm not allowed to touch her, but I can bend the rules when she lets me. My heart skips a beat, waiting for her to tear away from me, but she doesn't. Even though she doesn't respond to the gentle kiss, she doesn't pull away, either. Slowly, I pull back – I know better than to let the kiss linger for too long – and then she's gone. She leaves so quickly I barely register her absence before I hear the door shutting.

It's still dark outside. The only light comes from the stars and moon above, because the campfires have all died out. I feel around and find my discarded clothes, pulling them back on. Nights like tonight, I'm glad I park the Hummer a little further away from the rest of the convoy. That decreases the chances of being overheard, of being caught. I won't let us get caught, because I know she'll stop.

Sometimes it's like I wonder if I'm still sane. What we're doing, what I let her do to me, it's certainly not sane. Surely it can't be healthy. I can't bring myself to care about sanity and health, because that isn't nearly as satisfying as what she does to me.