TAGS: CAR SEX OHHHH YEAH. temperature play? kind of? idk. sub!wesker. fem!reader. a whole lot of sweat. no foreplay ): just straight fucking lowk. HUMILIATION!!!!! face slapping yes.
PAIRINGS: you x albert wesker
A/N: i yearn for summer. this cold weather is genuinely getting to me. i’m going crazy. i want to sweat my actual face off. summer come to me..
Black interior, black tinted windows.
The tongue of your seatbelt was branding its shape onto the flesh of your stomach.
Wesker’s shirt was rolled up his forearms, a formality you’d never observed before.
His left hand rested on the bottom of the steering wheel, the other sweeping up the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
The traffic ahead stood agonisingly still. People clambering out of their cars and fanning themselves with magazines.
Patches of sweat drenched Wesker’s shirt, his body writhing underneath the blazing heat.
“Can you open the windows?” You implored Wesker, your shoe pulling the leather of your seat taut.
Wesker had taken extra precautions and enabled the childlock on his car. You’d often, absentmindedly, roll the windows down. Almost blinding him and killing you both in the process.
Wesker swiped at your ankle, clicking his fingers and pointing towards the footwell.
“You’re ruining the leather. Feet down.” Wesker grumbled, voice lacking its usual edge. Menace thinning in the presence of heat.
The gel that occupied his hair melted off in sticky clumps around his neck, blonde tufts falling and attaching to the wetness of his forehead.
You attempted every self-cooling measure possible. Fanning yourself hysterically with your hands, pressing your face against the car vents, even turning yourself upside down and sticking your head into the footwell.
“I’m melting.” You whined, scratching at your scalp. Your hair was a damp mess, the ruffling of your hair bringing only momentary relief.
“Leather interior is inconvenient in weather like this.” Wesker swallowed thickly, reaching for water in his cup-holder that wasn’t there.
You swore you’d heard Wesker whimper, like a dog when you’d given them a treat in a closed fist.
“Inconvenient? More than incon-fucking-venient. This is torture.” You sighed with exasperation. That sigh only amplifying the heat.
“I could think of more torturous conditions.” Wesker tried, humour in his voice failing catastrophically.
“Right. Of course. Because you’re holding up so well.” You bit, gesturing to his appearance growing more dishevelled by the second.
You weren’t sure if the heat had turned you mad but your hands moved to the hem of your t-shirt. Debating whether you should yank it off. The fabric was suffocating, strangling in this all consuming hotness.
It was like a fever you couldn’t shake, even if you plunged yourself into a deep freezer.
You couldn’t move fast enough, hauling your t-shirt up over your head and tossing it over to the back seat.
It took Wesker longer than usual to process what you’d done.
His eyes lingering on the look of your chest heaving up and down with each breath, droplets of sweat glistening in the heat.
“Put your t-shirt back on.” Wesker cleared his throat calmly, tearing his gaze from you and to the stationary car in-front.
“Tinted windows. No one can see me.” You reminded him, knocking your knuckle on the tinted pane.
“Mm, but I can.” Wesker reached his arm backwards, retrieving your shirt and pitching it onto your lap.
“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Your face contorted into a scowl and crumpled the shirt in your hands.
Wesker broke out a languid chuckle at your immediate offence.
He tore the shirt from your grasp and gently patted at the slick gathering at your chest.
Intentionally or not, your teeth caught your bottom lip. Your eyes half-shut, sleepy and gazing up at him through your eyelashes.
A boyish gleam tugged at his lips, discarding the shirt on your lap again and reaching for your outer thigh.
An attempt at ragging you closer to his frame.
Your skin was tacky, tethering both of your bodies together like velcro.
“I doubt the traffic’ll move anytime soon.” Wesker spared a glance towards the cars again, narrowing his eyes at the people bent over in desperation.
You averted your gaze alongside him.
His mouth connected with your neck, craned over the centre console.
A frenzied mouth lapping up the salt of wetness.
Your hand moved to his hair and flicked the sunglasses resting on his head to the floor.
The sharp metal thud earning an indifferent groan from Wesker’s throat.
Carefully, his teeth nipped at the cartilage at the very front of your neck. His body awkwardly shifting to get a better angle.
“Wesker–” You gasped, tossing your head backwards into the head rest.
“C’mon. We’re in public– and there’s people.” You insisted, making no real effort to move him off you.
“Tinted windows.” He grumbled into the soft skin of your neck, mimicking your earlier gesture of knocking your knuckles against the window.
You beat out a half-hearted laugh, nodding as confirmation to continue.
Wesker’s fingers dug into the satiny silk of your thigh and hitched your leg up over his shoulder.
You weren’t much of a ballerina but you sure were flexible enough.
His lips moved to kiss down the inside of your thigh, keeping one hand firmly wrapped around your ankle.
Wesker moved his other hand underneath the small of your lower back, mouth maintaining its contact with your thigh then eventually to your calf.
Movement less precise. More lazy.
The sun made even the most controlled of people sloppy. The warmth forcing the earth’s inhabitants into a sick submission.
Your hand mussed into Wesker’s hair, the other occupying the button of your shorts.
His eyes glared with intent, blue of his iris shrinking and making way for dilated pupils.
“Come. Sit on my lap.” Wesker mumbled into your calf, pressing soft, wet kisses. The aggression he often sought for during intimate moments vanishing into an eerily non-chalant facade.
Wesker pulled away briefly, wrangling your waist into his hands and shouldering your leg back onto the floor.
You simply sat back, tensing your muscles.
His patience was thinning like syrup left in a microwave, your lack of cooperation was only proving to frustrate him further.
“Where are your manners?” You teased cautiously, folding your leg beneath you.
The leather. The leather interior– you were ruining it.
“My manners?” Wesker scoffed, still grappling and attempting to shift you atop him.
“Your manners. Sit on my lap, please.” You shrugged and remained as stiff as you could in your seat.
The heat covered you both like a thick winter blanket.
Wesker, admittedly, felt too fragile to argue. He wasn’t dressed for this kind of weather. A long sleeve shirt and black slacks.
“Fine.” Wesker huffed again, inhaling recycled air by that point.
“Sit on my lap, please.” The sentence came out in one breath, looking at the dashboard. A mocking of you rather than it having any actual weight.
“I’m sorry, Wesker. I don’t really think you meant that.” You clasped your hands together in-front of your stomach, puffing air into your cheeks.
The heat was making him delirious and clearly it had the same effect on you.
“My dear.” Wesker groaned, resting his forehead on your hip bone. Tone exhausted.
“Please will you sit on my lap?” He pleaded.
God, you might as well have stripped him naked and thrown him outside. His face churned an unnatural shade of red, something other than him simply just overheating.
You glared at him for a beat. Eyes gazing into his defeated leer.
“Since you asked me so sweetly.” You snickered, wrestling over the console onto his lap.
Landing on his thighs with an almost inaudible grunt, you felt the tent pricking up in his slacks.
Throbbing cock jutting irritably in his pants. The sound of him sucking air behind his teeth. You taking up his peripheral vision.
You’d never seen him blush.
Wesker’s frantic efforts to hide his face by crashing his lips against yours were laughable.
He was smart yet stupid enough to think that’d work on you.
A lone finger pressed at his chest, leaning backwards and lightly resting your back against the steering wheel.
“Careful of the horn.” Wesker cleared his throat, lips pulling into a papery line.
You’d, then, leaned your entire body weight on the wheel. An abrupt honk sounding out into the road.
Heads turned towards Wesker’s car. Middle fingers thrown upwards towards the windshield.
“You brat.” Wesker snapped through gritted teeth.
You raised your hand, delivering a harsh sting of a slap across his cheek.
“Don’t call me that.” You hissed, gauging Wesker’s immediate reaction.
Wesker wasn’t so familiar with so-called ‘corrective measures’ being used on himself.
A boyish, drawn out whine punching out from the depths of his gut.
Wesker was afraid he liked that more than he was supposed to.
“Of course. I apologise.” Wesker gasped lightly, testing the apology in his mouth.
For the first time in a while, he felt as though he wasn’t losing control.
Rather learning the rules. Obeying them. Following you.
Your lips collided with his, spit swapping between your mouths. The pair of you panting, beside yourselves with sensation.
Wesker almost gagged on his own breath, chest almost collapsing in on itself with how brutal his heartbeat was in his throat.
You dragged a hand down his chest, reaching down to the crotch of his pants and harshly pressing down on his cock.
“Fuck.” Wesker’s whole body jumped at the contact, hand clamping at the base of your neck.
“You like that?” You cooed ever so sweetly, peppering kisses along the expanse of his jaw and neck.
Wesker’s hand gently smoothed your locks of hair, as if to cradle your head. Like you were a gentle little thing.
“Do you?” You asked again, stilling your hand.
Wesker jolted into a quick frenzy of nods and stuttered yesyesyes’es.
Unravelling himself right beneath you.
Sweat had then completely drenched his shirt. White turning transparent.
A gentle mist had formed in the car, fogging up the windows.
He wondered if that’d be noticeable from outside. Did tinted mean fog proof? He was to take that question to the dealership the following morning.
Eventually, your hand slipped through his waistband and freed his cock from their previous confines.
His tip pulsed, standing to attention. Anticipating.
Your movements were unhurried, strategic.
You hoisted yourself up onto your knees, pulling the crotch of your shorts to the side.
Wesker’s eyes kept locked on yours, running his hands up your frame. Committing each curve to memory.
“Would you like to fuck me, Wesker?” You asked softly, amusing yourself with how focused on you he truly was.
“Mm.” Was all he’d managed, mouth slightly agape.
“I’ll need more than that.” You swiped your tongue across your bottom lip, feeding him the lines he’d used on you before.
Wesker’s face heated up again, patting at the sweat rolling down the sides of his face again.
He knew if he’d verbalised his want. You’d be given the authority he was desperately still grasping at.
Wesker jutted his chin to the side, laughing at himself incredulously. For the situation he’d found himself in. For him wanting you to slap him again.
“Use me.” was all that he’d managed.
Wesker assisted you in pulling your shorts to the side, allowing you to set your pace.
A crash of arousal shot through your stomach, threatening to split your composure open.
You weren’t sure how Wesker maintained his facade when you’d fuck. How he’d hear you whine so beautifully for him and not want to tear you apart.
You sank your tightness around the girth of his cock. His size wasn’t one you were sure you’d ever get used to.
Wesker tossed his head back, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Oh my god,” you grappled onto his shoulders, realising that you weren’t at the right angle to bounce as freely as you’d have liked.
Wesker’s hands slipped underneath your thighs, coming to your rescue without even needing to ask.
“Fine?— you’re— god, tight.” Wesker groaned and lifted you up then gently lowered you back down again. Attempting to develop a momentum you were comfortable with.
“Yeah, fuck.” You bit out, enveloping his mouth into another kiss. Swollen lips bruising against his.
“Give me your cock. Give me that fucking—“ you moaned out. If Wesker had the thing tinted, must’ve made it sound-proof too, right?
“You’re a mess.” Wesker whined, swallowing back the flurry of moans that built in his throat.
You struck him again at that, using more force than you intended this time around.
Another whine. His tip pounding inside of your slick cunt.
“Good. You’re doing so well, dear-heart. Hit me again.” Wesker’s arms were working overtime, trying to accommodate your rhythm.
You’d struck him again, harder then. Enough to leave an angry palm shaped blotch on his face.
Wesker saw the brief panic flash across your features. Fear of genuinely hurting him. You weren’t dominant in nature. This was a first for you.
“I don’t mark easily.” He reassured you, implying the furious red patch on his face would fade in no time.
The tightening of your cunt sent him spiralling again.
“Oh, fuck.” Wesker’s voice raised to a register he’d only ever used when disciplining someone.
“Use my cock. Use me just like that.” Wesker encouraged, gritting his teeth with how close he was.
“You gonna cum?” You taunted, tipping Wesker’s chin upwards to meet your gaze.
“Are you going to let me?” Wesker batted back, a knowing smirk creeping up onto his features.
“Please.” His response was instantaneous, clutching at the skin of your waist with a feverish grip.
You stifled out a laugh, quickly vanishing into an elongated moan again.
“You can cum— fuck, cum inside my cunt like a good—“ you cut yourself off, drenched in sweat and ears filled with animalistic whines scratching at Wesker’s throat.
Wesker’s release sought after him as quickly as your permission came.
Cum shot out from his needy cock and coated your soft walls with strings of white.
Spent, Wesker’s arms shook. Still managing to hoist your weight up.
His cock ached. It bordered on painful. Still riding him the way you were.
“That’s it.” Wesker panted, shifting in his seat to get a better angle of your cunt. Hitting that spot that made your vision blur and ears ring.
“I’m gonna— cum. Oh god—“ you strangled out, hardly able to say anything at all.
The same shock of arousal pooled in your stomach, travelling right to your cunt and then eventually reached your stomach.
A rush of ecstasy shattered through your core. Wrenching a cacophony of shouts from your stomach.
You fell limp, resting your head on Wesker’s broad shoulder. The pair of you simmering in your post-sex musk.
“Has the traffic moved?” You asked softly, tone delicate.
Wesker rubbed his palm in circles over your back.
“No but we are getting stares.” Wesker pointed with his index and thumb towards the frankly, sickened group of people in the car ahead of you.
“Oh, my dear. Did you think this car was sound-proof?”