Z @zxblackdog - Tumblr Blog

𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔡'𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡 Ethan Winters x male reader

Summary: Ethan Winters thought sneaking around with the cute guy from the BSAA records annex was risky enough already between late-night flirting, hidden office hookups and desperately trying not to get caught at work. The only thing he didn’t know was that you were Chris Redfield’s son. Now there’s the horrifying fact that if Chris ever finds out, Ethan might not survive it.

Tags: Male reader. No use of Y/N. Ethan Winters/Male Reader. Age gap. Chris Redfield is M!reader's dad. Ethan's panicked face when the wires connect mentally. Ethan is the definition of a DILF. Size kink. Top Ethan. Bottom male reader. Sub bratty bottom energy. Workplace sex. Sex on a desk. Office hookup. Awkward but earnest dirty talking attempts (he's trying, okay). Breeding kink.

This has been sitting in my drafts for almost two months

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - gif

Words count: 7000

The fluorescents in the B.S.A.A. Eastern European outposts hummed at a frequency just shy of headache-inducing and you'd been listening to that hum for six hours straight. The analog clock on the wall of your dad's base read 16:47.

Outside the reinforced window of the records annex, snow was starting to come down in lazy flakes over the training yard and somewhere out there guys doing live-fire exercises on simulated mannequins.

Here you were instead, constantly clicking on a not-working computer.

"Come on, you piece of—"

The screen flickered, a little spinning circle of doom that kept spinning as you’d been trying to upload the same goddamn incident report — Sector 4, redacted, redacted, three confirmed B.O.W. specimens neutralized, blah blah — for the better part of an hour and the legacy database your dad's IT department refused to update and kept eating it.

Every single time you hit submit, the connection timed out and the form reset you had to retype everything because of course autosave wasn't a feature in this fossil.

Shoving back from the desk and dragging both hands down your face, trying to remember the breathing exercises one of the medics had taught you.

In through the nose for four, out through the mouth for eight.

Meant to lower your heart rate, mostly it just made you light-headed enough to want to throw the monitor through the window because you were in perfect shape and passed every physical exam they'd thrown at you, could even handle a sidearm and a long gun while running the obstacle course faster than half the new recruits.

And your father, Captain Christopher Redfield, assigned you in a beige room filing reports.

He'd never said it out loud but you knew he'd lost too much and want to lose you to the same nightmare that had eaten chunks out of him… but some trust in you would have been much appreciated on your part.

The doors at the end of the corridor banged open and your father's voice rolled in ahead of him.

You didn't turn around but instead jabbed at the keyboard.

ERROR 0x80070643. Encryption certificate not found. Reauthenticate.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," you hissed at the screen.

"Hey."

You didn't even look up, knowing that voice along the Heavy boots, heavier shoulders and a permanent frown.

"Before you say anything, I swear to God this thing hates me personally."

A hand landed on the back of the chair next to you, tall shadow casted on the monitor and your dad was standing slightly behind the new figure, palm flat against the other man's shoulder blade in that ‘this is one of mine, be nice’ way he had.

You finally turned in a half-snarl because you were pissed but not a fool.

Broad as a barn, beard a little more salt than pepper these days while his big and glowed hand was resting on the back of another man who was—

Oh.

Blond, not as tall as your father but he'd still loom over you.

Stubble along a sharp jaw, eyes a sort of tired blue.

He was wearing a white button-down with the sleeves shoved unevenly to his elbows and a pair of cargo pants that were definitely military-issue and he had an exhausted-handsome quality that made men in their late thirties.

"Ethan," your father said, in his rumble, "this is Ethan Winters. You'll have heard the name."

Of course you had, everyone in any orbit of the B.S.A.A. had heard the name associated with the Louisiana incident and Eastern European mountain village all along the absolute meat-grinder of supernatural horseshit he'd come out of, twice, somehow alive.

He stuck his right hand out and gave you a small but friendly smile. "Hey. Nice to meet you."

You took his big and calloused hand along the heel of the palm and on the pads of his fingers, all felt as he shook with a firm grip and let go without dragging it out, which you appreciated because your face was already going hot for reasons you were going to refuse to examine.

Exchanging your name, Chris almost immediately spoke back.

"He’s processing all AAR submissions," your dad said to Ethan. "Anything someone file, it goes through him first. So play nice."

"Always," Ethan said, with that same tired smile.

Your father's hand was still on his back between the shoulder blades before he leaned in and said something low into Ethan's ear that you didn't catch, gave him two solid pats and turned to go.

At the door, he paused.

"Try not to break the monitor, kid."

"No promises," you muttered.

He was gone and then it was just you and Ethan Winters standing in the middle of your records annex looking around like he wasn't entirely sure why he was still there.

The little circle of doom on your monitor kept spinning.

Connection timed out.

You let your head fall forward and thunk gently against the desk.

"Bad day?" Ethan asked.

"Bad century. I think this computer was assembled by hand by a man who hated me personally."

There was a quiet huff of laughter as you lifted your head. He'd taken a step closer, hands in his pockets, head tilted at the screen the way a dog tilts its head in curiosity.

"What're you trying to do?"

"Upload an AAR. The form keeps timing out and I've retyped this thing four times."

"Mm." He was looking at the screen now, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "May I?"

You scooted your chair back and he came around behind you, leaning over your shoulder and his shirt sleeve brushed the back of your neck as he reached past you for the mouse and the combination of smell between clean laundry, gun oil and, faintly, coffee reached your senses.

"This is the Falcon-3 backend, right?" he said, mostly to himself, clicking through. "Yeah, okay. So they never patched the session timeout on legacy forms. Stupid, but yeah, hold on."

"You know this system?"

"I'm a systems engineer," he said absently. "Or I was. Before, you know." A small wave of his hand with an ugly scar wrist-level. "Crazy infected family, village full of lycans… ‘Super sized bitch’ countess." He said it deadpan and the corner of his lips lifted when he heard you chuckle at his words. "Not my words. Anyway, watch."

He hit a key combination you didn't see in a quick flicker of his fingers and a developer console popped open at the corner of the screen.

He started typing fast, lines of code scrolling as he made a small thoughtful sound in his throat.

"Yeah, okay. They've got the session token expiring at six hundred seconds and they never refresh it. So if you sit on the page longer than ten minutes, the form's already dead by the time you hit submit, the server just doesn't tell you until it tries to write." He glanced down at you over his shoulder. "We can either bump the timeout client-side, which is technically against IT policy, or we can stage the form data locally and post it via direct API once we— yeah, we'll just bump the timeout. Don't tell your boss."

"He'd kill you," you said, dryly.

A flicker of amusement in his face like he could tell there was a private joke there but couldn't pin it down. "Probably. Okay. Type your report into a text file first this time, just in case."

You opened a notepad obediently and started copy-pasting from your scattered notes while stood close behind you, one hand braced on the edge of the desk by your elbow, the other working the keyboard.

His forearm was right next to your face, sleeve of his shirt shoved up unevenly, cuff bunching around his elbow and you could see the flex of tendons when he typed.

You tried, very hard, to keep your eyes on your own screen.

"There," he said, after a few minutes. "Try it now."

You hit submit and the little circle spun as you braced for failure.

Submission successful.

A green checkmark, the first one you'd seen in eight hours.

"Oh my God."

"Told you," he said and it was so smug you were surprised in the first place it came from him.

He straightened up off your shoulder and stretched, one arm overhead, line of his torso pulling tight under that white shirt. "Easy fix once you know where to look."

"You're a wizard, Mr. Winters."

"Ethan. Just Ethan." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm just a guy who used to fix computer networks for a living."

You looked up at him properly for the first time. Up close, the tiredness in his eyes was still there, but there was a careful gentleness in him still.

"Thanks," you said, real this time and not snippy.

He smiled, small and genuine. "Anytime."

It became a thing.

He had no reason to keep showing up at your annex considering the military training he had to do as your father was running him through the same rigorous program he ran the rookies through, even though Ethan was thirty-something and had survived more in a week than most of those rookies would in a career.

Three days after you met him, he showed up at your door with two coffees from the commissary, black for him, with one sugars and a splash of cream for you, because he'd asked the second time you'd seen him and apparently he remembered.

"How's the Falcon-3 treating you?"

"Like an enemy combatant."

"Mind if I look?"

He was always very careful, you noticed, about that little bit of distance. He'd lean over your shoulder to look at the screen but he kept his weight on his own feet, never on you.

Laughing at your bad jokes like the dry pissy ones you made about the fluorescent lights and the analog clock.

A week in, you caught yourself looking forward to him.

A week and a half in, you caught yourself dressing better for work, tucking your shirt in, wearing the henley that fit a little snug across the shoulders.

He had this thing he did when he was thinking where he'd run his thumb along his bottom lip.

A nervous tell is hideously unfair.

And he was kind, that was the thing that got you.

After all the things he'd seen and read in the classified files between his daughter, ex-wife and what had happened in Romania, he was just kind.

He noticed when you were stressed and made dumb little comments to defuse it.

It gave you enough confidence to start flirting with him, cautious at first.

You'd hand him a folder and let your fingers brush his, hold the contact a half-second too long… lean over his shoulder when he was at the desk and pretend to look at the screen while breathing him in.

Even catch his eye across a room and hold it ‘fore smiling at him and spotting a red take on his cheeks.

He noticed.

There was a little flicker in his face and at the corners of his mouth, but he didn't take the bait, just kept being kind and calling you by your first name in that slightly rough voice that did embarrassing things to your spine.

Two weeks in, you were genuinely losing your mind.

Three weeks in, the computer started acting up again.

It was a Thursday late night and the records annex was empty except for you and the buzz of the fluorescents.

The computer froze, then unfroze and repeated this procedure constantly.

You'd been at it since seven in the morning and it was almost ten at night and you were going to start crying or screaming.

"Hey."

You looked up and Ethan was in the doorway in workout clothes, heather-grey t-shirt that fit him nicely along dark sweatpants and his hair was damp like he'd just come from the showers after a late training session.

He had a bottle of water in his hand and an apologetic look on his face.

"Had to look after Rose for the whole day and Chris wouldn’t let me skip training today… so here I am." he did a little with his hands in the air to joke and the awkward grin on his face grew more genuine when he saw you smile back. "Saw the light on, thought you might've been the cleaning crew."

"Nope. Just me and this junk slowly killing each other."

He came in like usual and set his water on a nearby filing cabinet before crossing to your desk and looking over your shoulder except this time he was barely a foot away from you and he smelled like soap and clean sweat.

His arm was bare and right next to your face, bicep of a good size from said military training showing its results as it flexed.

"What's it doing?"

"Freezing, then unfreezing… then freezing. I think the whole disk is dying."

"Mm." He pulled a chair over from the next desk and dragged it close to sit down beside you so that your knees were almost touching. He didn't seem to notice but you definitely did. "Let me look."

He took the keyboard and started running diagnostics.

"Yeah, okay, the swap file's huge, that'll do it, this thing has like four gigs of RAM and they're trying to run a database client on it, we can clear the cache and see if that helps, but honestly the long-term solution is they need to give you a new machine, the disk's reads are awful, look at this…"

His forearms were on full display, strong veined muscles flexing under the skin every time he moved his fingers.

You were not listening to a word he said as you leaned closer and pretended to look at the screen.

"Mm-hm," you said, like you were following along.

"…so the kernel's basically choking itself trying to allocate enough memory to—" He paused when noticing your shoulder. "Are you following any of this?"

"Not even a little."

He laughed under his breath. "Okay, fair."

"Keep talking, though. I like it when you do the nerd voice. It's hot.”

He looked at you sideways and didn't move away from your shoulder, kept looking at the screen but he wasn't really seeing it, thumb coming up to his bottom lip and rubbing along it.

The reattached hand on the keyboard stilled, cursor stopping and blinking.

"Thanks…" A breath of a laugh. Almost pained. "No one said it to me."

“It’s a shame, I could hear you for hours…”

A long quiet interrupted barely by a hum of the fluorescents.

He opened his eyes and looked at you, his eyes were so blue and serious.

"I haven't done this in a long time," he said.

"What?"

"Anything." A small, helpless sort of shrug. "With anybody. Since… you know."

"I’m aware… can I kiss you?"

He swallowed and you watched his Adam apple work.

"That's a slippery slope, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

"…sorry."

You leaned in slowly and you gave him every chance to pull back but he didn't, eyes dropping to your mouth and staying there, thumb dropping from his lip as you kissed him.

He made the smallest sound before his hand came up and cupped your jaw, tilting you a little to kiss back.

There was a slight off-rhythm at the start but he caught it within seconds, thumb stroking your jaw. His mouth opened against yours and you opened to him just as his tongue brushed yours and you made a noise you weren't proud of before grabbing the front of his t-shirt with both hands.

He pulled back an inch, forehead pressed to yours.

"This is a bad idea," he murmured.

"Yeah."

"…okay," he said. "Tell me to stop and I'll stop."

"Don't you dare."

He kissed you harder before standing up out of his chair, pulling you up with him and walking you backward until your hips hit the desk.

Keyboard skittered and papers fluttered but didn't seem to care as both of his big hands settled at your waist and he kissed you the way you'd been wanting him to kiss you for three weeks, bending down to do it and you had to tilt your chin up, something hot coiling low in your stomach.

Once he pulled back, panting hard against your mouth, you could see how red he had gotten.

"Door," he said.

"What?"

"The door. Lock it."

Stumbling past him you almost tripped on your own chair to get to the door and lock it and pulling the little blind down over the window for good measure until you turned around he was right there and he caught you by the back of the neck to walk you backward to the desk and lifting you up onto it.

He swallowed every noise you poured in his mouth.

"Quiet," he said into the kiss. "There's people."

"I— yeah. Yeah, sorry."

"You’re cute." His hands were under your shirt, warm palm skimming up your sides and ribs to reach your nipples with his thumbs and brushing them and you bit down hard on your lower lip to keep from making noise.

When he pulled your shirt up and over your head, he tossed it quickly on the desk before leaning down and kissing every inch of skin exposed, light stubble scraping faintly every place his mouth went.

He bit, gently, at the soft place just under your ribcage and you arched against him, grabbing his soft dirty-blonde hair, fisting them in your hand and he made a low, hot sound against your skin that went straight to your cock.

"Ethan~”

"Mm."

"Ethan, please—"

"What do you want, hm?" He'd straightened up, mouth at your ear while his hand had slid down between your bodies and was working open the button of your slacks. "Tell me. Use your words."

"I want you."

"Yeah? How long?"

"Since the first fucking time I saw you."

He laughed, sounding deeply pleased. "Good. That's good."

He had you out of your slacks on the same desk you spent every day at and he was standing between your knees in his stupid heather-grey t-shirt and sweatpants that weren't hiding anything, a big and hard tent against your thigh.

"You got anything?"

"What?" You blanked before remembering, in the drawer, you kept a thing of lube there because you'd been using it on yourself in the bathroom most days at lunch because this current thing you were imposed to do was boring.

"Of course you have lube in your work desk," he said.

"Don't judge me."

"I'm not. I'm thanking you."

He slicked his fingers and you spread your legs wider on the desk, cool of the laminate against the back of your thighs.

His fingers found your rim and rubbed slowly in little circles until you were squirming and biting your lip again, until you made a noise of pure frustration through your nose.

"Ethan."

"Patience."

"I'm gonna die." He laughed softly and pushed one big and long finger in.

You'd done this to yourself thinking he might be tentative and hesitant given how he kissed.

Nope, he was sure of everything as he pushed in to the second knuckle and curled causing your head to fall back and he caught the back of your neck with his hand to offer support.

"Easy," he murmured. "Easy, I got you." He worked you open with patience.

One finger, two and by the time he had all three you were panting, hips rolling against his hand, your cock leaking against your stomach.

He kept watching your face and making little soft sounds when you tightened around his digits.

"God, you’re so good for me." He grunts now, voice wrecked, the Texan lilt he mostly flattened out years ago creeping back.

"Ethan, please!”

"You sure?"

"Yes, oh my god, yes—"

"Quiet, baby." He pulled his fingers out and shoved both his sweatpants and briefs down enough to let his cock sprang free and you got a good look at it.

Yeah, okay. You'd been right to flirt with this man while looking at the thick length with the head of it heavy and shiny.

He slicked himself and stepped between your knees, hooking one arm under your right knee and lifting to open you and line himself up with his other hand.

"Tell me if it's too much." He said before pushing in.

It was so much to the point you couldn't breathe from how he was stretching you and he kept going to the point you were grabbing his t-shirt with both hands and biting your lip to keep from making noise.

His forehead was pressed to yours and he was breathing through his teeth.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, you're tight, baby,"

"Ethan—"

"I know. Almost there." He bottomed out and you felt his hips against the soft flesh of your ass along with the heat of him deep in your gut. Your eyes were watering a little, from the sensation of being so full.

You could feel him trembling the tiniest amount from holding still.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Need a second?"

"…yeah. One second."

He kissed your lips while you adjusted around him.

A sweet gesture given the fact he was balls-deep in you on a government desk.

He kissed your top lip, then your bottom lip, sliding to the corner of your mouth while one of his big hands stroked your hair back from your forehead.

It made you absolutely melt.

"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Move."

He moved slowly at first, long drag of him out, then back in and the slide of it was almost too slow to bear, gasping.

"Quiet, baby."

"I'm trying!” You hissed at him through clenched teeth before he set a slow and deep rhythm.

He'd pull almost all the way out before pushing back in until his hips were flush against you again and letting you feel the thick stretch every time while he’d murmur something low and soothing against your mouth.

The desk creaked quietly while, somewhere in the periphery, a notification of probably the connection finally timing out came from the computer and he huffed once against your throat.

"Sorry about your file," he murmured.

"I really don't care right now."

"Mm." A grin against your skin. "Good."

Every thrust was hitting your prostate and made your spine try to leave your body. You bit down and whined on the heel of his palm when he put it over your mouth and he hissed, but it wasn't a complaint.

"Harder." Something stupid that you muttered when letting go of his hand and tilting your face away to whisper said thing.

He paused, mid-thrust. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Please."

Something in his eyes like a leash he'd been holding carefully went slack.

"Okay," he said quietly.

He hooked your other knee up over his arm, lifting and opening you wider, almost folding you in half as he braced his hand flat on the desk by your head the large fingers of his palm spread wide as he started fucking you in earnest.

God. You couldn't make a sound even if you'd tried, breath getting punched out of you with every thrust.

The desk was creaking constantly now and you couldn't care of anything beside holding on to his shirt and stare up at him.

He was looking down at you, jaw clenched and eyes almost completely dark as his hand came down to your cock previously bouncing against your abdomens painfully hard and now he wrapped that big warm hand around it and stroked in time with his thrusts as your whole body locked up.

"Ethan! I'm gonna—"

"Yeah. Come for me… please."

You bit your lip as you came so hard your vision went white at the edges, painted his hand and your abdomen as a moan broke out of you helplessly before he clamped his hand over your mouth and fucked you through it.

He didn't stop like you thought he might, kept going while you were still pulsing around him, oversensitive and trembling as he was getting close.

"Ethan—"

"Almost…"

"Inside."

"What?"

"Inside, please, inside." And he made a low broken thing he didn't manage to muffle before he was burying his face in your neck and thrusting, hard and deep as you felt the heat of him growing in volume, pulse of it deep in your gut while his teeth were on your shoulder, breathing your name constantly.

Your fingers were in his hair while his hips stuttered to a stop and he sagged against you, panting.

The computer went a loud ‘bing!’ again, plaintively.

"…your file definitely didn't upload," he said into your shoulder.

"I really, really don't care." You laughed and it came out as a wheeze.

He huffed a laugh and kissed your shoulder where he'd bitten, half-collapsed against you, his weight warm and yet he was being careful before he eventually pulled back, flushed all the way down his neck.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"…you want to come back to my quarters?"

"To do this again?"

"Eventually." A small, self-conscious smile. "Mostly because I'd like to take you on a date now. Retroactively. I feel weird about how this went."

He had just fucked you on a desk and now he was being flustered about not having taken you to dinner first.

Couldn't help the laugh that came after and he joined too, kissing your forehead and helping you off the desk as he found your shirt and handed it over.

"Walk me through what counts as a date in your book, Mr. Winters."

"Ethan."

"…the commissary's still open till midnight."

He was smiling in a way you suspected he hadn't smiled in a long time.

"…can I hold your hand?"

You took his hand and he laced his fingers through yours without letting go ad you closed the door where the malfunctioning computer was still going bing! in the empty annex behind you closed the door on it.

It had become a pattern that went like this: you stayed late in the records annex and he would happen to wander by. The lights turned low because the overhead fluorescents were giving you a headache and those blinds got drawn due to sunlight being ‘in your eyes’ (it was night).

Tonight was a Tuesday and the base had emptied out hours ago. You'd parked yourself at your desk with a mug of coffee gone cold and a stack of intake forms you had every intention of filing eventually because Ethan had shown up in a golden hooded zip-up jacket, layered over a dark sweater and paired with rugged blue jeans button-down and that had been the end of any productivity in your immediate future.

Currently sitting in his lap while he was on your own chair with his rather muscular legs splayed out and his big hands settling at your waist, head tipped back so you could kiss him properly with both your arms looped around his broad shoulders and your knees on either side of his hips on the seat.

His mouth was warm as he kissed you enjoyably slow, which was funny because the man had survived two separate hells and you'd think he'd have learned to do everything fast.

Tongue brushing the seam of your lips as you opened for him and he licked into your mouth as you made a quiet noise against him and pulled at his hair.

"Mm," he hummed against your mouth, vibration more than sound.

You could taste the coffee on him since he'd brought you both fresh ones when he came in, his black he always took and never sweetened even though you'd seen him grimace at the first sip every time.

His tongue stroked yours lazily, sucking gently on your bottom lip when he pulled back and your whole spine went liquid.

He was totally here helping with your computer like you’ve agreed on as he kissed the corner of your mouth, trailing down your jaw where he knew you were ticklish and you squirmed against him, feeling that he was hard underneath against the inside of your thigh, warm thick weight of him through his jeans and you'd been ignoring it because you were enjoying the kissing too much and didn't want to break the rhythm.

So much to the point you haven’t noticed his hands at your waist had gone almost possessive as he parted your lips more to let his tongue go further in your mouth.

The thumbs of his palms were rubbing little circles into your hip bones.

"Ethan."

"Mm."

"The computer's broken again."

"Is it?"

"It's making this throbbing sound from the under-desk area."

"Mm. Yeah." Deadpan. "Real concerning. I'd better look into that."

"You should, I'm worried about it."

"I bet you are."

He kissed you again and one of his hands slid down off your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you gasp into his mouth and rolling your hips down without meaning to.

"Hey," he murmured. "Hey."

"What?"

"Lube?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Drawer."

"…same drawer as before?"

"Same one."

"You restocked."

"I'm a professional."

He laughed again and buried his face in your neck, warmth of his breath fanning your skin along the scrape of his stubble and the firm press of his hands on you.

Completely in love with this man.

"Okay," you said. "Okay, hold on, I gotta grab that stuff."

"Stuff."

"Yeah."

Climbing off his lap your legs were wobbly as you crossed to the filing cabinet by the door, where you'd taken to keeping a small zipper pouch in the back of the third drawer, behind a stack of triplicate forms that no one had ever looked at and never would.

Yanking it out, inside there was a fresh bottle of lube silicone-water hybrid along a small remote-controlled thing you'd been wanting to try with him for weeks and hadn't worked up the nerve to bring out yet.

The handle of the door turned, which you had not yet locked because Ethan had walked in five minutes ago and you'd jumped him before getting to the lock.

Whipping the pouch behind your back and jamming it against the small of your back so hard you were probably going to bruise, your face went the temperature of the sun.

Across the room, Ethan, who had been mid-rise out of his chair to come help you root through the drawer, sat back down fast and slammed himself against the desk so that his hips disappeared under the lip of it, hands going flat to the surface in a posture of casual professional industry.

Your father walked in.

"Hey, kid. Saw the light on."

He paused and he looked at you, then Ethan.

You made the most innocent face you had ever made in your life, feeling the muscles of your face strain with the effort.

"Dad."

"…what're you still doing here?"

"Computer. It's been giving me hell. Won't push the AAR backlog. Etha— Mr. Winters was just helping me with it."

Across the room, Ethan's face moved when he heard something concerning just like his eyebrows that did a little thing, eyes flicking to your father than to you and the little furrow deepened.

The wires connected, synapses firing, file cabinet after file cabinet of memory getting yanked open and re-sorted.

BOYFRIEND'S — SLEEPING-PARTNER-WHOSE-RELATIONSHIP-STATUS-WE-HAVEN'T-DEFINED'S — DAD IS CHRIS REDFIELD.

His face went, briefly, the color of skim milk before it went a more diplomatic color due to your dad looking at him.

"Yeah, just running some diagnostics. The Falcon-3 backend is a mess, Chris. They really need to swap out these machines."

"Mm." Your dad scratched his beard before looking between the two of you again. You held your breath.

"Winters."

"Chris?"

"Don't know how the hell you did it, but you got him interested in this stuff." A grunt, almost a laugh. "Couldn't get him to look at a computer screen for more than five seconds, now he's pulling all-nighters with you."

"He's a quick learner," Ethan said. His voice did a thing at the end.

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted iron, looking at the mountain of a man with your most earnest look.

"Yeah," you said. "He's been really patient with me."

Ethan made a very small noise that might have been the one of a soul leaving a body.

Your dad huffed. "All right. Don't keep him here too late Ethan. He's got the morning brief at oh-eight-hundred."

"Sure Chris."

Your dad was looking at him, hand on the doorframe while giving Ethan a look you had only ever seen him give to subordinates who had failed their missions.

"Get some sleep tonight."

"…yes, Chris."

The door closed behind him and the silence that followed had lots of weight while you stood frozen in your earnest little pose and across the room Ethan sat at the desk with his hands flat against the laminate, entire upper body very still.

You waited until you heard the outer door of the records wing slam before exhaling.

"Wow," you said and climbed back into his lap, hands coning back up to your waist on autopilot, kissing his forehead.

"You still in the mood?" you said. "Or did my dad scare your dick down?"

His eyes refocused slowly.

"You could have told me," he said, "that your dad is Chris Redfield."

"I figured you'd notice eventually." You grinned without helping it since the look he gave you was the funniest thing in the world. "You never asked."

"You think I wouldn't have wanted to know that information before—"

"Before what?"

"Before anything! Your dad punched a boulder."

"I know. You're cute when you panic."

"He's going to drag me out into the training yard and shoot me himself." He said deadpan.

"Probably." You started kissing his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose while he made a noise of protest in his throat that was not, you noticed, accompanied by any actual physical attempt to stop you. "Or he might just put you on a really bad rotation for a year."

"Don't kiss me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to have a crisis and you're being adorable—"

You kissed his mouth and he shut up as you felt his hands settle back on your waist, defeated.

"He doesn't have to find out right away." Pulling away barely to whisper those words. "Might as well enjoy your last days alive, no?"

You said it light with a grin in your voice and, to demonstrate the sentiment, you rolled your hips down slowly against the lap you were sitting on, finding that, interestingly, Ethan was still hard.

A little muffled, valiantly attempting to recover from the shock, but very much there, thick line of him pressed against the seam of his jeans and when you ground down on him slowly his breath hitched and his hands tightened on your hips.

"That's not fair," he said quietly. "You're going to be the death of me… literally."

"Yeah, yeah. Famous last words. C'mon, old man, focus."

"Old man—"

You laughed as he scowled before grabbing your jaw with his big warm hand and tilting it up to kiss you.

Laughing into it, his teeth caught your bottom lip and your laugh turned into something quieter.

"There we go," you murmured when he let your mouth go.

"Brat."

"DILF."

He flipped you over off his lap and onto the desk in one motion and your back hit the laminate with a thud that knocked the air out of your lungs and he was on his feet between your knees, chair rolling away behind him and bumping the wall.

"Lock the door."

"I locked it the second your dad walked out."

"…you did?" He cracked a grin too before he was leaning down over you with both arms braced on the desk where you were and his weight settled between your spread knees.

"Your dad said to not keep you up too late." He murmured against your mouth. "He thinks you're working."

He had a hand at the hem of your shirt, sliding it up your stomach while the vowels had gone slow and rough. "When really, you're just up here being a slut for me. Aren't you?”

He grinned against your jaw despite sounding a little uncertain at the edges, like someone trying out a new language with a decent accent but still hunting for vocabulary.

He was trying, though, because he'd figured out that you liked it and provided it.

"Yeah," he said, kissing under your jaw. "Yeah. Captain wants his—" He paused, mouth at your throat. He had clearly just remembered, in the middle of this, who the Captain was.

"…you know what, on second thought—"

"No, no, no, keep going.”

He laughed helplessly against your throat as you felt the warm puff of his breath and the scrape of his stubble before he was biting gently and pulling your shirt up over your head.

"Pouch," you said.

"What?"

"Pouch on the desk."

He found and unzipped it.

"…what is this."

"It's a thing for, you know… plug it in. I was gonna bring it up."

"Okay. Okay. Maybe… maybe later. For now—" He set it aside on the desk and took out the lube. His ears, you noticed, were pink. They went pink whenever he was a little flustered, a little out of his depth, and it was the most unfair thing in the world that a man who'd survived two bioterror events still went pink in the ears at the mention of a sex toy.

He kissed you and worked your slacks and your boxers off in two motions, smooth, practiced now, broad warm hand wrapping around the base of his cock and pulling him free of his briefs right before grabbing for the lube.

"Easy," he murmured. "We've got time."

"Do we?"

"…yeah. Yeah, we've got time."

"My dad—"

"Your dad is the worst topic of conversation right now, can we please…"

You laughed and he poured lube into his palm, warming it between his fingers ever since you'd told him once, weeks ago, that it had been cold and he'd never make the mistake again.

The thoughtfulness of it broke your heart a little.

His finger pressed at your hole before into the first knuckle, out and back into the second.

"Good?"

"Yes."

"More?"

"Please." He added a second finger and scissored them to work you open as you arched on the desk and bit your lip while trying to be quiet.

There was a wall between this room and the corridor and that wall was not, fundamentally, sound-proof.

"Quiet, baby." A third finger found its place inside your tight walls, a place he'd mapped out methodically over a month of practice as he stroked it once and your hips jumped clean off the desk.

You bit your fist and tasted blood as he kept working until you were boneless and panting and almost crying with how badly you wanted him to fuck you already.

Right away he pulled his fingers out and you whined at the loss but he hushed you again while lining himself up.

"Want it?"

"Yes."

"Beg."

"…what?"

"Beg, baby. C'mon."

"Ethan, please."

"Yeah?"

"Please fuck me. Please. Please, please—"

"Good boy."

He pushed in and you couldn't have made noise if you'd wanted to, breath punched out of you in a voiceless rush while he pushed in slow, long thick stretch of him sliding in and splitting you open in the way you'd come to crave.

Once he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, you could feel him so deep to the point he reached your gut. He was breathing through his teeth, gripping the edge of the desk with his reattached hand, another warm hand on your hip stroking little soothing strokes with his thumb.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, move." He did, the first few thrusts were long and deep, dragging him out almost all the way before he pushed back into the hilt and your eyes rolled back, hands scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you tried to remember to breathe.

He bent down over to kiss while fucking you, cupping your jaw with his big warm hand and licking into your mouth while rolling his hips into you with that same patient deep rhythm.

"You're so good for me," he whispered. "Chris'd be so proud, hm? His son is working so hard."

He clamped his hand over your mouth while he kept going and you were going out of your mind as he twisted his hips. He hit that spot. Your back arched.

"Really you're just up here taking it so good and letting me fuck you on your own desk."

Sobbing into his hand, muffled against his palm until took his hand off your mouth, brushed his thumb across your bottom lip and you sucked it into your mouth without thinking.

His hips stuttered in their rhythm at witnessing that right before speeding up due to his self-control being a thin and beautiful thing, desk creaking and keyboard rattling the second he started fucking you in earnest.

You bit your lip and you whined into your own throat as you held onto the front of his jacket with both fists.

"Yeah," he was breathing. "Fuck, you're so tight."

There was a strand of damp blond hair stuck to his forehead and he looked beautiful having the best night of his life.

Fat head of his dick began hammering your prostate and your eyes were watering.

"Hands off.” The hand with all fingers still attached and previously on your hip wrapped around the one you had on your own cock and it got slammed upward where your head was. “Don't touch yourself. Come just from this. Show me."

He kept going hard and deep in that same place until your whole body went tight and you came untouched, all over your abdomen and his shirt, a thin broken whine in the back of your throat that he caught with his mouth as he fucked you through and past it while mouthing repeatedly ‘yes’ against his jaw because no sound was making it out anymore.

"Where?" he panted. "Where do you want it?"

"In.”

"Yeah?"

"Inside, please, Ethan, please."

"Christ." He buried his face in your neck and came, constant pulses of him panting your insides white as he groaned against your skin and sagged against you.

His heart was pounding through his dark sweater while you ran your fingers through his damp hair.

"You okay?"

"…your dad is going to kill me."

"You just said no more dad—"

"I know. I'm sorry… give me a minute. I'm having a moment."

You laughed quietly and his shoulders shook with the laughter he rumbled out as well.

Eventually he pulled back carefully, pulling out of you as you felt the trickle that followed and he made a small possessive sound at the sight that made your spent cock twitch valiantly.

"Stay there," he murmured before grabbing the towel from the pouch and cleaning you up gently, wiping himself and tossing the towel aside.

He helped you sit up and helped you back into your clothes as you let him because you were too tired to do anything else and because you liked it.

He sat down in the chair and you pulled yourself into his lap, curled against his chest.

"…we're not telling him," he said.

"Mm."

"He's going to find out at our wedding and shoot me at the altar."

"At our wedding, huh?"

He went pink in the ears.

"…I— I didn't— I meant— it was a hypothetical.”

"It's okay. I liked the wedding part."

He buried his face in your hair and you felt him smile against your scalp.

Both of his arms tightened around you as you stayed there in his lap for a long time until the computer, abandoned on the desk, finally went ’bing’ with the failed connection notification.

"Want me to fix it?"

"…if you wanna."

He kept you tugged against his chest as the chair you were both on rolled forward until your back made contact with the desk and you heard from behind your ears quick clicking noises from the keyboard.

"I'm really glad I helped you with this junk that first night."

You smiled into his neck, debating keeping the awful device just for what it brought you.

"Me too, old man."

"Stop calling me old man."

"Make me."

He huffed a laugh and kissed you again.

All of this with your father who had no idea his only kid was being thoroughly dicked down by one of his most trusted friends.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Z