chris can barely keep his eyes open when he arrives to work the next morning.
the poor man is still half asleep and is tired to the point it's becoming too exhausting to even stand straight. he can feel the tightness in his shoulders when he rolls them in an attempt to release some tension that's been building up over the course of a restless night. however, the seams that hold his button-up together make him halt midway as soon as they begin to protest to the sudden flex in his biceps.
he releases a dreary sigh; just had to doll up, didn't he?
it had been a mistake, looking handsome for someone who he definitely shouldn't be trying to impress... the conversation you had with him over the phone last night hadn't exactly crossed any boundaries, but it did leave him feeling somewhat thoughtful and lonely.
after you had said goodnight with what he guessed was a smile on your face, he started to feel empty inside. the line disconnected, and all of a sudden, he was alone with his thoughts and contemplating his life choices. surely, he wouldn't be having any reason to talk to you - his student - until three in the morning if he had a wife?
but, chris had never married after all. no, he's all alone. still vigorous and full of life as he had been in his late teens to twenties, and is completely left to his own devices just like he had been during that time too. he picks and chooses only what's best for him, concerns himself only with his own interests, and only thinks about himself. some may call it a life without a sense of purpose, but he likes it just fine. never having kids to hold him back, he's now slowly inching towards his fourties by being the 'fun uncle' instead of a dad. more and more of his friends are building families and settling down, and he's just... drifting.
so, can he even be blamed for trying to woo his pretty student after seeing her equally-as-cute cunt? you're young and soft; he wants to touch you all over. just thinking about this is letting off some steam... but it's not like, if things were to happen, it'd be anything serious? only a quick roll around the sheets, or a single night of greed that you've certainly been hinting at all over the phone, too. after all, you'll graduate real soon and forget all about him! will probably marry and have kids, just like nearly every other person he knows is doing right now. so, what's the problem?
well, he could lose his job for starters. and you're nearly a whole decade or so younger than him. he also holds tremendous power over you with the position he possesses, it'd be frowned upon if anybody found out. it's super risky: the faculty could expel you for it, his mother would beat his ass... had he mentioned that he could very well lose his job?
but that picture... goddamn.
he even has it saved on his phone.
speaking of the picture, to say that he was shocked when he had opened the file the first time would have been an understatement. he had closed the thing so fast that he felt like a panicked teenager again: hearing his mother slip the keys into the front door whilst he was still looking at porn on the family computer. pure stress.
but after a couple of quick-paced breaths, all of which had been so heavy they nearly fogged the blank screen of his computer, chris's fingers found the mouse again. he'd moved the cursor slowly, cautiously clicking the file once more... and stared. felt his eyelids turn heavy and his grey sweatpants strain by the time he had clicked the reply button and started typing.
maybe he shouldn't have drunk those two beers... not that he was by any means drunk from them, but perhaps it would have stopped him from responding to your email the way he did. it would have stopped his hand from ever reaching the waistband of his sweats and slipping under, would have halted all the stroking and grunting to follow right afterward... it would have stifled the need, and wiped away the sticky mess he had spilled all over his hand and stomach by the time he had decided to start flirting with you and convince you into giving him your number...
...because he just couldn't get enough, not even after cumming.
post-nut clarity, my ass.
guilt seeps into chris's chest, filling it with something gooey and disgusting as the thought of what he did crosses his mind for the hundredth time ever since yesterday. forcing him to drop his gaze in shame with a brow furrowed so tight, a small 'v' had etched itself right in between.
god-fucking-damn... it feels like everyone knows he's jerked it to his student and came all over himself like some pathetic loser, because - by some odd miracle! - a picture of her pretty pussy had somehow made its way onto his computer screen.
this is bad. so bad in fact that he even feels the need to place a hand over his heart, pretending that he's whisking away imaginary dust from his fancy shirt instead of trying to tame the sudden jump in his accelerating pulse.
but, speaking of the shirt, the light blue button-up he's yanked from the hanger this morning compliments his burly physique and hugs the broad span of his shoulders so tight that it's no wonder the seams are threatening to tear. the pants he's picked are in a color of soft beige he usually never wears and doesn't even remember buying. the combination he picked is good but is also unlike him to pick it in the first place. he's at least rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows as a meek attempt to feel more like himself, but it doesn't ease the discomfort. just like the fact he's wearing his favorite pair of shoes doesn't either.
all right, perhaps it's not all that bad. looking down at his outfit, the decently-young professor has to admit he actually looks appropriate for a change. even a couple of his co-workers that linger in the halls flatter him as he starts heading toward the teachers' lounge, twirling his keys around his index finger in an attempt to seem unbothered.
sure, the small praises are probably given only because the leather jacket he usually opts to wear is nowhere in sight, but chris still supposes that he understands it to some extent. he actually looks like a teacher for once, instead of a burly biker or like he works in the military.
still, his hair remains as wild as ever, no matter how nicely he dresses himself. the usually flat, comb-over chestnut hairs stick in various directions from his failed attempts to smooth them down. he looks like he's been tossing and turning all night instead, and to be fair, he did just that... amongst other things.
but, nevermind that! besides the hair situation, chris lacks a tie as well; the top two buttons where it should reside are left undone. he had tried putting it on - and he promises that he did - but the damn thing just chokes him to oblivion! makes him want to flick it in the trash instead of tying it into a tidy knot around his neck...
well, at least he's tried to look presentable if anything else... him being - sort of, kind of - dressed up to code should practically be celebrated at this point!
and yet, the reason why he's done it creeps back into his mind and makes him spiral all over again. he hasn't even reached the lounge yet and his feet are already dragging down the hall that's filled with students whose names he can't even recall most of the time, mind clouded with a thunderstorm so big you'd be able to see lightning flash behind his eyes if you looked closely enough.
luckily for him, nobody does. he turns some heads from college girls he's never spared a glance for, even invoking a quicker heartbeat in the new substitute teacher he thinks is called jill valens - or something like that - but that's it (he thinks). some of the young adults that surround him are just too busy, still half-asleep much like himself, to notice their criminal justice professor passing by. whilst, the other, more upbeat and social half is buzzing with chatter consisting of upcoming plans on how they'd like to spend their weekend.
the fog in his head clears for the briefest second at that. oh, right. it's friday.
he knows that he should feel chipper about the upcoming weekend, but for some reason, he doesn't. deep down, chris knows it's because he won't see you until tuesday - but he won't admit that, of course. he won't come to terms with the fact that he's already formed some sort of twisted attachment to you, like the sick fuck that he is.
jesus, he seriously needs to get his shit together. you're like, what, twenty? twenty-two? he isn't necessarily old enough to be your dad, but 10 years is still... a lot.
his train of thought is broken when he bumps into somebody.
"oops, i'm so sorry-!" a voice starts.
oh, lord.
there's a brief beat of silence that makes blood rush into chris's ears as his eyes connect with your own, and he feels his pupils dilate to the point of aching from how fast they overtake his hazelly-blue irises. even his stomach twinges uncomfortably at the tingling sensation your hand leaves behind when it grazes his arm in a rather foolish attempt to keep yourself steady. it makes his skin heat up underneath all the layers of clothing he's got on, and fuck, it feels so good.
god, now that you're so close, he can tell that you smell absolutely divine. he has no clue what perfume it is that you're wearing, and he's never really been a fan of them really, but this one specifically... it makes his nostrils flare and his jaw turn slack as he turns so fucking desperate that he tries inhaling the scent through his mouth.
what an idiot... keep yourself together, moron!
"it's, uh- it's fine! i'm fine." he takes a small step back when he sees your lips begin to curl into a smile in response to the stupid expression that's still lingering on his face. he's being careful, holding his defenses up: i mean- you're in public, and he's your teacher.
"no biggie." you gleam up at him, eyebrow quirking in pure puzzlement. he's just so red now; face blooming a bashful crimson as he literally has to fight against his instincts to not stare at you for too long. he can't stop the color from tinting into an even deeper shade, it's almost pathetic.
and, fuck, the change of tone you equip now only makes him blush even further as you say: "well, good morning to you, too, professor."
what the fuck?! weren't you supposed to be the bashful one, considering that he's your teacher and that you were the one that had sent him the picture by mistake?
the twirling of the keys chris holds in his hand has long since come to an abrupt stop as he swings them into his palm and holds on tight. nevermind all the pressure - all the guilt - he'll sort this out like the big boy he is. he's handled worse than cute lil'you.
well, actually... he's not so sure about that anymore, to be honest.
"yeah, um..." wow. some big boy he is. right off the start, chris's grip remains so tenacious that it turns his knuckles stark white, similar to those of a common coward. and, as if that wasn't bad enough already, he even has to clear his throat before he mutters back meekly. "g'morning."
"slept well?" you ask, making sure you're quiet just enough that nobody else can hear you... the last thing you want is to scare him off.
but, despite your caution, his gaze immediately falls to the floor that had been scrubbed clean by the janitor just the previous night. "not really." chris answers genuinely, rubbing the back of his neck. the sleeve of his sky-blue shirt strains around his bicep with the action, making your eyes linger on the muscle that's rippling underneath the cotton. god, he's built so big and strong... so dreamy.
"hm?" batting your luscious eyelashes, you pretend to be coy - just because of the flex alone. "how so, sir?"
he swallows hard at the title; his adam's apple bobbing. the way he's scratching the back of his head is so unnerving. "well-"
"-not to be nosy, or anything..." you cut in, and before he can even start another sentence, you intrude with another sly grin. "...but i can't help but wonder what exactly was the thing that had kept you awake at night?"
why, you little minx.
your head tilts to the side, dropping the jesterly smize, at the timid nature he portrays all of a sudden. he's jittery as hell, even moreso when you decide to step onto the tips of your toes to observe him much closely. by the time you run your eyes along the sharp line of his jaw and skip over the light freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, he's feeling nauseous just from how fast his heartbeat has gotten behind that broad ribcage of his. even a thin film of sweat covers his forehead now, making his tan skin slightly glisten under the fluorescent lights of the school.
you're just dressed so cute, it's no wonder he's sweating: a short skirt that's barely up to dress code from how high it reaches above your knees, a pretty blouse tucked right into it with the buttons properly done all the way up unlike his own. looking so nice and tidy, he just wants to ruin you entirely, especially because he now knows what's hiding underneath the pretty skirt that you insist on flaunting around him.
yes, he actually knows. the blood that's previously been turning his ears hot, rushes straight below chris's belt at the realization.
and so, all of the arrogance is gone in mere seconds. the subtle "disdain" that he usually offers you whenever you step foot inside his classroom, is nowhere to be seen now. standing in their place are nothing but nervousness and fidgety fingers, to which you secretly offer just the tiniest fraction of your attention towards for reasons you'll never admit to a living soul besides him...
...perhaps.
however, nervous or not, mr. redfield still manages to move before you can get another word in - or better yet, before you could lean into him even further. he steps to the side in one fluid movement, causing space between you whilst giving the keys in his hand a single nerve-wrecking jingle.
the sound that it emits makes you want to chuckle, but you resist the temptation as much as you can by fixing your bag onto your shoulder, and planting your heels back onto the ground, allowing him space.
"cat got your tongue, sir?" the (attempt at an) innocent smile that you offer makes him want to teach you a lesson. a proper one.
"see you in class." except, he only disregards your witty comment instead - his dangerous glare already flicking onto just about anything but you. he clears his throat again, the hand that had just been rubbing his neck, running through his short chocolate brown hair now. goodness, the unruly tuffles look so fluffy to the touch; you just wanna twirl one right around your finger...
...specifically as his voice softens, and he attempts to taunt you with: "try not to be late for once, yeah?"
the upturn of your lips come off more as a smirk than anything else, even though he can't see it because he's already headed towards the door leading to the place you're not allowed to enter... you, internally, comparing his practical-scurrying down the hall to a petrified little puppy, despite being so fucking big. "wouldn't dream of it, mr. redfield."
oh, fuck you. chris immediately thinks as he catches wind of your words from where he is, dismissing you playfully with a flick of the wrist.
but, shit. he can't help himself... in the span of a just mere couple of seconds, he slows down as he notices that the distance between you had increased greatly. he turns his head back, as if an invisible rope is tugging him right back to you. he looks over his shoulder, looks at you, and there you are: looking right back.
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( notes: holy shit, what has my writing gone to LMFAO- to never writing smut before, to writing one every other week or so 😭 anywayz, I HAVE A QUESTION: which re chris is your favorite design? i love his revelations, re5, re6, village, and cinema *animation* designs like vendetta & death island, LIKE THEY'RE SO REALISTIC and consistent [with his age progression] SHBFJSBKF !! but i will always be soft for his re1r & umbrella chronicle forms :] <333 yes )
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