#facesitting.

The glass could’ve gotten embedded in your backside, Mr. Whatsit admonished. You muttered an apology.

“Good thing you have thick jeans,” he replied, patting said denim-clad backside with both hands.

His girlfriend was straddling his midriff, while throwing embarrassed glances over her shoulder. Best view he’d had in a long time. Over a year. If he’d been capable of mustering any anger towards you, your pout would’ve completely dissipated it. It wasn’t like he actually needed glasses. They were just part of his disguise. To make him appear nonthreatening. It was an added bonus you seemed to like his eyewear.

Besides, he could just ask where you got yours. He smiled at the thought of you helping him try on different frames. A date at the optometrist’s. Too bad one couldn’t help him with his second sight, which seemed off today. His other five senses were working perfectly. It was his sixth sense that needed checking.

While he was pondering why your mind was closed off, you were thanking God you’d taken the keys out of your back pocket. Otherwise you might’ve bruised Henry’s pretty face. 

From accidentally plopping your entire ass on it.

Rushing into sex hadn’t been your plan. Not this time. Henry’d gotten dressed up. Like a date. A proper date. Not just a two person “gang bang” where he’d allowed your eager holes to get acquainted with his tentacles. Switching it up. Pumping in tandem in your pussy. Near one climax, you’d gotten so wet Vecna had been able to slip his cock between two pistoning flesh-vines. That was the only time you’d shown any reluctance. And he’d withdrawn his auxiliary phalluses before fully entering you vaginally.  

You wondered how he’d managed PIV, with a seemingly Ken doll physique. Then shook your head. You’d been transported back and forth between dimensions. What was a little penile sheath between boy- and girlfriend?

Still lying casually supine on the bed, Mr. Whatsit tilted his hat back. 

Is this another illusion?

Each time you had sex had been a dream. Not just because you loved it, his tentacles and promises of letting other monstrous appendages—other monsters’ appendages—tongues, more tentacles, intermittent organs, and any combo of the three—in your orifices. Your lover hadn’t stepped foot out of the Upside Down.

Henry isn’t much of a monster, is he? Just looks like one. Not now, though.

Kind eyes, obscured by cracked lenses, and a cushiony smile.

Meanwhile, Henry was internally debating whether or not to ask you to turn around. God, he missed your breasts. They were perfect for him. The only way they could be better was to add a bit more softness, make them sag with milk. 

But he already had a bunch of other children to mind at the moment. Besides, maybe you’d prefer oviposition. You were pretty kinky. He’d love altering your biology to fulfill your joint desires. 

Joint. 

Vecna pursed his lips. For some reason, your mind wasn’t as open to him as it once was. But you were more than interested in oral, obviously. 

He hadn’t been given a proper blowjob, but you had fellated a tentacle. Deepthroated it, even. And thanked him for suppressing your gag reflex. All while taking in more appendages below the waist. It was only fair he ate you out.

“Okay,” Henry said, transferring his glasses to a pocket. It’d been a miracle yours hadn’t clacked together when Mr. Whatsit had unexpectedly appeared and swooped in for a kiss.

Then I had to go and treat his head like a couch cushion at the end of a long day.

“I’ll brace my hands on your thighs so you can bear down gently. Then we can switch positions afterwards. If you want.”

He smiled again as your grin lit up your whole face.

“Uh, you can take off your pants.”

He’s just so relieved to be alive. 

Even with beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, his skin was nowhere as soaked as your panties, which were now hanging out casually betwixt your knees. Bent over, you could feel his perspiring brow rest on your ass. He signed blissfully, before pressing his sweaty palms against your buttocks, giving them a handful of squeezes each. 

Then he got back to work. Two thumbs parted your labia, his tongue plunging into your gap instead of lapping at your clit. You thought about diddling yourself. Then decided against it, not wanting to reach ecstasy quite yet. 

Alice was the one who jabbed him with the antivirus, you remembered, as Kaplan ate your pussy from the back. Your hands braced against glass. Thank God it was reinforced. The adrenaline had left your body, when you realized you were safe(r). Now it came roaring back in excitement at the soldier’s wet applications to your snatch. He should be thanking her. 

Where is she, anyway? With Matt?

Shoveling your essence into his beyond eager mouth, his tongue then extended further than expected.

Chad Kaplan hadn’t done anything so juvenile as lick his lips at the sight of you. Even though he’d been very, very interested since your introduction. He was a professional. It’d been an emergency. So you were pleasantly surprised you both shared Gorlin’s sign. Not that he would’ve guessed it, seeing as you both had been modest up until when he’d taken your face in his hands, kissed your forehead, and directly asked if he could perform cunnilingus. 

It was odd hearing someone who, to your knowledge, was normally so composed—even in a life or death situation—just lose himself completely. 

Kaplan’s (para)military, though. Or was. For an unethical pharmaceutical company. An onslaught of monsters and mutated people couldn’t shake him. 

An IT guy, you concluded, has to remain calm in emergencies. 

Just as you were pondering whether to grab his hair and throw yourself backwards on his face, he stopped. Neither of you spoke. Don’t be shy now, C.K. Then he licked your thigh. Tongue feeling wider than it had inside you. You chalked that up to the fact he’d been trying to stick it up there as deep as possible. (Make out with my cervix lol, ew.) It was pressed flat. Savoring you. 

A split second later you peeked down and spotted a bandaid on your left cheek. 

Oh yeah, I was injected, too. 

At some point. 

It was hard to keep track of everything that had happened since the train ride, your mind fuzzy with lust as it was. 

Your lover continued tentatively licking your thigh, like he was struggling to decide his next move. Frowning in confusion, but not reluctance, you noted his appendage was actually coiling around your leg. How freaking long is it? you thought, amazed as he dipped into your underwear. Comparing your initial discharge to the stuff he was getting straight from the source. Then he pulled your panties straight down your calves and dove in again. 

You almost yelped when he finally made you sit on his face. Tongue continuously writhing inside. Putting your faith in his uncanny strength, you lifted one hand from the window to cover your mouth. When you removed it, strands of drool connected your lips and fingers. Probably how Kaplan’s fingers would look if his mouth wasn’t engulfing your gash. The idea of getting digitally fucked made you shudder. Not quite in pleasure. His nails were really digging into your hips.  

Am I high? 

You were basically using him as a stool. He was sturdy. Still, you figured it was only polite to bend forward, so as not to cut off his air supply. Though something told you he’d hold his breath ad hoc. It was like he’d been born for this. To become a licker.

Licker. That word brought back a memory.

“Well,” a man in a white lab coat explained, “you owe us a Licker. With interest.” 

You tried to protest, but it was hard to be taken seriously restrained as you were, in stirrups and cuffs. Zero modesty. The staff seemed equally split between ignoring you and openly leering at your spread privates. And the cold, sterile room left your nipples ever hard. You couldn’t so much as shift an elbow to conceal them. 

At one point another doctor (?) sauntered in and cupped your vulva without warning. When he placed a thumb on your perineum, you begged him to remove it. Wary of his intentions. Nobody had done anything to really hurt (read bruise) you yet. Aside from the IV. No telling what was in it. 

You were hushed, told “you’re not getting penetrated so get your mind out of the gutter.” Then you noticed the syringe. 

“‘No penetration’?!”

“No digital penetration,” he drawled. “For now.”

Umbrella Corp only hired personnel that, if not ignorant, lacked ethics. Even when it came to obstetrics.  

Eyes wide, you saw what lay beyond the glass. Your rendezvous with Chad Kaplan wasn’t as consensual as you’d thought it was. He honestly liked you, though you believed he wouldn’t be doing this in front of an audience if he had a choice. In fact, if everything went according to plan, you figured, the former computer whiz would be too territorial to…

What? Let others around his nest? His mate?

Lickers didn’t generally attack each other, unless they were fighting over prey. Which you were, in a way. Though there wasn’t enough research into their mating habits. 

Hence why I’m here, you shuddered as Kaplan ground his nose into your taint. Another memory from your last encounter with an Umbrella employee flitted in.

“Welcome to the Licker Breeding Program.”  

Kaplan, of course, was no longer an employee. He was a test subject. Like you. 

Your juices were getting everywhere. Before his tongue finally withdrew, fast as a tape measure. You tried to settle your feet flat on the floor again, hands once again braced against the window. Like you were about to be subjected to a pat down. Kaplan paused again. Why, you didn’t know.  

It staved off an orgasm, though. Gave you time to ponder Alice and Matt’s location. With a sinking heart, you remembered Matt had been carted off to the Nemesis Program. Whether that was part of Umbrella’s propagation efforts, you couldn’t say. Probably something in “defense.” Hopefully he was in a far off lab. And ignorant of your degradation. 

An image of an amnesiac girl being unknowingly mounted by a mutated Matt popped into your head. This infernal corporation wanted your memories intact while you were being bred. Even if they initially had to sedate you. You couldn’t say the same for Alice, a skilled combatant. Even more reason to make her birth supersoldiers. 

Vaguely aware of Kaplan’s heavy breath, you actually rested your cheek against the window. Uncaring if it left a smudge. You reached down to pat his head. Then stopped when your fingers grazed his forehead. Unblinking, you slowly met his gaze. Kaplan’s forehead had begun to split. 

No visible brain matter yet, but solid claws jutted out of where his fingernails should’ve lain flat. Blood beaded on your scratchmarks. It was a testament to his remaining humanity that your hip flesh hadn’t been sliced to ribbons. 

You could readily imagine what he’d look like once the mutation was complete. Imagined him sniffing at his moulted skin, then quickly losing interest. Because he was already past any courtship rituals. Already well-acquainted with this mate. Who could be sedated if she wasn’t “in the mood.”

You frowned at the scientist who stood condescendingly on the other side of the glass. As your head cleared, you started to formulate revenge fantasies. If only you could interrogate him for a few minutes! 

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With him and Mikhail on standby, you thought it might be rude to talk. Carlos quickly dissuaded you of that notion. He wanted to know how long you’d been in Raccoon City. You grow up here? Any hobbies? 

To hypothetical outside observers, it was harmless flirting. To Carlos, a courtship ritual. Too bad there was no time for a background check. Not that anything he could’ve found, even your kinky Tumblr or AO3, would be shameful in Carlos’s eyes. Later, you’d wonder why on Earth Mikhail let you go with Carlos to clear the tracks. Did he suspect something? Know something? Or did he just get a hunch separating you two was a bad idea? 

Alone together. If he hadn’t been trained for emergencies, Carlos’s would have quickly drifted away from Jill Valentine. You kept glancing at the time, which would’ve bothered him if you weren’t also freely answering his queries. Asking some of your own, even. And he of course remembered to periodically check in on your friend. 

“Jill, it’s me again. You topside yet?”

“Working on it. So what’s the plan?”

“The old tank’s got me clearing the tracks. _____’s here, too.”

You hummed affirmatively. Not wanting to butt in as she and Carlos coordinated getting the power back. 

“Too bad Jill doesn’t have any tactical gear,” you said, starting to feel a little warm despite the setting. You didn’t want Carlos to think that you thought he was selfish for keeping his vest. Mikhail hadn’t asked his subordinate to hand over anything else. Or offered anything himself. Everyone could count on Jill. “Then again,” you continued, “she’s gone this far in life kicking ass in a tank top.”

Carlos chuckled. 

“I still have those, uh, snacks from the vending machine. In case you’re hungry.”

If he hadn’t told you to stay behind him on the railway, you may’ve caught the hunger in his eyes. The way you patted your pants pockets was cute. 

“Thank you, ______, but I’m fine for now.” 

“You’re fine all the time.”

His heart beat just a fraction faster. If it wasn’t enough you wanted to feed him…! Junk food, but still. (There were other ways you could sate him, which could wait.) You were responding to his advances! 

Jill called again. While they figured out how she could go to the substation, you realized you still felt glum. Sure, Jill was in S.T.A.R.S. And Umbrella employees were actually being helpful! But-

An abrupt “fuck you” from the other line. That nabbed your wandering attention.

“Why is she fucking-” You could’ve blushed. Who knew when, if ever, you’d get around to that with Carlos? “Why is she ‘fuck you’-ing?” 

For a split second he pondered whether it would be a good idea to tell you. Then mentally shrugged. Carlos couldn’t afford to have you think he was sneaky. All relationships needed honesty from the get-go. Lies of omission, you figured out later, apparently didn’t count. 

“She’s near the substation…” “Yeah?” “...but it’s through a burning alley.” “Damn, is she okay?”

“So far…” he trailed off. Sensing your low spirits, Carlos placed a hand on your shoulder. If you hadn’t anticipated his care, you would have tensed. Luckily, you didn’t. 

“Jill ‘fuck you’-ed me because I said, ‘Surely a tall drink of water like yourself can put out a few flames.’ I wasn’t flirting with her, though.”

You bit your lip. Then started laughing. Hard. Carlos’s chuckle was eclipsed by your peals. 

“I know,” you managed, sputtering. Carlos smiled, both hands rested on your shoulders. When his fingers dug into your clavicle, you winced. “Oh no.”

“Sorry,” he said, easing up a little. Without releasing your collarbone. “Hey, I meant to ask earlier… Did you get singed? From the flamethrower.” 

“Oh no,” you repeated, this time as a lie. Not wanting him to feel bad. He saved Jill’s life, after all. Probably yours, too. Nemesis’s indifference didn’t guarantee your safety from other zombies. If Jill’d been taken out, you would’ve been screwed. 

The shirt’s fabric wasn’t thick enough to shield you from thermal burns. Although minor, they could’ve used some petroleum jelly. Just as you were about to ask if Mikhail had Vaseline or something, you found yourself giggling again. Thinking about that fictitious Umbrella employee anal toy.  

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I was just thinking-” You weren’t really, so you just blurted out a random thought from earlier. “What’s with the tentacles?”

“Tentacles?”

“Jill’s… pursuer.”

“Well, he’s persistent. Which you like.” Carlos lifted a finger to point at face and you pretended to bite. Nice. “Tall. You like tall guys?”

“Eh, not that tall. Makes kissing without a ladder difficult. Not a bad looking lad, though, our nemesis.”

“Oh, kiss his ass, why don’t you?” Carlos teased.

“Can’t. Need a ladder.”  

“Well,” he said, hands finally sliding off your shoulders, “you don’t need one to kiss mine.” 

“Eh, maybe later.” You waved a hand over the train tracks. Thinking he just liked being complimented. “When we’re done with this.”

“So, tentacles…” Carlos circled back to your improvised answer. 

“Yeah?”

“They do anything for you?”

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Looking back, with Carlos’s (at least rudimentary) knowledge of tentacle porn, you wondered what other anime terminology he knew. Yandere probably wasn’t in Jill or Mikhail’s vocab. Maybe Carlos was a self-aware one. You weren’t sure if he knew what the proper term for what he was was. Even if he got the concept. And you weren’t going to ask. 

On the tracks, it was only beginning to dawn just how into you Carlos was. Sure, he seemed prone to casual flirtation and banter. Even Jill wasn’t entirely safe from it.

“Carlos, it’s Jill. I’ve restored power to the subway.”

“Nice going!” praised Carlos. You suddenly felt out of place again. There wasn’t much more you could do to help. “Next up is the traffic control system. It should be in the subway company’s offices.”

“Right, I think I know the building.” 

“Way to go, partner. One step ahead.”

“Not your partner.”

Jill was on a mission, so you couldn’t fault her for being abrupt. Even with a hot guy trying to gauge how freaky you were, you remembered how fucked the situation was. Zombie-swarmed Raccoon City was the last place you needed to be. Well, at least I met my next boyfriend, you soothed, widening your eyes and grinning as Carlos set his hand on your shoulder again, meaning to guide you back to the subway station. Then the pain set in.

You pulled away from his touch. 

Being a fan of the “persistent type” didn’t mean you were ignorant of the common drawbacks of yandere love interests. Your personal fave was the kind who just wanted to insert themselves into their obsession’s life. Sure, the glamor cracked now and then. But the subtype seemed normal 90% of the time.   

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

Carlos’s hand hung in midair for a few more seconds, before dropping to his side.

“You’re hurt,” he stated. “I hurt you.” 

“We can’t do anything about it now. And it’s not that bad.”

“I need to assess the damage.” 

“There’s no damage! It’ll heal. In time.”

“Come on, let me see,” he soothed, raising his hands, not in defense, but to “help.” “It’s the least I can do.”

He just wants to see me naked, you thought, before turning away and obeying. But you weren’t taking it off fast enough.

“You’re not like Jill. You don’t have to pretend to be badass.” 

You didn’t know me well enough to make that observation aloud. Even if it’s true. 

“And you are?”

“Of course,” he replied, pulling your top over your head and draping it over a bicep. Leaving you feeling more exposed than you looked. At least he couldn’t see your expression. His tone softened. “You need someone to look out for you.”

A quick glance showed you Carlos’s fingers hovering over your injuries. 

“I really wish I had some Vaseline or Aquaphor,” you admitted, staring straight ahead. It wasn’t like the burns had been treated, properly or at all. Ice packs were luxury items right now. Maybe one of the civilians on the train had the chance to grab a first aid kit. 

“Me too.”

Suddenly Carlos was in front of you. He lifted your shirt off his bulging arm. Not before burying his nose in the fabric, though. Eyes widening for a second, you realized he wasn’t just casually flirting. Carlos Oliveira wanted to fuck on Raccoon City transit. 

Slipping the sniffed shirt over your head was the only option. For some reason your heart was racing too quickly to think of an excuse to return to the train car topless. Mikhail might not like his subordinate getting up to hank-panky during a public emergency. 

“Hey, Jill’s not the kind of ‘star’ you’re interested in, right?”

“Huh-? Oh.”

He gestured to his backside. Then his hands, so starved for your own skin, pressed against the seat of his pants. It was hard to tell through fatigues, but you could have sworn he was, well, going commando. And you were almost correct, as you’d soon find out. If he’d lowered his pants just then, an impatient asshole would have been on display. His index finger aimed at it. 

“No,” you quickly added, smiling despite trying hard not to. “She’s, uh, not my type.”

Correction, Carlos wanted you to fingerfuck him on Raccoon City transit. 

And more, he would’ve added if he read minds.   

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Okay, so it’s like a “Peasant’s Wise Daughter” deal, you thought, staring at Carlos’s jockstrap from the back. Definitely inappropriate per United States Armed Forces regulations. But(t) perfect for Umbrella’s militia, you figured. Of course, you weren’t going to ask about his coworkers’ undergarments. 

“Carlos, ______, that thing is still alive! It’s after me!”

Pants pulled up again in a split second. Nobody would’ve guessed he’d just mooned you.

Jill sounded rightfully frantic. For once. You weren’t yet bosom buddies, but you knew her well enough to understand how dire the situation must be for her to lose her cool like that. In front of someone like Carlos. 

“Stay-”

“Jill, you have to come back down here! Now!” you cut him off. Stay calm. Carlos was going to say “stay calm.” 

She shouted that she needed to get traffic control online. You were barely aware of your surroundings while Carlos led you back to the station. At one point you realized you were holding hands. 

Your heart didn’t flutter at that. It was racing too hard at the possibility of losing Jill. Not that you wanted to tell him that.

He refused to let go of your hand even when Mikhail caught sight of you. The “old tank” must’ve deduced how upset you were, and so said nothing. Carlos gave him an update. Careful to praise Jill’s bravery. Super careful not to hint at any sort of sacrifice. Might have to be the shoulder they cry on, he reminded himself, palms itching for yours again. You were standing closer to his superior than him. Some professionalism had to be shown. It was why he didn’t just go for a quickie on the tracks.  

“You’re right,” you whispered, when it was just the two of you on the platform. “I’m out of my depth.” 

It wasn’t just that you were terrified. For Jill, yourself, everyone on the train. You wanted to be useful and you weren’t sure how you could be. Aside from boosting the troops’ morale (granted, only one man), you were still just a civilian. Hiding underground. While some ogre fucker was up there hunting your pal Val. 

“I need protect-”

Carlos was about to swoop in, cutting off your words with a hungry kiss, about to overtake you with his all-consuming love, when the fucking walkie-talkie went off. 

“Carlos, I’m in the control room.”

“Nice!” His tone sounded the same, despite his frustrated expression. Which you pretended not to see. “Now you gotta plot out a route.”

“Okay, gimme a sec.”

Your delighted expression made his heart melt. Before he remembered you were elated about someone else being alive, the corner of his mouth received a peck. Not a full-on kiss, with your lips engulfing his, but he’d take it. Normally you’d be chastising yourself for moving too quickly. No one could blame you for emotional outbursts then, though. 

What was ______ saying? “I need protection.” 

(You were actually going to say “protecting.”) 

His tongue darted out, coveting your mouth, then slipped back inside. Couldn’t show you how horny he was. Not with Jill on the other line. Channel. She was on the other channel. He wasn’t going to use military equipment to fulfill any kinks. Unless you were into that. Phone sex. Maybe someday. Of course, he had zero interest in sharing you. Exhibitionism was different. Letting others bask in the glorious love he and his partner made…

We don’t need protection. I want your saliva and cum everywhere, ______. And vice versa. 

“Alright, where are we headed?” Jill came back, sounding chipper. 

“The train is stopped at Redstone Street.” He mentally high fived himself for not sounding horny. “We need it to reach Fox Park Station. Can you program that in?”

As jealous as he had started to feel, you assured him she wasn’t your type. But that was back in the tunnel, where you’d tried to hide a mild injury from him. Not a big fat lie. Carlos just needed you to be open with him. In the future, he promised himself, you would be. He still felt horrible at having hurt you, unintentionally or not. Even if it happened before he realized he was in love. 

“Hey, I’m Supercop. Consider it done.”

You were back to holding hands, and Carlos gently pressed his lips to yours, hoping then you didn’t notice how aroused he was. The idea of your bodily fluids coating every square inch of his skin was probably too intense to tell you about, at that moment. Or your tongue—his own tongue bitten in order to not dart out again, like a snake’s—probing his clenching anus. 

Jill’s attitude was having a positive effect on yours. You gave his hand a squeeze. The couple minutes it took her to finish her task went by.

“Carlos, it’s me. I’ve finished inputting the subway route.”

“Great!” you mouthed. She was in such a good mood.  

“Jill, you are amazing! Tough as nails, too. Head back to the station. We’ll make sure the subway is ready to depart.”  

Okay, Jill Valentine could be part of the wedding part.

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What if the big guy follows her back? 

Surely you were wondering that, too. That or When do I get to see Carlos’s hairy ass again? 

He’d left the flamethrower on the surface. Not that it’d done much to deter that behemoth. Who kind of reminded Carlos of himself. It wasn’t like he was a stalker, though. You had zero desire to be apart from him. 

“Nice job, supercop. I’m impressed.”

“We back in business?”

Carlos informed her it would take at least half an hour for the subway to be functional.   

You rushed to hug Jill. Though something almost cemented your feet to the platform. It wasn’t your civilian status. Not this time. Just an odd feeling that was the wrong move, for some reason. 

The overhead door under the exit sign shot up, causing Jill to let go and Carlos to aim his rifle. Two other U.B.C.S. guys strolled in. The one with shortly cropped gray hair impatiently pushed the rolling shutters up as he entered. 

“Nicholai! How we doin’?”

Not bothering to introduce us, you noted. Back to business. 

“The town’s crawling with those freaks.” Ah, a countryman of Mikhail’s. “No chance of fighting our way out of the city.” He pointed at Jill, not even bothering with you. “Why is she here?”

“She’s helping get the trains running again,” explained Carlos, annoyed. 

“Bad time to start carrying dead weight, friend. She’s unreliable. Can’t pull the trigger when it counts.”

For your benefit, as well as Jill’s, Carlos said, “Hey, take it easy.”

“She’ll get you killed.”

Since neither Nicholai nor his companion acknowledged you, you figured you were at least a step above “dead weight.” (Tyrell, though, as you would learn, was a better person than his brothers-in-arms.)

A noncombatant was less hated than a hesitant warrior. 

Get them back on the train! you imagined Nicholai barking. 

“Sorry about that,” Carlos made sure to apologize to Jill. It was good that his coworkers weren’t interested in you. “Everyone’s a little worked up.” Then, “Aw, come on. Not again.” 

Before you knew it you and Carlos were on the other side of the gate while Jill ran off, luring the pursuer away. Her explanation: “It’s me he’s after.”

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With fading hope, you realized Nemesis (as you’d later find out he was called) was like a more intense version of Nicholai. An Umbrella employee who disliked Jill Valentine and ignored you. Carlos found that funny.

“Hey, if there’s ever the opportunity for some friendly fire…”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but you weren’t so sure. Judging by the earnest look on Carlos’s face. You saw his fingers graze the walkie-talkie. Alarmed, you opened your mouth to ask if he’d actually turned off Jill’s only way of contacting you two. Then he shoved his tongue inside.

Lust overrode your conscience and you sucked face for a minute. Before remembering Jill was in imminent danger. More peril than she’d ever been in her life. No one else here cared as much as you did. Nobody in the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service was going to risk their neck for Officer Valentine now. 

“God, I can’t wait to feel that tongue-”

You placed a hand on his chest, refusing to succumb to pecs. Somehow his vest had been removed without you noticing. Even with the shirt’s thicker fabric, you saw hard nipples. Could feel them, Carlos thought, if you just moved your fingers a little… He was annoyed by your reluctance. Only to be sated, at least for the moment, when you rested your head against his shoulder.

Did you accidentally turn off the radio? you wanted to ask. Unsure if “accidentally” could be un-emphasized. 

Now I’m the shoulder you’re crying on. 

As much as you craved comfort… It wasn’t going to come from sex. Not at the moment. Jill wasn’t going to come back. Not unless she slayed the monster. And he was just so resilient. More lives than all the cats in Raccoon City. You could almost hear the roar of “S.T.A.R.S.!” while Jill frantically scrambled back. 

Your tears gushed and Carlos’s heart melted. But not his boner. There was precum. Which he’d really, really hoped to have you sample. He’d been in a great mood when he’d introduced himself, in part due to a fresh orgasm. Maybe a security cam caught footage of him jerking it in that alley. Cue heavy weapons specialist joke. 

Carlos had to quickly decide whether to let you keep at it or not. There was a good chance Jill might not be coming back, after all. Okay, that meant you needed to cry it out. (And that Carlos Oliveira would be your sole protector. You wouldn’t need to share your heart with anyone else.) Now or later. He decided to ignore his erection—almost as hard to kill as Nemesis—and let you finish staining his shirt with your lachrymations. 

He was so focused on you, he didn’t realize the radio was back on. If he noticed the start of quiet static, you wouldn’t say anything. Just hope Carlos thought he’d made a mistake. You let him strum his fingers down your vertebrae. Sure, you were scared, but you could fight back tears. You chose not to, because crying could save Jill’s life. If you reacted angrily, who knew how he might respond? Jill’d taken issue with Umbrella and she’d be martyred for those beliefs. Because at that point you didn’t believe she was being sacrificed just so Carlos had better access to your heart. And mouth. 

“Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” you whispered. Hand in hand, you returned to the others. 

Carlos’s guard was so down, he couldn’t hide his confusion when Supercop was able to break through. 

“Carlos, can you hear me now?”

“Jill!” he exclaimed, clearly for your sake only. “Oh, thank God! Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alive. I lost him.”

“Great. The subway’s ready to go. We’ll leave as soon as you make it back.”

You chose to ignore Nicholai’s response and the rest of the militiamen. How would you shake Carlos? You might have to sleep with him first. He probably expected that. Jill’d known better than to immediately trust an Umbrella underling. While you’d been taken in by your hero. 

Charming is short for “Carlos harming,” you thought. Stupid joke, but you didn’t want to cry for this part. 

“Carlos, it’s Jill. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. You alright?” 

“Yeah… Bastard’s dead.” 

“Good. Fuck ‘im.”  

That should’ve been a relief.

“But what were you thinking, turning yourself into bait? You could have been killed.”

“Don’t start,” Jill sighed. “I did what I had to.”

“I know, and, uh, thanks.” 

Carlos sincerely meant that. Even though the thought of being your only defender was tantalizing, realistically he knew you were more likely to make it if more than one person was invested in your safety. His coworkers weren’t romantics like him. Their goal was to save as many civilians as possible. Lovely, empathetic ______  included. But not the sole priority. Carlos, however, would’ve let that train car full of civilians combust if it meant you’d make it out of Raccoon City safely. Throw those NPCs to the walking unalive ad hoc. All for you. 

Fuck, if you’re some kind of sick fuck, I’d kick them out one-by-one begging to live for your amusement, ______.  

Carlos knew you (probably) weren’t. You were a sweetheart. Concerned about Jill’s wellbeing and all. And his. 

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How the hell was Nicholai not at the very least charmed by you? Carlos was extra careful to analyze everyone else’s tone and body language. To make sure there were no other potential suitors. People did crazy things in disaster situations. Even if there were technically more important issues at hand, it was hard to ignore a total smokeshow. (Especially when their personality traits were so complementary to his own.) Goodness, when would you find the time to have happy-to-be-alive sex? 

Unfortunately, once again, you caught him turning the radio off, so you “secretly” turned it back on. He thought maybe he’d unconsciously done that. But no. You wanted Jill safe. And you’d caught him. That was bad. Potentially very, very bad.  

You hadn’t left him to chat with another civilian more than two times. That was a good sign. ______ ’s making new friends. Both times, you faced him, shooting a grin now and then. His heart quickened. It was actually nice, gazing at you from afar. Like when you first met. 

Others tried talking to him once or twice, but Carlos kept those interactions as short as courtesy allowed. He only wanted what was best for you. Carlos hoped he’d have time to explain that, if you couldn’t already see it. Lovers quarreled. He didn’t realize you were so unsettled, you couldn’t stand to constantly be next to him. You just couldn’t. You would slip up somehow. Alert him to the fact you knew what he was. 

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But you needed to keep an eye on Carlos to make sure no one else became zombie chow. 

“Jill, you there? I think I know how to slow that fucker down,” he radioed in. More than half an hour after she left. Bluffing, for all you knew. “Head back towards the station!” 

“And lead him right to you?!”

“It’s okay. Trust me!”

The lust was still, troublingly, simmering under the surface. It began bubbling over when Carlos actually went to greet Jill, you in tow. He grabbed her by the elbow before practically pushing her towards the entrance, into your arms. Or she would have, if she hadn’t shooed you further inside. Jill screamed at him to forget about Nemesis while he grit his teeth, firing round after round. There was an explosion and they both joined you as the overhead door descended. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he said. Shaken confidence audible. 

“Carlos, I know we didn’t get off to a great start, but… thanks for the save.” 

Jill, you wanted to shriek, he was going to let you be a casualty. 

Of course you knew cops and soldiers (were supposed to) lay down their lives ad hoc. You had tried and failed to convince yourself Carlos just didn’t want you to overhear Jill’s “inevitable” murder. 

Raccoon City had become what you imagined an active warzone was like, and she was in the line of duty, yet Nemesis really was just a hitman when it came down to it. Inhuman supersoldier or not. 

“Hey, you saved my ass first. You’re a hell of a lot braver than me.”

He sounded so vulnerable. 

“Well,” she responded, “what matters is that we get everyone out of the city.”

“Yeah. You’ll be safe.” 

Unless he decides a fragging is in order. 

Was that a correct usage of fragging? Jill was a policewoman, so she outranked an evil corporation’s militia. Not that U.B.C.S. cared. That douche Nicholai and his companion didn’t know or care, probably. Mikhail at least was diplomatic. Carlos was-

Mwah!

He had gotten impatient. The commute to Fox Park couldn’t happen soon enough. All Carlos wanted to do was steer you into literally any empty room and let that quick tongue of yours get acquainted with his erogenous bits. Hell, he’d be grateful if you just made out sloppy and cupped his balls a couple times. 

Now ______ knows I am going to keep Jill safe, too.

So he saw no reason to be coy now of all times. You sighed, or moaned. Even you couldn’t tell what noise it was. Carlos almost smiled. You wouldn’t be able to control what sounds you made when he pleasured you. A pleasant surprise. But his next words shocked you, despite or maybe because of all you’d been through together that night. 

“From the sound of it, I won’t be catching the train.” 

“Why not?” Jill asked. 

“If it means I can help save the city, that’s fine by me.”

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At the platform, Mikhail’s jovial congratulations to Jill and command to board the subway just made you mentally scoff. How could he act like nothing was wrong with his underling? Then you realized that was a slightly ridiculous question. Nicholai was unpleasant, too. Mercenaries didn’t enlist in corporation-backed militias because they were nice, normal people. 

“Carlos, Tyrell, you have your orders. You need to go back into the city and find Nathaniel Bard.”

Your heart dropped. Is that what he’d been told you were mingling with other civilians? His expression hadn’t changed. 

Jill asked, “This isn’t the last ride out of town, right?”

“Do not worry,” Mikhail soothed. “Once the civilians are safe, the train will be back.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t die on you two,” Carlos said, eyes lingering on you before flicking to her. “I won’t leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world.” 

Jill moved on, but you lingered in the train car’s doorway. Feeling desperate. It hit all of a sudden that you might not get to see your rescuer again. He didn’t exactly fit the definition of hero. (Para)military hero, maybe, yeah. Was he just acting this way because of Mikhail’s watchful eyes, or did Carlos have a change of heart? 

You realized Jill was watching the three men through the window. She may or may not have been able to read lips. You decided to eavesdrop. For her sake. Not just my curiosity, you told yourself.  

“...find this scientist. His vaccine research could save us all.”

“You see?” Nicholai’s voice almost made you jump. “You’re learning. The only life that matters is your own.”

What if someone else becomes my life?

“Alright, let’s go,” Mikhail casually ordered, making you actually jump, just in time to avoid getting caught by the automatic door. 

Carlos’s eyes widened. Tyrell’s might have, or maybe he lifted an eyebrow. Your gaze, though, was trained on Carlos. Who was ecstatic.  

It hadn’t really occurred to Carlos you would put yourself in harm’s way for him, which he wouldn’t ultimately let you do. He was your protector. And you knew that. Relied on it. To the point where you’d defied Mikhail and jumped from a speeding train, as he’d already begun to remember your return. All thoughts of Jill Valentine, his duties, everything else melted away as he stepped forward for a devouring embrace. 

You decided to believe he’d turned off the radio by accident after all. 

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You wondered whether Tyrell knew, or at least suspected, something was off about his squadmate. Either way, you figured it was safer to act coy. Like you didn’t want any more PDA until entering a safe zone. Your new boyf was a good soldier. The soppy looks he couldn’t stop shooting made you nervous, however. Tyrell was thankfully much less distracted. 

Carlos, grown more adept at reading your body language, slowly at first, began to understand he needed to act like a soldier again. 

Fighter, not a lover. Lover will come later. 

Neither Mikhail nor Nicholai were radioing in. And he didn’t feel like mentioning them. Or Jill. He’d nearly forgotten her. Now that she wasn’t a liability, and couldn’t protect you from afar, she just wasn’t on his radar anymore. If Tyrell wasn’t there, he would happily turn soppy to sloppy with you. But you only wanted Carlos’s attention. 

When Tyrell referred to Jill as Carlos’s “hot date” by the Raccoon Police Station, you almost burst out laughing. Maybe he was just trying to irk Carlos. Who quickly corrected him.

You cringed when he opened the gate. It could’ve used some WD-40.

“Alright,” the other U.B.C.S. member relented. “Keep your head screwed on, Romeo. This is the police station.” 

“Uh, are you sure? ‘Cause it looks more like a cemetery to me.”

You agreed that it did look more like a burial ground than anything. There were even benches for the bereaved. No stone crosses, angels, or any place for epitaphs; each grave marker was a wooden post.

As the three of you made way across the courtyard and a short flight of steps, you heard a demand for a Brad to stop. By this point Carlos trusted you to stick to him, while he shouted “T!” and Tyrell immediately began breaking down wooden boards.

“C’mon, man, not you, too.”

Gunshots rang out, a hoarse “sorry,” then a scream, and finally what was probably the tearing of still living flesh. The door shut so faintly before locking you didn’t hear it. Tyrell confirmed that, while Carlos decided to take on the zombified Brad. Who you then recognized as one of Jill’s coworkers. 

New position just opened up. 

Your admirer’s moves were more predictable now that he thought of you as a partner. You dodged his steps as he backed up, futilely firing at Brad’s Rasputinian skull.  

“He’s S.T.A.R.S.?” quietly remarked Carlos before pocketing the fallen officer’s ID. It had taken fifteen shots. “That could be useful.”

Fifteen shots. Was Nemesis really dead this time? Bioengineered with the sole mission of obliterating each member of Special Tactics and Rescue Service. Not just Jill Valentine. What would Nemesis do if he found the body? Move onto the next target, probably. An image of a poster, WANTED DEAD OR UNDEAD emblazoned underneath Jill’s picture made you shiver. 

“Hey, the big guy’s not going to mistake us for S.T.A.R.S. if we have that, right?”

“I’m carrying it,” he soothed. 

Like that mattered. You’d been in the line of fire. There’d presumably been only one of those roided out zombies running around. Nemesis would “resurrect” again, and you just had to trust Mikhail wouldn’t sacrifice Jill when he did. 

Carlos won’t hurt you. Carlos won’t let you get hurt. 

You thought back to how he reacted to your minor burns. The guilt. It hadn’t been an act. He might play pretend around others. But when it was just the two of you alone together…

Carlos prayed he’d get you to himself soon. This roomy building probably had to have some not-too-creepy place where you could explore his fit body. You were also thinking of how spacious the police station was. A former museum, Jill had mentioned once. Too bad all that funding was mostly useless during a zombie apocalypse. 

“Where’d that cop go?” demanded Carlos as you went inside. 

“Don’t know, don’t care,” replied Tyrell. “We have a job to do.”

If it’d been Nicholai leaning over a desk, Carlos might’ve actually brained his partner. T wasn’t a bad guy, though. Certainly not a threat to _____. Disinterested, if anything. 

“If our intel’s still worth a damn, then Bard’s still in the S.T.A.R.S. office. Let’s find him and take him into custody.” 

Carlos thought too soon. “Custody?” he asked aloud. Oh no. Offing zombies was one thing. Arresting a live target. What the hell would he do if Bard did something stupid?

“We’re not rescuing him?” 

Tyrell either hadn’t heard you or didn’t care. Carlos was glad you were on the same wavelength, though. T then called him over. 

“Remember, Bard had access to Umbrella’s darkest secrets. He knows we’ll try to keep him under our thumbs.”

Uh oh. Why was he speaking so freely about that in front of you?

Your soulmate didn’t bother masking his tone. “So this search and rescue mission is more of a find and detain.” Eyes wide as saucers, you nodded. Tyrell was focused on the computer. “...Right. Good to know.”

Looking over his shoulder, you noted that the office was next to a library. For future reference. Possibly a good place to get further acquainted. Roleplay a librarian and a patron who talked too much, needed a cock in their mouth about it. Around 613.9. Coincidentally, that was the only Dewey Decimal Carlos knew off the top of his head. Of course, you lamented, it was a police library. And surveilled besides. There was a shower room nearby, though.  

“...stay here and find out what’s going on here at the station.”

“Call me if you find anything,” Tyrell addressed you. Confused for a sec, until you remembered Carlos had entrusted you with the radio. You nodded and started off. “Hey. Be careful.”

“You too, man,” Carlos called back, still clearly unhappy about the arrest order. At least you were with him. He didn’t hand over a weapon. A rifle was secured on his back while he brandished a handgun. You were okay being designated lookout. 

“Alright,” were the next words out of his mouth. To an overhead door with a crudely made sign. “You want me to keep out, I’ll keep out.”

You moved onto the next door. Which Carlos proclaimed “weird fucking.”

“Leave it,” called Tyrell. “We’re here for Bard.”  

“Is that a spade? Like the card suit?” you wondered, running a finger over the blue design. Probably paste. Even if this building was originally built for a fancier purpose, you figured you were looking at glass. 

“...clear,” Carlos breathed, voice deeper. It touched you a little that he hated the idea of making Dr. Bard a prisoner.  

The gun was drawn as he sped upstairs, while you kept a hand on the bannister. Nothing there of use, besides some bullets, which he pocketed. You wondered why the statue was covered. You joked he was scoping out makeout spots. Downstairs, in another room, you spotted a memorandum. 

“‘If your card goes missing, report it lost immediately.’” Remembering the late Brad Vickers, you made a face. Carlos mouthed thanks before unlocking a storage box with the pilfered ID. Ammo for the rifle. Perfect, because the noise of gunshots interspersed with screams seeped through the door. Back against the wall, your boy carefully opened it. Even from your angle, you were given a clear sideview of a monstrously lengthy tongue extend towards two gunmen and reel one towards an offscreen maw.   

“What-?” started Carlos. 

“...were you saying earlier about tentacles? Between this and Jill’s boy, Umbrella scientists are some freaks for real.”

“Couldn’t have been a zombie.” 

He told you to lower your eyes as you two gingerly made your way down the adjacent hallway. Replaying the shadow play of the appendage reeling in its victim. It sunk in that you two might die here. 

You ignored the bodies. Carlos didn’t need to tell you to not pass under the blood dripping from above. A carcass stored in a ceiling hollow, like a slaughtered animal in a larder, didn’t seem so farfetched. Later he’d tell you someone’d been essentially meat hooked. So you were half-right. 

“It didn’t stick around. Here we go.”

As you looked up, he fired at a far off figure. Too distant to tell who or what it was. Something hurried past a window. A blood-coated man crashed through the next window. Before you knew it, a second zombie joined the party through the double doors on the right. Carlos made quick work of them. Not quick enough, in your opinion. You wished he could give you a gun. The unknown monster was out there. Its tongue big enough to bind you two twice around and pull you onto gnashing teeth. If it even had teeth. And maybe it was humongous enough to swallow prey whole. Dozens of possibilities of what it looked like ran through your mind. 

A mounted television set in a dark room silently broadcasted RCBN. Not seeing anything remotely hopeful on the news, you followed Carlos’s light. He opened another set of double doors, before dispatching a zombie.  

“Right. Big warm R.P.D. welcome.”

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Carlos was determined to ensure your mutual survival. Dying together was romantic. But seeing you suffer was unbearable. He didn’t even like seeing you bored. Especially when he was right there. His darling wasn’t even fazed by the sound of gunfire anymore. To amuse yourself, you decided to read arrest reports. You read one then informed him there were confiscated explosives. 

Very useful to know, but as he stabbed a fallen cop to (a second) death, blood spraying every which way, he wished you could drop you off at the library or by the vending machines. Then find Bard. Make him willingly go with Tyrell. Somehow. Then victory fuck you. 

Huffing, he looked down at himself. There were showers and probably something to “exsanguinate” his clothes. The thought of getting his abs, genitals, and crack soaped up perked Carlos up a little. Maybe you liked your men bloody. After all, you were watching him slash a neck again and again without comment. 

Some kind of fucked up foreplay. 

He went to doubletap (doubleslice) two more bodies lying on the floor. 

“There you are, dickface.”

A quadrupedal beast had skittered up. First thing you noticed were the claws. They belonged on a mole gone apex predator. Then the face. Its brain was exposed. Zero eyes. How Carlos had guessed that was the same monstrosity from earlier you didn’t know. Once you saw its tongue up close, lashing at him, you understood. It must’ve had a pretty large cavity to store that appendage. Maybe when it was digesting a large meal, it hung out, lolling. 

Carlos pulled you around a corner. Finally he was able to riddle it with bullets. Not that the entry wounds were visible, due to its large frame and the police station’s darkness. 

Despite a lack of skin, the Licker bled no heavier than the others. 

You told Carlos your teratophilia only extended to fictional beings. Just to keep the mood light. The next time he came across a more humanoid zombie, he didn’t bother letting you get a good look before he knifed it in catharsis. 

Boredom gave way to numbness. Or it would have, if Carlos hadn’t felt like celebrating outside the weapons lockers. 

“Come to papa.” 

For all the restraint your savior had shown for the last God-knew-how-many hours, you expected the kiss to be deeper. At first you thought it was just a little victory peck. Until he backed up. 

“I didn’t want to get blood on your clothes. Unless you’re into that.”

Turns out the stabbing was some kind of fucked up foreplay. Because otherwise why did he have a raging boner?

His eyes took on that same dullness they had when found out he’d singed you. “Nervous?”

“New fear unlocked.” You swallowed, praying you came off as coy again. “I don’t have a change of clothes. Neither do you.”

“Maybe we can impersonate some cops later.”

He went in for a second smooch. Hm. Off duty he must have been applying chapstick like crazy. You wanted more than anything to just melt into it. To tell yourself you made the right choice leaving Jill. Then the radio went off.

“Carlos, I’ve hit a dead end with the terminal here. Gonna head your way.”

“Copy that,” Carlos told Tyrell. Grinning. The wolfish smile didn’t translate to his tone. Your heart beat faster. He was done waiting. 

“We’d better hurry. I don’t want Tyrell to see us naked.”

“I don’t want him to see you naked. It’d be kind of funny if T saw me get my ass eaten, though.” He chuckled. “Come on, ______, I know you wanna lick the donut.”

“We were joking about it right before you asked my opinion on tentacles,” you remembered. 

“‘Joking.’”

Your soldier boy had already angled his hip, ready to turn around and drop trou. Soon as you consented.

Carlos trailed you like Nemesis after Jill. You got the feeling he’d knock down walls if he could. It wasn’t stalking. Because you needed to be with him. For your own safety. That was something you both wordlessly agreed on. So you were always going to be together. Neither of you knew that yet, but Carlos was starting to warm up to the idea. 

“Hey! Fuckface!”

Later that night, after your tryst, after Carlos retroactively decided it’d been love at first sight, you decided against joking that’d been directed at you. “Fuckface” could be an apt nickname. But you didn’t want him to start thinking your face was his personal fleshlight. Or pillow. Being used that way sent a jolt of pleasure down past your waist. 

Only later would you come to regret being seen by Carlos. After hitting Nemesis with the rocket launcher, the mercenary’s eyes met yours. You were clearly not the target. You were just trying to help your… What was Jill to you? A roommate? Friend? God, he hoped she was just a friend. You pointed your chin at her, forced yourself to smile gratefully, and got to your feet. 

How were you not even singed? Well, he could check your skin for burns later. Right now you wanted him to help her. 

“Name’s Carlos and I’m saving you!” 

He had an easygoing way about him, even in an emergency. Even when it became clear there was some siphoning darkness in his heart, Carlos was charm personified. 

The two of you supported Jill until all three of you were underground. In the subway. It was hard to carry on a convo when everyone was trying not to stumble on the endless steps, Carlos carrying a rifle while you both helped Jill descend.  

“We’ve been bringing survivors here.” 

Jill finally caught her breath and stood unsupported. “‘Here’ where?” 

“My guys have converted some subway cars into a shelter,” he answered, checking to make sure nothing came down the stairs. He nodded at you and Jill, but made to put his arm around her shoulder again.  

“I’m fine.”

“Personal space. OK. I get it. Let’s go.” It came out jovial enough. Carlos didn’t want Jill to think he was hitting on her. Somehow he hadn’t been able to “accidentally” brush his hand against yours when assisting her, though. If she was a rival, maybe it would’ve been better to let that behemoth take her. Sure, Carlos’s cute new crush would be traumatized. But with Raccoon City burning and infested with the hungry dead, well, he’d love to be the shoulder you cried on.

“I don’t have an issue with personal space,” you joked. It just slipped out. The mood drastically needed lightening. A rocket launcher might not be enough to take down that thing hunting Jill. You wanted to make a joke about Nemesis’s feet being too big to take the steps; he’d have to roll down. 

That phrase was all Carlos needed to hear. He tapped your forearm and you smiled for the second to last time that night.

“Let’s go.”

Before obeying, you spotted the vending machine. Carlos shouted at you to be careful while you gingerly moved your hand past the broken glass. 

Out of reflex, you took his hand. Your vice-like grip. It didn’t bother him. 

“Sorry, Carlos. I’m just… It’s just really scary out there. And I thought you might need to replenish your energy.”

You loosen your grip and he squeezes your hand reassuringly, thanking you. 

Jill questioned Carlos on that monster. That’s what she called it. “That monster.” Personally, it made you think of a troll or some other humanoid from folklore. It probably didn’t calcify in the sunlight, though. Then you remembered the tentacles. How could you forget? They were scary as fuck. Why were they even there?

“...it’s no zombie, it knows what it wants and won’t stop till it gets it. Don’t you like that in a man?”

“Normally,” you responded to Carlos. You shared a smile behind his back. “That’s not Jill’s type, though.”

“He’s all yours,” she added, also directed at Carlos. 

______ liked the persistent type. Great. And if he’d looked over his shoulder, he would have caught you shamelessly checking out his backside. 

“Look, I promise you’re in good hands. I’m with the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. U.B.C.S. for short.”

Uh oh, you thought, a split second before fantasizing that Umbrella Corps gave butt plugs with their logo to their top employees. Any chance of Jill being taken in by this smooth talker was nil.  

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! You guys are the ones who caused all this!”

Carlos woah’d four times. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to trust me, but we’re going to the shelter.” He opened the door to the subway’s station. “You comin’?”

Replaying that exchange in your mind later, you realized that if Jill had been outwardly angrier, she would have been a dead woman. Despite her tone, Jill’s body language hadn’t changed as she descended that penultimate flight of stairs. S.T.A.R.S. agent or not, Carlos only saw her as useful in the sense you liked her. Platonically. How would he have excused his actions to his fellow U.B.C.S. soldiers?

Following him to the train car, you let Jill hang back a moment. Something felt off. Maybe it was the creepy posters. Normally you’d be all over a Skull Stalker double feature. Trying to keep your friend safe from a real stalker quelled that desire. 

“Hey, Captain. ______ and this fine young lady could use our help.”

The peculiar introduction didn’t escape your notice. Mikhail, as he was about to introduce himself, nodded at you before admonishing his underling for not asking Jill her name. Turns out he knew of Officer Valentine. Carlos’s proximity also didn’t escape your notice. Despite the fact you were a civilian, neither he nor Mikhail expected you to join the others. You listened to the rest of the conversation on your feet. The other three were sitting down, or in Carlos’s case kneeling. 

Probably practicing proposing, you mused, unaware how not far off the mark you were.  

“...hey, it’s cool, we all want the same thing,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts with a glance. 

“Alright, supercop,” he addressed Jill. “Here you go. We can use this to stay in contact.”

“I know what a radio is.”