i am the lie that you believe

Most people aren't aware that Wesker is married. He doesn't make it obvious and he never announced it to his team, choosing to keep his work and personal life as separate as possible. His wedding ring is tucked safely on his finger under his gloves, just barely visible sometimes when he flexes just right and the material rides up at the knuckles, but it's not like many people pay attention to Wesker's hands. At least, not people who aren't you.

He doesn't keep you hidden because he's ashamed, though, make no mistake. If anything, Wesker likes showing you off, likes seeing the thinly veiled jealousy and desire hidden in some people's eyes, behind their tight smiles and polite small talk, knowing that you chose him and he gets to take you home every night, slide into your bed, and hold you close without restraint. But he's here because he has a job to do, not because he wants to make friends and hold hands while singing Kumbaya. The ST.A.R.S. team – either of them – doesn't need to know that their Captain has a wife. And so they don't.

But today has been a hectic day and it seems like his careful lie of omission is coming to an end. He woke up late and almost was late for work when his car decided to act up and refused to start for long enough that he was imagining a trip to the mechanic in his near future. Then, when he got to the office at long last, with barely two minutes to spare, Chris spilled his coffee on Wesker right as he was hurrying into the bullpen towards his office – good thing he keeps several spare shirts, perfectly ironed and ready to be worn, in a drawer in his desk.

And now, nearly halfway through the day, he's realised that he forgot to bring some very important paperwork that he took home last week to complete in peace on his couch instead of torturing himself by sitting hunched over his desk for hours long after shift ended for everyone else. He'll have to sacrifice his lunch break today and drive home and back here in order to pick it up, something he is not very pleased about.

But five minutes before his lunch break starts, as he's standing up from his chair and stretching his sore back in preparation of making the annoying journey home and back again, someone knocks on his door before Joseph sticks his head inside.

“Uhm, Captain? There's a woman here to see you.”

A woman? Who could possibly–

“No way! Wesker's married?!” Chris's loud exclamation filters through the cracked door and gives Wesker his answer.

You? What are you doing here?

Wesker dumps his pen on top of his paperwork and hurries from behind his desk towards the open floor bullpen, trying to keep his trepidation in check as he worries about what his team might have done or said to you in the time you've been here. He finds you standing in the middle of the office space, dressed in jeans and a top that compliments your ample chest delightfully (incidentally one of the things he got for you last week when you went shopping together, but that's neither here nor there), with the Alpha and Bravo teams swarming you like sharks – or rather like a pack of curious puppies seeing someone other than their owner for the first time in their short lives.

Jill is shamelessly eyeing your cleavage, which ticks Wesker off for a moment, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else, before he reminds himself that she can look all she wants but he is the only one allowed to touch. Chris is eagerly shooting questions at you like he's at the gun range practicing his aim, asking you anything and everything under the sun that might give him an insight into his cold and aloof captain. Everybody else is simply gathered round, eyeing you with intrigue and eagerly listening to everything you have to say – which isn't much because you know that Wesker doesn't like his personal life being broadcast for everyone to gossip about.

However, as soon as he steps foot outside of his office, everyone goes silent at the sight of him. You turn away from Jill and Chris – the ones who assumed the roles of interrogators, apparently – without missing a beat and face Wesker with an excited smile, a bag in one hand and a folder in another.

“Al! Hi! I was actually looking for you,” you greet happily and immediately hurry to his side, moving your load into one hand so you can give him a quick side hug and a kiss on the cheek before you pull away. He doesn't think he'll ever get over this easy affection you show him, as if it's second nature for you to love him so freely and publicly.

“What are you doing here, my love? Has something happened?”

He cups your face and looks you over with a worried frown before you can step away from him completely, but he can't find anything physically wrong with you, nor do you seem to be in distress. If anything, your smile broadens as you shake your head.

“Nope! But I saw these on the kitchen counter this morning and I figured you meant to take them with you but forgot,” you reply, lifting the aforementioned folder and waving it slightly in the air.

Wesker takes it from your hands, flipping it open and confirming that it contains the exact paperwork he was preparing to go home to retrieve, and exhales in relief and gratitude before he kisses the back of your hand in thanks.

“You're a lifesaver, beloved. But you didn't have to come all the way here for this. I was going to drive home during my break.”

You shrug with a sheepish smile – a small, shy thing that never fails to cause Wesker's heart to beat faster in his chest and his palms to get clammy. You're the only woman who can elicit such reactions from him at 38 years old, as if he's still nothing more than a teenager with his first crush, with little more than a smile or a look. Sometimes it's enough to get a whiff of your scent as you pass him by for him to get an erection, something that always tickles you and makes you gently tease him about it if it ever happens in public, knowing that there's nothing he can do about it until you get home. You're a teasing menace who drives him crazy but oh, does he love you for it more than words can say.

“I had the day off and I thought… we could eat lunch together? I packed us fresh food.” Wesker's eyes fall down to the other item still in your grip and he sees the insulated bag that, no doubt, houses a fresh, piping hot meal – miles better than the hasty sandwiches he sometimes packs for himself in the morning when he feels like it and the mediocre food he gets from the deli across the street the rest of the time.

“You, my dear, are a godsend. Of course we can have lunch together,” Wesker answers immediately, all of his focus on you – your eyes lighting up at his agreement, your lips pulling up in a smile, your cheeks warming up under his gentle hold as he grasps your face tenderly. The rest of the team has ceased to exist as far as he's aware and he doesn't care what they have to say at the image of their captain acting so uncharacteristically in the middle of their office. “Come along, my break starts soon. We can eat in my office.”

His team tries to protest about their captain hiding his wife away again after they just found out he has one, but he tells them to get back to work and stop minding his business and start minding their own while he leads you to his office and shuts the door behind you. He stays leaned against his own door for long, silent seconds as he looks at you and takes in the sight of his beautiful wife, full of life and colour and warmth, standing in the middle of his dark, impersonal office that he never once imagined you in before. The intersection of his personal life and his professional one isn't something he's ever entertained as a possibility – Wesker wants you all to himself and he feels like bringing work into your marriage would somehow take away from the uniqueness of your relationship and the role you've assumed quite happily in his life.

On top of that, he's just a really private person who doesn't like the idea of washing his dirty laundry in a professional environment with his colleagues or subordinates.

But watching you now, he can't help but think that maybe he shouldn't have squirrelled you away so eagerly. You breathe life into this clinical space he hasn't made his own in the two years he's been captain. The muted colours of before seem brighter and it's like the carefully controlled temperature in his office has risen a few degrees now that you're here to warm it up.

Or maybe that's just him.

“Nice digs,” you compliment, throwing him a cheeky wink over your shoulder before you make space on his desk and put down the bag of food.

Wesker finally moves away from the doorway and closes the blinds to give you privacy, then walks up to his desk and drags one of the chairs in the corner next to his own so you can sit together instead of facing each other. He gives up his comfortable office chair to you, pushing it closer to the desk once you sit down, then finally takes his own seat at your side.

“You've really made my day better, beloved. I'm glad you decided to come over, thank you,” he murmurs while he unpacks the lunch you brought, breathing in the divine smell of a home cooked meal he knows is delicious simply because you made it.

You smile shyly, clearly pleased that he's happy with your presence here, and give him a kiss on the cheek after he passes off one of the bowls of soup to you.

“You're welcome. I didn't know if you'd mind… I was going to ask the receptionist to call you down and pass these off to you if you were busy or didn't want me here but she was on her lunch break so I had no choice but to come up here.”

“I always want you everywhere I am,” Wesker corrects you, quick to disabuse you of the notion that he could ever not want you somewhere. 

“Well, you never talk much about work and I know they didn't know you were even married, so I thought…”

Your hands are warm and soft in his grasp when he captures them gently but firmly, keeping them in his gloved ones while he looks into your eyes with a seriousness he knows you can feel like a physical thing. You blink at him while your teeth capture your bottom lip nervously and it's all he can do not to release it by pressing his lips to yours instead.

“Keeping you away from work is not because I don't want you here. I'm not ashamed of you. I just don't want to share you, that's all.”

Your face warms up with the amused smile that crosses it. You squeeze his fingers before you lean forward, rubbing the tip of your nose against his sweetly, then pecking his lips.

“I'm all yours, Al. Forever.”

“Mhm. Forever,” Wesker hums, chasing your lips for another kiss, then finally lets you go, even if he's not satisfied with that brief taste of you, so you can actually eat your lunch together.

The first half hour of his lunch passes peacefully with the two of you eating and exchanging anecdotes about your day so far, and something in Wesker relaxes and warms up to an impossible degree when, halfway through, you just lean your head on his shoulder and keep it there while you continue eating and chatting. As things wind down and your chatter tapers off slowly, it leaves you in comfortable silence, Wesker's arm wrapped around your shoulder, his hand buried in your hair and lightly scratching at your scalp. You hum at the attention and turn your head so you can trail kisses up his neck.

His cock stirs in his pants as soon as your lips make contact with his skin and he tightens his hold on your roots momentarily when you lick at his skin and bite down playfully, nipping at his collarbones before you go back up to his jaw. He knows he should stop you – he's at work, his team is on the other side of his office, it's inappropriate to do this here and now – but your touch is divine and he's been craving you from the moment you turned around and he saw you wearing the top he got for you. If he doesn't bury his face in your tits right now, he might actually have a stress induced stroke and die.

Slowly, without words needing to be exchanged between the two of you, Wesker clears a space on his desk and hoists you up on top of it, settling between your legs. With him seated and you on top of his desk, he's at the perfect height to yank down your top and let your tits spill free. He immediately latches on to your left breast while his broad palm fondles the right one and he is treated to the sound of your relieved sigh and the feeling of your fingers sinking into his hair and pulling him closer to your chest.

He looks up at you from behind his blonde lashes, completely enamoured with how good you look looking down at him while he sucks on your nipples and plays with your tits. When his free hand sneaks between your legs and applies the right amount of pressure to your clothed clit to make you gasp, the sight becomes even more breathtaking as you tug on his hair, making his scalp sting very lightly, and moan quietly in response to his ministrations.

Wesker is convinced there is no better high in the world than watching you fall apart under his hands. Watching your mouth fall open and your legs shake when he makes you come is, quite possibly, his favourite picture in the world.

You help him pull your pants down your legs and discard them on the floor, then open your thighs as far as you can get them in the confined space so Wesker can sink to his knees and bury his face in your sweet pussy. You have to bite your hand to keep from making too much noise and it irritates him that he can't hear you sing for him properly, but he knows that the thought of anyone else hearing you in the throes of ecstasy would be infinitely worse.

Your breath hitches when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard and your thighs quiver, spasming around his head, when he starts eating you out in earnest, lapping up your wetness and French kissing your clit like he hasn't had a taste of you in weeks. You whine and moan quietly, squirming on top of his desk while you tug on his hair harshly in an attempt to keep yourself grounded and Wesker relishes the sting. He smirks against your entrance when he dips his tongue inside and starts gently fucking it in and out, immensely enjoying the aborted shout you manage to stifle just in time.

It's when he goes back up to your clit and focuses his efforts there while he puts two fingers in your sopping cunt and fucks shallowly in time with his tongue flicking that you grip his head tightly and shove his face into your pussy as you start coming.

“Albert, Albert, Albert,” you moan, a broken chant that sounds like you're sobbing for him and strokes his ego like nothing else.

He keeps fingering you through it, though he detaches his mouth from your clit when you whine wordlessly at the overstimulation, then finally pulls away completely and stands up from this chair. His cock aches terribly, seeking relief after getting so worked up over pleasuring you, but he ignores it some more in favour of stepping close to you and slipping his fingers in your mouth. You moan at the taste of your own cunt and clean him thoroughly like the perfect wife that you are, so Wesker rewards you with a heated kiss full of tongue after he takes his fingers back.

“I want to fuck you, my love. Can I?” he murmurs against your lips after the kiss. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and your legs are already hooked around his waist. When he glances down at your body – top pulled down to reveal your tits, naked from the waist down save for your shoes, warm and wet and so ready for him – he feels like he might go insane if he doesn't get to bury his cock in you. But your comfort comes first and if you don't want to get fucked in his office in broad daylight then he won't push the issue.

“You'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight if you don't,” you reply immediately and give him a short peck on the lips before you slide a hand down his body and pull his cock out one-handed.

Wesker hisses at the initial contact but your warm palm wrapping around his cock and stroking it makes him relax instantly. He lets you guide it to your own entrance, taking over when your belly gets in the way and your shorter arm can't quite reach properly, and groans into your shoulder when your warm, wet pussy wraps around his dick and sucks him in greedily.

Fucking into you is less a conscious decision he makes and more something that happens to him.

Your quiet moans echo in Wesker's ears as he grips your waist, fingers digging into your fat, and fucks you hard and fast, uncaring if the desk rattles too loudly or if he knocks anything over in his desperation to fuck you. This entire goddamn police station can be aware that Albert Wesker is fucking his wife in his office for all he cares – as long as no one can actually hear your moans, it's all irrelevant to him.

No words pass between you. There is no room for speaking when you're both so lost in the warmth of each other, clinging to one another while Wesker's cock plunges into your perfect pussy and plucks your strings so easily, making you sing little ‘ah, ah, ah's in his ear at various pitches and various lengths. He switches to holding your waist with one hand, his arm wrapped around your back so you can be as flush against his pelvis as possible, while his other hand grabs one of your tits and holds it up to his mouth so he can suck on it.

The hand that you're using to support you on top of his desk almost slips when he combines his ravenous thrusts with his sucking and it really is no surprise that you come again, keening like a wounded animal and chanting his name again like a mantra, unable to form a coherent thought aside from Albert, Albert, Albert.

Wesker whines too, downright whimpering, when he feels your pussy clamping down on his cock and drenching it in your release. It doesn't take more than that pulsating heat milking his dick and the harsh tugging on his hair for him to start coming too. He comes close to your entrance, watching his cum overflowing out of your hole and dirtying your pussy, then stuffs your cunt back up with his cock and fucks his cum into you. Your walls flutter around him, sensitive and spent, but he has a bit of an obsession with this part and he won't let you go until he's sure he's pushed every last drop as far inside you as he can.

When he's finally satisfied, he helps you dress back up again, making sure nobody can tell you've been fucked by your husband at work, then gets himself under control as well. You insist on helping with his hair, though.

“I messed it up. I want to fix it too,” you explain, though he knows it's just an excuse to keep running your fingers through his hair. “There, all fixed now. Aren't you a handsome captain?” You step away from him just slightly so you can take his appearance in and offer him a cheeky, flirtatious smile that somehow still makes Wesker want to bend you over and fuck you again, even if he just got done fucking you, even if he knows you're just playing around. Not his fault he finds you irresistible.

“No more than you are beautiful,” he retorts as he steps closer to you, closing the distance between you again and pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. The plushness of your tits drives him just a little bit crazy but he's learned to ignore the urge to grope your chest every time he feels it pressing up against him because otherwise he'd never get anything done – he'd just fondle your tits like a stress toy for the rest of eternity instead.

“Flatterer. You already got in my pants, you can cut the act.”

“Maybe I want to keep getting in them.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure that's already guaranteed. But your flattery is appreciated, Mr. Wesker.”

“Good to know, Mrs. Wesker.”

You giggle softly, always so delighted whenever you're reminded that you're married to him, and Wesker doesn't understand how you can be so happy to belong to him when he is the one who can't believe that you married him and let him give you his last name. You're a wonder and a blessing and the best thing that's ever happened to him.

“I should go,” you speak up after a few quiet moments during which you just basked in each other while wrapped up in your embrace. “Your break is almost over.”

Wesker sighs, disappointed to watch you go but knowing that you're absolutely right. His arms tighten around your waist, though, and he nibbles on your ear and burrows into your neck just to prolong your stay a little longer, making you giggle at the ticklish feeling and try to push him away.

“I already miss you and you haven't even left yet.” He sighs, pulling away from you with a frown, and accepts your touch without comment when you cup his face in your hands and rub gently under his eyes.

“Take a few days off and you can have me all to yourself.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiles, small but genuine, and accepts your slow, tender kiss before you finally step away from him and gather the things left over from your shared lunch before making your way to his door and pulling it open. He follows you outside and watches as the puppies descend again, asking if you're leaving already and if you'll be back again and when, and Wesker surprisingly doesn't mind it as much this time around. Maybe blending work and marriage just a little every once in a while isn't such a bad idea after all.

You give him a wave as you turn on your heel to walk out of the ST.A.R.S. office altogether, which he returns with a nod and a small smile only you know is there, then he watches you disappear around the corner while, around him, his team can't stop talking about you.

Chris is the one to walk up to him, unsurprisingly, and he makes sure to speak in a low voice so the others can't hear when he says what he has to say.

“You might wanna get your desk bolted to the floor if she plans on stopping by again, Wesker. The rhythm of that thumping is pretty recognizable.”

Wesker refuses to feel embarrassed about this, even though he knows it was highly inappropriate and unprofessional of him, so he just adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose and smirks down at Chris.

“I'll keep that in mind, Chris. Thank you for your advice.”

He doesn't stick around to answer their plenty of nosy questions but he does make sure to tell you that you should feel free to visit him at work more often in the future when he gets home that night. After all, why shouldn't his wife pop in for a quick visit and eat lunch with him every once in a while? The frequent quickies he has in mind are completely beside the point – as long as no one has any proof that he's doing anything inappropriate in there, he can do whatever he wants. It's his lunch break, after all.