A/N: I'm nearly sorry (not really) that the amount of my works-in-progress keep on piling up! It's just... whenever I focus on one story too much, new ideas tend to pop up everywhere! And they frustrate me to no end until they're written down ;_;

This one has been rotting in my drafts since January. Some parts are originally created for Forsaken, but would not exactly fit there now with the story's current direction (OMG I'll get back to that fic soon, I just have to get over some block on one of its scenes)

What else is there to say, I just feel like I ought to have a story with Jill and Wesker centered on this errr topic? (considering the amount of smex I lock them into 24/7 LOL)

Anyway, I do hope you enjoy the read~ :D

primigravida

noun. medicinal term. a woman who is pregnant for the first time.

Over the horizon, the sun had almost set. Its lull light morphed the dry trees' shadows, creating eerie figures branching out on the reddened dirt.

Like an observing bird of prey, Jill sat among the stillness. She sat on the military jeep, silently watching as Wesker prowled the earth. He moved six paces, back and forth, back and forth, dust scattering beneath his boots. He stopped to crack his knuckles, then rolled his shoulders like he was burdened and tired, before he resumed pacing again.

He fitted there in the wilderness, she thought, especially with the deadly grace in his actions. He was predatory like a panther. And he fitted there - dangerous and unpredictable.

With no orders issued to her since their ride died, she played spectator. They were still an hour and a half to the laboratory and he had done nothing to remedy their stranded situation.

His phone, long abandoned in the front seat, rang loudly - splitting the enveloping silence with its screech. It was such an out of place sound.

Neither of them moved to take it, too content with the quiet.

When he turned back to her, something in him had already shifted. Something that alerted her inside, sent the nerve signals in her body to go haywire. The device on her chest grew hot, killing her reluctance as he continued to approach. Her blood raced underneath her skin, the red hot blood laced with his essence.

The full moon had risen, bathing him in an ominous glow, its color a disturbing light crimson.

His eyes flashed behind the sunglasses, promising everything besides comfort.

He didn't grab her for a ravenous kiss. One of his hands wrenched her head to a side, while the other worked over the zipper of her battlesuit. His mouth latched on her neck, teeth skimming over the vulnerable curve, tongue lapping at her pulse.

He hissed as he tasted the salt on her skin. The leash on the beast inside of him loosening.

That day's missteps caused him to be agitated. And with her tampered blood, she easily sensed his turmoil.

So she lay on the cooling floor of the pickup - pliant as he needed.

Her attention centered on him, the impatience in his movements, the unbridled desire. She expected the tearing sound of synthetic leather under his hurried ministrations. The suit was soon shoved off of her shoulders - quick and careless. His head dipped down to her exposed chest, lips wrapping around one of her nipples.

She felt a tightening in her stomach, a familiar coiling as his lips pulled repeatedly around her tender flesh. Her covered fingers dragged over his scalp, urging him to nurse harder. Sexual acts were strange under the P30's influence. Her body was feeling a lot more, craving for a lot more. A touch was more than a spark. It was a blaze that simply erupts.

But her mind seemed detached, numb of emotions, too gutted to indulge.

The first thrust always tore a little cry from her throat, as if she was startled that the fire in her core was stoked further.

She expected the grunt that crawled out of his mouth the moment he was fully seated inside. A grunt every time on that first thrust. Like clockwork. As if fucking her caused him physical hurt.

Her gaze wandered over him. He was sweating profusely against her body, like he was melting... She placed her hands on his chest, skin sliding against skin, nails digging in then raking down the steel muscles of his torso.

He shuddered above her, relished in the momentary sting, before he began pounding.

Her muted reactions often frustrated him. She could feel the drag well enough, the way their skin would catch and burn. She could feel the heat boiling from within, steadily spreading into her limbs.

But the drug usurping her will merely allowed suppressed cries.

After all, a doll should be lifeless.

She was short of breath when it reached its end. And his sated body was a dead weight grounding her. He didn't make an immediate attempt to leave her cradle. He stayed there, groaning low on her ear, hips grinding against her in lazy circles. Her eyes fixed on the ink black sky above them as he tried to catch his breath.

Soon enough, he propped himself up on an elbow. His serpentine eyes studied the details of her face. They were half-lidded and hazy with the afterglow of his pleasure. She wondered what he was searching for as his stare continued to linger. Her current face was but a mask, only capable of almost emotions.

A shy of anger. A shy of fear. A shy of want.

Never reaching a full circle.

There were no stars in the night sky, she noticed when he kissed her.

"What is your ETA?"

His voice was cold and even, already back to his strictly controlled demeanor. A second later, she heard the flip phone click close.

"Jill." Her body pulled itself upright, holding a shiver well in.

The temperature had significantly dropped within the hour.

She went to him, crawled on her hands and knees to where he sat. His fingers enclosed her wrist when she was close enough, pulling her right into his lap.

His pants were still undone. The material was rough against her bare skin. He tugged her forward, hands firm on the middle of her back and hip, crushing her against the solid heat of him.

She felt her bones groan, a quiet protest. His grip should hurt, she supposed.

But he had made her strong - durable and suitable to his touch.

In their proximity, his scent washed over her senses. He smelled of the afternoon sun and dried dirt. He smelled human and it baffled her every time.

"They won't be here for a while.", he rasped against her ear, strong fingers dragging her closer. He was hard again, pulsing and nestled between her folds.

She anchored herself to him, arms wrapping around his neck. And he arranged her legs tight about his waist, like he craved the intimacy, like they were entangled because of passion, like it was consensual. He lifted her a little. The bulbous tip of of his length teased her entrance. She held his gaze as he sunk into her once more. And there was that grunt again - lustful and primal.

She briefly wondered if she came the last time.

Suit long ruined, she stood barefoot on the hard ground. His seed had become cold and dry on her inner thighs. His coat suffocating around her form, all that black fabric swallowing her up.

Excella could have set her on fire with the glare alone, bleeding through the sunglasses she was wearing, trying hard to be a match to him. It was unwavering, accusing her from head to toe as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Wesker paid the heiress' seething no mind, climbing into the armored vehicle. Jill wordlessly followed his lead, taking her place next to the driver.

On the rearview mirror, she watched his business partner entice him, only to be rejected.

And from her window, the savanna was captivating - a bare picture of harshness.

She was sent out of the compound on Excella's commands the following day.

Spy on the B.S.A.A.

Kill a man and his group.

Infect a family or two.

It was her routine for the rest of the week. Once, she was ordered to watch over 'experimental' livestock - anything to keep her out of the premises.

Excella didn't know she was doing her a favor.

The new battlesuit clung on Jill's body like sloughing clay. It was another sweltering day in Kijuju. Leather squeaked with each of her movements, creating a dragging sort of noise.

She inspected the missiles loaded with his poison, inspected them as if she herself was invested in the endeavor. She looked for dents, looked for nicks, looked for imperfections.

Uroboros' gas form remained untested. Wesker had enough monologues on how it felt incomplete still. But time seemed to be running out with the B.S.A.A. sniffing around their field of operations.

His notes showed how it would infect Africa first, contaminate the air of the whole continent, pick the worthy in its one billion inhabitants. He said the effects would be observed by then.

An explosion sounded off nearby, followed by the alarms.

When she turned her head, she saw a fire raging close, its color blending with the red tint of the plague mask she was wearing.

Her body, with a mind of its own, moved with purpose—feeling compelled to stop the flames... compelled to shield his work.

The accident left cocoons on the metal beams, steaming but unburnt, beating with grotesque life forms.

She watched them bulge for a while, anticipating the surface breaking, wondering what kind of monster it would bring. The researchers ran about her - half thrilled, half terrified.

After a while, the device on her chest seemed to hum low, glowing bright red for a second, sending a signal that she had stood useless about long enough. The fire extinguisher in her hands was dropped and it clanged on the steel floor like a heavy bell. She immediately turned on her heel, steps snappy like she was in a drill. Her boots clicked as she ascended the metal stairs to his station.

She thought it odd to find him standing there at the ledge - waiting for her.

"Irving's dealings have been noticed." Her voice filtered by the mask was like shrouded in radio static, disembodied and so unlike her. "The B.S.A.A. is onto us."

Us. Her own words mocked her on every opportunity.

She was a part of it no matter what was actually in her heart. She had been turned instrumental to mankind's destruction. No longer a hero. No longer a protector. Jill belonged to his side.

It was always like watching herself in a dream, the drug coursing in her veins had become too potent that she couldn't form an ounce of resistance. She felt like a rubber band, pulled taut for too long, made to be loose and unable to regain its shape. She couldn't even feel fury anymore... nor hurt. It was freeing to be unburdened of emotions. But it was also a cage she could only acknowledge and couldn't escape from.

"I'll go back to the village and see through the spread of the parasite. The plagas would delay their approach."

Wesker made no outward response. He continued to read through a report on the recently made Majini soldiers. They were once unsuspecting men, taken and then turned to serve collectively in his ruthless army.

She headed for the door.

"Come here.", he said, tone biting and stern. Her body only needed a second to change direction. She went to him, stood at least a foot away from where he was sitting.

The tyrant stretched to his full height, heat radiating off of him in waves. One of his hands moved and took the mask off. The natural light blinded her for a second. She squinted, then stared past his shoulder once her sight adjusted, watching cargo after cargo being transported in the background.

He moved again, a flick of his wrist and the dark cloak fell around her feet - no longer needed. His fingers slid into the high neck of her suit, pressing against her pulse. Routine check-up, she thought it nothing else besides that. His hand then fell on the zipper of the suit, catching the metal and tugging it open without preamble. Not a check-up then. It's one of those days again.

Her lips parted as if she was about to say something. But she remained voiceless as the zipper slid lower and lower, revealing her skin. The humid air licked each inch exposed, making her sweat, making her react to his touch just enough, making her ready. Her legs slid apart, opening... offering.

He stopped.

It was at that moment she caught the snake's eyes hiding behind dark lenses. They were hooded, fixated... on her... a part of her. Their eyes met for a split second, his gloved hand was a cool compress on the naked v the opened zipper left behind, his thumb an inch below her navel.

His expression was unreadable. He held her gaze as his fingers caressed her skin.

"Are you well?", he asked. The words were just bizarre coming out of his mouth. She would have thrown the question back if she could.

"I am.", was the obligatory reply. She had been wired to worry about her well-being. She was not to intentionally endanger herself - place herself in impossible situations. She had been ordered to survive from the start, as well as bring in results.

His hand fell away, whole body tensing like it always did when he was about to make one of his convoluted decisions. She then saw him slip the P30 control out of his pocket. Why? She knew what buttons he was pressing for...

The change was minimal, as small as a bandage being unwrapped. As little as a wound being aired out.

As a test, she thought of punching him, a clean right hook on that cutting jaw line.

Her arm gave a jerk that surprised her.

He was observing her, hand still on the control, seemingly waiting if she would struggle enough to break through, probably waiting if she would be able to provide him some entertainment for the long afternoon.

"Follow me."

The control was tucked away.

He headed for the door. And she was nothing but a shadow in his footsteps.

She watched the stretch of black leather on his back and shoulders. Her eyes zeroed in on that spot where in a blade could slide in between ribs and pierce the heart.

A screw on her mental cage had come loose.

And her fingers twitched every now and then.

He led her in the room overlooking the tests done with Uroboros. There was an unfortunate soul hooked on the metal chair. Head clean shaven, skin a sickly pale color, body littered with irritated scratches.

One of the lab coats approached the subject. He trashed in the restraints, trashed with quite the force for a seemingly malnourished body. Futile, Wesker would say if he had been observing. But he was busy with something else, unusually disinterested with his masterpiece.

Jill leaned closer to the window as the virus was administered.

The reaction was instantaneous. Black tendrils sprouted from the injection site, lethal blooms seeking the sun they would never see. The worms squirmed in their hunger.

And the lab coat was anything but a runner.

The sable mass slithered below her, searching for more prey. Its howling shook the reinforced windows. Occasionally, the orange orbs on its shapeless body would turn towards her as it hobbled in the room over and over.

She turned to Wesker, expecting instructions for disposal, only to find him with a syringe in hand.

For a second, her heart stopped.

But it was an inevitability, she thought, something that would just happen in her captivity. She turned back to the window, accepting of her fate.

She had always known that he intended to make a monster out of her.

The air was unforgiving on her skin as she sat there on a metal chair half-naked.

He didn't infect her with anything.

It was only an empty syringe. And her life essence was currently filling its vacant space, only a sample of her blood being collected.

It had been a while since he required one of those. He stopped when the P30 device had been implemented.

Her eyes followed the hypodermic needle as it was pulled out. It glinted under the fluorescent light and she imagined a slight pain on her arm. He applied pressure on the puncture site, clinical movements, well practiced. The white surgical gloves looked out of place on his hands... She often forgot that he was a doctor of some sort.

All the other scientists had been dismissed.

And Wesker proceeded to run the blood test himself, like the result was a secret he had to keep.

For the next two days, the African mansion became her humble abode. It was a respite she didn't know she was seeking, for her body would never show the exhaustion her mind was worn down with.

She lay on a thick towel, satisfied with the heat of the granite and the burning rays of sunlight. No amount of sunbathing would restore the color of her skin. But she liked pretending.

A calm descended on her body. And she allowed herself to be lulled by it.

But he soon came to steal her peace. A frown set on his face. His posture all too stiff.

She silently trailed him into the study.

A painting of Venus served as the room's centerpiece, naturally naked, her lips curved in a kind smile. A boy with angel wings was crowning her head with vibrant flowers.

She thought it pretty as she stood there motionless, awaiting his demands.

"Do you feel different?"

Another bizarre question on her health. His gaze was heavy, straying and staying on various parts of her. She wondered what the blood test had uncovered for him - probably nothing new, most likely disappointment.

"No."

The drug's hold had been intact, not that she tried very hard to make a difference.

It caught her interest when he slipped the control out of his pocket, tapped its surface without pressing anything. With three strides, he got rid of the distance separating them. Her eyes remained locked on the device in his hands, thinking of the purpose of its reappearance.

Perhaps he would try for a higher dose, for better results.

And she would probably die from it.

"What are you doing..."

Hearing herself questioning him was strange. It had been too long since she experienced control over her own self.

Panic rushed into her system the moment she felt the drug's hold ease on her being.

A string was cut with each heartbeat, making her stagger in disbelief.

"Wesker?" She gasped for air, as if she had been submerged in water for too long, stumbling forward, catching herself on his arm.

She was breathing so hard, coughing like she had been strangled. Her fingers dug into the leather of his clothes, gripping hard, trying to tether herself onto something as her knees threatened to buckle.

Blood was rushing in her ears, her heartbeats too loud and too fast.

The mirage of a perfect soldier falling away.

Why? The single word echoed in her head.

Her hands were on his arm still, trembling from the sudden lost of power.

She was a live wire unplugged.

And her eyes tried to search his for answers.

Gloved hands slid over sweating skin as he fixed her back on her feet. His fingers brushed over the knot securing her swimsuit - a fleeting touch, almost accidental. She froze at the contact, at the implication. She pushed herself away from him, losing her balance in her haste to escape.

He steadied her with a firm grip on her arm, before he placed a hand on the dead device on her chest.

His touch lingered there - a heavy weight against her racing heart.

"I will have to remove this."

A/N: Thank you for reading!

As always, your thoughts/comments are most welcome~ :D