Я люблю Вас

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

WARNING: There is male/male in this story, meaning a dude liking another dude! If you have any problems with that, stop reading now and do not flame because I just told you there's dude/dude in this so, dude, you just can't do that!

Also, I must warn you of some highly probable OOC-ness. If that also bothers you, bye bye now. :3

Now that you've been warned, please enjoy the fanfic.

Chapter 1: Inconceivable

A soft, yet frustrated sigh broke through the silence that permeated the office, empty of anything living other than the plant barely clinging to life in the window and the blond man absentmindedly going through the belongings of the office's owner.

"Comrade."

Wesker could sense the displeasure in the word and he could only guess that the man behind him had a look of much disdain on his face.

"Yes, Sergei?" He asked nonchalantly, not bothering to put down the small pocketknife he had just picked off of the desk. He pretended as if Sergei weren't there and flipped it open, seeing what sort of extra gadgets the little object had to offer; a blade, a nail file, a can opener, and even a little detachable piece to sharpen the blade. Not bad.

"I believe that is my desk you're sifting through. It's rude to go through other people's things, comrade." Sergei had put a special emphasis on the final word simply to make the other man annoyed and was delighted to see Wesker cringe almost unnoticeably. He knew it irked the blond to no end to call him comrade when they were, by no means, on the same ground. He was Wesker's superior, and that was that.

"It's also rude to humiliate people in front of their coworkers." Wesker retorted, his voice hinting slight venom.

"Comrade, you must understand," Sergei sauntered over to Wesker's side, who turned his head away from him. "You were defying me in front of them. Whether you like it or not, I'm your superior and if you do not do as I say, there are..." He fingered the knife hanging from his belt. "Consequences...I had no choice but to correct you."

Frowning, Wesker ran his hand gingerly over his bruised cheek. "Sergei, I am not a dog. You are my superior, yes, but not my master. Do not hit me ever again. Or at least refrain from doing so in front of an audience."

"If you don't wish to be beaten in front of other people, then don't act out again in front of other people. Sounds logical enough, don't you agree?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he changed the subject. "Now...may I ask why you are in my office, going through my things?"

"I was waiting for you to come back."

A small smirk formed on Sergei's features. "Oh, really now? Did you like what you got earlier and want more?" He chuckled smugly.

Teeth bared slightly in irritation, the blond turned to the heavily-accented man. "I wanted to give you a piece of my mind."

Sergei's expression of arrogance had dropped once Wesker had turned to face him. Wesker was puzzled by this, wondering if the bruise he had yet to see painted on his face was truly so bad that his superior's smug look fell straight to the floor. This was, indeed, correct. While Sergei had fully meant to show Wesker who was in charge, he never meant to leave a mark, especially not one as nasty as the purplish discoloration on the blond's face.

Wesker's eyes snapped open a little wider behind his dark sunglasses as he felt a hand that was not his own brushing his abused cheek. For a brief moment, he almost forgot to breath, completely taken aback by the unexpected act of...what was it, even? Affection? Or some sort of dirty trick?

"Sergei...What are you...?" He trailed off, surprised at himself for being so speechless. Nothing was capable of doing that; nothing. So he thought.

"Comrade, I apologize. I had no intention of bruising you."

"Of course you didn't." Wesker said with subtle sarcasm, wanting to move away, but he didn't. He stayed right where he was, allowing the Russian to glide his calloused fingers over his cheek. Try as he might, he couldn't deny the fact that the minute action felt good. To him, it seemed very strange that a man such as Sergei - who only lived for battle and the various pains that came with it - was being so gentle at the moment, especially when he was the one who had slugged Wesker not too long ago. And now...he was treating him like he were the most delicate of fine china.

Sergei's fingers continued their ministrations, his good eye flicking up to view Wesker's despite the fact his sunglasses were hiding them from his gaze.

"Я люблю Вас..." The ex-colonel uttered quietly, eye fixing itself back on the bruise.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, um..." Clearly, Sergei hadn't realized he'd said his thoughts aloud. "I said, 'Я люблю Вас.'"

A golden eyebrow cocked up. "What does that mean?"

There was the briefest hesitation before Sergei simply sighed and confessed, "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much."

Wesker didn't buy the explanation, suspecting there was much more to it than Sergei let on, but he easily masked his doubt. The blond couldn't help the snicker he let out. "You like me, Sergei? You have a very comical way of showing it."

The Russian then removed his hand from Wesker's cheek and let it drop to his side, letting a small frown onto his face. Wesker, too, frowned, but from the lack of contact. He cheek felt cold now, and wanted the pleasing feeling of fingers ghosting over his discolored skin to return.

"Don't get me wrong. I simply mean in a platonic way." Sergei explained. "As you were saying before, you wanted to give me a piece of your mind?"

"I..." He didn't even want to now. He had wanted to tell his superior off and, if it led to it, even get physical. It seemed things did get physical, just not the way Wesker had mentally prepped himself for. As out of character as it appeared for Wesker to just let go of his calm, collected persona, it just seemed to occur naturally around Sergei.

"Yes?"

Wesker glowered at him. "Don't do it again."

With all said and done, he left the office, leaving behind a highly bemused Sergei. The Russian had watched with a smirk as the shorter man oh too quickly left. Shaking his head, he sat at his desk to get some work done, feeling rather good about himself for completely overwhelming his subordinate in such a manner.

Leaning on the other side of the door, both cheeks tainted a soft crimson color, Wesker exhaled shakily, hovering his fingers over the bruise much like Sergei had, yet the feeling was entirely different. Not as...pleasing as when Sergei's digits were doing the dancing upon his tenderized flesh.

'Why am I acting in such a way?' He questioned himself, running a hand through his slicked locks. 'I'm like some sort of infatuated schoolgirl...Infatuated? I couldn't possibly have an infatuation with THAT man.' He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts of him actually being...infatuated...with the likes of Sergei Vladimir. The mere idea was utterly-

'Inconceivable.'

Why might I have written something like this? It's simple and can easily be explained using math. Observe.

Leon + Krauser = Yes

Krauser = Sergei because they say, "Comrade," and Leon = Wesker because they are on the receiving end...of being called, "Comrade," I mean!

Therefore Wesker + Sergei = Yes

Also, there are virtually no Wesker/Sergei stories and as a Wesker/Sergei fan, I HAD to do something about it for the rest of the Wesker/Sergei community. Unless...I'm the only one! O.o

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