r. the debt series. 2/?. dante/nero.
Title: In Debt.
Fandom: Devil May Cry.
Characters: Dante/Nero.
Chapter: 2/? (projected 5-parter)
Rating: Overall R-rating for adult language, violence. This chapter is rated NC-17 for explicit sex and mild violence.
Wordcount: 8,251.
Warnings: Explicit m/m sex, extremely dubious consent, character possession, violence. Spoilers for DMC3 and DMC4.
Summary: Nero pays Dante a visit at the Devil May Cry shop looking tremendously snazzy. Some things change. Some things stay the same.
A/Ns: As established in the first chapter, Nero has human hands/arms in this for plotty reasons. Also, tremendously sorry for the length. It started out rather mildly and then the seduction/sex dynamic ran away with itself. This chapter establishes plot, though, so there's that as well.
Part I
*
Time flies, and it's got nothing to do with fun.
Dante learned this life lesson a long time ago, so it's no surprise to him when two whole months flutter right on by without so much as a single party attended or thrown. Bodies pass in and out of Devil May Cry like hummingbirds; always purposefully buzzing somewhere in his peripheral vision, a blur of hovering, overstimulated little beings sucking him dry at every turn. Lady, Trish, occasionally Patty and Morrison, and finally Nero with his ongoing quest; they come and go, milking long days, floor space and effort from him and never with a justifiable pay-off in sight. And most days the demons he kills aren't even worth their weight in bullets.
So when Dante parks his motorcycle outside the office after another uneventful day in the city, he feels a thin spark of intrigue prickle along his skin. He can already tell that something's not quite right beyond the front doors, and though this would worry any normal, sane businessman, Dante can't help but feel a little bit excited. In his experience, a little change of pace never hurt. Not fatally, at least.
"Honey, I'm home!" he intones the second he shoves the doors open, the Rebellion slung haphazardly across his shoulder.
But in that same instant, he falters. Dante's used to seeing a lot of strange things - comes with the job title - but this, he thinks, takes the cake.
The whole of the front room is shrouded in a glacial darkness but for a pulsing, uncanny violet glow at the farthest wall. Emanating from a single body perched atop Dante's desk, the light heaves and writhes around its maker, expands and contracts like a living, breathing creature while Nero sits unfazed, his palms pressed flat along the beaten wooden surface Dante so often sits behind. He is shirtless and smooth and his legs are crossed, one folded seductively atop the other. The unnerving cant to his narrow hips is responsible for his unmistakably feminine poise, and when he breathes, his flat, decidedly well-toned chest rises and falls in that slow, deliberate way that Dante associates with one woman and one woman only.
Or rather, one succubus, really. Dante hesitates.
"It's been so long since you touched me, sugar."
It doesn't take a genius to recognize that Nero, despite appearances, is no longer there. Aside from the obvious absurdity of that statement, his inflection has shifted into something far more cajoling and indulgent, as if he means to taste the flavor of each syllable before he gives his words away. There is an echo there as well, a warbled, alluring register that hides just behind Nero's lips, distorting his vocal compass. And as he speaks, he smiles in a way that he never would, his pale blue irises burning a deep, caustic red.
In spite of this, or perhaps because, Dante takes a casual step forward, his gait a lazy one. She hasn't yet earned his impatience.
"What can I say," he shrugs. "There's a time and a place for everyone. You had your uses, babe. Now it's time to move on."
Nero laughs as he slinks down from the edge of the desk, a haughty, buttery sound that sets Dante on edge. Her violet aura flares up around Nero's body like smoky firelight, balmy and all too inviting, and when he licks his lips, he does it for show, the slick pink tip darting out to trace the shape of first the top one, then the bottom one, with a slow, unbroken rhythm.
Dante tenses but he doesn't stop strolling, and in that moment he begins to hate himself. Not solely for closely watching the repulsive show, but for being disturbed for all the wrong reasons.
"Oh, sweetheart," Nero drawls, waiting for Dante where he stands, a hand rising to muss a few strands of his own hair and twine one shaggy white lock around his delicately poised finger. "Can't you tell?" he teases, a coldness rising to chill his spectral undertone. After pushing that hand through his hair he drops his palm to splay at his chest, as if coyly amused by the game they're playing.
But there is nothing coy about he way he runs the tips of his fingers down the center of his chest, the blunted nails delighting in the firm stretch of lithe muscle that is the area around his navel. Nero moans and the sound of it unnerves Dante to the core, and now she's earned it, that urgency. Before Nero's hand can fall any lower, Dante dashes across what's left of the distance between them and snatches up his wrist in an iron grip, yanking him close.
"Move on?" Nero hisses, his breath hot against Dante's mouth, her aura an overwhelming force to be reckoned with. "Baby, don't you see? I have."
Dante snorts, his lips curling into a little smirk. "I'm only going to say this once. Leave him."
"Like you left me?" Nero suddenly pouts, slinking further into Dante's grasp to be comforted, consoled. Her aura is overwhelming, almost overpowering, a disarming massage that reaches too deep and threatens to fill him up like molasses. "To rot on your wall for an eternity?" Nero lifts a hand, strokes callused fingers across his cheek, and fuck but his touch doesn't feel half as disconcerting as it should; he knows, or at least hopes, that this is all her doing. "You haven't plucked me in years, Dante," Nero accuses. "Do you know what that can do to a woman?"
With his features lax and soft, mastered by her manipulation and added femininity, Dante can't help but recognize that the kid really is alarmingly attractive.
The red eyes do nothing for his complexion, though.
Dante shoves Nero back with a flick of his wrist that sends him crashing clumsily into the desk with a startled, vaguely erotic cry. The sheer force of a small move like that is enough to make the whole damn thing skid backwards into the wall with a loud clatter, sending up a small cloud of dust upon impact. His desk chair shatters into firewood between the dented wall behind and the crumpled weight of Nero folded over the splintering desk.
Of course, it doesn't take her long at all to recover. Pushing up from the heap of overturned wood and still-settling dust, Nero brushes himself off and turns back around, giving his body a disgruntled once over. Not a scratch on him. Looking childishly reproachful, he lifts his head and says, "That hurt."
Smirking a little more deeply now, Dante swaggers closer, brandishing Rebellion with a lazy flourish. "As much as I'm enjoying myself, how about we cut this little party short? The kid can't be having the best night of his life in there," he reasons, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. "You hear that, buddy? I'm looking out for you. The next round at Greasy Joe's is on you."
"Mmm, you do raise a fair point," Nero smiles that foreign, all-too-seductive little smile as he slithers forward, casually knocking the sword's edge aside with a flick of his finger. Without hesitation, he moves further into his personal space. "What are you going to do, Dante?" he challenges. "Kill me?"
Dante lifts his chin and rolls his head, peering at her in a less playful light now that his little predicament is out in plain sight for all three of them to see.
He weighs his options. They aren't looking good.
The kid handles bullet holes like a human would handle several papercuts. Sword to the chest... he could try that. Might make him trigger, but if he hasn't by now then he won't be doing that anytime soon.
After a long pause, Dante finally shrugs. Possession's the oldest trick in the oldest book. You'd think the kid would've gotten smart about that sort of thing real quick.
What a blow to the ol' ego, huh. He sighs.
"You scratch my back, I scratch yours," Dante finally offers.
Nero flashes another little smile, this one inherently victorious, and lifts his chin, his furnace of a stare focused on Dante's mouth. "Deal," he murmurs a mere second before he opens up, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet the crease between Dante's tightly pursed lips. Nero moans her satisfaction as he licks at him, demanding entrance with a tantalizing serpentine flick, and it could be Dante's imagination but he'd swear later that the kid's voice - not hers, but his - turns hoarse with anticipation.
Rigid, Dante inhales sharply through his nose. He manages to utter a quick, flippant, "Sorry, kid," before she takes advantage of his opened mouth and dips Nero's tongue deep inside.
The kiss is too well-crafted to be a human affair. Wet and supple, Nero's mouth gives too much of itself too quickly, overwhelming Dante with a swipe of tongue, a muffled whimper. The slippery sounds of lips meeting over and over again are rhythmic, hypnotic, and as Nero's fingers dive into his hair, Dante struggles not to breathe her in too deep. She's kissed him before, lapped at his soul like a bitch in heat; he knows exactly what's at stake, and he won't let her take even a sliver of his humanity with her when this is over.
"Mmmm, Dante," Nero whispers into his mouth, and it's him, or it sounds so much like him. "You always did know how to take my breath away."
Breathing deeply, Dante stares darkly back at him, his lips prickling. Clouded and weak, his head is spinning but all the important parts remain in tact. He's still whole. "You're losing your touch, babe," he gloats, tapping his chest once, twice. "Everything's still in working order."
Abruptly, Nero pulls back. Dante can see his suspicion confirmed in a flicker of fury that catches in his eyes. Tough luck. "Ah," Nero reluctantly agrees with an unhappy little smirk, "But it never hurts to try." Aloof and yet still so magnetic, Nero presses his thumb to the center of Dante's bottom lip, releasing a rueful sigh through his nose. "At least you still taste like a little piece of heaven, love."
Dante grins and slaps Nero's hand away, the Rebellion going over his shoulder into the holster on his back. "My turn," he announces.
Nero pouts, looking for a moment as if she means to renegade on their accord. But then he says, "Whatever could you want to know, sugar," with an air of resentment, the violet spectre fading to a muted haze.
"Oh, I dunno," Dante pretends to weigh the question. "Let's go with the obvious, for a start."
Nero shrugs, the gesture far too soft and refined for the broad shoulders that execute the move. "Your charming little boy is what we of the, mmmm, demonic persuasion like to call a Conduit," he simply replies, snaking that much closer as he does so. "A channel for a trapped essence," he clarifies, drawing a fingertip down the front of Dante's chest. "He's enjoying this too, you know."
Dante valiantly ignores the last bit, as hard as it might be. He presses Nero away for some much-needed relief, who immediately returns to his chosen spot. "Why now?" he counters.
"Why not?" Nero purrs, his glowing eyes raking down the length of Dante's body. "Mm, my oh my, but you are a pleaser," he teases, dropping that same hand to Dante's belt buckle.
Roughly, Dante grabs his wrist for a second time, causing Nero to look up with another little pout of disappointment.
"That I am," Dante flashes another grin. "Let me ask you again. Why now?"
"Because it's his time," Nero snaps, a sudden flash of petulant impatience amplified by a spike in the intensity of her purple aura. "He was always destined to lose himself, Dante. Look at him. Look at me," he urges, voice returning to a softer version of her ghostly allure. He smiles and Dante's blood warms against his will. "Look all you like. He wants you to."
Later, he'll thoroughly regret letting himself be caught off guard so easily. Before he can stop her Nero roughly palms the front of his leather pants, first squeezing playfully, then kneading the handful with a feral, inhuman desire. A slew of persistent, breathy sounds of excitement fall from his lips, as if she can't control herself anymore. Game over. Nero's positively salivating.
Now, among other wildly accurate rumors Dante is also known for his reflexes. But initially, he's too surprised by the contact to react. This, of course, makes very little sense to him since he knows that he has no reason to be surprised; he's invited this, he wants it, and -
And yeah, he wants it, he really fucking wants it.
And that's the kicker, isn't it. A gamechanger, no doubt.
The clear and undeniable fact that he's actually hard does more than ruin Dante's odds; it knocks them right into her favor.
A strange and twisted paradox stands before him. A chimera for all intents and purposes, capable of the worst sort of pleasures imaginable. That she can tease him, tantalize him, spark his curiosity while wearing a body completely at odds with what usually gets him off makes him both want to fuck her - him... whatever - and shoot her in the head.
But one of those isn't exactly an option, now is it?
"What a big boy you are," Nero croons, more devilish in appearance than he's been all night, no sign of inner turmoil or resistance visible in the lecherous mask that has become his face. "Have us, Dante," he urges again, and fuck, as silly as the thought is, Dante really wishes he would stop that. "We know you want to."
"You really are something, you know that?" he manages a shaky chuckle. What rotten fucking luck. Some things just never change. "What a piece of - work," his breath catches on the last word as Nero's fingers pinch, catching the shape of him in a startlingly pleasurable way through his pants. Abruptly, he gets it in his head to finally slap the kid's hand away. Grinning anxiously, he swallows and shakes his head no. "You're not my style. And I've still got questions."
"You don't believe me?" Nero asks then, her voice seeping through more clearly than it has thus far, a forceful crescendo that overpowers Nero's own more masculine register. "See for yourself," she insists, a diminuendo this time, her voice retreating to make way for Nero's own. By the time 'yourself' is uttered the voice is almost all Nero, angry and forceful, chaotic. There's the sense that he's been screaming, fighting this whole time to drown her out, and when given even a sliver of access to the use of his own faculties the momentum of his fight sends him hurtling through.
His face changes drastically, each and every feature, right before Dante's very eyes. Previously so soft and composed, his lips shake. His nostrils flare. The blazing red glow haunting his irises retreats to a dulled amber, and his eyelids, blown wide open, tremble like that of a startled cat.
"Dante," Nero lunges forward, his hands going first for his neck as if he means to throttle him, then switching to his shoulders mid-lunge.
"Calm down," Dante coolly manages for lack of anything else to say. He doesn't know where to put his hands so he hesitates, letting them hover near Nero's waist without quite touching. "You're fine, kid."
"Dante Dante Dante," Nero chants, testing his vocal chords. Each time he says Dante's name he becomes a little less frantic, but he's still shaking with too much energy, accelerated and impossible to reverse until he can slow to a rolling stop. He doesn't know where or how he wants to go, which direction he needs to choose, but he needs to do something so he rambles, "Oh fuck, oh God, listentome, youhavetolisten-"
"Put her down," Dante cuts in, shushing Nero as best he can. "Keep her out, you can do it, kid. I've seen what you can do. This is nothi - "
"Shutthefuckup," Nero hisses and swings a fist haphazardly. It misses. Dante gets the impression that he wants to do it again and again and again until it connects, but he won't because there's so little time. "Shut up. Jesus, Dante. Jesus fuck, you pervert. Just do it."
Dante blinks and stares incredulously. "Yeah, sorry... what?"
"Do it," Nero pants out, his hands squeezing first Dante's shoulders, then his throat, and Dante has to knock his hands away so he won't exhaust himself. Whatever's happened to the kid, it's bad. He's petrified. "Do it, please just..." he pauses to lick his lips and the gesture isn't anything but frazzled. "I want it, I do. I want you to... you know. Do what she says. That's all I want right now. I need to know."
Quickly, Dante shakes his head, incredulous. "... you've gotta be shitting me. You know you can't trust her," he snorts a disbelieving laugh, feeling callous, but that's the least of his worries. Unbelievable. "You've gotta tell me how this - "
Nero holds up a surprisingly steady hand to silence him, his lips pressed tight. Once he's gathered enough of a composure to make it count, he meets Dante's eyes, his own serious, focused, and heaves out, "I need this."
Then, with a fair amount of awkwardness, he leans in and kisses Dante with too much urgency. Sloppy and desperate. Human and imperfect, nothing at all like her kiss.
Selflessly, or rather selfishly, Dante returns the slide of lips and doesn't complain when Nero throws his arms around his shoulders, panting roughly through his nose as if it's just enough to breathe all on his own. Nero's lips are firm, bruising, hasty in their attempt to prove something, a number of things, and it's not good, exactly, but Dante's never said no to adrenaline. He finally flattens his hands along the small of his back, then drops his hands to hook under his ass and heft him clean off the floor.
When Nero wraps his legs around him, he does it in such a way that Dante can't tell who he's kissing anymore. The clumsiness is still there, but the whimper Nero makes sounds alarmingly familiar. He groans and forgets exactly where he thought they ought to be going until Nero pulls his head back and buries his face in the crook of his neck, hips wiggling with purpose.
He bites. Hard. In fact, hard enough to draw blood, and it's then that Dante throws him off to touch a hand to his neck. It stings but not nearly half as much as it should all things considered.
Nero hits the floor on his back, the wind briefly knocked out of him. When he's caught his breath again he releases a delicately offended gasp, sitting up on his hands to shake the daze away.
"Nevan," Dante tuts, to which Nero pouts, his eyes back to burning like charcoal. "Bad succubus."
"Old habits," he innocently quirks a brow as he lean back on his elbows and slowly, seductively spreads his still clothed legs in invitation.
"Where is he?" Dante stubbornly asks as he sheds first his sword, then his coat, the devil arm and red leather fabric puddling on the floor behind him. Perhaps he's stalling. He can't be sure.
"Right here," Nero replies, her hunger visible in the way he waits, a slow, subtle wave of desire rolling its way through his limbs. "Close. I can bring him closer if you like, sugar."
Dante doesn't know how to answer that, can't figure out which would be worse: to have Nero staring back at him while he fucks him or to have only her, just her. So he says nothing in reply, instead dropping his hands to his belt, the buckle clicking open with a deft slide of two fingers. Slipping down onto his knees, he shifts forward, watching carefully.
Nero sits up and holds out a hand that Dante ignores, instead ducking his head to Nero's navel when he's crawled close enough. He kisses a patch of skin just beside the dip because he can't help himself; it seems like the nice thing to do and it's all so fucked up. In response, Nero arches beneath him and lifts his hips. Through his jeans Dante can feel the hard outline of his cock nudge insistently at his clavicle.
"I hope my little love rod won't deter you," he purrs as he grinds his hips against the length of Dante's neck, wanton. "But we have to take what we can get, don't we, lover."
She's mocking him but he's yet to wilt thus far; he's hardly going to let a few words of her wicked words deter him. Dante snorts and climbs higher up the length of Nero's body, sitting up on his knees again to pop the top botton on Nero's jeans free. "No honor among demons," he drawls, a smirk curving his mouth to match her tone. He pulls the zipper down, parting metallic teeth in the brief silence, and as he reaches a hand down the front of Nero's opened jeans he hesitates with his fingers held inches away from Nero's straining cock. "It's a good thing you're half human now," Dante whistles. "Tell me what I want to know."
"Oh, don't be mean," Nero whines out, hips bucking impatiently while he strains his head forward to get a closer look. "Cruelty never helped anyone."
"First things first," Dante hotly counters.
Huffing a pitiful breath through his nose, Nero closes his eyes and worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "He's open now," he gives in with a needy moan, still bucking his hips in an effort to get Dante's hand exactly where she wants it. "You open a door and anyone can get in," Nero undulates as he speaks. "Touch us, Dante. Touch us there."
Exhaling a shaky breath of his own, Dante shifts and hooks his fingers at the waistband of Nero's jeans, grabbing up enough fabric to make the tug down his thighs go smoothly. It helps that Nero lifts his hips, and as the rough denim and softer cotton rustle down the length of his legs, Dante does his best to ignore the slow reveal of so much skin swathed in a single flame of violet light. If he doesn't, he might forget the true purpose of their little interlude.
Once Nero's boots and socks join the puddle of fabric building behind him, Dante risks a quick look.
"Oh, if only you could hear him, Dante," Nero suddenly laments. "He's terrified of your scrutiny but he loves it all the same."
"Shut up," Dante snaps for both their sakes. The mere thought simultaneously pisses him off and delights him.
"You want to look, don't you?" Nero continues, his legs spreading just a little bit wider. Dante looks away. "Or maybe you don't," Nero muses after the fact, his knees bowing inward in a parody of shyness. "How rude. Careful, Dante. You'll hurt our feelings."
"What do you mean anyone can get in?" Dante continues, doing his best to ignore the pink flush coloring Nero's skin under the dull thrum of of the violet glow. The blush spreads across certain places - the bridge of his nose, the line of his neck - as he returns his eyes to Nero's red ones. He can't tell if the sudden coloring is a sign of arousal, unbridled fury or embarrassment - or maybe all three - and he's sorry for it but there's nothing he can do about that. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about my brother, now would you?"
"Touch us, Dante," he moans.
So he does, but not before peeling off his fingerless gloves. If he's really going to do this, he's going to do it right. Moving in closer, Dante draws his thumb up the underside of Nero's cock, coaxing a choked moan of relief from his mouth. He watches Nero's chest rise and fall in an attempt to avoid his red, concentrated stare, the motion stopping then picking up again the second he closes his hand around him. One stroke up, one stroke down, easy. Simple. The hot weight of Nero's cock in his hand compels him, but not nearly as much as the way the kid's stomach clenches, the needy way his hips roll up for more. Dante milks him steadily, the dull fleshy sound drowned out by the spike in the boy's breathing.
Eventually, he looks up into Nero's face to find him gazing back. The look is a focused one, somehow critical and amused despite its obvious pleasure.
It's a look that only someone with a lot of experience in this area could give. It's all her; Nero's nowhere visible.
Dante finds himself perversely disappointed. "Answer me or this ends now," he orders.
"Yes, darling," Nero moans, his fingers curling against the floorboards as he begins to fuck Dante's fist with erratic twitches of his hips, his breath coming in shorter, sharper bursts. "So forceful, mmm," he smirks, his eyes slipping shut. "He did get there before the rest of us, after all."
"Why did he leave," Dante demands, his own blood running hot. He can't help that he's always been a visual kind of guy, and he's gotta admit, the sight of Nero like that... well.
Yeah, it's a slippery slope he'd riding but it wouldn't be the first time. And at least he has sense enough to be infuriated, despite being so hard that it's starting to hurt. Abruptly, all of it comes together, the tension, the animalistic desire, the fury at being manhandled so expertly by a demon he's defeated before. Suddenly, his temper spikes and Dante squeezes Nero a little too hard. "Tell me!"
Yelping, Nero winces and gasps, his face screwing up intensely. "Oh God, Dante," he whimpers in his own voice, his actual voice, and Dante isn't prepared for that in the slightest. Reflex makes him let go. "Fucking ouch, you bastard."
"Kid," he blurts.
"Don't call me that." There is a moment where reality sets in before he stammers out, "I... you..."
"Look at me."
Chest heaving, Nero lifts his head and Dante's blood runs colder when he sees the glossy, oversexed confusion in the pale blue of his irises.
"Fuck," Dante simply says.
"S'okay," Nero manages, looking dizzy, pulled in a thousand different directions, "But I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't stop dicking around."
"... mindfuck," Dante stares, wound up so tight. Goddamn, he really could use that vacation right about now.
"Heh," Nero breathes, his lips curling into the semblance of a familiar sneer. "Tell me about it," he murmurs, his head falling back.
"... Kid?"
"Disappointed?" Nero replies, his head still hanging back so that only the long, sweaty line of his throat is visible from where Dante's kneeling over him. Slowly, Nero's tongue snakes out and Dante watches, thoroughly thrown off, as he licks his lips in that same deliberate, drawn out way, his face turned up to the ceiling. "I can be kind when I so choose, you sweet, sweet darling," he says, lifting his head again to peer down the length of Nero's body.
Dante growls. "Good show," he huskily replies, an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "But that's enough now, don't you think?"
And at that, Dante sits up, grabs one of the kid's wrists and roughly flips him over onto his stomach. Pinning him down with his knees caught under him, ass up head down, Dante twists his arm behind his back and bends his elbow at a cruel enough angle to make him cry out in sheer, startled pain. "Sorry, kid," Dante says for the second time that night as he holds him down with one hand and fusses with the front of his opened pants with the other. She wants to play so they'll play, he thinks, as he pulls his cock free and spits into his hand.
"You wouldn't do that to him, would you, Dante? He's never had anything inside of him, my love. Be gentle to us, won't you?"
"The kid's made of stronger stuff than you think," Dante shrugs as he slicks his cock with a few haphazard strokes, the head already smeared with his own precome. It's not enough wetness, not nearly, but he's pussy-footed enough and he's never been one for keeping a cool, clear head when he's out of his element. Besides, Nero'll forgive him. He's got to. "If you're going to make a home there, you might want to stop underestimating yourself, babe," Dante says as he nudges the head of his cock between Nero's cheeks and lets go of his arm to grab up his hips instead.
"Mmm," Nero purrs, wiggling eagerly back against him. "Music to my ears, sugar," he insists a split second before Dante thrusts half of his cock inside.
Nero's back jumps and he squeezes around him at the intrusion, body instinctively struggling to force him from going any deeper. Dante ignores this because it's already too fucking good to retreat from. Roughly, he pulls Nero back onto his cock the very second he bucks the rest of the way inside, but these little jerks and twitches are all the reaction Dante receives as his own breath catches, his face crumbling under the force of so much tight, hot pleasure.
Nero is otherwise silent while Dante adjusts, his head swimming, the air sounding impossibly loud to his own ears as it rushes in and out of his lungs.
"Fuck," he groans, a curtain of white hair falling into his eyes. His head is hanging forward and all he can see is smooth bare skin. He can't think straight.
"Wait," Nero finally whispers, his back seized up. Only then does Dante register what Nero must be feeling, and a spark of guilt flares up inside of him. "Just wait," Nero quietly says.
"Sorry, kid."
"Stop saying that," Nero exhales, irritated. "Just... give it a second. Just do that."
So he does.
After some time, Nero starts to move without being told to, his back arching experimentally, head lifting. Dante watches the muscles roll between his shoulder blades, the thin sheen of sweat beading along his spine. His white hair falls back, the ends sweeping the nape of his neck, and as he shifts his hips Dante sharply exhales. The violet glow is still there but he barely registers the hue anymore; it is all around him, condensing on them, heavy and inescapable. No use paying it any mind, he thinks, instead letting his hands roam the small of Nero's back.
Abruptly, he remembers himself. "Tell me how to close him up," he demands.
"Dunno," Nero breathes out. "It's still me, jackass."
Dante blinks, finding it difficult to concentrate with Nero still testing things, still moving tentatively like that. "We're not finished yet."
"Obviously," Nero retorts, shifting his knees to get a little more comfortable.
"Well hey, kid," he snorts, trying his best to sound flippant, as if he hasn't got the whole of his cock shoved exactly where it is in that moment, "Mind telling me where she went?"
"What, you want me to bring her back?" Nero gasps, incredulous... but also a bit of something else. He doesn't sound too angry anymore. At least until he says, "You just have to fuck her that badly?"
It occurs to Dante then that he ought to be happy about her departure, in some way. He can't be, though, and he's really not sure why. Perhaps because it'd be a rather anticlimactic ending to his adventures in exorcism. Too quick and painless to believe. He doesn't trust it, so as he kneels there, doing his best to suppress a moan of pleasure at the squirming Nero seems intent on doing below him, Dante tries valiantly to clear his head.
They've learned something, surely, from all of his. Something useful. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with latent homosexual tendencies. Something he can't quite put his finger on just yet because...
"For fuck's sake, Nero. Stay still, I'm trying to think here."
"Tch, you can think afterward," Nero suddenly hisses out. "Just... just move," he swallows, his breath shallow, his hips rocking subtly. "You're already in, might as well just get the show on the road already."
And Dante doesn't have to be told twice. Planting one hand along the center of Nero's back, the other tightly gripping his hip, he pulls out far more smoothly than he anticipated and pushes back in with a fervor that rips a staccato gasp from Nero's throat and sends him scrabbling forward, unfocused.
"Fuck," Nero bites out, the muscles in his shoulders working. By the time Dante thrusts again Nero's braced himself against the floorboards, elbows and knees planted. Ready.
Nero pushes back to meet him on the third thrust, skin quietly slapping skin, and soon enough they've got the hang of it. And fuck, it's good. It's so, so good.
Flushed and sweating, breathless, Dante fucks him harder than he ought to but not so hard that Nero can't take it. The grunts the kid sends up are anything but delicate or self-conscious, making the little mewling cries he lets out here and there all the more worth it.
At some point Nero's skin grows so slick that he slides right between Dante's hands, hot and firm and delicious to watch. Nero bounces back against him time after time, the lithe, slender muscles in his back working harder to keep him from toppling over with the constantly shifting angle, and in one sweet, perfect moment Dante bucks his hips and catches Nero off guard, inadvertently hitting something inside of him that makes him whimper loudly.
"Ngh!" Nero keens, his head thrown back, the full length of his glistening back arching, then bowing. His nerves firing. Pure reflex.
Probably the hottest thing Dante's seen in a while, and that's saying something.
"Jesus, Dante," Nero pants out, his fingers shaking, lips quivering, and for a few moments he struggles to keep it together, his rhythm blown apart. "The f-fuck was that..." he gasps, leaning forward to fold his arm under his forehead, his shoulders heaving from the effort but he's not beat yet.
The shift in position frees up his other hand, and as Dante slows some to let him adjust, Nero drops that hand out of view. A second later he moans when he curls his fingers around his cock, fucking his own hand with a rhythm that Dante quickly adjusts to.
And it's all just so easy, too easy, that Dante has to wonder why they haven't been doing this ever since he first showed up on his doorstep. He's not grateful for the bizarre circumstances that brought them to this, but as he slides his hands up the center of Nero's back, grasps his shoulders and drops his head to watch his cock disappear over and over again at a slower pace than they started with, Dante knows he hasn't got it in him to complain. And he probably never will.
"Huhn - fuck - " Nero whimpers again, this one lower than the last but longer, blissfully aware. "Oh God... there," the word falls from his lips, thick and slow, weak with too much pleasure, and Dante knows that he's found it again, that spot. That bundle of nerves responsible for the boneless, fluid motion overpowering the whole of Nero's body. "Come on," he rasps.
And he does.
The sound of slapping skin intensifies as Dante hits that switch that sends him into overdrive, his body coiling impossibly tight, his thrusts turning vicious. He wants to fucking come, needs it badly. Digs at him, pulls him tight, leans over Nero and shoves the kid's face roughly into the floor, panting out, "Yeah, you love it," as he fucks him hard enough to leave bruises.
And suddenly he's murmuring things, hoarse and vulguar, and Nero's answering, confirming, with deep, shuddering moans about how good it feels, how much he wants it. Time flies, tears itself away from him in a frenzy of bare flesh, the salty tang of sweat and light. A lot of things happen but Dante's too far gone to notice anything but the way Nero arches, pushes back, sucks at him from all directions. Finally, when he spills himself, balls-deep and stretched taut, Dante's almost surprised to hear his name slice through the fog in the form of a startled cry.
When the haze clears, Nero's heaving and shaking.
They both are.
Dante licks his lips and swallows.
"Nero," he says.
"Yeah," Nero mumbles. And then, "Get off. You're heavy."
"Tch," Dante huffs, a sleepy smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth as he does his best to roll off. It's slightly awkward, though, because he has to pull out first. A wet, muted sucking sound skirts the silence.
Gracelessly, Dante flops over onto the floor, mouth hanging open to help catch his breath. "Come back, you voyeuristic bitch," he finally tosses out for the hell of it, still breathing hard. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
A full eternity, or something like it, passes before Nero rolls over to face him, curling slightly on his side. He's breathing evenly, matted and sex-laced, smelling musky and glistening with an oily sheen that flatters him, somehow. But she's there - in his eyes, the delicate way his features are set, and Dante doesn't trust himself not to shoot him. Ebony and Ivory are still tucked into their holsters at his sides and part of him is tempted. Very tempted, even though he's lying there physically satisified, his cock still hanging out.
"You don't love me anymore," Nero pouts.
"Heh," Dante gives a solitary, horse chuckle. The sound is dangerous, despite its sleepy quality. "That's rich. It wasn't as good for you as it was for me?"
"No," he frowns, petulant. "Not half as fun as it should have been. You didn't come for me at all."
"A deal's a deal," Dante shrugs. "Why did Vergil leave."
Nero sighs, seeming tired of so many questions. "It's not fair to deny me what I really want, Dante."
"I know," Dante agrees with a little sigh of his own. "Them's the breaks. My soul's not for sale."
"But it tastes so lovely. Just one more - "
"My brother," Dante cuts in, Ivory practically materializing in one of his hands. He's always been an absurdly quick draw. "Or I'll shoot you. Again."
"You wouldn't - "
The shot to Nero's stomach rings impossibly loud in the relative silence of the rest of the room. For a long moment Nero alternates between staring down at the bleeding hole in his belly and gazing, in offended horror, back at Dante's face.
"Hurts, doesn't it," Dante drawls. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we? I don't care about the kid," he casually explains with an air of authority, ready to clear up this misconception once and for all. "But my brother, well. He's family. So I can kill you now, call this a bit of time wasted, and be done with it. Or," he pauses to let her fully realize the extent of his mercy, "You can tell me why he left Nero to fend for himself, and then you can go back to your place on my wall. And hey, I'll even give you a little incentive. If you choose the latter, I promise I'll play you occasionally."
By the time Nero opens his mouth to speak, the hole in his belly has closed up. There remains a little trickle of blood running from the spot next to his navel - the spot he'd kissed earlier - down his side to puddle on the floor, but otherwise he appears to be entirely unharmed. How's that for a demonic health benefit?
"Oh, you cruel, cruel man," Nero all but cries, the red in his eyes flaring. He looks like a kicked puppy. "The things I do for you," he sniffs once, lips twisted sadly. "Very well," he weakly says. "We demons have no souls but we do have an essence. You, Dante, have both an essence and a soul. It is a mark of what you are. A half-breed. Your brother is the same."
This, he knows. He's heard it all before. Insistently, he pokes Nero in the stomach with the barrel of his gun. "Tell me something I don't know."
"Your brother's essence found Nero but his soul remains trapped in the Demon World. Mundus will rise again. He will use both two sides of the coin to do so. And then he will come for you."
"And Nero? How does he fit into all of this."
"Oh, lover," Nero sighs, amazed that he hasn't figured it out already. "Mundus will fill him as he is meant to be filled. Only then will he become the most powerful creature in existence. More powerful than the Tripartite himself."
Against his better judgment, Dante laughs. A mocking sound. "Now that's what I call a threesome, babe. The party never stops."
At that, her violet hue trickles back into Dante's consciousness, a presence that he sees and cannot unsee. The light engulfs Nero, swathes him like a warm, comforting blanket, and as he rises his voice becomes hers and hers alone.
"Sugar," Nevan says through him, first lifted to his feet by the light, then lifted clean off the floor, and it's not the most original trick Dante's ever seen, but it's a good one all things considered. As he levitates, the whole of Nero's naked body evaporates in a blaze of violet, the image of her human form emerging from the smoky haze, no bats in sight. Perfect breasts, shapely hips, long thin legs, and flowing auburn hair. She is perfectly designed for her purpose and was once good at her job before Dante came along. Extending a long, elegant arm to wave her finger at him in a gesture that is both an invitation and a goodbye, she sighs, "Tune me once in a while. Age has never been a girl's best friend."
Like steam, her violet aura dissipates in a smooth breath of air as if fanned away by some unseen force.
Nero emerges from behind the haze, aloft and slack in the air for a loaded pause before he falls to the floor in a graceless, naked heap.
He makes a noise, a small, quiet sound that Dante isn't sure what to make of.
In fact, he isn't sure about a lot of things. What to say seems to be the most pressing issue at hand.
In Dante's peripheral vision something appears on the wall near Force Edge and the rest of his devil arms. He ignores this in favor of tucking first Ivory back into its holster, then his cock back into his pants. Hastily, he zips and buttons them up for good measure.
"You know," Nero ventures, his voice hoarse but solid as he sits up - gingerly, of course - and faces away from Dante. "My jeans'd be nice."
"Sure thing," Dante nods as he climbs over to gather up the pile of fabric and heavy weights that is his jeans, underwear, socks and boots. He sets them down behind Nero, ignoring the way his back looks as the boy takes in a few steadying, composing breaths. "There you go," he says, climbing to his feet to gather up his own things. Behind him, Dante can hear the rustle of belts and a zipper. He doesn't turn to look, instead wandering over to assess the damage his desk has taken.
Seems to be in fairly okay shape, still. His chair, however, has seen better days.
And then it begins.
"You shot me," Nero announces. It isn't so much an accusation as a fact, and as Dante turns around he has to do his best to force down a smirk.
"Yeah," he shrugs, risking a look. Nero's decent again, although still shirtless. All things considered, he's got to give it to the kid because Dante honestly expected him to look way more uncomfortable than he does in that moment. "Guess I did."
Nero lingers there for a heartbeat or two, unreadable, before turning around to go looking for his things. Inwardly, Dante hazards a guess or two about the state of his emotions. Figures he ought to tread lightly. Turning away as well, Dante begins tending to his desk. His rotary phone's busted too and he hasn't got the money to pay for a new one. Time to visit the bank of Lady again.
Things remain like this for several awkwardly quiet minutes, Nero fussing about on the other side of the room, Dante opening and closing things for no real reason aside from a need to keep busy. He's hungry and could use a shower but then he hears the sound of Nero walking up the stairs and decides that a shower can wait. Maybe he'll just head in back and wipe himself down in the bathroom.
"You know," Dante begins once he hears more footsteps - headed down this time - on the staircase. He's facing the farthest wall when he steps out and starts to turn towards the staircase, saying, "I think that went about as - "
The explosive sound of a gunshot cuts him off mid-sentence. It takes Dante a stunned second to realize that his stomach stings in a really annoying sort of way. He looks down at the twin holes in his leather vest and covers the two bleeding wounds with his hand. When he pulls his palm away, it comes away with thick, glistening blood.
Dante looks up just in time to see Nero re-holster the Blue Rose at his thigh, a definite air of smugness about him. There's a towel tossed over one of his shoulders - Dante's towel, damn it - but he's not going to say anything about that just yet.
"I'm in the shower," Nero says simply before he turns and starts back up the stairs. "Don't follow me, pervert," he calls before disappearing entirely.
As usual, Dante can't help himself. Smirking, he glances down at the freshly healed wounds and tucks two fingers into the holes marring the leather. "Damn it," he sighs. "And I just patched this shit up a week ago," he grumbles, but he guesses it's worth it in some way or another.
*
The water'll be ice cold by the time he finally gets a chance to scrub away the evidence of the newest problem on his hands. Over a full hour after Nero took over the slipshod bathroom upstairs, he can still hear the water sloshing down the pipes. Granted, he knows that a nice long session under hot running water's par for the course when it comes to cleaning up the devastation a revelation can cause... but still. As he walks up the creaky wooden staircase, his hand gliding up the bannister, he figures the kid's gotta be a shriveled up prune by now.
There's also the tiny little insignificant matter that somewhere in the back of his mind Dante might be just a little bit worried. Learning that a great big powerful demon's after your blood is never a fun affair. And that possession incident, whew. Talk about a party pooper. As he levels off at the moldy hallway that connects the clusters of rehabbed rooms that he, Trish and Lady occasionally sleep in respectively at night to the sad little toilet, Dante peers ahead at the bathroom door and frowns at the sliver of flourescent light filtering through.
It's partially open, the space just wide enough for a rat to sneak through. The steam has long evaporated.
Dante knows he won't find Nero bathing away behind the shower curtain before he even kicks his way inside. He won't find him taking up space on his bed, screwing up a cup of microwave pot noodles in his cramped little kitchen, or anywhere else in the building, for that matter.
And if he takes the time to look really hard, Dante also won't find Nero's weapons where he hides them.
Even so, that doesn't stop him from releasing a heavy sigh as he scratches a hand through his hair, and that sure as shit doesn't stop him from caring. For all they know Nero could be a walking hotel for those pesky mid-level demons, the ones with a bit of brains and personality. And that's usually all it takes.
And now he's out in the streets, out of Dante's sight, possibly miles away already. Probably in trouble.
He snorts and shakes his head. The kid's slick, he'll give him that. Slick and impetuous, and it's all a little too familiar for Dante's liking.
Dante flat out laughs as his eyes dart around the tiny little room, but the laugh dies down just as quickly as it starts.
"Well, fuck."
Fandom: Devil May Cry.
Characters: Dante/Nero.
Chapter: 2/? (projected 5-parter)
Rating: Overall R-rating for adult language, violence. This chapter is rated NC-17 for explicit sex and mild violence.
Wordcount: 8,251.
Warnings: Explicit m/m sex, extremely dubious consent, character possession, violence. Spoilers for DMC3 and DMC4.
Summary: Nero pays Dante a visit at the Devil May Cry shop looking tremendously snazzy. Some things change. Some things stay the same.
A/Ns: As established in the first chapter, Nero has human hands/arms in this for plotty reasons. Also, tremendously sorry for the length. It started out rather mildly and then the seduction/sex dynamic ran away with itself. This chapter establishes plot, though, so there's that as well.
Part I
*
Time flies, and it's got nothing to do with fun.
Dante learned this life lesson a long time ago, so it's no surprise to him when two whole months flutter right on by without so much as a single party attended or thrown. Bodies pass in and out of Devil May Cry like hummingbirds; always purposefully buzzing somewhere in his peripheral vision, a blur of hovering, overstimulated little beings sucking him dry at every turn. Lady, Trish, occasionally Patty and Morrison, and finally Nero with his ongoing quest; they come and go, milking long days, floor space and effort from him and never with a justifiable pay-off in sight. And most days the demons he kills aren't even worth their weight in bullets.
So when Dante parks his motorcycle outside the office after another uneventful day in the city, he feels a thin spark of intrigue prickle along his skin. He can already tell that something's not quite right beyond the front doors, and though this would worry any normal, sane businessman, Dante can't help but feel a little bit excited. In his experience, a little change of pace never hurt. Not fatally, at least.
"Honey, I'm home!" he intones the second he shoves the doors open, the Rebellion slung haphazardly across his shoulder.
But in that same instant, he falters. Dante's used to seeing a lot of strange things - comes with the job title - but this, he thinks, takes the cake.
The whole of the front room is shrouded in a glacial darkness but for a pulsing, uncanny violet glow at the farthest wall. Emanating from a single body perched atop Dante's desk, the light heaves and writhes around its maker, expands and contracts like a living, breathing creature while Nero sits unfazed, his palms pressed flat along the beaten wooden surface Dante so often sits behind. He is shirtless and smooth and his legs are crossed, one folded seductively atop the other. The unnerving cant to his narrow hips is responsible for his unmistakably feminine poise, and when he breathes, his flat, decidedly well-toned chest rises and falls in that slow, deliberate way that Dante associates with one woman and one woman only.
Or rather, one succubus, really. Dante hesitates.
"It's been so long since you touched me, sugar."
It doesn't take a genius to recognize that Nero, despite appearances, is no longer there. Aside from the obvious absurdity of that statement, his inflection has shifted into something far more cajoling and indulgent, as if he means to taste the flavor of each syllable before he gives his words away. There is an echo there as well, a warbled, alluring register that hides just behind Nero's lips, distorting his vocal compass. And as he speaks, he smiles in a way that he never would, his pale blue irises burning a deep, caustic red.
In spite of this, or perhaps because, Dante takes a casual step forward, his gait a lazy one. She hasn't yet earned his impatience.
"What can I say," he shrugs. "There's a time and a place for everyone. You had your uses, babe. Now it's time to move on."
Nero laughs as he slinks down from the edge of the desk, a haughty, buttery sound that sets Dante on edge. Her violet aura flares up around Nero's body like smoky firelight, balmy and all too inviting, and when he licks his lips, he does it for show, the slick pink tip darting out to trace the shape of first the top one, then the bottom one, with a slow, unbroken rhythm.
Dante tenses but he doesn't stop strolling, and in that moment he begins to hate himself. Not solely for closely watching the repulsive show, but for being disturbed for all the wrong reasons.
"Oh, sweetheart," Nero drawls, waiting for Dante where he stands, a hand rising to muss a few strands of his own hair and twine one shaggy white lock around his delicately poised finger. "Can't you tell?" he teases, a coldness rising to chill his spectral undertone. After pushing that hand through his hair he drops his palm to splay at his chest, as if coyly amused by the game they're playing.
But there is nothing coy about he way he runs the tips of his fingers down the center of his chest, the blunted nails delighting in the firm stretch of lithe muscle that is the area around his navel. Nero moans and the sound of it unnerves Dante to the core, and now she's earned it, that urgency. Before Nero's hand can fall any lower, Dante dashes across what's left of the distance between them and snatches up his wrist in an iron grip, yanking him close.
"Move on?" Nero hisses, his breath hot against Dante's mouth, her aura an overwhelming force to be reckoned with. "Baby, don't you see? I have."
Dante snorts, his lips curling into a little smirk. "I'm only going to say this once. Leave him."
"Like you left me?" Nero suddenly pouts, slinking further into Dante's grasp to be comforted, consoled. Her aura is overwhelming, almost overpowering, a disarming massage that reaches too deep and threatens to fill him up like molasses. "To rot on your wall for an eternity?" Nero lifts a hand, strokes callused fingers across his cheek, and fuck but his touch doesn't feel half as disconcerting as it should; he knows, or at least hopes, that this is all her doing. "You haven't plucked me in years, Dante," Nero accuses. "Do you know what that can do to a woman?"
With his features lax and soft, mastered by her manipulation and added femininity, Dante can't help but recognize that the kid really is alarmingly attractive.
The red eyes do nothing for his complexion, though.
Dante shoves Nero back with a flick of his wrist that sends him crashing clumsily into the desk with a startled, vaguely erotic cry. The sheer force of a small move like that is enough to make the whole damn thing skid backwards into the wall with a loud clatter, sending up a small cloud of dust upon impact. His desk chair shatters into firewood between the dented wall behind and the crumpled weight of Nero folded over the splintering desk.
Of course, it doesn't take her long at all to recover. Pushing up from the heap of overturned wood and still-settling dust, Nero brushes himself off and turns back around, giving his body a disgruntled once over. Not a scratch on him. Looking childishly reproachful, he lifts his head and says, "That hurt."
Smirking a little more deeply now, Dante swaggers closer, brandishing Rebellion with a lazy flourish. "As much as I'm enjoying myself, how about we cut this little party short? The kid can't be having the best night of his life in there," he reasons, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. "You hear that, buddy? I'm looking out for you. The next round at Greasy Joe's is on you."
"Mmm, you do raise a fair point," Nero smiles that foreign, all-too-seductive little smile as he slithers forward, casually knocking the sword's edge aside with a flick of his finger. Without hesitation, he moves further into his personal space. "What are you going to do, Dante?" he challenges. "Kill me?"
Dante lifts his chin and rolls his head, peering at her in a less playful light now that his little predicament is out in plain sight for all three of them to see.
He weighs his options. They aren't looking good.
The kid handles bullet holes like a human would handle several papercuts. Sword to the chest... he could try that. Might make him trigger, but if he hasn't by now then he won't be doing that anytime soon.
After a long pause, Dante finally shrugs. Possession's the oldest trick in the oldest book. You'd think the kid would've gotten smart about that sort of thing real quick.
What a blow to the ol' ego, huh. He sighs.
"You scratch my back, I scratch yours," Dante finally offers.
Nero flashes another little smile, this one inherently victorious, and lifts his chin, his furnace of a stare focused on Dante's mouth. "Deal," he murmurs a mere second before he opens up, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet the crease between Dante's tightly pursed lips. Nero moans her satisfaction as he licks at him, demanding entrance with a tantalizing serpentine flick, and it could be Dante's imagination but he'd swear later that the kid's voice - not hers, but his - turns hoarse with anticipation.
Rigid, Dante inhales sharply through his nose. He manages to utter a quick, flippant, "Sorry, kid," before she takes advantage of his opened mouth and dips Nero's tongue deep inside.
The kiss is too well-crafted to be a human affair. Wet and supple, Nero's mouth gives too much of itself too quickly, overwhelming Dante with a swipe of tongue, a muffled whimper. The slippery sounds of lips meeting over and over again are rhythmic, hypnotic, and as Nero's fingers dive into his hair, Dante struggles not to breathe her in too deep. She's kissed him before, lapped at his soul like a bitch in heat; he knows exactly what's at stake, and he won't let her take even a sliver of his humanity with her when this is over.
"Mmmm, Dante," Nero whispers into his mouth, and it's him, or it sounds so much like him. "You always did know how to take my breath away."
Breathing deeply, Dante stares darkly back at him, his lips prickling. Clouded and weak, his head is spinning but all the important parts remain in tact. He's still whole. "You're losing your touch, babe," he gloats, tapping his chest once, twice. "Everything's still in working order."
Abruptly, Nero pulls back. Dante can see his suspicion confirmed in a flicker of fury that catches in his eyes. Tough luck. "Ah," Nero reluctantly agrees with an unhappy little smirk, "But it never hurts to try." Aloof and yet still so magnetic, Nero presses his thumb to the center of Dante's bottom lip, releasing a rueful sigh through his nose. "At least you still taste like a little piece of heaven, love."
Dante grins and slaps Nero's hand away, the Rebellion going over his shoulder into the holster on his back. "My turn," he announces.
Nero pouts, looking for a moment as if she means to renegade on their accord. But then he says, "Whatever could you want to know, sugar," with an air of resentment, the violet spectre fading to a muted haze.
"Oh, I dunno," Dante pretends to weigh the question. "Let's go with the obvious, for a start."
Nero shrugs, the gesture far too soft and refined for the broad shoulders that execute the move. "Your charming little boy is what we of the, mmmm, demonic persuasion like to call a Conduit," he simply replies, snaking that much closer as he does so. "A channel for a trapped essence," he clarifies, drawing a fingertip down the front of Dante's chest. "He's enjoying this too, you know."
Dante valiantly ignores the last bit, as hard as it might be. He presses Nero away for some much-needed relief, who immediately returns to his chosen spot. "Why now?" he counters.
"Why not?" Nero purrs, his glowing eyes raking down the length of Dante's body. "Mm, my oh my, but you are a pleaser," he teases, dropping that same hand to Dante's belt buckle.
Roughly, Dante grabs his wrist for a second time, causing Nero to look up with another little pout of disappointment.
"That I am," Dante flashes another grin. "Let me ask you again. Why now?"
"Because it's his time," Nero snaps, a sudden flash of petulant impatience amplified by a spike in the intensity of her purple aura. "He was always destined to lose himself, Dante. Look at him. Look at me," he urges, voice returning to a softer version of her ghostly allure. He smiles and Dante's blood warms against his will. "Look all you like. He wants you to."
Later, he'll thoroughly regret letting himself be caught off guard so easily. Before he can stop her Nero roughly palms the front of his leather pants, first squeezing playfully, then kneading the handful with a feral, inhuman desire. A slew of persistent, breathy sounds of excitement fall from his lips, as if she can't control herself anymore. Game over. Nero's positively salivating.
Now, among other wildly accurate rumors Dante is also known for his reflexes. But initially, he's too surprised by the contact to react. This, of course, makes very little sense to him since he knows that he has no reason to be surprised; he's invited this, he wants it, and -
And yeah, he wants it, he really fucking wants it.
And that's the kicker, isn't it. A gamechanger, no doubt.
The clear and undeniable fact that he's actually hard does more than ruin Dante's odds; it knocks them right into her favor.
A strange and twisted paradox stands before him. A chimera for all intents and purposes, capable of the worst sort of pleasures imaginable. That she can tease him, tantalize him, spark his curiosity while wearing a body completely at odds with what usually gets him off makes him both want to fuck her - him... whatever - and shoot her in the head.
But one of those isn't exactly an option, now is it?
"What a big boy you are," Nero croons, more devilish in appearance than he's been all night, no sign of inner turmoil or resistance visible in the lecherous mask that has become his face. "Have us, Dante," he urges again, and fuck, as silly as the thought is, Dante really wishes he would stop that. "We know you want to."
"You really are something, you know that?" he manages a shaky chuckle. What rotten fucking luck. Some things just never change. "What a piece of - work," his breath catches on the last word as Nero's fingers pinch, catching the shape of him in a startlingly pleasurable way through his pants. Abruptly, he gets it in his head to finally slap the kid's hand away. Grinning anxiously, he swallows and shakes his head no. "You're not my style. And I've still got questions."
"You don't believe me?" Nero asks then, her voice seeping through more clearly than it has thus far, a forceful crescendo that overpowers Nero's own more masculine register. "See for yourself," she insists, a diminuendo this time, her voice retreating to make way for Nero's own. By the time 'yourself' is uttered the voice is almost all Nero, angry and forceful, chaotic. There's the sense that he's been screaming, fighting this whole time to drown her out, and when given even a sliver of access to the use of his own faculties the momentum of his fight sends him hurtling through.
His face changes drastically, each and every feature, right before Dante's very eyes. Previously so soft and composed, his lips shake. His nostrils flare. The blazing red glow haunting his irises retreats to a dulled amber, and his eyelids, blown wide open, tremble like that of a startled cat.
"Dante," Nero lunges forward, his hands going first for his neck as if he means to throttle him, then switching to his shoulders mid-lunge.
"Calm down," Dante coolly manages for lack of anything else to say. He doesn't know where to put his hands so he hesitates, letting them hover near Nero's waist without quite touching. "You're fine, kid."
"Dante Dante Dante," Nero chants, testing his vocal chords. Each time he says Dante's name he becomes a little less frantic, but he's still shaking with too much energy, accelerated and impossible to reverse until he can slow to a rolling stop. He doesn't know where or how he wants to go, which direction he needs to choose, but he needs to do something so he rambles, "Oh fuck, oh God, listentome, youhavetolisten-"
"Put her down," Dante cuts in, shushing Nero as best he can. "Keep her out, you can do it, kid. I've seen what you can do. This is nothi - "
"Shutthefuckup," Nero hisses and swings a fist haphazardly. It misses. Dante gets the impression that he wants to do it again and again and again until it connects, but he won't because there's so little time. "Shut up. Jesus, Dante. Jesus fuck, you pervert. Just do it."
Dante blinks and stares incredulously. "Yeah, sorry... what?"
"Do it," Nero pants out, his hands squeezing first Dante's shoulders, then his throat, and Dante has to knock his hands away so he won't exhaust himself. Whatever's happened to the kid, it's bad. He's petrified. "Do it, please just..." he pauses to lick his lips and the gesture isn't anything but frazzled. "I want it, I do. I want you to... you know. Do what she says. That's all I want right now. I need to know."
Quickly, Dante shakes his head, incredulous. "... you've gotta be shitting me. You know you can't trust her," he snorts a disbelieving laugh, feeling callous, but that's the least of his worries. Unbelievable. "You've gotta tell me how this - "
Nero holds up a surprisingly steady hand to silence him, his lips pressed tight. Once he's gathered enough of a composure to make it count, he meets Dante's eyes, his own serious, focused, and heaves out, "I need this."
Then, with a fair amount of awkwardness, he leans in and kisses Dante with too much urgency. Sloppy and desperate. Human and imperfect, nothing at all like her kiss.
Selflessly, or rather selfishly, Dante returns the slide of lips and doesn't complain when Nero throws his arms around his shoulders, panting roughly through his nose as if it's just enough to breathe all on his own. Nero's lips are firm, bruising, hasty in their attempt to prove something, a number of things, and it's not good, exactly, but Dante's never said no to adrenaline. He finally flattens his hands along the small of his back, then drops his hands to hook under his ass and heft him clean off the floor.
When Nero wraps his legs around him, he does it in such a way that Dante can't tell who he's kissing anymore. The clumsiness is still there, but the whimper Nero makes sounds alarmingly familiar. He groans and forgets exactly where he thought they ought to be going until Nero pulls his head back and buries his face in the crook of his neck, hips wiggling with purpose.
He bites. Hard. In fact, hard enough to draw blood, and it's then that Dante throws him off to touch a hand to his neck. It stings but not nearly half as much as it should all things considered.
Nero hits the floor on his back, the wind briefly knocked out of him. When he's caught his breath again he releases a delicately offended gasp, sitting up on his hands to shake the daze away.
"Nevan," Dante tuts, to which Nero pouts, his eyes back to burning like charcoal. "Bad succubus."
"Old habits," he innocently quirks a brow as he lean back on his elbows and slowly, seductively spreads his still clothed legs in invitation.
"Where is he?" Dante stubbornly asks as he sheds first his sword, then his coat, the devil arm and red leather fabric puddling on the floor behind him. Perhaps he's stalling. He can't be sure.
"Right here," Nero replies, her hunger visible in the way he waits, a slow, subtle wave of desire rolling its way through his limbs. "Close. I can bring him closer if you like, sugar."
Dante doesn't know how to answer that, can't figure out which would be worse: to have Nero staring back at him while he fucks him or to have only her, just her. So he says nothing in reply, instead dropping his hands to his belt, the buckle clicking open with a deft slide of two fingers. Slipping down onto his knees, he shifts forward, watching carefully.
Nero sits up and holds out a hand that Dante ignores, instead ducking his head to Nero's navel when he's crawled close enough. He kisses a patch of skin just beside the dip because he can't help himself; it seems like the nice thing to do and it's all so fucked up. In response, Nero arches beneath him and lifts his hips. Through his jeans Dante can feel the hard outline of his cock nudge insistently at his clavicle.
"I hope my little love rod won't deter you," he purrs as he grinds his hips against the length of Dante's neck, wanton. "But we have to take what we can get, don't we, lover."
She's mocking him but he's yet to wilt thus far; he's hardly going to let a few words of her wicked words deter him. Dante snorts and climbs higher up the length of Nero's body, sitting up on his knees again to pop the top botton on Nero's jeans free. "No honor among demons," he drawls, a smirk curving his mouth to match her tone. He pulls the zipper down, parting metallic teeth in the brief silence, and as he reaches a hand down the front of Nero's opened jeans he hesitates with his fingers held inches away from Nero's straining cock. "It's a good thing you're half human now," Dante whistles. "Tell me what I want to know."
"Oh, don't be mean," Nero whines out, hips bucking impatiently while he strains his head forward to get a closer look. "Cruelty never helped anyone."
"First things first," Dante hotly counters.
Huffing a pitiful breath through his nose, Nero closes his eyes and worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "He's open now," he gives in with a needy moan, still bucking his hips in an effort to get Dante's hand exactly where she wants it. "You open a door and anyone can get in," Nero undulates as he speaks. "Touch us, Dante. Touch us there."
Exhaling a shaky breath of his own, Dante shifts and hooks his fingers at the waistband of Nero's jeans, grabbing up enough fabric to make the tug down his thighs go smoothly. It helps that Nero lifts his hips, and as the rough denim and softer cotton rustle down the length of his legs, Dante does his best to ignore the slow reveal of so much skin swathed in a single flame of violet light. If he doesn't, he might forget the true purpose of their little interlude.
Once Nero's boots and socks join the puddle of fabric building behind him, Dante risks a quick look.
"Oh, if only you could hear him, Dante," Nero suddenly laments. "He's terrified of your scrutiny but he loves it all the same."
"Shut up," Dante snaps for both their sakes. The mere thought simultaneously pisses him off and delights him.
"You want to look, don't you?" Nero continues, his legs spreading just a little bit wider. Dante looks away. "Or maybe you don't," Nero muses after the fact, his knees bowing inward in a parody of shyness. "How rude. Careful, Dante. You'll hurt our feelings."
"What do you mean anyone can get in?" Dante continues, doing his best to ignore the pink flush coloring Nero's skin under the dull thrum of of the violet glow. The blush spreads across certain places - the bridge of his nose, the line of his neck - as he returns his eyes to Nero's red ones. He can't tell if the sudden coloring is a sign of arousal, unbridled fury or embarrassment - or maybe all three - and he's sorry for it but there's nothing he can do about that. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about my brother, now would you?"
"Touch us, Dante," he moans.
So he does, but not before peeling off his fingerless gloves. If he's really going to do this, he's going to do it right. Moving in closer, Dante draws his thumb up the underside of Nero's cock, coaxing a choked moan of relief from his mouth. He watches Nero's chest rise and fall in an attempt to avoid his red, concentrated stare, the motion stopping then picking up again the second he closes his hand around him. One stroke up, one stroke down, easy. Simple. The hot weight of Nero's cock in his hand compels him, but not nearly as much as the way the kid's stomach clenches, the needy way his hips roll up for more. Dante milks him steadily, the dull fleshy sound drowned out by the spike in the boy's breathing.
Eventually, he looks up into Nero's face to find him gazing back. The look is a focused one, somehow critical and amused despite its obvious pleasure.
It's a look that only someone with a lot of experience in this area could give. It's all her; Nero's nowhere visible.
Dante finds himself perversely disappointed. "Answer me or this ends now," he orders.
"Yes, darling," Nero moans, his fingers curling against the floorboards as he begins to fuck Dante's fist with erratic twitches of his hips, his breath coming in shorter, sharper bursts. "So forceful, mmm," he smirks, his eyes slipping shut. "He did get there before the rest of us, after all."
"Why did he leave," Dante demands, his own blood running hot. He can't help that he's always been a visual kind of guy, and he's gotta admit, the sight of Nero like that... well.
Yeah, it's a slippery slope he'd riding but it wouldn't be the first time. And at least he has sense enough to be infuriated, despite being so hard that it's starting to hurt. Abruptly, all of it comes together, the tension, the animalistic desire, the fury at being manhandled so expertly by a demon he's defeated before. Suddenly, his temper spikes and Dante squeezes Nero a little too hard. "Tell me!"
Yelping, Nero winces and gasps, his face screwing up intensely. "Oh God, Dante," he whimpers in his own voice, his actual voice, and Dante isn't prepared for that in the slightest. Reflex makes him let go. "Fucking ouch, you bastard."
"Kid," he blurts.
"Don't call me that." There is a moment where reality sets in before he stammers out, "I... you..."
"Look at me."
Chest heaving, Nero lifts his head and Dante's blood runs colder when he sees the glossy, oversexed confusion in the pale blue of his irises.
"Fuck," Dante simply says.
"S'okay," Nero manages, looking dizzy, pulled in a thousand different directions, "But I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't stop dicking around."
"... mindfuck," Dante stares, wound up so tight. Goddamn, he really could use that vacation right about now.
"Heh," Nero breathes, his lips curling into the semblance of a familiar sneer. "Tell me about it," he murmurs, his head falling back.
"... Kid?"
"Disappointed?" Nero replies, his head still hanging back so that only the long, sweaty line of his throat is visible from where Dante's kneeling over him. Slowly, Nero's tongue snakes out and Dante watches, thoroughly thrown off, as he licks his lips in that same deliberate, drawn out way, his face turned up to the ceiling. "I can be kind when I so choose, you sweet, sweet darling," he says, lifting his head again to peer down the length of Nero's body.
Dante growls. "Good show," he huskily replies, an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "But that's enough now, don't you think?"
And at that, Dante sits up, grabs one of the kid's wrists and roughly flips him over onto his stomach. Pinning him down with his knees caught under him, ass up head down, Dante twists his arm behind his back and bends his elbow at a cruel enough angle to make him cry out in sheer, startled pain. "Sorry, kid," Dante says for the second time that night as he holds him down with one hand and fusses with the front of his opened pants with the other. She wants to play so they'll play, he thinks, as he pulls his cock free and spits into his hand.
"You wouldn't do that to him, would you, Dante? He's never had anything inside of him, my love. Be gentle to us, won't you?"
"The kid's made of stronger stuff than you think," Dante shrugs as he slicks his cock with a few haphazard strokes, the head already smeared with his own precome. It's not enough wetness, not nearly, but he's pussy-footed enough and he's never been one for keeping a cool, clear head when he's out of his element. Besides, Nero'll forgive him. He's got to. "If you're going to make a home there, you might want to stop underestimating yourself, babe," Dante says as he nudges the head of his cock between Nero's cheeks and lets go of his arm to grab up his hips instead.
"Mmm," Nero purrs, wiggling eagerly back against him. "Music to my ears, sugar," he insists a split second before Dante thrusts half of his cock inside.
Nero's back jumps and he squeezes around him at the intrusion, body instinctively struggling to force him from going any deeper. Dante ignores this because it's already too fucking good to retreat from. Roughly, he pulls Nero back onto his cock the very second he bucks the rest of the way inside, but these little jerks and twitches are all the reaction Dante receives as his own breath catches, his face crumbling under the force of so much tight, hot pleasure.
Nero is otherwise silent while Dante adjusts, his head swimming, the air sounding impossibly loud to his own ears as it rushes in and out of his lungs.
"Fuck," he groans, a curtain of white hair falling into his eyes. His head is hanging forward and all he can see is smooth bare skin. He can't think straight.
"Wait," Nero finally whispers, his back seized up. Only then does Dante register what Nero must be feeling, and a spark of guilt flares up inside of him. "Just wait," Nero quietly says.
"Sorry, kid."
"Stop saying that," Nero exhales, irritated. "Just... give it a second. Just do that."
So he does.
After some time, Nero starts to move without being told to, his back arching experimentally, head lifting. Dante watches the muscles roll between his shoulder blades, the thin sheen of sweat beading along his spine. His white hair falls back, the ends sweeping the nape of his neck, and as he shifts his hips Dante sharply exhales. The violet glow is still there but he barely registers the hue anymore; it is all around him, condensing on them, heavy and inescapable. No use paying it any mind, he thinks, instead letting his hands roam the small of Nero's back.
Abruptly, he remembers himself. "Tell me how to close him up," he demands.
"Dunno," Nero breathes out. "It's still me, jackass."
Dante blinks, finding it difficult to concentrate with Nero still testing things, still moving tentatively like that. "We're not finished yet."
"Obviously," Nero retorts, shifting his knees to get a little more comfortable.
"Well hey, kid," he snorts, trying his best to sound flippant, as if he hasn't got the whole of his cock shoved exactly where it is in that moment, "Mind telling me where she went?"
"What, you want me to bring her back?" Nero gasps, incredulous... but also a bit of something else. He doesn't sound too angry anymore. At least until he says, "You just have to fuck her that badly?"
It occurs to Dante then that he ought to be happy about her departure, in some way. He can't be, though, and he's really not sure why. Perhaps because it'd be a rather anticlimactic ending to his adventures in exorcism. Too quick and painless to believe. He doesn't trust it, so as he kneels there, doing his best to suppress a moan of pleasure at the squirming Nero seems intent on doing below him, Dante tries valiantly to clear his head.
They've learned something, surely, from all of his. Something useful. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with latent homosexual tendencies. Something he can't quite put his finger on just yet because...
"For fuck's sake, Nero. Stay still, I'm trying to think here."
"Tch, you can think afterward," Nero suddenly hisses out. "Just... just move," he swallows, his breath shallow, his hips rocking subtly. "You're already in, might as well just get the show on the road already."
And Dante doesn't have to be told twice. Planting one hand along the center of Nero's back, the other tightly gripping his hip, he pulls out far more smoothly than he anticipated and pushes back in with a fervor that rips a staccato gasp from Nero's throat and sends him scrabbling forward, unfocused.
"Fuck," Nero bites out, the muscles in his shoulders working. By the time Dante thrusts again Nero's braced himself against the floorboards, elbows and knees planted. Ready.
Nero pushes back to meet him on the third thrust, skin quietly slapping skin, and soon enough they've got the hang of it. And fuck, it's good. It's so, so good.
Flushed and sweating, breathless, Dante fucks him harder than he ought to but not so hard that Nero can't take it. The grunts the kid sends up are anything but delicate or self-conscious, making the little mewling cries he lets out here and there all the more worth it.
At some point Nero's skin grows so slick that he slides right between Dante's hands, hot and firm and delicious to watch. Nero bounces back against him time after time, the lithe, slender muscles in his back working harder to keep him from toppling over with the constantly shifting angle, and in one sweet, perfect moment Dante bucks his hips and catches Nero off guard, inadvertently hitting something inside of him that makes him whimper loudly.
"Ngh!" Nero keens, his head thrown back, the full length of his glistening back arching, then bowing. His nerves firing. Pure reflex.
Probably the hottest thing Dante's seen in a while, and that's saying something.
"Jesus, Dante," Nero pants out, his fingers shaking, lips quivering, and for a few moments he struggles to keep it together, his rhythm blown apart. "The f-fuck was that..." he gasps, leaning forward to fold his arm under his forehead, his shoulders heaving from the effort but he's not beat yet.
The shift in position frees up his other hand, and as Dante slows some to let him adjust, Nero drops that hand out of view. A second later he moans when he curls his fingers around his cock, fucking his own hand with a rhythm that Dante quickly adjusts to.
And it's all just so easy, too easy, that Dante has to wonder why they haven't been doing this ever since he first showed up on his doorstep. He's not grateful for the bizarre circumstances that brought them to this, but as he slides his hands up the center of Nero's back, grasps his shoulders and drops his head to watch his cock disappear over and over again at a slower pace than they started with, Dante knows he hasn't got it in him to complain. And he probably never will.
"Huhn - fuck - " Nero whimpers again, this one lower than the last but longer, blissfully aware. "Oh God... there," the word falls from his lips, thick and slow, weak with too much pleasure, and Dante knows that he's found it again, that spot. That bundle of nerves responsible for the boneless, fluid motion overpowering the whole of Nero's body. "Come on," he rasps.
And he does.
The sound of slapping skin intensifies as Dante hits that switch that sends him into overdrive, his body coiling impossibly tight, his thrusts turning vicious. He wants to fucking come, needs it badly. Digs at him, pulls him tight, leans over Nero and shoves the kid's face roughly into the floor, panting out, "Yeah, you love it," as he fucks him hard enough to leave bruises.
And suddenly he's murmuring things, hoarse and vulguar, and Nero's answering, confirming, with deep, shuddering moans about how good it feels, how much he wants it. Time flies, tears itself away from him in a frenzy of bare flesh, the salty tang of sweat and light. A lot of things happen but Dante's too far gone to notice anything but the way Nero arches, pushes back, sucks at him from all directions. Finally, when he spills himself, balls-deep and stretched taut, Dante's almost surprised to hear his name slice through the fog in the form of a startled cry.
When the haze clears, Nero's heaving and shaking.
They both are.
Dante licks his lips and swallows.
"Nero," he says.
"Yeah," Nero mumbles. And then, "Get off. You're heavy."
"Tch," Dante huffs, a sleepy smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth as he does his best to roll off. It's slightly awkward, though, because he has to pull out first. A wet, muted sucking sound skirts the silence.
Gracelessly, Dante flops over onto the floor, mouth hanging open to help catch his breath. "Come back, you voyeuristic bitch," he finally tosses out for the hell of it, still breathing hard. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
A full eternity, or something like it, passes before Nero rolls over to face him, curling slightly on his side. He's breathing evenly, matted and sex-laced, smelling musky and glistening with an oily sheen that flatters him, somehow. But she's there - in his eyes, the delicate way his features are set, and Dante doesn't trust himself not to shoot him. Ebony and Ivory are still tucked into their holsters at his sides and part of him is tempted. Very tempted, even though he's lying there physically satisified, his cock still hanging out.
"You don't love me anymore," Nero pouts.
"Heh," Dante gives a solitary, horse chuckle. The sound is dangerous, despite its sleepy quality. "That's rich. It wasn't as good for you as it was for me?"
"No," he frowns, petulant. "Not half as fun as it should have been. You didn't come for me at all."
"A deal's a deal," Dante shrugs. "Why did Vergil leave."
Nero sighs, seeming tired of so many questions. "It's not fair to deny me what I really want, Dante."
"I know," Dante agrees with a little sigh of his own. "Them's the breaks. My soul's not for sale."
"But it tastes so lovely. Just one more - "
"My brother," Dante cuts in, Ivory practically materializing in one of his hands. He's always been an absurdly quick draw. "Or I'll shoot you. Again."
"You wouldn't - "
The shot to Nero's stomach rings impossibly loud in the relative silence of the rest of the room. For a long moment Nero alternates between staring down at the bleeding hole in his belly and gazing, in offended horror, back at Dante's face.
"Hurts, doesn't it," Dante drawls. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we? I don't care about the kid," he casually explains with an air of authority, ready to clear up this misconception once and for all. "But my brother, well. He's family. So I can kill you now, call this a bit of time wasted, and be done with it. Or," he pauses to let her fully realize the extent of his mercy, "You can tell me why he left Nero to fend for himself, and then you can go back to your place on my wall. And hey, I'll even give you a little incentive. If you choose the latter, I promise I'll play you occasionally."
By the time Nero opens his mouth to speak, the hole in his belly has closed up. There remains a little trickle of blood running from the spot next to his navel - the spot he'd kissed earlier - down his side to puddle on the floor, but otherwise he appears to be entirely unharmed. How's that for a demonic health benefit?
"Oh, you cruel, cruel man," Nero all but cries, the red in his eyes flaring. He looks like a kicked puppy. "The things I do for you," he sniffs once, lips twisted sadly. "Very well," he weakly says. "We demons have no souls but we do have an essence. You, Dante, have both an essence and a soul. It is a mark of what you are. A half-breed. Your brother is the same."
This, he knows. He's heard it all before. Insistently, he pokes Nero in the stomach with the barrel of his gun. "Tell me something I don't know."
"Your brother's essence found Nero but his soul remains trapped in the Demon World. Mundus will rise again. He will use both two sides of the coin to do so. And then he will come for you."
"And Nero? How does he fit into all of this."
"Oh, lover," Nero sighs, amazed that he hasn't figured it out already. "Mundus will fill him as he is meant to be filled. Only then will he become the most powerful creature in existence. More powerful than the Tripartite himself."
Against his better judgment, Dante laughs. A mocking sound. "Now that's what I call a threesome, babe. The party never stops."
At that, her violet hue trickles back into Dante's consciousness, a presence that he sees and cannot unsee. The light engulfs Nero, swathes him like a warm, comforting blanket, and as he rises his voice becomes hers and hers alone.
"Sugar," Nevan says through him, first lifted to his feet by the light, then lifted clean off the floor, and it's not the most original trick Dante's ever seen, but it's a good one all things considered. As he levitates, the whole of Nero's naked body evaporates in a blaze of violet, the image of her human form emerging from the smoky haze, no bats in sight. Perfect breasts, shapely hips, long thin legs, and flowing auburn hair. She is perfectly designed for her purpose and was once good at her job before Dante came along. Extending a long, elegant arm to wave her finger at him in a gesture that is both an invitation and a goodbye, she sighs, "Tune me once in a while. Age has never been a girl's best friend."
Like steam, her violet aura dissipates in a smooth breath of air as if fanned away by some unseen force.
Nero emerges from behind the haze, aloft and slack in the air for a loaded pause before he falls to the floor in a graceless, naked heap.
He makes a noise, a small, quiet sound that Dante isn't sure what to make of.
In fact, he isn't sure about a lot of things. What to say seems to be the most pressing issue at hand.
In Dante's peripheral vision something appears on the wall near Force Edge and the rest of his devil arms. He ignores this in favor of tucking first Ivory back into its holster, then his cock back into his pants. Hastily, he zips and buttons them up for good measure.
"You know," Nero ventures, his voice hoarse but solid as he sits up - gingerly, of course - and faces away from Dante. "My jeans'd be nice."
"Sure thing," Dante nods as he climbs over to gather up the pile of fabric and heavy weights that is his jeans, underwear, socks and boots. He sets them down behind Nero, ignoring the way his back looks as the boy takes in a few steadying, composing breaths. "There you go," he says, climbing to his feet to gather up his own things. Behind him, Dante can hear the rustle of belts and a zipper. He doesn't turn to look, instead wandering over to assess the damage his desk has taken.
Seems to be in fairly okay shape, still. His chair, however, has seen better days.
And then it begins.
"You shot me," Nero announces. It isn't so much an accusation as a fact, and as Dante turns around he has to do his best to force down a smirk.
"Yeah," he shrugs, risking a look. Nero's decent again, although still shirtless. All things considered, he's got to give it to the kid because Dante honestly expected him to look way more uncomfortable than he does in that moment. "Guess I did."
Nero lingers there for a heartbeat or two, unreadable, before turning around to go looking for his things. Inwardly, Dante hazards a guess or two about the state of his emotions. Figures he ought to tread lightly. Turning away as well, Dante begins tending to his desk. His rotary phone's busted too and he hasn't got the money to pay for a new one. Time to visit the bank of Lady again.
Things remain like this for several awkwardly quiet minutes, Nero fussing about on the other side of the room, Dante opening and closing things for no real reason aside from a need to keep busy. He's hungry and could use a shower but then he hears the sound of Nero walking up the stairs and decides that a shower can wait. Maybe he'll just head in back and wipe himself down in the bathroom.
"You know," Dante begins once he hears more footsteps - headed down this time - on the staircase. He's facing the farthest wall when he steps out and starts to turn towards the staircase, saying, "I think that went about as - "
The explosive sound of a gunshot cuts him off mid-sentence. It takes Dante a stunned second to realize that his stomach stings in a really annoying sort of way. He looks down at the twin holes in his leather vest and covers the two bleeding wounds with his hand. When he pulls his palm away, it comes away with thick, glistening blood.
Dante looks up just in time to see Nero re-holster the Blue Rose at his thigh, a definite air of smugness about him. There's a towel tossed over one of his shoulders - Dante's towel, damn it - but he's not going to say anything about that just yet.
"I'm in the shower," Nero says simply before he turns and starts back up the stairs. "Don't follow me, pervert," he calls before disappearing entirely.
As usual, Dante can't help himself. Smirking, he glances down at the freshly healed wounds and tucks two fingers into the holes marring the leather. "Damn it," he sighs. "And I just patched this shit up a week ago," he grumbles, but he guesses it's worth it in some way or another.
*
The water'll be ice cold by the time he finally gets a chance to scrub away the evidence of the newest problem on his hands. Over a full hour after Nero took over the slipshod bathroom upstairs, he can still hear the water sloshing down the pipes. Granted, he knows that a nice long session under hot running water's par for the course when it comes to cleaning up the devastation a revelation can cause... but still. As he walks up the creaky wooden staircase, his hand gliding up the bannister, he figures the kid's gotta be a shriveled up prune by now.
There's also the tiny little insignificant matter that somewhere in the back of his mind Dante might be just a little bit worried. Learning that a great big powerful demon's after your blood is never a fun affair. And that possession incident, whew. Talk about a party pooper. As he levels off at the moldy hallway that connects the clusters of rehabbed rooms that he, Trish and Lady occasionally sleep in respectively at night to the sad little toilet, Dante peers ahead at the bathroom door and frowns at the sliver of flourescent light filtering through.
It's partially open, the space just wide enough for a rat to sneak through. The steam has long evaporated.
Dante knows he won't find Nero bathing away behind the shower curtain before he even kicks his way inside. He won't find him taking up space on his bed, screwing up a cup of microwave pot noodles in his cramped little kitchen, or anywhere else in the building, for that matter.
And if he takes the time to look really hard, Dante also won't find Nero's weapons where he hides them.
Even so, that doesn't stop him from releasing a heavy sigh as he scratches a hand through his hair, and that sure as shit doesn't stop him from caring. For all they know Nero could be a walking hotel for those pesky mid-level demons, the ones with a bit of brains and personality. And that's usually all it takes.
And now he's out in the streets, out of Dante's sight, possibly miles away already. Probably in trouble.
He snorts and shakes his head. The kid's slick, he'll give him that. Slick and impetuous, and it's all a little too familiar for Dante's liking.
Dante flat out laughs as his eyes dart around the tiny little room, but the laugh dies down just as quickly as it starts.
"Well, fuck."