ficlet: "Bait" - Devil May Cry, Dante/Vergil
Bait
DMC, Dante/Vergil, PG
Something was plaguing his twin. He could see it in the way Vergil’s shoulders slumped, or the way he cradled Yamato in a loose grip, fingers barely curling around the hilt. His mind was a thousand miles away, and Dante didn't think he was up to swimming across a wide ocean of passive aggressive sharks to reach him. Not today, not when he was starving for something to sink his teeth into, food or otherwise metaphorically speaking.
“What is it?”
Vergil dropped onto the old couch and didn't spare the seat his full weight, didn't glance up at first, but when Dante repeated the question, he curled his lip and shook his head, shooting him a dark look.
“Nothing.”
“Short and sweet, like always.” Dante lowered his feet from the table and closed the book on a page of devil markings and ritual symbols. “You may as well spit it out, I don’t feel like beating it out of you tonight.”
A sneer. “As if you could.”
“Done it plenty of times, Verge, plenty of times.”
“Right,” Vergil said derisively, and with a deep breath, he once again looked completely composed and put-together, how Dante would sum him up in one word: elegant. Shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes sharp and focused.
“Did you get your sparring lesson in today?” Vergil asked pointedly changing the subject.
Dante thought about the feasibility of Vergil taking him up on a match if he said no, the chances of getting his twin to duel in the snow, what slim possibility there was of baiting him into a snow fight.
Close to none. But maybe, if Vergil were looking for a fight, a way to express his sullen mood other than deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth as he tried to keep it all in. Dante knew how that felt, and how good a burst of adrenaline fixed that feeling when it coursed through his veins, the feel of a swift sword in his hand and the wind of combat at his back, ducking and weaving and dodging and rolling.
“No,” Dante finally answered, and grinned devilishly. “But you look like I could kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”
Vergil looked at him blankly for a moment, like he didn’t want to jump down Dante’s throat and show him what a real ass-kicking was.
“Save it.”
“Come on,” Dante goaded as he pushed himself up, took a moment to stretch his legs, and walked to the door, not waiting to see if his twin would follow. He grabbed Rebellion from the wall and turned on his heel to glance back, making sure he swayed just enough and tilted his head just so, so that he knew Vergil couldn’t possibly resist.
“You know you want to.”
tbc...maybe.
DMC, Dante/Vergil, PG
Something was plaguing his twin. He could see it in the way Vergil’s shoulders slumped, or the way he cradled Yamato in a loose grip, fingers barely curling around the hilt. His mind was a thousand miles away, and Dante didn't think he was up to swimming across a wide ocean of passive aggressive sharks to reach him. Not today, not when he was starving for something to sink his teeth into, food or otherwise metaphorically speaking.
“What is it?”
Vergil dropped onto the old couch and didn't spare the seat his full weight, didn't glance up at first, but when Dante repeated the question, he curled his lip and shook his head, shooting him a dark look.
“Nothing.”
“Short and sweet, like always.” Dante lowered his feet from the table and closed the book on a page of devil markings and ritual symbols. “You may as well spit it out, I don’t feel like beating it out of you tonight.”
A sneer. “As if you could.”
“Done it plenty of times, Verge, plenty of times.”
“Right,” Vergil said derisively, and with a deep breath, he once again looked completely composed and put-together, how Dante would sum him up in one word: elegant. Shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes sharp and focused.
“Did you get your sparring lesson in today?” Vergil asked pointedly changing the subject.
Dante thought about the feasibility of Vergil taking him up on a match if he said no, the chances of getting his twin to duel in the snow, what slim possibility there was of baiting him into a snow fight.
Close to none. But maybe, if Vergil were looking for a fight, a way to express his sullen mood other than deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth as he tried to keep it all in. Dante knew how that felt, and how good a burst of adrenaline fixed that feeling when it coursed through his veins, the feel of a swift sword in his hand and the wind of combat at his back, ducking and weaving and dodging and rolling.
“No,” Dante finally answered, and grinned devilishly. “But you look like I could kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”
Vergil looked at him blankly for a moment, like he didn’t want to jump down Dante’s throat and show him what a real ass-kicking was.
“Save it.”
“Come on,” Dante goaded as he pushed himself up, took a moment to stretch his legs, and walked to the door, not waiting to see if his twin would follow. He grabbed Rebellion from the wall and turned on his heel to glance back, making sure he swayed just enough and tilted his head just so, so that he knew Vergil couldn’t possibly resist.
“You know you want to.”
tbc...maybe.