"Dante? You home?" Juggling the mail and a bag of groceries in one hand, and Dante's twin pistols in the other, getting into the front door of the Devil May Cry shop is difficult. Even though the doors push inward, it's still a balancing act as you stumble backwards into the room. It's not Dante you're caught by, but Nico.
"Whoa there, little chicky, careful! Watch my work!" She calls out, pointing to something she's had laid out on the floor of the shop for the past three days. Something for Lady... another Kalina Ann, by the looks of it, since Dante had conveniently forgotten to give the original two back to her. You'd have to remember to rip him a new one for not doing it sooner. It's not like he kept them anywhere you could get to them, anyway.
As graceful as a ballerina, she twirls you around until you're dizzy, but far out of the way of her work. Apparently the van wasn't big enough for such a job. "Hey, whoa," you burp slightly, nauseated, "uh. Hold on..." Swaying just a little, you let everything fall onto Dante's desk, expecting him to be there when you look up. He isn't.
Nico looks sympathetic. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean t'make ya dizzy."
"It's fine. You seen Dante? He didn't answer his cell..."
"Not since this mornin'." Nico looked to the ceiling for thought, one finger on her lips, as if she were trying to remember something. It seems to come to her as she pats her pockets - front first, then back - and produces a slip of paper from her pocket. "Left this for ya... hope you don't mind, I read it..."
It must not have been important, because she doesn't seem rocked by whatever knowledge the scrap of paper contains. "It's alright, Nico. What's it say?" You brush off Dante's freshly-cleaned pistols of fresh tomato leaves (which had fallen when you tipped the grocery bag just a little too far), and set them aside. The mail is spread out along the front of the table for easy reading - not that you haven't read it all already. It's mostly bills, some junk, and the newspaper. And a couple of love letters. Ever since Dante learned about smartphones, the shop had been getting a steady supply of them, among other things. It seemed as thought Dante had a fan following.
"Uh, somethin' about how he's sorry he's gone, doesn't wanna hurt you, bunch-a sappy shit, if ya ask me," She shrugs, setting the paper on the desk with a tap of her fingers. "He's bein' dramatic... buuuut I think I know where he went."
You scoff, turning to read the note as she rattles off the possible places Dante could be: rooftops, an abandoned factory a few blocks away, the beach. The note isn't terribly detailed, and his writing looks scrawled as if he didn't have time. Sorry I had to leave today, I'll be back tomorrow, I love you, I'm sorry... don't want to hurt you, is all. "For the last time, Dante," You mutter softly to yourself while Nico goes into a whole thing about how she may have almost kissed him, but it was only 'cause Dante slammed her against the wall - you'd be offended if you knew better about Dante. He wouldn't cheat.
"I.. I really didn't mean to, once he'd left it was like my mind stopped bein' foggy. Get that way 'round Nero and Vergil too somtimes.. think somethin's up with them boys." She shakes her head, hands behind her back as she leans up against the desk. "Maybe it's some weird sex thing, ya know, like when kitties go into heat."
You shrug, not one for the technical aspects of Dante's demonic forms. You accept all of him, but the demon half can be scary, if sexy. "Maybe, Nico."
"God, I really sound like my daddy, don't I? Guess the Qliphoth fruit really don't fall far from the demon tree," She pushes off the desk and walks back over to her work, squatting down as she starts to piece together some part of the rocket launcher you don't know of. And as much as you love Nico, you'd like to think you know your own boyfriend better than she.
There aren't many places that Dante could be. If what Nico said was true, and this was some sort of weird, demonic heat, then he couldn't be all that far, not wanting to risk becoming an adulterer. You know deep down that he had a heart of gold, and was deeply loyal to you and only you, but he might be desperate.
Nonetheless, the hunt is on. After you put the groceries away.
Each room of the shop is carefully cataloged as you search every single nook and cranny: the front room is very much a bust, no Dante there. The kitchen is the same way: even checking in the large chest freezer produces no results (you know, from horrified experience, that he'll sometimes hang out in there when he runs a little too hot). The bathroom he couldn't be in, as there are humans in the building. He's not in the bedroom either, because that's just too easy - not even hiding in the closet.
The storage room also yields no signs of Dante, either. Only Vergil, who is currently dousing himself with a frozen wash cloth. He's sweating, and it's clear he must be going through something similar. "Hey, have you seen your brother?"
"If I did, I wouldn't tell you."
"Why the hell not?"
Vergil shoots you a look with burning blue eyes, before he turns back to running the frozen wash cloth along his face. He's in nothing more than a pair of boxers. "He told me not to."
You scowl at him, pulling the door shut behind you as you let him work through whatever he's going through. Clearly this heat thing must be a bust - it's hot enough out that Vergil could clearly just be overheating. If demons could overheat, half-human or not. The idea that Nico might be completely, unconditionally right doesn't even cross your mind. You're long since used to her crazy theories about the Sparda boys.
There isn't much else in the shop to look for, except the roof, and maybe the basement. But both are rarely used by anyone at all: Trish and Lady's beds are in the basement, left alone from everyone else, as well as a couple other beds in case Nero or Nico were too tired to drive back to Fortuna. He wouldn't be down there, not when they were both there.
That leaves only the roof.
It's a perilous journey from the second floor to the roof - the only way up is on a fire escape that you're pretty sure hasn't been used in years. The metal is rusty and worthy of taking a precautious tetanus shot before you even venture out onto it. And you have to go through Vergil's room again. The window access in your shared bedroom with Dante is blocked by a 15,000 BTU air conditioner, and it's in use. You couldn't move it if you wanted to.
You ignore him as you walk through the door again, the gift of an entire refrigerator's ice supply in a bucket for him to use in his fight against the heat (it's really not that hot, barely cresting over 80 degrees Fahrenheit) hoisted into his lap. He's grateful, shoving his entire face into the bucket. It's a rare moment, seeing Vergil at his least composed. You cherish it for but a moment before you leave through his window, stepping out onto the fire escape.
It's a few flights of stairs before you reach the top, and the metal is hot from the sun beating down on that side of the building. You almost venture back down to tell Vergil that the room's so hot because the sun's beating down on the bricks... but you're already halfway up the ladder over the roof's ledge, so there's no turning back now.
Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk from one end of the roof to the other, careful to look in every nook and cranny. There's another room up here, no doubt some sort of electrician's room to get to the A/C unit easier, or something. You don't really know its purpose. Maybe it's used to light the bright red Devil May Cry sign above the front doors.
"You shouldn't be up here." Something about Dante's voice sends a shiver down your spine as you turn, seeing him sitting on a makeshift chair made of what looks to be pieces of rubble. How it got there, you're not sure, but you're not going to ask questions. Especially not when Dante looks so different.
With his confident exterior chipped away, Dante looks... more energetic than usual. Not one to fancy anything in his hair, you're surprised to see one of your hair ties holding his hair away from his sweating forehead. He's shaven, another first, and he's not wearing what you usually see him in. Instead of his leather jacket (thank Sparda, as it's summer. Who wears a leather jacket in the summer?), he's in nothing more than a tank top. It's black, and you can just see the light tufts of grey-white chest hair peaking out over the top of it. He's not even wearing jeans, in nothing more than what looks like a pair of loose gym shorts, also black. It's an improvement, sure, but it's so... ridiculous. And it's not unusual for you to see ridiculous things, living the life you do now.
"Didn't you hear me? Go back downstairs." There's an authority in his voice you haven't heard before. Dante's always so carefree, even now in his 40's. Sometimes you forget he's nearly halfway through life.
"Not unless you come with," You respond, leaning back against the ledge. You brace yourself by wrapping an arm around the ladder, so as not to fall. Dante twitches, always on such high alert for your safety. After all, you're a squishy little human - Dante's been shot in the head multiple times before and survived.
"I can't. Not with you, Nico, and Lady downstairs. Just go... I'll come back tomorrow morning, good as new." He shrugs, throwing his hands into the air as he sighs. One hand comes clamping down on his own thigh, and the other rests on his knee, watching you. Waiting for you to move.
You shrug too, just as stubborn, and pretend to settle into place. He looks away with a roll of his eyes; you, defiant as ever, stand up. For a moment, he thinks you're going to do as told.
But you don't. You waltz right on over to him, sliding into his lap even as you feel him go rigid underneath of you. His lap is the perfect size for you, as you snuggle up to him in the only shade on the roof. "If you're not leaving, than neither am I."
"You gotta eat and pee some time."
"I'll just eat you, it's fine." A dry laugh rises in Dante's throat. "And I'll pee on you too, for that matter."
"Not the grossest thing that I've been covered in." There's the Dante you remember, casual and cool. You look up at him with a smile, but it's quickly lost. He doesn't look so casual and cool.
In fact, he looks strained, as though he's holding something back. In a moment, you realize your mistake as you reach up to touch his face. He's burning up like he has a fever. "C'mon, Dante. Tell me what's up. I want to help."
He sighs, sitting back some. You stay rooted in place, too afraid that your combined body heat might make him combust. It's a little while before he answers. "You helping would only add to the problem." With one arm, he plucks you from his lap and sets you, standing, on the gravel roof.
"Hey! That's not fair. What if I agree not to help, huh? I promise I won't try and help. I just wanna know what's up. You tell me everything. That's what you promised me, remember?" He does remember, vividly. It was the first thing he ever promised you, after he'd succeeded in taking you on a date only to be attacked by demons halfway through a mid-fall picnic. It wasn't like you didn't know, but he'd promised that you'd always be prepared in case of an emergency like that again.
He sighs. "Yeah, I do. It's just... embarrassing. And. I don't want you to get caught up in the middle of it. I wasn't lying. I don't want to hurt you."
"I don't think you could if you tried."
"It's not that kind of hurt."
You raise an eyebrow. "Then what kind of hurt?"
"The kind that'll ruin you for years." Dante's being intentionally vague - you don't need much more than that to understand why he's so flippant about telling you. He only gets like this when things get intimate. It's his only fault; as confident as Dante can be, he's a total dweeb in the bedroom. At least until he gets going.
You walk closer again, pushing against his arm as you move it out of the way and sit in his lap again, cradling his face in your hands. He offers no resistance, so wrapped around your finger that it hurts. "Is that what this is about? Nico said something about a demonic... heat or something, like cats."
He scoffs, shaking his head. "I don't know what it is. But when I get like this... It's just better off if you stay away from me."
"Stop being so melodramatic," you mumble, pinching his cheek, "If it's sex you want, all you have to do is ask."
It's a rare sight to see Dante's cheeks flush, but they do as he looks away from you, passing a smooch to your fingertips as he does. "Can't," he mumbles, muffled as you squish his lips between your fingers, trying to make him smile. For someone so usually openly sexual, Dante seems pretty weird about this whole thing.
"And why not?"
"Well... sometimes--No, forget it, it's not important."
You think, trying to remember all of your shared exploits in his California King, and only one memory comes to mind. "Is this about the devil thing? How you go feral sometimes?" After a long moment, he nods. "Aw, c'mon..."
"You were so sore you couldn't sit. For three weeks..."
"Only 'cause I loved it so much. It didn't even leave a scar, baby." You pout, leaning up to press a smooch to his cheeks, not stopping until he turns to kiss you back. "Just a hand print shaped bruise. That's nothing. I get bruises all the time." He doesn't seem all that convinced, even as his lips trail after yours when you finally pull away. "I won't force ya, but c'mon, Dante. How bad can it be?"
Not bad at all, you find, as he drops you onto the bed in a rush, hands unable to stop roaming. You pull your clothes off quickly, the frigid air of his bedroom leaving your nipples hard and your skin raised with goosebumps. Dante does his best to throw his own clothes off, tearing at the tank top because getting it over his head is just too much work.
Dante's fervent in his own, special way as he peppers your chest with his lips, hands braced on either side of your torso. He leaves little love bites, pulling you to the end of the bed. He's never been one for using his mouth - not since the face sitting incident from a few months ago - but he does use skilled fingers to get you right where he wants you. He doesn't have to work hard, your mood already swung by whatever wonderful cologne he threw on this morning, and before he knows it, he can feel you spasming around his fingers, your soft gasps trying desperately to stay quiet.
"D-Dante, we--we should--" You can't get the thought out as he sucks at his fingers, standing up only so that he can push your legs apart as far as they'll go, one hand around his shaft. His penetration isn't without romance, but he's done this enough times to know when too much is too much. He starts off slow, pacing himself - Dante can't have you in pain now, or ever for that matter. Your back arches as you feel him inside of you, his soft panting hot against your chest.
He thrusts roughly for the first few seconds, trying to gather his composure; but it's hard, and he's slowly slipping. You're of no help, quietly encouraging him as he crawls onto the bed, unable to get close enough. His skin is impossibly hot to the touch as your fingers caress his biceps, stars in your eyes. "It's--ah--it's okay, Dante," You gasp, inhaling sharply as he hits every single spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. Sometimes you wonder how he does it so easily, like he's done it a million times. It's not like you make love every night. In fact, it's few and far between, with him being gone for such long periods of time, and his exhaustion outside of jobs. You give little care to that, as the times it does happen makes it all the more special.
You card your fingers through his hair, pulling the hair tie out to let his white hair fall in his face; it's a wondrous sight, as you card your fingers through and pull, forcing him to expose his neck. He's not the only one that gets to be rough.
There must have been something about the way you leave hickeys on his throat that makes it vibrate deeply as he pulls you up into his arms, tall and proud as he fucks you standing. "C--Can't hold--"
He grips your waist tight, fingernails digging into skin; something interesting is about to happen, no doubt, as you wrap your arms around his neck and nip at his jaw, letting out one soft, choked moan.
Dante just can't keep it together. His growl is low and rough, if quiet, and sends a shiver up your spin as he falls against you and the bed, his hips thrusting deeply. You stifle another moan in the crook of his... leathery skin?
Something inside of you expands, and you arch, eyes shooting open as you're met with the image of a Dante you haven't seen at all before. His skin is deep grey and scaled, and hotter than it's ever been before. It ripples with bright fire, vibrant reds and yellows and whites. His chest cracks open, revealing a blinding core that makes your heart race. You should be afraid - this Dante could be something bad, something evil - but you don't find it in your heart to care as four blazing wings slide under you, pulling you up against him again.
"Holy--Holy shit," you gasp, Dante's clawed hands digging into your waist. He's never felt so big before, as you mind his pointed shoulders and face. He's never looked so handsome, either, as his burning eyes stay screwed shut. He seems embarrassed, even as he sends you over the edge, unable to hold back your moans any longer. You curse, your own fingers digging into the nape of his scaled neck, scratching, nipping at anything you can as his hands move to hold your thighs instead; you feel his wings unfurl just so, reclining you as he pushes deeper inside.
He only opens his eyes when his mouth is pressed against your collarbone, nipping more careful than he ever has before. It isn't long before he reaches his peak, his hips moving impossibly. His cock is hot, almost too much, as he leaves his own type of hickeys on your throat. You're gone now, legs limp in his arms as he doesn't stop until his own, unearthly roar unleashes in the otherwise quiet room. There's no hiding exactly what's happening behind the door, and Nico is thankful she's thrown her earbuds in.
Even this big, even pounding you hard enough to leave you sore for another three weeks, you find that it's all you've ever wanted. Your hands, trembling and gentle, slide down his torso, trying to find purchase. "Don't stop!"
Dante doesn't stop until you can barely feel your legs; until you're so spent and full that he can't thrust as deep. Until he pulls out, trailing his release along the floor, along your thighs, your ass. Until his form fades and he collapses on the floor, resting his back against his dresser with you pressed against his chest. He's still impossibly hot, and it's not the greatest, but you can't find yourself to care. The only thing you can muster up the energy to care about is him.
He nods, his fingers carding through your hair as he sighs. You can feel his cock throbbing against you, overstimulated and spent. It's a wonderful feeling. "Never been better... you?"
There's a softness to Dante's voice that makes your heart swell. You could tell him the truth - that you're not going to be able to walk for a couple weeks, and that sitting on frozen peas again is going to suck, and that you'd very much like to have a cold shower - but it manages to just slip your mind as you nip at his chest playfully. The hickeys on his neck have already healed, but yours, dark and defined, are there to stay. "Yeah, the same..."
You hum softly as he sits there, holding you in his arms, and it isn't long before your breathing softens, asleep against his warm chest.