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Dante came back to the mortal world by intervals.

The early morning was cool, but not uncomfortably so. It was easy to fall asleep again, immersed in familiar scents and the sense of home.  Sleeping -simply because he could- in this space that had always been his own, but now was more than just a roof over his head. The memory of the night before slipped into his dreams, more impressions than anything else: soft skin under his hands, a warmth mouth over his own, being inside his brother and driven mad from it. What a lovely way to fall asleep.

In one of these intervals, his body was quick to inform him that he was well-rested (even if he didn’t need it), and that it would very much like something to eat. Feeling warm and lazy, Dante ignored it. He dozed off by another two or three hours, and only fully woke up when the heat of midday started to get annoying.


By then, his body also informed him that it was very much in the mood for some naked action involving his dignified brother. His morning wood was especially prominent under the thin sheet. To his dismay, however, Vergil was conspicuously absent.


It was a shame on days like this, when Dante’s brother got up especially early to attend to his own shop, leaving Dante with only the ghost sensation of lips on his. Of masculine perfume, spicy and earthy; of gloved hands running over his hair in the kind of caress Dante thought he had lost forever. The empty bed was a bitter reminder and his dick, achingly hard, was especially displeased by the fact.


What was the point of having an amazing, spectacular lover such as Dante, if he couldn’t lavish his other half with the most mindblowing morning sex in the history of human and demonkind? It was absurd, in Dante’s eyes, that he couldn’t wake Vergil up with a blowjob just because his brother was a workaholic who preferred books over Dante’s winning company. He had almost taken himself in hand but then thought better of it. Why even jerk off? It was almost noon, right? The digital clock on his nightstand was signaling eleven-thirty a.m. in harsh red neon; so, as close to lunch as he could get away with, to perform a special kind of visit to his dear brother.


Which was why after doing some basic hygiene (Vergil’s influence after he noticed that Dante only brushed his teeth once a day -if he remembered), and leaving behind a note on his front door ( at lunch, come back later!), Dante had taken out his trusty ride from the sea of his soul and, determined to resolve his raging boner, rode off on Cavaliere toward the other side of the city. 


Vergil was, of course, a man of sophisticated tastes. He loved to reflect his style in the things he owned; the small office in one inconspicuous corner of an old but well-tended building was just another testament to that. All dark wood and classical beauty. As Dante got off his bike, he could feel the ripple of a powerful glamour. It was the kind of magic that would fool your average human, dulling their senses and hiding the shop from ignorant eyes. 


The shop had no name, and the vitrine outside only showed some books and a couple of harmless antiquities. The door was also made of dark wood, with a window that let you look inside. Vergil was nowhere to be seen. 


Just as he opened it, a bell announced his arrival. Dante could feel the wards falling into place all around him, but not in an aggressive manner. His brother had been gracious enough to include him as a welcomed guest. Inside, the walls were lined from top to bottom with bookcases; there were some tables in the middle of the room with artifacts encased in glass or perched atop stands. Some of them were Devil Arms, protected with powerful seals and wards. 


Dante walked past it all without sparing a glance. There was only one precious object in this shop that interested him. In the back, there was a small office for the most… special kind of clients. He could feel his brother’s presence, the unmistakable pull of his soul, just on the other side of the division. 


There was no need to announce himself. Dante strolled in like he owned the place, slamming the door open, projecting his aura in a way that would surely bother his control-freak of a twin. Just like he used to name all his things when they were kids, Vergil detested it when Dante ignored his little rituals of etiquette and good manners. 


And there he was, perfect and beautiful Vergil, seated behind an ostentatious mahogany desk; over it were books and old, fragile parchments spread in an orderly manner. There were two small photo frames in the piece of furniture behind him: one of Nero, and, surprisingly, one of Dante himself. On the wall, even more books and ageless scrolls. Yamato, Vergil’s precious blade, had its own stand. 


Vergil looked as casual as he permitted himself to be outside of their home: his sculpted arms were free of his dark overcoat. He didn’t even raise his eyes when Dante came in.


Dante was tempted to take a seat on the client chair and put his boots over the desk, dirtying the priceless materials, but he was there to get his ( snort ) lunch, not be castrated by his brother.  


Said brother still didn’t address him. His eyes ran over each line, deliberate and precise, writing down whatever in a notebook. He probably only wanted to make Dante speak first, or maybe make him wait. Vergil loved a good book but he loved to antagonize Dante even more.


However, that was a game that could be played by two. 


Dante slid out of his own coat casually, putting it on the rack with Vergil’s. He approached slowly, so as to make his intentions clear, and once he was behind his brother, very carefully started to massage Vergil’s shoulders. This was something Dante had learned just for him: to press and pull the taut muscles, to draw circles with his thumbs on his upper back until the tension released. 


His brother didn't give himself away, still didn't talk to Dante. The arc of the muscular structure there yielded, relaxing under his touch; a soft hum escaped Vergil's lips.


"Still not gonna talk to me?" Dante asked in a whisper. He nosed his way just behind his brother's ear and kissed the spot delicately, barely grazing it with his lips. 


Vergil stopped taking notes. His free hand came to rest on Dante’s head, threading his fingers among silver locks. There was something about him, like this, relaxed and in his element. Of all the outcomes of their showdown at the Qliphoth, this is what made him the most grateful: for his brother to be here, free, enjoying life in a way that he never let himself, back when they were younger.


“To what do I owe this visit, brother?” Vergil asked, briefly tightening his hold before resuming his administration. Dante felt himself shudder just from this, his dick ramrod straight and painfully confined in his pants. 


From his position, Dante saw his brother’s work: sigils and ancient magic translated from demonic jargon. There were also at least three books, each in a different human language.  Vergil’s notes were a mix of his interpretation of them and whatever demonic ritual he was preparing. But most importantly, Dante could see the expanse of his brother’s tights, the tautness of those leather pants against his groin. A blessing, Vergil’s wardrobe, but an unfortunate barrier between Dante and his goal.  


His mouth watering, Dante resolved to get his mercurial brother in the mood. This was, after all, a one in a million chance, and Dante had seen enough porn as to have an idea what this could lead to. Decided, he continued his strokes, moving from Vergil’s shoulder to his arms, kissing open mouthed where he could; pressing and pushing the muscles into submission.


“I just wanted to see you,” Dante answered. Vergil hummed, unsubtly giving him more access to his neck. 


“You’re not being very inconspicuous, Dante.” 


Yeah, not a lot. “I woke up pretty hungry, brother.” 


“Oh? You wish me to feed you?” 


Well, that wasn’t difficult at all, Dante thought. Maybe Vergil was more into it than he let on. 


“Just a taste, okay? It’ll be worth your time, you’re awfully tense.” It was starting to sound less like a bargain and more like begging, but Dante just didn’t give a fuck anymore. 


“Your hunger is insatiable, as always,” Vergil said, and it was a shame that Dante couldn’t see his expression, so it was time to get this show on the road. 


Dante moved himself between the desk and his brother, taking his time appreciating Vergil’s visage. Regal as always and not a hair out of place, only he was capable of transforming some mundane chair into a throne. There was the faintest splash of color in his neck, Dante’s attempts to leave a hickey trumped as always by their demonic constitution. He resolved to trace the contours of Vergil’s lower lip with his thumb, to hold the sharpness of his jaw with the palm of his hand. The pool of his brother’s eyes was bottomless, pupils almost fully blown out.


Dante could get lost in those eyes; for one whole minute he did.


By then, it was a crime to not kiss him. First a barely-there touch, just breathing the same air. Then, because Dante couldn’t contain himself, a long stroke of his tongue that Vergil immediately reciprocated, the kiss transforming from pure to downright sinful. Vergil’s free hand came to rest at Dante’s neck, kneading and scratching him in a way that raised goosebumps across the skin of his arms. His brother liked to pretend he was ice, but blue fire ran the hottest, and like this…  Dante didn’t mind being burned alive.


They kept kissing until air was a necessity, and even then they extended it a bit more than what a normal human could hold.


Dante laughed, exhilarated, before dropping to his knees between Vergil’s long-for-milles legs. It was a bit cramped, but Dante would make it work. When he looked up, he could see Vergil’s skeptical expression―  namely one elegantly arched eyebrow. The bulge in his pants belied his aloofness, so Dante placed a kiss to his inner thigh before giving him his cheekiest grin. 


“Excited aren’t ya, big bro?” Dante said, trying to maybe rile him up a bit. Vergil hated so much to be out of control. 


His brother merely placed his chin onto a closed fist, supporting its weight on the chair’s armrest. He licked his lips, absentmindedly, like none of this interested him. As if he was only along for the ride. 


“You came to me first, Dante. Who’s the excited one?” 


Vergil’s feigned disregard shouldn’t have been so hot, but Dante’s libido was truly an insatiable thing. It feds on Vergil’s every micro reaction, and it always wanted more. Ultimately greedy, and Dante wasn’t about to contain it now that he had his brother back. 


If this was to become a competition on who would break the other’s composure first, Dante was sure he had the winning hand. Without answering Vergil’s provocation, he started to gently massage his thighs. Not an undiscovered region, this part of his brother, but one that always aroused his basest instincts (even in battle, when Vergil was at his most dangerous, the sight of them made him briefly lose his focus). Vergil opened his legs even more as Dante kneaded the their firm expanse, moving resolute to the place that interested him the most. 


It wouldn’t do to immediately start the main event, Dante thought. He let himself enjoy the position, kissing the clothed erection open mouthed, inhaling his brother’s scent with hopeless ardor. There was so much to love about this position: his brother’s musk, the firmness of his legs, the subtle way he moved his hips to accommodate it better. Still, Vergil didn’t let himself fall to Dante’s caresses, keeping his hands to himself.


In fact, Vergil reclined a bit more in his chair and had the nerve to take back his notebook, resuming his work as if Dante wasn’t going to give him the best damn blowjob of his life. 


Feeling deeply offended, Dante jerked open his brother’s pants, only to almost be smacked in the face by his dick. 


“Yeah, sure, you do your thing,” Dante murmured, spitting into his own hand. “Out of the two of us, you’re the only one going commando, bro.” 


He heard his brother chuckle, passing pages in his goddamn notebook. Dante was very tempted to grab the thing and throw it aside, but no. He was not going to fall for that kind of bait. 


Just as Dante firmly gripped Vergil’s erection and started to pump him with vindictive determination, the bell outside announced the arrival of a new client. 




“Shit―” Vergil cursed, and Dante almost laughed at the slip of his brother’s stoic facade. “You absolute moron, you didn’t close the door!?


Dante was going to answer, but then the voice of a man outside interrupted him.


“Mister Vergil, I know you’re here.” 


“Get out ― “ Vergil hissed, trying to yank Dante out of his spot by the hair (ow!) and hide his erection back inside his pants.


But, you see, Dante had an agenda. 


Dante had, in fact, a great plan. This was -once again- the universe speaking to him in a language that only Dante could understand. What were the chances? To be here, this exact day, with some unsuspecting bastard arriving at just the right moment. That was at least three different fantasies rolled into one neat little package and Dante refused to let the opportunity pass. He smacked Vergil’s hand aside; upon hearing the footsteps coming closer to the office, he scooted under the desk and swiftly dragged his brother by the chair.


Even the furniture seemed designed for this purpose, with no way to show Dante’s body. This was almost like winning the goddamn lottery. 


Dante , what do you think you’re―” 


Mister Vergil !”


The door slammed open once again. Dante smirked, swiftly taking the head of his brother’s cock into his mouth. He felt a shudder travel through his brother’s body just as the stranger entered the office, but other than that Vergil didn’t make a sound. 


The true competition was just about to start. 


Vergil, contrary to popular belief (i.e. Dante’s associates), didn’t harbor any particular hate against humankind. 


Once upon a time, he saw his human nature as the bane of his existence―  the source of his weaknesses and defeats. He can look back now and accept with no bitterness that he had been young and stupid, too full of himself to comprehend the complexity of his own being. Vergil can honestly say that he doesn’t hate humans, but he can accept his complete disregard for their everyday struggles and pitiful wrangling: let it be about money, power, or love. Owning this kind of shop obligated him to interact with them, but it was an acceptable sacrifice in exchange for independence and, most importantly, income. 


Sometimes though, they try his patience a little bit too much.


“ ― bsolute lack of professionalism, Mister Vergil,” the man said, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. Vergil doesn’t even remember his name. “I expected a lot better from this establishment.”


The words were background noise to him; just then Dante decided to lick Vergil from base to tip; one long swipe of his velvet tongue leaving a scorching path in its wake. His insufferable brother had many talents, but there was a special place in Vergil’s heart for the way his twin sucked cock. 


“You gave me a success rate of ninety percent, and yet―.” 


Focus. He needed to focus on something else. Vergil eyed the fountain pen in his right hand, noting the intricacies of its design, the black shine of its lacquered surface― 


Dante licked his slit; short, playful laps that left him sensitive and aching for longer contact. He never let his hands stay idle either, fondling his balls with one hand and pumping him with the other. Even his breath was an inferno, the feeling of each exhale against his skin slowly but surely breaking his resolve. This was Dante’s game: to make him lose his composure, to betray his control and have Vergil abandon everything in favor of this moment of pleasure. 


Voracious as always, his brother. Never satisfied with the attention Vergil freely gives him; he always wanted more. Dante wanted― No. He needed to consume Vergil in the fire of his passion, never mind what the consequences were. 


“Mister Vergil, are you listening to me!?” 


Vergil threw the man a customary glance, noting with indifference the expensive but ill-fitting suit. What was his name? Walker? Barnet? He was as mundane as they came: white, middle-aged, rich man. Looking down on his fellow humans because he somehow managed to get his hands on some puny excuse for a devil arm.


A gun, of all things, strapped under the jacket of his suit. 


“We had a deal, signore,” he said, with atrocious accent. Vergil idly spun the pen in his hand, reclining back in his seat because Dante was finally making some progress in his ministrations. His mouth was wet velvet, cushioning his cock just so, letting it rest there for one torturous moment. 


“Your ‘benign’ spell killed my associate!” He said, slamming the palm of his hands on the desk with graceless authority. He honestly believed himself capable of intimidating  Vergil with his senseless shouting and holier-than-thou attitude. If he had touched even one parchment, Vergil would have cut off those hands.


His brief indignation was easily forgotten when Dante started sucking -in earnest and with no grace whatsoever-, bobbing his head up and down, with almost painful intensity. 


Ah ― Ahem.” A moan nearly escaped him. “There is no such thing as a ‘benign hex’, sir. I specified the dangerous nature of this kind of sorcery― .” 


“You sold me a fraud, is what you did!” Vergil hated to be interrupted.“ And my associate was so talented! A complete loss for my company!” 


He went on and on, each argument more asinine and mind-numbing. Vergil couldn’t be held accountable when his attention shifted back to Dante and his talented mouth (it wasn’t like he ever succeeded in ignoring him, as Dante was the unavoidable wild-card of his life). His twin was relentless, contorting that tongue in ways that seemed impossible in human form -Vergil would know. He was especially fixated on the sensitive vein there, tracing it with the kind of absurd focus he dedicated to the art of giving head. 


It was getting increasingly difficult to keep the facade up, as Dante got more enthusiastic. He was moaning down there, voice low and unnoticeable against the loud demands of his client. The vibrations traveled across his length as his brother upped the pace, hollowing his mouth in such a way that when Vergil gripped the edge of his desk, the wood splintered under the force. 


“In fact, I’m tired of your excuses!” 


This self-absorbed imbecile was so occupied demanding compensation for Vergil’s meticulous work, stomping dirty shoes on his afghan carpet, spit flying everywhere― 


I demand to speak with your manager!


Vergil would have laughed, had Dante not chosen that exact moment to deepthroat him. 


As it was, all Vergil could do was bow his head in an effort to not show his pleasure to this moronic man. Had it not been for his discipline, his voice would have betrayed him. And had it been any other person in the room, it would have been impossible to miss how his body was ravaged by minuscule spasms of pleasure. 


Maybe it was by design or simple coincidence of the position― it honestly didn’t matter. Vergil let his beloved pen fall to the floor as he watched, transfixed, how Dante closed his eyes in bliss, Vergil’s cock embraced by his indecent throat. His brother’s lips were plush and abused, shiny with saliva and Vergil’s pre-cum; the excess dribbled down his chin, languid, down onto the prominent planes of his chiseled chest. 


“Do you hear me!? Mr. Ver―”


He was as deep as he could go, his controlled breath caressing Vergil’s groin.  The grip he had on Vergil’s leg was bruising but that was an inconsequential detail against an invaluable one: Dante had been pleasuring himself all this time. It was impossible to miss the single-minded purpose behind his motion: arched back, left hand out of sight but so clearly pictured in Vergil’s mind. Dante’s fingers moving up and down; hopelessly chasing an unsatisfying orgasm.


Never let it be said that Vergil doesn’t treat his brother right. 


“You will hear from my lawyer. One-thousand dollars in compensation― Nay! FIVE-THOUS―.” 


How to best Dante at his own game? How to show him, in one incontestable outcome, that he would never defeat Vergil in this kind of endeavor? To show restraint, only to inevitably fall to his love-making was out of the question. To lash out at his client would prove Vergil another casualty of Dante’s charms, unable to tell him no when he demanded pleasure. One had to ask then, what Dante didn’t expect? What he craved the most but thought impossible in the current situation? The variables were all around: Vergil’s shop -his self-proclaimed territory-, his client, Vergil’s work in which he invested his time and effort. The equation was formulated and the answer to the unknown, not all that complicated. 


“Sir, ” Vergil said, with enough demonic energy to finally shut him up. He was tired of endless tirades. “If you would excuse me.


The demonic undertone had been enough of a warning for Dante to know that something was going to happen. It was of utmost importance that Vergil not give him time to react. He got up swiftly, the sound of Dante’s cough an explosion of sound in the sudden stillness of the room. His client, with the most satisfactory expression of shock, could only watch as Vergil hauled his insolent brother up by the shirt, and just in case it was not obvious what had been happening the entire time, their very obvious erections were out in the open and impossible to ignore. 


“Holy shit ,” Dante said. He sheepishly saluted his client. The man couldn’t even answer back. “Vergil, are you really going to kick me out now? I was this close.”  


It was the most hilarious assumption Dante could have made, and it was almost as comical as the expression on this insignificant human’s face. 


“Sir… Conner? I have an urgent manner to attend to.”  


Best approach in this case was the practical one. At any rate, Vergil was above idle chatter. He needed to... pound some sense into his brother. 


“You’re welcome to wait, or you can see yourself out,” Vergil said and -with the kind of fluidity that can only be earned by habit and copious amount of training- threw his brother over the desk. 




Dante didn’t even see it coming, but it was simple nature that made him support himself on the surface of the desk. One could even call it instinct, how he immediately knew to grab on for dear life because this was just what he’d been yearning for. What he needed. To feel Vergil jerk down his pants and underwear with no elegance whatsoever. The almost savage efficiency of his actions: how he grabbed him by the back of his neck, on that unruly silver mane; how he aligned himself to his axis, his new center of gravity. 


His foolish brother only laughed, breathless; delighted. Opened his legs wider, shameless before their esteemed guest. He gave Vergil his rendition of a coy grin, biting his lips in some seduction attempt. 


“Jeeeez.” Dante said, completely ignoring the human. Maybe he even got off on it. One never knew with his brother. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.” 


Vergil didn’t even give him an answer. To respond would be to fall into Dante’s antics and right now he was above that. Instead, he had the mind to remember Yamato’s choji in one of the cabinets. While he searched, Dante seemed determined to chat the shock out of his client. 


“You were being pretty harsh with my bro, Mister.” 


Vergil only sighed in exasperation while applying the oil to himself. Dante truly was a fool. Once done, he fingered his brother briefly because if anything,  the face the man pulled while Vergil looked him straight in the eyes was completely worth it. Dante’s chatter stuttered at the feeling, but he was undeterred. 


“M-my bro here― ah …” he clutched the priceless, timeless parchments in a vice grip. Some of them were ripped apart by the force. Vergil was going to make him pay for every single one . “My bro is a good guy, see? No world domination plans. No phallic structures. Just us and you, of course―” 


When Vergil entered him, he did it with no preamble. It had to be more painful than pleasurable, given the insufficient preparation, but this is something that he knows Dante gets off on. He loves the burn, the fullness, just about as much as Vergil himself does. Pain was just another facet of their relationship, integrated into their DNA, maybe.


The thrust was harsh enough to push the desk further away, but Vergil’s aim was impeccable. He allowed himself to enjoy the sight: Dante’s sculpted shoulder blades, the flawless structure of his waist, the cradle of his ass. To indulge in the sound: Dante’s low groan, the absolutely filthy sound of the clash of their skin. The heat of his insides, snug and tight and perfect against his cock. 


It took absolutely nothing to find the rhythm, to forget this asshole that spat on his flawless work and who had insulted him left and right. Dante was vocal and more books fell to the floor as Vergil slammed into him. Vergil sighed, disapprovingly. 


“You’re making a mess,” he said, stopping abruptly. 


“Aw, come on .”


Dante was panting, and his frustration was starting to become more evident by the way he sought the contact point between their bodies, pushing himself back against Vergil. It was satisfying, the way he rutted against the papers, desperate for release. 


Before he could start to touch himself, Vergil clutched his arms behind his back.


“Vergil, you FUCK―” 


It was not a simple task to immobilize a man of Dante’s size and strength. However, this was Vergil’s speciality and he knew exactly how to do it in a way his brother enjoyed. With his free  hand he clutched him by the hair, a bruising grip that arched his back deliciously; the effect was immediate judging by the way he moaned. From there, it was smooth kinetics. 


Vergil noted, distantly, that his client had quietly left some time ago. Well, no matter. 


He allowed himself to thrust into his brother in hard, unforgiving movements that left the both of them moaning. Dante was truly shameless, meeting Vergil each time and demanding more: more friction, faster, harder. Vergil panted with exertion but didn’t let up, the sound of their coupling enough to raise hell back to the earth, no portal needed.


It was a good thing that Vergil had cast that glamour.


“Yes, YES! Come on! Verge―!” Dante basically screamed, tightening and moving in tandem with Vergil. His dear brother, brazen and outrageous and so willing, so beautiful in his ecstasy. Not for the first time Vergil wanted to devour him. 


“Fuck,” Vergil cursed, panting with each thrust. He hated him. He loved him. “ Damn you .”


It wasn’t enough. It was never enough, for him. 


Vergil pulled out, releasing his brother in the process. Dante fell back over the desk, letting a sound of frustration so similar to a sob, Vergil was tempted to comfort him. But no, that was not what he needed. It wasn’t why he came here, with some absurd excuse, ready to suck him off under his desk with no mind to some stranger’s presence. 


“Turn around,” he said and Dante was swift to comply, clutching Vergil between his legs without command. He was splayed over the day’s work, breathless, chest moving up and down from the effort. The edge of the desk had to be bruising his lower back, so Vergil helped him with that by grabbing him by the waist, elevating him to the perfect height.  


The reunion of their bodies was seamless, but Vergil only had eyes for Dante and his blissed-out expression. Glassy eyes, messy hair, saliva leaving his lips glossy; he was perfect. Vergil wanted to kiss him and so he did, open-mouthed, as he started to move again. He folded his brother’s legs closer to his chest as he pounded him into oblivion, Dante’s moans reverberating across the room, half-drowned by Vergil’s own mouth.


“Fuck. I’m c-close. I’m so close. ” Dante moaned, clutching Vergil by the shoulders. He was loud and unabashed and so, so perfect. But most importantly, Dante was his. Even after everything, without demands and no judgement. His. 


The demon clamored. The roar inside Vergil’s head was loud and absolute, drowning his senses with the tempo of his own heartbeat, each thrust steadily dragging him over the edge.


By intuition, Vergil knew to hastily search for his brother’s neglected cock. He only needed to tug him once for Dante to come undone, his cum landing in rivulets on the fabric of his shirt. The sound of his climax was pornographic, animalistic even. Low and deep, his voice distorted by the influence of his fiery demon. 


Dante was so out of it, his hands had transformed without him noticing, claws burying deep into Vergil’s back. The pain was savage, molten lava burning him alive. Added to it the way Dante tightened around Vergil’s cock, he only needed to thrust two, three more times, and he was done.


Feeling especially vindictive, he allowed himself to fill Dante with his seed. Knowing his brother though, he would be more delighted than disgusted. A feral part of his mind also relished this: their scents (no longer distinctive), their bodies (no longer separated); the idea of their beings, united again, in passion and blood. 


Still, this endeavor didn’t make his brother any less of a fool. Vergil pulled out, leaving a pale trail behind. He was exhausted in a way that only Dante could make him, but not so much as to be unnecessarily cruel. With a tired sigh, he leaned over his stupid brother, who was red faced but satisfied -smiling like he’d just won the lottery and now could  blow it all on pizza-, and kissed him languidly. Slow and soft, caressing his sides and pecs, because why not indulge for once? 


Dante stretched lazily and, in the process, the last surviving books met the floor. It reminded Vergil of their position and immediately the warmth of the afterglow left him in a rush of ice cold rage. He stopped the kiss, glaring at his brother in close proximity. 


Dante noticed the abrupt change in his demeanor. He was quick to embrace him, pressing consoling kisses on Vergil’s face, his neck, the palm of his hand. A what-can-you-do smile that was supposed to win him mercy.


“You win this round, bro,” he said, and any other Vergil would have accepted his victory with grace, but today was not such a day. 


“Get up, foolish brother.”


Vergil separated from him, tucking himself back into his pants. He went to the half-bathroom in his office and the mirror there was unforgiving in its honesty. Vergil’s hair was in complete disarray.  His vest had been completely ruined by Dante’s claws; even worse, he still looked flustered. No wonder his brother had tried to pacify him.


With a sigh, Vergil made himself presentable again. He grabbed a clean towel and just as he got back outside, the first thing to greet him was his brother’s bare behind. 






Dante smiled back at him, stupidly happy. It was very hard to hate him in moments like this. Vergil tossed him the towel.


He cared not for humans and what they thought of him, but he cared for his books. In retrospect, fucking Dante over the desk hadn’t beenthat great an idea, but it had gotten the message across. As Dante tried to clean up, Vergil resolved to at least put them back where they belonged. The parchments (some irredeemably soiled, others shredded beyond salvation) would need to at least be transcribed. The books were more durable and not as vulnerable to damage, so he took his time putting them away. None of them were covered in Dante’s semen (thank god for small mercies). 


“Hey babe.” 


Dante was finally back in order. Or at least, as much as he could be. His shirt had one big wet stain and there was no mistaking the smell radiating from him, rich in pheromones and arousal. He seemed ready for round two, mischievous grin in place. 


“I thought you’d care more about what Mr. Stick-in-the-ass had to say,” Dante said, walking up to Vergil, taking the books in his hand and putting them back on the desk. He kissed Vergil’s cheek like the hopeless romantic he was, grabbed their hands and interlocked their fingers. Little tokens of affection that Vergil tried (and failed) to resist. 


“I care not for fools that insult my work,” Vergil said, the memory of him already ruining his mood.


“Wanna hear something funny?” Dante asked. He got even closer, licked the lobe of Vergil’s right ear with effortless sensuality.


“I saw him,” he whispered. The chuckle that left him just then was menacing, full of dangerous intent. It roused Vergil’s demon from its brief nap and when their eyes met, the contact felt electric. Hazardous. “He left with the biggest boner this side of the earth, and it wasn’t because of me.” 


Vergil simply tilted his head, curious. Waiting.


“He wanted so bad to be in my place. So damn ready for it. I think he even busted a nut, just watching you fuck me over that desk,” Dante said, his eyes flashing red. Despite that, his grip was docile, thumbs drawing circles on Vergil’s wrist. In perpetual motion, following the pull of their blood. “Should I be jealous?”


There was a threat against the  defenseless human, hidden in the curve of his brother’s smile. Was Dante capable of breaking his oath to humanity because of Vergil? The thought was exhilarating. Dante, who cared so much. And Vergil, who cared so little. 


In the end, it was pointless to follow that line of thought. As if Vergil would ever consider intercourse with anyone else. He’d had sex exactly once with someone other than his other half, and the only valuable consequence was his dear Nero. For Dante to sully his hands with worthless scum was nothing if not a loss of time and effort. All of which could be expended doing… something else.


“Don’t be ridiculous, Dante,” he said, closing the distance between their bodies until they were flush together. “I don’t need more morons in my life, you’re more than enough.” 


And just so there was no room for doubt, Vergil kissed him back, squeezing his hands briefly. His brother lived for the contact; to him, affection freely given by Vergil was worth more than any riches or Devil Arms. Had it not been because of Nero or his brother’s sentimental attachment to the human realm, an eternity in Hell together would have been more than good enough. 


After a couple of minutes of ecstatic kissing, they grudgingly separated. Dante pouted, and then shrugged, satisfied. So possessive, his Dante. Vergil gave him a smile, full of sharp teeth and fundamental zeal.


“In fact, I think it’s as good a time as any to head back home.” The air smelled of ozone. Reeked of their united lust. Dante watched him back, eager. It was so easy to forgive him. “We’re only getting started.” 


Dante smirked, kissed the back of Vergil’s hand. His brother’s thirst was Ouroboros itself: its nature was unending, and nothing could be done to hold it back.


“Brace yourself, bro,” Dante said. “It’s my turn now.”