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The Devil's Pact

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When you take the time to think about it, the matchup seems unlikely. He is apprehensive and uptight. Always pensive, thinking about one thing or another with either a book in hand, or a crease in his brow - there are no alternatives, and there is no real middle ground. You on the other hand are brash and the speak-your-mind type, which is likely attributed to the fact that Nero and Nico are the ones you typically spend the most time with. Makes sense when they're the ones who got you into the business of demon hunting in the first place, but what doesn't make sense is that Vergil eventually shoehorned himself into your life too, although not quite under pristine circumstances.

To call what the two of you have 'friends with benefits' would only be half right. You aren't really friends.

You just have the benefits.

It's at Devil May Cry's yearly gathering - this time in Fortuna - when it finally happens. You've only met Vergil a small handful of times before tonight, but that's understandable when he and his brother are based all the way in Red Grave. You don't get along badly, but as far as you can tell, Vergil doesn't treat you any differently than he does anybody else. That is to say, he meets you with a stony look, a brief acknowledging nod, sometimes a handshake, and then he's off to peruse the library at the orphanage. On a good day, he might even exchange pleasantries with you, but that's the extent of your communication with him. Dante always reminds you that it's nothing against you, that he just needs to warm up to people first, but you're not really that bothered by it, if you're honest with yourself. Unless Vergil goes out of his way to be curt and hostile - something he has yet to do - his quiet presence isn't something that worries you. No, you don't mind him, and evidently, he doesn't mind you.

"God," you recline back in your seat to stare blankly up at the ceiling. The garage of Nero and Kyrie's orphanage is actually comfortably inviting after the thorough cleanup you all gave it that morning. With a few folding chairs and tables lined up, and decorative lights offset by the open garage door to let in the crisp evening air, it's not a bad place to hold a year end party. It's far more than Dante ever does to spruce up the main Devil May Cry office, and you distantly think maybe that's why it's being held in Fortuna this year. You're idly nursing a beer bottle in your hands, your fourth so far, and though you aren't drunk - you never let yourself get that far - the warm lightheaded buzz you feel is always a welcome sensation whenever you do indulge. You make a tired, prolonged noise of complaint, somewhere between a groan, and a grumble. "I need to get laid."

Your bold admission actually earns you a few chuckles.

"Okay no--" Nero leans all the way across the table to pluck the bottle out of your hands to drop it in front of him. "That's enough for you. How many times do I need to tell you to keep that talk away from Kyrie?" He's always been protective of her - the figurative light in his life - firmly believing that yours and Nico's bad habits are a bad influence on her. Oh, and the children too, of course, but they've long since been put to bed, so that excuse is all but tossed out the window.

You hum, giving Nero a rather pointed look, and he just knows that something is coming. "Big talk from the guy who probably still has the robot arm sex toy--"

"NOPENOPEnononoDON'T." Nero's exclamation is deliberately loud in the hopes that he obfuscates the last string of cursed words you uttered, but with the way Dante slams his hand down onto the table indicates that his attempt was unsuccessful. It isn't much of an exaggeration to say that you've pretty much thrown him to the wolves and left him for dead.

"I'm sorry, the what?" His eyes, playfully accusing and just glittering with mirth, are on his nephew. "You filthy little punk!"

The younger hunter's face is tomato red, but his expression remains defiant - a look that is so undeniably, and wholly Nero. "Wh-- I-- Don't look at me, Nico made it!" His flustered outburst to shift the blame only serves to fuel the fire, because rather than be embarrassed, Nico has always been the type to roll with the punches. Just like you, really.

"Uhhhh yeah?" She speaks as though she's stating the obvious, and you have to give her credit because it sounds convincing. The stubborn folding of her arms across her chest is a nice touch too. "'Cause ya asked me to?"

The look on Nero's face is priceless, as if he can't decide if he wants to bellow his anguish to the heavens above or bury himself six feet under. Or hell, maybe do both at the same time. In the end though, he settles for hissing through his teeth, voice only barely level and contained because the frustrated embarrassment is heard plain as day underneath it. "That is bullshit, and we both know it. You just dropped it into my lap one day and told me to thank you later."

Nico pretends to think about it, tapping her chin in thought. "Weird. Doesn't sound like something I'd do."

"Oh my god." And it's at that point that Nero gives up, crumpling into his seat to drop his face into his folded arms on the table. And taking that as your cue to exit stage left, you rise to your feet to head outside for some air, giving Nero's shoulder an apologetic pat on the way - not too apologetic though because he's had that coming for a long ass time - and then reclaim your bottle of beer. Behind you, shrinking into the distance, you can hear Dante's voice - 'soooooooo what's it called?', 'please tell me you don't actually use it', 'Neroyouputthatchairdown!'. 

A tragedy in three parts.

You don't even need to look back to know what the ensuing crash is.

The streets are quiet at this time of night. The orphanage is really the only building still lit up, and you can't help but smile to yourself, listening to the chatter and laughter behind you. It's actually kind of a shame you all don't have the chance to meet up more often. It isn't that you don't like your usual company - for all the incessant teasing, Nico and Nero are near irreplaceable to you - but there's always more fun to be had in numbers. It's something about the chemistry of the entire group that brings a warm, boisterous liveliness. There's Trish with her (literal) spark, Lady's zingers, and Dante's aptitude for cheeky fun means laughs are had all around. Strange how such a ragtag group from so many different walks of life were able to come together under such bizarre circumstances, but out here with the brisk chill in your lungs, you realise with an unforeseen clarity that there is little you wouldn't do to keep those people safe. Exactly when did you go from working for profit, to being so willing to throw your life down for any of the people in that garage?

You scoff quietly to yourself at that thought. Maybe you have had too much to drink tonight.

"Were you serious about earlier?"

"Holy shit--!" The enquiry is spoken mildly, but it's the suddenness of it while you were so caught up in your own thoughts that has you flinching enough that your bottle of beer slips from your fingers. But ever quick on his feet, Vergil catches it with a graceful ease before it hits the ground, handing it back to you while murmuring a quiet apology. "Christ Vergil what the hell, you're lucky I'm not armed when I'm around the orphanage or else you'd totally have been stabbed just now, holy fuck--" Heaving a breath, you clasp a hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it. It doesn't really work though, because fuck, you didn't even hear him on the approach until he started talking. But is that a reflection on your instincts - albeit currently dulled by alcohol - or a statement on Vergil's own skills? It's hard to say. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I asked if you were serious about what you said earlier." Vergil half turns to lean up against the wall. His gaze isn't on you, but down the street instead, and if his tone and stance weren't so steady, you'd have thought he was being shy.

Though he doesn't see you do it, you tilt your head in thought, "You mean when I said I needed to get laid? Well I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't, I guess." Your fingers drum against the side of the glass bottle in your hands, trying to figure out if the buzzing you're feeling in your blood is the beer or the anticipation of something else, because you're not an idiot by any stretch of the term. You're well aware that there's really only one reason he'd ask you a question like this, but you do have to give him credit for having the courage to, because he really doesn't seem like that kind of guy to you. Still, you do the courteous thing and give him the benefit of the doubt, because if the tables were turned, you'd want him to do the same for you. Treat others how you want to be treated, right? "Why?"

Whatever Vergil's staring at down the street loses its value, and he turns to you now, fixing his steely gaze onto you in a way that almost feels predatory. It's the look of a man who knows what he wants, and you can't deny there's something sexy about that aura of danger he carries with him wherever he goes. In the back of your mind, it's then and there that you decide that the buzzing from earlier is definitely not because of the beer. "If you'd like the company, I'm offering you my time, but if you'd rather not, then..." He spreads his hands in a vague 'no big deal' gesture.

One of your eyebrows arches upward. "You're okay with this kind of thing?" You know that isn't an answer, and also that it's rather presumptuous on your part, especially considering you don't actually know Vergil all that well. But surely he can't blame you for being surprised - he's always  bore that no-nonsense sort of air about him, making him come across as stoic and, well… prude. If anything, you'd actually always assumed Dante would be the one having this conversation with you, but here you are.

"Yes and no." Again, Vergil surprises you by actually giving you an answer. "I won't deny that I enjoy the physicality of it, but I'd rather have this sort of… correspondence with someone I'm at least familiar with."

You take a swig of your beer. "That's probably the nerdiest way of saying you don't like bedding strangers that I've ever heard in my life."

It's purely by virtue of the cover of night that you can't see him roll his eyes, but the brief pause he leaves open while he does it is telling enough. He isn't here to pick a fight though, and so he simply cuts to the chase. "So what will it be?"

Huffing out a breath of air and watching it rise in front of you as vapour, you take all of three seconds to mull it over, because it's a no brainer, isn't it? A handsome man asking for a night of fun. What harm could it possibly bring? So you give him an easy shrug.

"Sure, why not?"

The party carried on well into the late hours of the night, but it's only after Vergil is absolutely certain that nobody will notice he's gone that he slips out of the orphanage and makes his way to the arranged motel you gave him the address to earlier, scribbled almost hastily on a slip of paper. When he asked you if it'd be easier if you both returned to your home, you'd said you weren't sure how you felt about having him there. That's fair enough, Vergil supposes, the location doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things anyway.

You should already be there if he isn't wrong, the both of you deciding that it would be for the best if you left and returned at delayed intervals to avoid rousing suspicion, and feeling a buzz in his pocket - his phone - he's able to confirm that you are as he gazes down at your message onscreen. It's nothing fancy, all it contains is the room number you're in, but that's all it needs to be. Brief and succinct.


You open the door rather readily when he knocks, and the first thing he does when he enters is close the door behind him and then give the room a sweep. Cleanliness is his primary concern, but you know your way around Fortuna better than he does. If you chose this motel, then that will have to do.

"So…" Of course it's now that you're starting to feel awkward about this. You're no stranger to having one night stands yourself, but you have the opposite problem to Vergil - you tend to only hook up with strangers, because well… isn't that the point?

"Strip." Vergil's request is almost overwhelmingly blunt and to the point, and when you look at him, he's already removing his shoes, lining them up neatly by the door with his gaiters. For such an intricate piece of attire, he sure gets them off quickly.

Your eyebrows curve upwards in surprise. "Wow, there's no preamble with you, is there?" And yet, you're still moving to unbuckle your belt to slide your pants down your legs.

"Were you expecting I buy you dinner first?" Vergil's voice is every bit as dry as his expression, shrugging out of his coat which he hangs on the back of the door, and then he's peeling his gloves off his hands. The way your eyes are trailing his arms isn't lost on him, feeling a faint spark of pride in the idea that you find him appealing. But of course you would. You surely wouldn't have agreed to this in the first place if you didn't.

He does briefly wonder how far he can push his luck with you though, because even though your expression indicates you're amused, it's paper thin at best - a sheer veneer of courtesy because why squander the opportunity for a good fuck over some idle banter? "You don't actually do this a lot, do you?" If it's true - and it's looking to be that way the longer he stays silent - it's actually rather relieving. You can only imagine the sort of standards a man like him would have. The women you'd be compared to. But on the other hand, he was the one who approached you with the offer in the first place, wasn't he? That's a good sign, isn't it?

The water gets muddier the more you think about it - best just banish the thought entirely.

"Not often, no." Vergil's answer comes after a rather pregnant pause, and you're pleasantly surprised by his honesty. Excessive pride was something else you had him pegged for, and it's actually rather nice being able to confirm he isn't all cold steel and honed edges. "Time is not something I have in abundance. I'm sure it's a sentiment you can understand when you're in the same business."

"Fair enough. Might be weird of me to say, but I kinda appreciate the honesty." A brief moment of sincerity before a night of no-strings-attached passion is perfectly reasonable. Yep. Not awkward at all. But at least the mild tension from before has been dispelled. When you approach him, you're already down to your bra and panties, pulling his hands away from him so you can nestle into his chest, splaying your fingers wide over the skin his open vest reveals. "You know, you're not as bad as Dante always says you are."

There's faint amusement in his eyes at that, a spark of mischief that one wouldn't normally attribute to Vergil. "We're brothers - it's in our nature to belittle one another." His eyes trail off to the side as a thought occurs to him. "I'd do the same."

Unlike moments ago, your smile now is genuine, but rather than proceed with that conversation, there are many other, much more fun things you could be doing with your time. If Vergil wants to talk later, he knows where to find you, but for now, there are more pressing matters that the both of you need to address. "You don't mind if I get a bit handsy, do you?"

Vergil merely watches you with mild curiosity, but doesn't stop you when you skim your fingers down his torso to press your palm against the front of his pants. He's hard already, which you find yourself smiling at even though you're hardly in any position to talk - even just squeezing your thighs together is enough friction to make you sigh, and you know this because that's precisely what you're doing. You experimentally rub him in circles, mentally gauging the size and thickness of him, feeling him twitch under your hand, and god, even through his pants, he feels impossibly hot. All the while, Vergil is simply watching you, although there's a certain sheen over his eyes, a foggy quality that darkens the pale grey, and as easily as that, with one look, he establishes the mood.

"I probably shouldn't be surprised you have a son if that's the look you go around giving women." The smile that tugs at your lips is sultry. Sensual. "Now let me take a peek at what I'm working with." Dropping your gaze, you take half a step back to reach for his belt, deliberately catching your breasts between your arms to emphasise them as you unbuckle it. After all, why not give him a show while you're working?

It's a successful trade, and you can feel his gaze travelling the swell of your chest, leaving an invisible, but certainly not unfelt, molten trail over your skin. It makes your nipples harden into nubs inside the cups of your bra, and you swear that you can feel them delightfully grazing the material, sending pleasant tingles through your body that settle low in your gut. When you finally pull his pants and underwear down, allowing his fully erect cock to bounce free from its confines, you can't help the groan that escapes the back of your throat. He isn't impossibly large, but it's his thickness that's making your mouth water, wondering just what that's going to feel like when he stretches you open on him. The thought of it alone sends a mind numbing jolt straight to your core, making your toes curl in anticipation.

You give his cock a slow pump before you sink to your knees, watching him with half-lidded eyes as you give the velvety head of his cock a lick. He stirs above you, his hand reaching down to place his hand over the back of your head, though clearly trying not to move or urge you in any way. No, he just wants to watch you blow him. With one hand gripping the base of his cock, you lave your tongue against the underside, angling him against your appendage to your liking, and feeling him throb in your hand makes you puff a breath of hot air over his already heated, sensitive skin. Your free hand trails down your body to settle between your legs, and you tentatively run your middle finger down the length of your slit, not surprised in the least that it comes back damp. It urges you to repeat the motion, slowly adding more pressure, more fingers as you continue to suckle at Vergil's cock, almost whimpering as you make your way back to the tip.

It's when you wrap your lips around his cockhead that he finally buckles a little under the pleasure of it, giving you nothing more than a pleased rumble from deep within his chest. It's a rather vicious feedback loop - the deeper you take him into your mouth, the more insistently you press your fingers against your clothed cunt, which in turn makes you moan around his length and try to urge him even further. You allow yourself some reprieve however, pulling back until only the tip remains within the heated cavern of your mouth to take a breath. To let your tongue flicker against it and taste the salty precum that's flowing almost freely from the slit that adorns the crown of it. You can feel his fingers pressing into your scalp now, can hear him hiss above you as he tries to keep himself from thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and then you're slowly pumping your hand at the base of his cock and drawing him back in with an aggression and confidence that surprises even you. Because there isn't much in the world that you know of that can - literally or metaphorically - knock Vergil off balance, but here he is, vest open, pants undone just enough for him to have his cock out, and pliant under your touch and the wetness of your mouth.

The thought of it alone, the sense of power it brings, has you nearly cumming then and there, making you still your fingers to focus more on hollowing your cheeks and sucking his damn soul out through his cock.

Apparently, Vergil's had enough too. He's pulling you off him now, though you don't leave without a fight, tightening the seal you have around his length and letting your lips slowly drag against his skin until the head of his cock pops out from between them.

"Getting impatient?" Your smile is sly as you rise to your feet, slipping your hands under his vest against his bare chest to urge him backwards towards the bed. Would he appreciate a lap dance, you wonder? But as soon as the backs of his legs hit the edge, he turns the both of you around to shove you rather unceremoniously onto it, following after you to grasp your hips. He poses you to his liking, propping you on your hands and knees as he absently ruts, letting his cock scrape against the apex of your thighs.

"You're one to talk." He withdraws just long enough to peel your panties down your thighs before his hands skim back up your legs to rest on the curve of your hips. "I can smell you from here. Seems you enjoyed that as much as I did."

You shoot him a rather sultry look over your shoulder. "Can you blame me? The way you show restraint is utterly adorable, I… mmmgod--" The rest of your sentence never makes it out, because Vergil's dipping two fingers inside you, probing around to test whether you're ready to take him. Your admission earlier in the evening wasn't for nothing apparently - it would seem you're as starved for this as he is, if the way you so greedily arch your back to force your hips into his hand is any indication. It's an alluring motion, he finds, one that's uninhibited by the constraints of social etiquette. No, this is debauched and filthy at worst, and primal at best. Whichever side of the scale it falls on, right now, he thinks it's just the thing you both need.

He gives a satisfied hum, pulling his fingers out from within you, and then his eyes are snapping up to meet yours. "Protection? I've no interest in fathering another child."

"Kind of feel like that's on you to provide, since you're the one who came running to me." The words are scathing, but your tone is teasing when you're tossing a small foil package back at him. Vergil catches it rather deftly between two fingers before he blinks down almost owlishly at it.

Where the hell were you keeping it?

Bah, doesn't matter.

Vergil doesn't delay, tearing it open and rolling the latex over his cock with the kind of expert and efficient precision that he's been known to have, because you were right earlier - he is getting impatient. He guides his cock back between your legs, lines it up with your entrance, and slowly pushes in, making you keen.

"Fucking finally--" That isn't a jab at him, but more a relieved exclamation because at long last, after weeks of work, bith in demon hunting and helping Kyrie around the orphanage, you're finally getting laid. The urge to push back against his hips, to take all of his cock at once is near overwhelming, but with the inconsistency of your job, the hectic timetable, who knows when you'll have this chance again? Best you milk it for all it's worth. And lord, are you going to.

He gets about halfway before he grips your hips, holding you in position to lazily pull out to the very tip and letting the head of his cock kiss your folds. Both of his hands are on you now, sliding up to your waist where he curls his fingers around your body. His eyes follow the curve of your back, higher and higher until he briefly meets your gaze, and then in one single stroke, buries himself to the hilt in your heat. It earns him a breathless moan from you, making you toss your head back and bite down on your lower lip to keep from making too much noise as he sets a rough and unforgiving pace, one that builds towards your pleasure as much as his own. But you try to goad him into fucking you just that much harder anyway, wanting that thrill of power again. Wanting him to lose himself in the tight wetness of your cunt.

"God-- Vergil." Your words are punctuated with gasps and high pitched whines that match the rhythm of his hips snapping into yours. "Haven't-- been fucked like this-- in a while. So-- Fucking-- Good."

Your efforts are rewarded with a low groan and one hand ghosting down your abdomen to begin rubbing at your clit. His fingers dip even further down, just shy of where his cock is driving into you to gather your slick on his fingertips before returning to the swollen bud, and the smoothness of the circles he rubs against you makes you squeeze once around his cock, hard enough that it makes his hand stutter before it finds its pace again.

"Then--" His hand twitches against your clit, making your walls grip him tighter in a way that nearly has his eyes rolling back into his head. It's borderline shameful how close he is already, how fucking into something so hot and wet as opposed to his closed fist makes such a harsh difference. "Then we'll simply meet again. Agreed?"

"Yesyesyesyes!" It doubles as both a shrill announcement of your orgasm and an answer to his question, although the both of you are too far gone, too caught up in the way your bodies are responding so viscerally to one another to really make anything of it. Your arms give out from underneath you, and you end up with your cheek pressed into the pillow. You're absolutely content with letting Vergil simply fuck you through your climax, moaning absently as he continues to drill you through your convulsions, and you just know you're drooling onto the pillow, but you can't bring yourself to give even half a shit. You can still feel his fingers on you, flicking faster, more desperately at your clit, trying to pull another orgasm from you.

"Give me another." You can barely hear him over your own mewls and the slap of wet skin where his hips meet the plush flesh of your ass. "One more--" His own words fail him at that point, because the sound of his voice, so strained and desperate, the urgency of his fingers rolling your clit, the way his cock so perfectly stuffs you full on each stroke, the very nature of this depraved scenario - fucking a man you work with that you hardly know and having him return the sentiment with equal enthusiasm - has you barelling right into another climax, and you have to angle your face into the pillow and bite down on it to keep from screaming at the intensity of it.

It's near relentless, the way you're bearing down around his cock, and with one final tug, Vergil yanks you backwards onto him to drive his length as deeply into you as he can where he meets his own end. His body twitches with each spurt of cum, making him dig his fingers into you to find purchase while he thrusts shallowly, a gentle pace that's a stark contrast to the ferocity from mere moments ago, trying to goad your body into milking every last drop of cum he's got.

And then the air finally stills, and the only sounds heard in the room are two sets of ragged breathing. He's motionless for a long while, simply basking in the heat of post-coital bliss, but then you can feel his hands slip from you to give your ass one final squeeze before he slowly pulls out. There's an empty longing after he does so, but not in any emotional sense, because on that front? Oh, you're more than satisfied. No, it's your cunt that's trying to clench down on nothing, clearly already missing the feel of his thick cock inside you.

You feel the bed shift underneath you, and you know it's because he's getting up, so you roll onto your back and drape the back of your wrist over your eyes like a dramatic and spoiled Victorian maiden. You sure as hell feel like one right now.

"Thanks." Comes Vergil's rather awkward proclamation, making you raise your other hand to wave it at him.

"Oh no, thank you." Is your breathless reply, letting your hand drop limply back onto the bed.

There aren't any more words exchanged between the two of you after that - Vergil silently stalks off to the motel bathroom, closing the door behind him, and you continue to lie rather helplessly on the bed to wait your turn to clean up.

His earlier question - his offer to meet up again - and your immediate response is momentarily forgotten in favour of returning to the status quo. Quick and dirty is all this was ever going to be.

It's all that it's supposed to be.