The fan on the ceiling squeaked slowly. Vergil found no use in its dull rotation, absolutely pointless to find some relief from the summer heat. But every morning Dante opened the fridge, drank a glass of milk and turned the fan on; a set of habits she developed during her life apart from him – when they were kids, Dante hated milk.
More than once, Vergil wondered in which ways life shaped Dante, molding the always angered crybaby into a strong woman. There were too many things lurking in the abyss of the years between them, and Vergil wasn’t the patient man he pretended to be: his desire of knowing again everything of his sister burnt him from the inside. Even if now they had all the time their demonic lineage granted them to spend together, sometimes his thoughts slipped from the quiet path and made him regret how many years he had wasted because of his own foolishness.
Vergil was sitting on the chair behind the desk. The exceptional wave of heat brought to an exceptional change of style in his usual attire; tank top and shorts, a choice of clothes that didn’t meet his fashion, but being half-demon didn’t mean he didn’t suffer from the heat. He had only read about twenty pages of the book on the table, as his concentration kept swaying elsewhere, disconnecting his brain; more than once, he found himself staring mindlessly at a random uninteresting spot.
After years spent with his synapsis burnt by mind control and lust for revenge, it was strange being in total control not only of his emotions but also of his mental balance. He felt free and happy.
When the door cracked open, Vergil grabbed the book and adjusted the sloppy posture in a more rigid one but relaxed again when he saw Dante (he kept the book through his hands anyway).
“Hey Vergil, you still with that book? Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Do you ever get tired reading those unpleasant magazines?”
“When I masturbate. But I wouldn’t call it being tired.”
It took Dante a quick glance to notice the number of pages on the right side were more or less the same when she left, meaning that Vergil didn’t go as far as usual with his reading. She kept her thoughts for herself and took her coat off, hanging it behind the door.
That gesture coming from habit didn’t escape Vergil’s attention. Dante used to let her clothes fall on the floor, and it was their mother who followed the trail and picked them up. But that was a long time ago.
Dante locked the door. “I call it a day.” She was tired and sweaty. The henley and trousers unpleasantly sticky on her skin.
Vergil gazed at her disappearing in the kitchen and coming back again with her trousers unbuttoned, while gulping fresh water directly from the bottle (their mother would have scolded her). She emptied half of it before stopping with a satisfied sigh and almost smashed the bottle in front of Vergil. He noticed how she waited for him to drink before going upstairs to their bedroom.
Their mother did the same during summer. She reached for them, both dirtied in sweat, soil and sometimes blood, and didn’t leave until they drank until the last drop of their juices.
Dante came back fast, wearing anything but a pair of white undies. “Later.” She threw herself on the sofa. As the warm weather started striking, the black leather sofa turned light brown because of the cloth layer spread over it. Vergil woke up one morning and found it like that.
Dante remained face down for a handful of minutes, apparently asleep, until she turned face up, both hands behind her head.
“Anyone showed up?”
“I don’t run this business without clients, you know?”
Vergil put the book back on the desk. “You don’t run this business. You wait for disasters to befall on humans.” He stood up. “And more times than not, they are the cause of their own misfortune.”
“That works for demons as well, doesn’t it?”
Vergil approached her. “It seems so.”
Her open legs welcomed him, and Vergil settled in, resting his head on her soft bosom. Dante’s fingers glided through his soft locks, gently scraping the back of his neck. His long sigh tickled her skin.
Vergil’s body grew dull during the endless years spent as an empty shell, insensitive to the slightest touch or the greatest pain. Yet, Dante pierced through the dead shield, her presence gradually cracked the wall erected on the lack of human contact.
The tips of her fingers sent feeble shivers along his back; such an innocent touch awakened a voracious hunger in him. He inspired deeply, sensing Dante’s scent mingled with the lingering smell of blood of the demons she had slaughtered. Vergil exhaled slowly against her neck, a quick warning of his intentions, before devouring her throat with eager kisses. He basked in the low growl vibrating against his lips.
“Vergil. I’m tired.” Despite his desire, he stopped. “You take the lead for now.”
“You always say it but we both know you never mean it.” Vergil raised his head and indulged in a silent contemplation of his sister, always the same as she was in his memories, yet so different, so old, so beautiful. “Or have you finally lost your temper, Dante?”
“Have you, Vergil?”
Vergil avoided the flick of her fingers aiming for his nose and smacked her arm hard enough to make her feel numb. Dante kneed him on the hip in response. Their natural tendency of acknowledging each other through violent signs of affection never faded and came natural to them despite all those years apart – how many times their mother yelled at them, they couldn’t count.
“By the way…” Dante blocked a kiss with her palm wide open and pushed Vergil’s face away so she could look at him. “…that woman working at the flower shop keeps asking me about you. I can’t believe there’s someone else who finds you beautiful.” The other one was her.
Vergil bit her hand, leaving a read mark which faded away immediately. “What woman?”
A small chuckle left Dante’s throat and cracked in a moan as Vergil sank his teeth into her breast. He felt victorious. His mouth was filled with her sister’s flavor, the skin slightly salty because of her sweat and the lingering drops of demon blood. The taste exploded on his tongue, and he felt the excitement of the hunt and the tension of the killing. His whole body tingled as the strong scent of blood and powder gun intoxicated his senses.
The vivid image of Dante battling against hordes of demons exploded inside his head: standing alone in a crowd thirsty for her death, the smirk that never ceased to taunt her enemies which brightened her face, the guns into her hands ready for the massacre. Destructive, fearsome, powerful, strong. Dante could bend through his hands, melt under his kisses, shiver at his harsh bites, but breaking her, oh, Vergil had no means to do that. It angered him and made him proud at the same time.
The round marks of his bites burnt of a vivid red on her pale skin, flashing for an instant before disappearing without a trace. Vergil bit again the soft flesh of her breast and voraciously sucked her nipples. Her loud voice struck directly between his legs, and the instinct of taking her on the spot pounded into his chest.
“Hey, don’t rip them.” Dante remarked at how roughly he pulled her panties off.
Despite his desire of burying himself inside his sister, Vergil indulged in groping her strong thighs, his fingers slid on her hips, teased her flat stomach and descended once more, rubbing against her wet slit. She jolted and her breast wobbled.
“Quite disgraceful.” Vergil smirked. “A woman of your age so easily turned on.”
Dante chuckled. “Well…” She raised one leg and pressed her foot against his crotch. The bulge was evident but touching how hard his brother was projected in her mind indecent thoughts that sent shivers down her spine. She curled her toes against the fabric and rubbed the instep between his thighs. “…this makes two of us, brother.”
Dante felt herself leaking again between the legs. She couldn’t resist the stoic expression Vergil forced on himself to pretend he still had the upper hand on his instinct. The feeble tremble of his body didn’t escape her attention and neither the lust burning inside his eyes. She brought him on the brim of cracking his self-control, her and nobody else. Dante wanted Vergil to lose his mind, wreck her body, pound inside her so hard to rip her and leave her breathless of pleasure.
As she put the leg down, thrusted an arm forward to grab Vergil’s hair. Dante felt the sharp pain of his fist hitting her elbow but didn’t let go and dragged his head between her legs. Vergil munched on her thigh so hard, she believed he wanted to rip the flesh from her – the idea burst an itching wave of heat between her legs. Dante clenched his head between her thighs, forcing him to stay down, but the caged beast didn’t stop fighting, and Vergil seized her hips with the seemingly intent of crushing them, for how his fingers sank deep.
Dante laughed, enjoying the enraged fight his brother was putting. He was one of the few who could be a treat for her and the only one who represented the challenge igniting her desire her pleasure.
“My win!” She clenched his fists, forcing him to release his seize. “I take the lead.” Her laugh exploded again, filled with childish fun and satisfaction.
Vergil raised his eyes. Dante felt him smiling, angered and hungered. He ate her and she screamed in bliss.
There was no fight she wanted to put anymore -Vergil regretted it a bit- as in that moment nothing could entertain her more than his brother’s mouth tasting her like a juicy fruit. She couldn’t control the amount of pleasure twisting her body, nor the pain of his bites shaking her to the core. Vergil devoured any trace of her resistance; it was his pleasure licking bit by bit her self-control and mold her mind to focus solely on the pleasure he was giving her.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Dante cried repeatedly, both her hands pressed on Vergil’s head to feel more of his mouth.
It was rapturous and delirious, she was completely exposed to him and submitted to his whims. And when it all ended, when Vergil smacked her hands away and retreated his head, putting an end to her chase of the orgasm, Dante’s growl sounded threatening. But her eyes glowed and she held her breath for a long instant while staring in awe at the shorts sliding along Vergil’s legs. His erection, huge and humid, slightly bobbed. The thought of having it inside her sent a painful shiver from her stomach to her groin. She only had to lie down on her back, spread her legs and welcome him to their hellish ride to heaven. So easy, and yet so unacceptable, to be overthrown without fighting after being left with the itching pain of the denial. Dante jolted forward, ready to charge and pin him down, but she was one second too late.
Vergil grabbed her face and pushed her down. Dante tried to react, but he was between her legs, his whole body caging her: she lost that round.
The words, muffled into his hands, broke in a loud silence. The delicious pain of Vergil’s teeth sinking in her neck twisted her guts; the itching pleasure of his dick bursting in her without mercy burnt her body. Dante ripped her brother’s hand from her mouth to howl out the pleasure cracking her.
Vergil buried himself into her the deepest he could reach, and it was like Dante’s body was trying to suck him in and never let him go again. Not such an unpleasant perspective, being forever in that warm, humid body which surrounded him in a strangled clench.
Dante pulled his hair, but he didn’t let go of her neck. She yanked again, and his teeth left stripes of blood on her skin. Vergil bended at her silent will and let her hands place his head on her breast, trembling under his rough thrusts. He groped it, soft and warm, and couldn’t resist to the temptation of sucking on her nipples once more.
Among the raggedy breaths, Dante chuckled. “Even if… ah, you suck so greedily, nothing–” She gulped at Vergil’s strong bite. “–will come out.” Her arms embraced him in an almost tender gesture, but her nails left long trails of a vivid red on his back.
Vergil slowed down, they looked at each other. Dante was grinning, tired, but her eyes were shining. Vergil loved her.
He indulged a bit too much in that silent contemplation, because she frowned at him.
“What’s wrong, Vergil?”
Dante brought it back on the level of a challenge, her smirk showing her bare fangs. Yet, her hands slid in a caress along his back, where the scratched healed already, and reached for his face, holding it gently. She rubbed both thumbs under his eyes. Vergil took her right hand and kissed her palm.
Dante placed both hands on her shoulders and raised her head to give back what she received: her teeth pierced his neck without mercy. Vergil growled, the blood rushing to his head. He kept fucking her with the violence of a fight and, he felt it, Dante was smiling. He was smiling too.
When they finished on the sofa, Dante went to take a shower and Vergil followed her. He fucked her again, against the tiles, first her breast and mouth, then her pussy again. The rhythm was slower, but both enjoyed leaving scratched and bloody marks on each other and observing them healing up in front of their eyes.
Dante was worn off, her body limp, but she felt refreshed. Both were naked, sitting on the bed, in front of the only window in their room, screened by a white curtain – because if Dante didn’t care her bosom excited the hormones of their neighbors (wife included), Vergil did.
“Ouch, Vergil! You burnt my neck!”
Vergil was behind her, drying her hair.
“I failed to notice how delicate you are, sister.”
Vergil blocked her elbow before it reached his nose.
“Since your sight worsened with age, use the fresh air.”
He slapped his nape. “Your hair won’t dry.”
Dante shook her head to escape his fingers, but he caught her back.
“If you don’t stay still, you’ll do it yourself.” Vergil warned her.
“Geez, you really act like an old man.” Dante pouted. “You should spoil me some more. I’m the younger twin.”
“Few seconds don’t matter.”
“But they mattered when there was only one biscuit left.”
That memory surfaced from the depth of his mind, a bit blurred and confused. “That is wrong. I have always shared the last biscuit.” Pause. “Even if it was rightfully mine.”
Dante snorted. “You shared it only because mom told you to.”
Vergil smiled at her back. Dante grew into a woman, older than their mother was when she died, but still had a short fuse and threw tantrums. But only with him. It was his privilege awakening and witnessing that side of her.
“Finished.” He turned the hairdryer off.
“Finally! It took you ages! I was fast with yours.”
“I should remind you that your hair is longer than mine.” It was half an excuse: Vergil enjoyed touching and playing with Dante’s hair. He always stared eagerly at their mother combing them in cute braids or tails, only to sigh later when the ribbons disappeared, and her daughter’s hair was a mess. For how silly it could sound, one of Vergil’s greatest regrets was that as a child he had spent all the time pulling Dante’s hair and ruining their mother’s work, instead of learning himself how to make those shapes he liked to look at – but he was a kid, he was focused on them getting stronger, and having a braid didn’t help fighting the enemy; on the opposite, it was hazardous and dangerous. Since words failed to reach Dante, Vergil showed it to her yanking her head from the long braid and cutting it, only to feel the guilt devouring his stomach for days because she started crying (after retailing with a punch on his nose) and didn’t stop for a whole hour.
“Not that much, you just comb them back and it seems shorter.” Dante passed both hands through the locks to check if they were still humid. “Thanks, Vergil.” She turned around and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m hungry, let’s get some–”
Dante was taken aback and didn’t blink for few seconds. “…okay, but tomorrow you take the gig I received today.”
“If you insist…” Vergil kissed her on the lips, a sly smirk clouded his face. “…after all, it doesn’t take much to do a better work than you.”
“You won’t trick me this time, Vergil. Tomorrow is your turn. The oath is made, blood is shared.”
“I wasn’t trying to trick you. It is a mere fact.” He ignored her eyes rolling. “Whose blood?”
Dante leaned down on the bed and allowed herself a liberating satisfied moan. “The one of the demons you’ll kill, of course. Meanwhile, I’ll stay here and have some rest. I earned it.” She raised both hands towards him. “Come here.”
Vergil curled into her hug and rest his head on her chest. Dante’s fingers sank through his hair, gently rubbing his head. The lingering essence of the shower gel was strong, but, beyond it, Vergil deeply inhaled Dante’s scent.
The blood was gone, his spirit was at ease.