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Laying across your lap shouldn’t be so comforting. You’re far too young for him, having met him through Nero, and you’re keeping him in your lap as he heals his wounds. Nico and Nero had disappeared outside, something about a new project Nico wants to see in action and Nero shrugged along just to make her happy.
It leaves the two of you in a perfect, affectionate, position in an empty van.
A position Dante would have never thought would be feasible between the two of you.
You're playing mindlessly with his hair as you talk to him and laugh, making a sorry comment for ‘how ugly you must look from this angle’, and yet he’s only noticed how much he likes looking up at you. Wishes you’d notice the puppy eyes he’s sending you (that thought is shot dead before he can fathom how embarrassing it is).
This has to be platonic on your side. Maybe a familial type of interest that keeps you close to him — much like how you’re so tightly knit with Nico and Nero on the field. Almost like a sibling but not quite ‘initiated’ with them so to say (at least not yet). Maybe you see him as an uncle figure too; it just adds to the dirty shame he feels sometimes.
But that does nothing to stop him from thinking about you. All those times he disappeared during a job because seeing you fight got him going so bad it felt like he’d cum in his jeans just by seeing you kick another demon in the mandible. All those times he’d see you covered in blood and trying to wipe it off, just smearing it into your skin. All those times he’d mark a new favourite magazine page because the model looks close enough to you to satiate the feeling in his gut.
Before those thoughts go any further, you shift your legs under him. It brings him back and drags that guilt over any dull arousal. You shouldn’t have to deal with a dirty old man like him, getting hard at any instance of you touching him. It’s so innocent, too. Laying in someone’s lap is intimate, but something so silly to freak out over. Usually, this lingering lust would have him trying to keep contact to a minimum, but you insisted.
He was laying on your spot on the van couch, after all. You smiled at him as you playfully tried to lift him up to get out of your space, though it ended with you putting his head in your lap after a lot of huffing and puffing. Dante doesn’t even want to entertain the idea of you being into him, scared that he’ll be sporting a tent in his jeans in record time for a guy his age.
But those hands brushing through his hair just makes his mind wonder how it would feel lower, cupping his thigh, caressing the happy trail on his abdomen, leading exactly where you’d press to make him happy. He has to fight off the groan that rises in his throat, hiding it with a cough. Shifts a leg up so the tight fabric around his thighs doesn’t constrict and give friction to… unneeded areas.
He’s been so focused on not getting aroused that he doesn’t realise you asked him a question. Mouth going dry, face suddenly heating up, he stares up at you cluelessly. God, what has happened to him?
Dante blames it on the blood loss making him feel woozy (an absolute fucking lie) — and when you reiterate, he nods.
"Yeah, you make a good pillow." Dante has to joke, smiling back as the sound of your laugh fills his head again. If he doesn't joke, he worries you'll notice the tension in his shoulders. He wants to stay in this comfortable haven. Nestled on your thighs as much as he’d rather be between them. Breathes out slightly when you mention not being able to wait to go home and relax.
Once again, that thought goes into a little folder in his brain for later activities. And all you're doing is complaining about how bad you smell.
"I need a shower bad," you stretch with a small sigh, "the stink of blood never gets digestible." Caressing his cheek without care does no help, taunting him with sweetness a man like him can’t devour. It’s too much. He buries his face into your thighs instead with a hum, turning over and muttering about feeling lightheaded.
Dante’s almost glad when you don’t mention how close his nose is to your crotch — already scheming, finding excuses. It’s a small couch, after all, and he’s just so exhausted and injured. You’ll do him a solid and let him stay a little longer, right? Give him some material for when he’s back home and relaxing?