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kinkfestTitle: Theirs to Have
Author: Emerald Embers
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Violence, bad language and yaoi
Pairing: Vergil/Dante
Wordcount: 963
Prompt: June 10th - Devil May Cry, Virgil/Dante: teen!incest, first time - "It was the guns' fault. They looked so fucking good in Virgil's hands."
Notes: Sorry to the prompter for two reasons; the first being lateness and the second being that, well, this certainly took a detour from the prompt for quite a while.
There are many things in this world that Dante remembers clearly; not movie-reel clearly, but moments and thoughts and feelings. A descent into the underworld digs up these memories, tasting your soul, testing your worthiness. Dante carves his way through the demons that are mere accessories to Hell as the wall and floor and ceiling ask him, "Why are you still fighting?" before tearing out answers.
They start small. His family, but only as an abstract idea; a family portrait that never happened as dad, tall and imposing and strong and noble stands in the corner, overshadowing everything. Mother, blonde and beautiful and clever, human-strong - she's standing too because Dante won't let her lie down in his memory, won't let her fall.
Vergil.
It steers away from that even though it knows, has to know that there's only one reason he's here. It taunts him with the smell of ash and sweat :dad:, vanilla and gunpowder :mom:, before bright, bright copper splashes across his tongue and it's not just from the door of flesh he's sliced open, it's his first kill; just a small demon, a nuisance rather than a threat, and he was allowed to borrow mom's guns for this; dad preferred swords in general but thought ranged weapons the best contribution humans had made to the demon-slaughtering business. For a moment he'd thought he would vomit, but then he remembered - demon. Not human, not half-human, not protecting humans; demon.
He almost feels Hell laugh at that distinction but it's one that never blurred for him, not really, not until too late. Good guys, bad guys. Dante and Vergil, Arius and Mundus.
It's close now, close enough to the core that there's blood pumping through Hell's flesh and bone in the walls, aeons-old bone to give it structure, and meat-hooks have to be spread across miles of empty space else they'd be causing as much pain to Hell as to the souls hung on them. It's close and Hell is tired of playing games. It knows why he's here.
"This place was our father's home."
Fuck you, Vergil.
"Leave me and go."
Fuck you, Vergil.
You sent him here, Hell reminds him. Their fights could be interminable but he still remembered the last few slashes, dodges and the hail of bullets that helped him send Vergil here - but fuck Hell too, because Vergil fell, Vergil chose to fall, Vergil chose to stay.
Dante wasn't letting Vergil make any more choices this time. Dante had always made better decisions anyway.
Vergil is quiet as Dante pulls him free, piecing him back together so the half-human side of him doesn't die as soon as they get out of here. Vergil is quiet as Dante closes pale fingers around his guns because getting out is going to be far more fun than getting in ever was, and Dante wants to kiss those fingers for being the first thing he's seen in hours :days: that aren't wholly and entirely blood-soaked.
Vergil is quiet as Dante cuts a path back to the point where the walls of flesh were too thick for even a specialised motorcycle to crash through, and Vergil is quiet as Dante drapes his coat over shoulders that look whole now, stitches dropping out like a puppet who's turned into a real boy.
Dante doesn't care that Vergil is quiet because Dante's guns in Vergil's hands are anything but quiet, and that means there is still hope and he still knows how to make a right decision.
Dante climbs up onto the motorcycle, waits for Vergil to finish up clearing enough of a path for them to start the ride out of here, and spits on Hell's floor once Vergil's legs are locked against his and it's time for the engine to start up.
Hell can tease and Hell can taunt and Hell can hurt like - well, it's Hell for a reason, but it can't take away what you bring with you. And Dante's guns weren't Ebony and Ivory, not this time. They're simpler. Older.
On the way down Dante's thumbs rubbed across scratched-in lettering and remembered what he was fighting for, what he was trying to get to, stopped him getting lost in the slaughter.
One memory. The first time he knew - knew what it had taken him decades to admit to. The first time he knew he was right, Vergil was just pretending to be right, and that the rest of the world could go to Hell as far as he cared if it stopped the two of them being together.
Dante
Vergil showing off, hating guns as usual but deciding to pick them up just to prove he could aim, and Dante couldn't help watching even if he'd wanted to pretend he wasn't interested; they were his guns, his, and Vergil looked - Vergil looked -
Dante
And they went to bed in the room they still had to share until a bigger apartment fell into their price range and all Dante could think about was Vergil's hands on his guns, his guns, and then -
Dante
There had been punching and a sob and then it was just messy, Vergil's tongue wet and hot and all of the kisses were like that, saliva and sweat and one hand in the other's hair, same colour, same texture, same everything as their own, and one hand on the other's cock -
Dante
It's wrong, it's sick, it's bad, we can't - but none of that, none of that sounded half as convincing as Vergil saying his name like something sacred and obscene as he came.
Vergil was just pretending to be right.
Dante was right.
And Hell wasn't taking any of his family anymore.
The End
Author: Emerald Embers
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Violence, bad language and yaoi
Pairing: Vergil/Dante
Wordcount: 963
Prompt: June 10th - Devil May Cry, Virgil/Dante: teen!incest, first time - "It was the guns' fault. They looked so fucking good in Virgil's hands."
Notes: Sorry to the prompter for two reasons; the first being lateness and the second being that, well, this certainly took a detour from the prompt for quite a while.
There are many things in this world that Dante remembers clearly; not movie-reel clearly, but moments and thoughts and feelings. A descent into the underworld digs up these memories, tasting your soul, testing your worthiness. Dante carves his way through the demons that are mere accessories to Hell as the wall and floor and ceiling ask him, "Why are you still fighting?" before tearing out answers.
They start small. His family, but only as an abstract idea; a family portrait that never happened as dad, tall and imposing and strong and noble stands in the corner, overshadowing everything. Mother, blonde and beautiful and clever, human-strong - she's standing too because Dante won't let her lie down in his memory, won't let her fall.
Vergil.
It steers away from that even though it knows, has to know that there's only one reason he's here. It taunts him with the smell of ash and sweat :dad:, vanilla and gunpowder :mom:, before bright, bright copper splashes across his tongue and it's not just from the door of flesh he's sliced open, it's his first kill; just a small demon, a nuisance rather than a threat, and he was allowed to borrow mom's guns for this; dad preferred swords in general but thought ranged weapons the best contribution humans had made to the demon-slaughtering business. For a moment he'd thought he would vomit, but then he remembered - demon. Not human, not half-human, not protecting humans; demon.
He almost feels Hell laugh at that distinction but it's one that never blurred for him, not really, not until too late. Good guys, bad guys. Dante and Vergil, Arius and Mundus.
It's close now, close enough to the core that there's blood pumping through Hell's flesh and bone in the walls, aeons-old bone to give it structure, and meat-hooks have to be spread across miles of empty space else they'd be causing as much pain to Hell as to the souls hung on them. It's close and Hell is tired of playing games. It knows why he's here.
"This place was our father's home."
Fuck you, Vergil.
"Leave me and go."
Fuck you, Vergil.
You sent him here, Hell reminds him. Their fights could be interminable but he still remembered the last few slashes, dodges and the hail of bullets that helped him send Vergil here - but fuck Hell too, because Vergil fell, Vergil chose to fall, Vergil chose to stay.
Dante wasn't letting Vergil make any more choices this time. Dante had always made better decisions anyway.
Vergil is quiet as Dante pulls him free, piecing him back together so the half-human side of him doesn't die as soon as they get out of here. Vergil is quiet as Dante closes pale fingers around his guns because getting out is going to be far more fun than getting in ever was, and Dante wants to kiss those fingers for being the first thing he's seen in hours :days: that aren't wholly and entirely blood-soaked.
Vergil is quiet as Dante cuts a path back to the point where the walls of flesh were too thick for even a specialised motorcycle to crash through, and Vergil is quiet as Dante drapes his coat over shoulders that look whole now, stitches dropping out like a puppet who's turned into a real boy.
Dante doesn't care that Vergil is quiet because Dante's guns in Vergil's hands are anything but quiet, and that means there is still hope and he still knows how to make a right decision.
Dante climbs up onto the motorcycle, waits for Vergil to finish up clearing enough of a path for them to start the ride out of here, and spits on Hell's floor once Vergil's legs are locked against his and it's time for the engine to start up.
Hell can tease and Hell can taunt and Hell can hurt like - well, it's Hell for a reason, but it can't take away what you bring with you. And Dante's guns weren't Ebony and Ivory, not this time. They're simpler. Older.
On the way down Dante's thumbs rubbed across scratched-in lettering and remembered what he was fighting for, what he was trying to get to, stopped him getting lost in the slaughter.
One memory. The first time he knew - knew what it had taken him decades to admit to. The first time he knew he was right, Vergil was just pretending to be right, and that the rest of the world could go to Hell as far as he cared if it stopped the two of them being together.
Dante
Vergil showing off, hating guns as usual but deciding to pick them up just to prove he could aim, and Dante couldn't help watching even if he'd wanted to pretend he wasn't interested; they were his guns, his, and Vergil looked - Vergil looked -
Dante
And they went to bed in the room they still had to share until a bigger apartment fell into their price range and all Dante could think about was Vergil's hands on his guns, his guns, and then -
Dante
There had been punching and a sob and then it was just messy, Vergil's tongue wet and hot and all of the kisses were like that, saliva and sweat and one hand in the other's hair, same colour, same texture, same everything as their own, and one hand on the other's cock -
Dante
It's wrong, it's sick, it's bad, we can't - but none of that, none of that sounded half as convincing as Vergil saying his name like something sacred and obscene as he came.
Vergil was just pretending to be right.
Dante was right.
And Hell wasn't taking any of his family anymore.
The End
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Date: 2008-06-23 02:06 pm (UTC)OMG YES.
And Gods, will those two ever STOP hurting each other?
*loves you*
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Date: 2008-06-23 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-23 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-24 12:42 am (UTC)I like the contrast, because three's a prequel: the sense of ancient Greek tragedy being associated with the Underworld WORKS, while in 1 & 2 Dante is in danger of being devoured by it, in DMC1 literally, in DMC2 by losing his human identity (ah, Tanaka).
Sparda's attitude towards guns, the way he determinedly remembers Eva's strength despite her fall (or perhaps because of it), the way guns symbolize the will to triumph over the demonic and LIVE, the way the half-devoured, digested Vergil is pieced together, the practical issue with the meathooks...
Great piece & worth the wait.