It's a Devil May Cry Fanfiction.
Pairings: Dante & Nero
Warnings: Not exactly canon (Kyrie isn't really Nero's sister), Swearing and sex.
Rating: M to be safe.
Summary: Nero leaves Fortuna to find Dante, who accepts him into Devil May Cry easily. Living together proves to be less easy for the two, however, who seem to misunderstand each other at every turn.
So I finally left Fortuna.
If it wasn't for Kyrie I'd have left long before. I've long since got tired of the sideways glances from my so-called peers, and the whispered implications that I could be as dangerous as some of the scum I hunt. Several months ago I saved everyone who is here, though in the absence of any real threat they seem to have forgotten just how useful I can be and decided that I'm the enemy. As I walk along the main street heading to the harbour the setting sun reflects off my bringer turning its blue glow into a purple one. Mothers steer young children away from me and I tuck my cursed arm into my jacket. A few more paces and I'm on a small white boat which looks like it's seen better days. The name on the hull pronounces it to be 'Fortuna's Princess' in flowing feminine script.
The captain of the Princess is a kindly man with cheery brown eyes and a silver-streaked beard, one of my few friends in Fortuna.
"Hey kiddo, you finally leaving town?"
I only nod in reply.
He murmurs his understanding
"Truth be told I didn't think you'd stay this long even. They're hardly welcoming you into the fold even after everything you've done."
I nod, tears welling up at hearing someone say it out loud, finally.
His face flushes with a tinge of guilt for not realising,
"So how is that little sis of yours?"
"She's got a boyfriend."
"Ah. Nice guy?"
"He better be."
He knows enough from the tone of my voice to not say anything further on the subject, and we spend the rest of the short trip in a comfortable silence.
When we arrive at the port of Capulet city he smiles at me and asks where I'm headed. I'm not sure I really want to say, it seems stupid, a shot in the dark. There was one person, who never judged me, never feared me. One person who treated me as an equal whatever.
He raises a bushy eyebrow,
"You're looking for him?"
"He's half-demon too. I thought he could explain a couple of things to me."
He accepts that as an answer, but that's not it, not all of it at least. When I first met Dante, first fought him I thought I'd won. I had him pinned to the statue of Sparda with his own sword, all the laws of the universe state that should have been the end of him. But he merely pulled his own sword out of his chest and merrily commented that he'd underestimated me. When I snapped that he wasn't human he smiled and told me we were the same. I've heard that phrase over and over again since, and it's that more than anything else which has pushed me to search for him after eighteen months. Even if what I'm currently chasing only turns out to be a white-haired shadow.
My stomach churns as I clamber off the boat, carefully, because the sea is choppy and the brown water looks incredibly uninviting. As we parted all those months ago I asked the man in red if we'd meet again. His answer was indecipherable, flippant even.
"It's your call kid"
I'm nervous, I can't decide if it was an invitation, or a gentle rejection.
Though as I stand in the port here I realise Dante's reaction is currently the least of my worries. I've no idea where to go to find him, and this city is much bigger than Fortuna.
I wander around the rundown streets around the harbour for what seems like an age. Every house looks the same, and I don't even know what I'm looking for.
I've wandered around the back streets of the city for what feels like hours. It was early morning when the Princess left me at the harbour, but now it's at least midday and I'm still nowhere. Until I overhear a conversation, hushed and secretive between a couple entering a bar. The name Bullseye stands out above the doorway, and the whisper of a white-haired man who isn't fully human is enough to tempt me into the dingy building.
The sign above the door flickers hot pink, and I realise I've found it. With a certain amount of trepidation I push open the battered-looking door and step inside. I find myself in a run-down room, staring at a macabre collection of demon remains pinned to the walls with a vast array of bizarre, dangerous-looking swords. There's a rustle in the shadows of the far corner of the room and straining my eyes I can just make out Dante himself, sprawled over a rickety chair, his leather-clad legs propped up on the desk in front of him.
"Didn't think it would take you too long to make your way here."
I start at the sound of his voice, while he extracts himself from his relaxed position and makes his way across the room to me.
"Make yourself at home kid."
This throws me, all my pre-prepared speeches about how I could maybe be some help to him fade away, and I'm left gaping up at him.
"Sure, like I said I figured you'd end up here sooner or later. But-"
I stop in my tracks, my heart in my throat. I haven't got any money, the last of my meagre savings having been spent on the boat ride here.
"I'll expect you to help out. We've been busy recently and I could use a helping hand. And yours is more help than normal"
He winks at my bringer which is glowing a faint blue with my discomfort. I realise what he's just said and it calms down. I can do that.
I settle my few possessions into the spare room he points me towards, and head back downstairs. Dante has taken up residence in his chair again and he's reading some trashy magazine. He looks over the top at me and raises an eyebrow.
"Dante, how did you know I'd come to find you?"
He swings his boots to the floor, and beckons for me to sit.
"Well, since you're here I take it they decided you're the next big threat?"
"How'd you know?"
"They're religious people kid, and religious people need something to fear. So in the absence of any real threat you get the honours."
I still don't understand the lack of gratitude. Dante seems to though, and I want an explanation.
"Every religion needs a threat, something to validate their god. Or, well whatever. I'm not sure my old man counts as a god. But that's why. Without some demons to oppose it their ideology counts for nothing."
He winks at me again. It looks good on him. I smile and thank him for letting me stay. He's picked up the magazine again and the only acknowledgment I receive is a brief nod.
I've been staying at Devil May Cry for a week when I'm woken one morning by a soft but insistent knocking on the door. The light seems far too bright but I drag myself out of bed because I know, even from the brief acquaintance I have with Dante, that it would take a natural disaster to wake him before midday, and this could be important.
I open the door to find a tall blond woman standing there, she's dressed from head to toe in black leather which highlights the curvier aspects of her slim figure. She gives me a once-over too, and then laughs.
"Well I never! If only Dante was quite as good at predicting lottery numbers and we'd be set for life!"
Dante's girlfriend then. Figures, he's a good-looking guy, and the woman in front of me looks just like the kind of woman I'd imagine he'd be interested in.
I gesture for her to come in, about to introduce myself when she starts speaking again.
"...left Fortuna then? Well it's nice to see you again Nero."
I whirl round in surprise. How does she know who I am? When did I meet her?
Suddenly, surprisingly there's a presence behind me, I didn't even hear him come downstairs, and Dante whispers to picture her in an Order of the Sword outfit.
"Trish, what horrible thing have I done to deserve a visit, especially one at this time in the morning?"
She glares at him, and she looks dangerous.
"Lady and I are run off our feet Dante, you chose a fine time to take a week off."
I'm confused. Sure he hasn't been on any missions lately, but I figured it had just quietened down.
His voice is frosty when he speaks to her,
"I've been helping the kid settle in."
"I know, but I'm sure Nero won't mind being left home alone for a bit, this won't take long for you."
Dante opens his mouth to retort and I decide I don't want to be stuck in the middle of a lover's tiff.
"I could take a mission, it's what I was doing in Fortuna after all."
He frowns, and Trish (Gloria, my mind insists) smiles at me. She places a hand on my shoulder, only the faintest of touches, but suddenly electricity is coursing over my skin. I could easily have misinterpreted that, but my demonic arm refuses to be fooled. She's a demon. That means Dante's...
I turn and look at him, he cocks his head to one side and gives me a questioning look.
"You sure kid?"
Trish is still smiling, telling me exactly what I'm up against, but I'm not really listening. He's a devil hunter, he's supposed to kill demons, not date them! I think about it some more, and mentally shrug it off, he's half-demon, as am I, so what right do I have to be so prejudiced?
I nod dumbly and Dante groans.
"Ok Trish, guess you'd better give me the address then."
I open my mouth to speak. Why's he coming too? He ruffles my hair, I would usually be annoyed but his fingers feel nice on my head.
"you don't think I'm going to let you go on your first mission alone do you kid?"
"you know Dante, you still owe Lady-"
He silences her with a look and icily states
"The kid's mission, his money, okay Trish?"
She sighs, but retorts that it's a small price to pay for finally getting some help.
She was right though, the mission involves several marionettes and a few scarecrows, stupidly easy and very quickly dispatched. Dante isn't even out of breath as we head towards the client's house to collect our payment.
As we walk along the narrow street I ask him about Trish.
"She's a demon"
I snort and shove him just hard enough to throw him slightly off balance.
"I know that old man, I just wondered what the deal was with her?"
He chuckles and winks at me
"Why? You interested kid? I'm sure I can arrange something. Though I'd never have thought she was your type"
Wait, my type?
"I thought- you mean you and her aren't-?"
This time he does more than just chuckle, he actually laughs, bending over and slapping his thigh as he does.
"You must be joking kid! I know they say every man marries his mother, but she's a poor imitation at best."
I'm glad to find out that the famed demon-slayer isn't a hypocrite. That's what the relief that washes over me means. Most definitely.
I stumble into Devil May Cry as quietly as I can, though I know that there's little chance of avoiding Dante this late at night. Not to mention the fact that it's kind of hard to be quiet at all when it's taking every reserve of strength I have not to collapse in exhaustion and pain.
I should have listened to Trish, should have known when she insisted I find Dante that it would be a bad idea to take a solo mission this time. Pride got the better of me though, and I was so sure I could handle whatever the shadows threw at me. I'm also more than a little tired of Dante showing me up at every opportunity that I decided I could and would handle this one on my own.
The jagged gashes on my side, back and through my torso disagree however, and make me wince and hiss in pain as I gingerly sit on the sofa.
Dante's not here at the moment, and I silently thank my lucky stars for that at least, until the door opens.
He stops in the doorway, nothing more than a dark silhouette framed by the heavy wooden doorposts. I can't see his expression, which I'm thankful for. My demonic healing hasn't kicked in yet, and I've no strength left to trigger and force myself to heal. From his vantage point I know he can see everything, the cuts which haven't even started to heal yet, the blood (more mine than the demons) and the fact that my trigger is quite obviously spent by the way my bringer's glow has dimmed to nothing but a dull pulse of off-white light. I, on the other hand, can't read his expression, can't even see his face because of the light behind him as he stands in the doorway. It's rather nerve-racking, especially as he hasn't spoken to me yet.
But I don't want to be the one to break the awkward silence, especially when I'd have to admit I screwed up.
He steps into the shop and now there's enough light in front of him for me to see the expression on his face, a mixture of shock annoyance and concern.
My voice cracks as I speak, and I give a weak laugh at just how bad I sound. The laugh soon dissolves into a coughing fit though, and I swear I see blood.Damn it, why am I not healing?
His jaw is clenched as he looks at me, eyes full of fury. I attempt another laugh and say to him,
"I'm fine old man, honestly -cough- fine. I just need to rest for a while."
I can read the skepticism on his face, but he says nothing, instead lifting me from the sofa in one fluid movement. I want to kick and protest at being carried like this, but the wounds which still aren't healing prevent me from doing anything but groaning in pain. He's warm, and I'm exhausted, and before he's half-way up the stairs I'm asleep against him.
I wake in my own bed with a worried-looking Dante in the chair next to me. When he notices that I've woken he gives me a thin smile and asks,
"So kid, what the hell happened?"
"Shadows...four of them."
My voice still sounds far too weak, I can't have been asleep very long if I'm still too exhausted to heal properly.
"And Trish let you go alone?"
His voice sounds more like a growl, especially when he mutters,
"I'll kill her"
"No Dante! I... she told me to get you, but I couldn't find you, and I... I thought I'd be fine"
He gives me a black look, but says nothing before disappearing out the door. I guess it'll be me he's going to kill now. Awesome.
When he returns he has a small vial of something, and a roll of tissue. He looks less angry, more concerned now as he gently peels off my top. The still-fresh wounds hurt like a bitch as the fabric is pulled from them I grimace, but say nothing. It's my fault, after all. Until, that is, he starts cleaning my wounds with whatever was in the vial. It stings, and I yelp, only noticing now that I'm half-naked.
I blush, and pull the covers over myself, because I know what he looks like, he has some sort of aversion to wearing clothes, and I hate the comparison between us, I always come up lacking next to him.
I've mostly forgotten about the pain until he hits a particularly deep cut which makes me swear and yell.
"What the hell is that stuff Dante?"
"It's a mixture of alcohol and holy water kid. Shadows have a venom which drains your trigger energy. Hence why you're not healing."
"I fucked up this time."
The words are out of my mouth before I can swallow the admission, sour and unexpected.
"Don't worry kid, nothing's going to happen to you while you're here"
He doesn't seem to want to dwell on it though, which I'm glad for. He finishes cleaning me up and then leaves me to contemplate why he's so quick to look after me, and why he hasn't given me hell for messing up. I am grateful to him though, my healing's finally kicked in and I feel much better. The last thought I have before I fall asleep again is unexpected and unnerving.
His hands were much softer than I'd expected.
I've been at Devil May Cry for several months now, and believe I've settled in quite nicely. I take missions on my own, join Dante or the girls on theirs sometimes, and try my hardest to get Dante to eat something other than pizza.
Dante and I have developed a kind of friendly rivalry, both of us constantly trying to outdo the other, however joking and one-upmanship aside he's actually quite protective of me. Almost as if he were the elder brother I never had.
Which of course makes it all the more awkward to acknowledge that I seem to be developing a bit of a crush on him. I love the feel of his hands in my hair as he ruffles it just to annoy me, and I'm left tongue-tied every time I run into him as he gets out the shower. Especially as he seems to have this incredibly inconvenient habit of walking around the shop in nothing but a towel, which gives me a perfect view of his toned stomach. Not ideal.
I tell myself that it's nothing, just a phase which will pass once I realise that it's only because he's the only person ever really to treat me as an equal. And I'm sure that's the case.
For his part Dante doesn't seem to have noticed, though I'm not sure it would make any difference. He's a shameless flirt, happy to try it on with anyone who comes through the doors of his shop, including the customers, but also Trish, Lady, although he's often likely to get a bullet in the head for his troubles, and me. I don't read too much into it, aside from a little flirting he's never really shown any interest, and besides, if the near-constant stream of pretty girls he entertains is anything to go by, he's almost certainly straight. And it's just a crush on my part.
...Or maybe a little more than a crush. It's been over a year since I left Fortuna and made my way here, eight months at least since I first noticed that I was attracted to him, six months since I realised with a certain amount of panic that it was probably a little more than a crush, and five since I decided to forget all about him by drinking myself into oblivion. Needless to say that didn't work too well. Apparently my demon blood makes it that much harder to drink my sorrows away, and I found myself still sitting in the same dimly-lit bar almost sober, at 6am, trying hard to explain myself to a furious Dante.
These days Dante's still the same flirtatious, but completely oblivious asshole, and I'm still just here, wishing for something which is actually never going to happen.
And then, out of the blue he suggests going out. I think, correction, I know this is a bad idea. But he's so adorable when he's got his mind set on something. It takes less than ten minutes for him to persuade me that perhaps going out, with the intention of getting completely off-my-face drunk in front of the guy I'm secretly in love with, is a good idea. Damn.
So I'm in the shower, letting the lukewarm water trickle down my back. One of these days I'll make him fix the damn thing. I stay in the shower for longer than usual, panicking about the night ahead.
Dante's voice cuts through my thoughts and I dash to the top of the stairs to see what he wants, forgetting I'm mostly naked, with only a towel to protect my modesty.
"Sorry Dante, I'll be ready soon"
Then I notice someone behind him, Lady, and I freeze.
She looks up at me, a small smile on her lips,
"Hi Nero. Wow, you've grown up since I last saw you."
She gives me an appreciative wink, and I'm fairly sure my blush lights up the whole room. Dante shoots her a look, and I turn to go and dress before I get even more uncomfortable in front of Lady, faintly registering Dante's complaints that I take longer to get ready than both of the girls.
As I come out of my room, fully dressed and ready to face the world now I overhear a snippet of a conversation.
"You weren't serious were you?"
"What's it to you if I was?"
Dante's voice when he replies is toneless and icy, he doesn't even sound all that much like Dante any more
"I swear Lady if you so much as-"
She cuts him off with a small giggle, and I briefly wonder how she can brush it off when he sounds like that-I'd run for the hills and the anger I heard wasn't even directed at me.
"Seriously Dante, listen to yourself, you sound like-"
He growls at her,
"That's hardly helping your case. Just go."
I can still hear the smile in her voice, like she's actually enjoying pissing him off this much.
She says something else but I don't catch it over the slam of the front door.
"What was that about?"
He turns round and gives me a nod of recognition,
"Ready to go kid?"
"Dante, what was up with Lady?"
He shrugs, and I'm about to protest-he always tells me when he's had a fight with one of the girls-when I look up at him. His smile is so, dazzling for want of a less cliché word, that I forget all about Lady.
"So are you ready old man?"
"I don't know kid, thought I might just run upstairs and touch up my makeup first"
I give him a friendly punch to the arm and start to pull on my long black glove, when he catches my bringer in his hands. The skin on the underside of my devil arm has always been really sensitive, and I'm caught off guard when his fingers brush my wrist. I bite my lip and close my eyes, hoping he can't hear how loud my heart's beating.
"Leave that off kid, there's no need to hide what you are."
I gulp and nod dumbly, not fully trusting my voice, and we leave for the club. Though I swear that if he's taking me to one of those shitty strip clubs I'm going home. Really.
Oh who am I kidding, I'd probably stay around just to spend some time with him.
It's not a strip club, it's actually quite a nice bar that we end up in. The bar area is tastefully decorated and the patrons seem a great deal nicer than the random drifters and losers in Dante's usual haunts.
After a couple of (very strong) drinks I feel compelled to tell him this. He smiles, not the cocky smirk I'd expected but a more wistful smile.
"It was my brother's favourite place."
I've heard a little about his brother, but Dante doesn't like to talk about him usually, so I don't press the issue.
"And by that I mean this was the only place he'd ever agree to come to with me."
He turns away, and I assume that's the end of the conversation, as he's now talking to some girl.
This is what I hate about going anywhere with Dante. He's well-known and easily recognised. Every girl, and a surprisingly large group of the men tries it on with him. It's taking all the self-control I have not to KO the next person who approaches him. I won't though, he'd think I've lost my mind.
Instead I focus on continuing to drink whatever it is Dante's been buying. It's strong, whatever it is, and pretty soon I'm much less bothered about him, especially when I finally notice that I seem to be attracting my fair share of attention too.
It's nice. Even more so when a pretty girl makes her way across the bar offering a shy smile by way of greeting.
A few drinks later (I learn from Dante that what I'm currently drinking is a mixture of tequila, vodka and rum known as a TVR) my senses have sharpened enough for me to notice pretty much everything about my attractive companion. She's twirling a lock of red hair around her finger, in mock-shyness now, the few drinks we've shared have evaporated her initial quietness. I notice the way she tilts her head back, exposing her throat as she laughs and the small patch of pale pink where her red lipstick has rubbed off. I glance at Dante, who is talking earnestly to several girls and turn back to her. She doesn't hold a candle to him, and I know that if he were to call me over right now I'd abandon her and go. He's far too preoccupied though, and so I smile at her and invite her attention, because she is attractive, and because I've spent far too long being alone. Lady isn't interested I'm sure, despite her flirting earlier, and though Dante insists he's not interested in Trish I doubt the feeling is mutual. I've seen the look on her face every time he has a new love interest, it's the same one I see in the mirror.
My date (I do know her name, though I seem to be unable to dredge it from my drunken mind) leans forward and places a kiss on my cheek. I respond in kind, taking her lips instead and enjoying the small gasp of surprise.
My companion, (Beth her name is) suggests we go somewhere, smiling at me, and I'm about to respond that it's a good idea, perhaps the best one I've heard all night, when I'm dragged away by Dante. It's late I realise, or more accurately early, and I'm far from sober.
"I think you've had enough to drink for tonight kid"
I attempt to protest, but my legs refuse to cooperate and allow me to stand. He's probably right. Beth stands, ready to leave, and before I have chance to think that I've missed my opportunity she hands me a slip of crumpled paper with her number.
And then Dante's dragging me away, muttering under his breath about kids who can't take their drink. I pass out almost as soon as we arrive at the shop, knowing there's going to be hell to pay tomorrow.
when I open my eyes I'm in an unfamiliar room Dante's room, though I'm not sure how I'd know that, I rarely come in here. He's here too, lying on his bed barely clothed. As I notice that my breath stops, this has to be a dream. I hesitate by the side of his bed, very self-conscious in nothing more than my black cotton boxers, though he doesn't seem fazed. I'm still deciding what to say, even if this is a dream the awkwardness still feels very real, when he grabs my arm and pulls me onto his bed.
I'm hard instantly, the brief contact from his fingers serving as more than enough to turn me on more than I've ever been before. His fingers ghost over my stomach and I tense in anticipation as they reach the waistband of my boxers.
He must have read my reaction differently though, because he's gentle, more so than I'd expected. I'm now certain this is a dream, the look on his face is something far closer to uncertainty than I've ever seen on Dante. He leans down to me and whispers,
"You sure about this kid?"
Of course I'm sure, I'm 100% positive that I've never wanted anything more in my life, though I'm painfully aware that this is nothing more than a dream and there's no point to me revealing all to my subconscious. So I settle for nodding dumbly, which quickly changes to a gasp of surprise when he removes my boxers in one fluid movement. His fingers brush lazily down my body, ignoring my hardness, which leaves me groaning in frustration.
Somehow he's produced a bottle of something slick, and I can feel his fingers inside me, uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant. That is until he hits something entirely unexpected, which makes me buck and moan beneath him.
I'm already tantalisingly close without any more than a few fleeting touches, so when he enters me, with another whispered,
"This okay kid?"
I barely register the flare of pain. I'm too close to release to care, and after a few thrusts he hits the right spot again, sending me reeling.
Last night is little more than a blur when I wake up in my own room, much to my disappointment.
My head is killing me, and to my surprise it's much closer to afternoon than I'd like. Dante is already awake, I can hear him downstairs whistling to himself.
At least someone feels okay this morning!
The dream I had last night suddenly comes back to me in full colour, and I'm not sure I want to face Dante right now. Unfortunately my traitorous legs have already carried me halfway downstairs by the time I realise this, and he's stopped his whistling to look up at me. There's a brief moment of awkwardness, as I realise he's waiting for me to say good morning back to him, with an odd look on his face.
I'm sure he can read all about my dream in my eyes, and try my hardest to avoid eye contact with him. He in turn smirks which I catch from the corner of my eye.
"Feeling ok this morning kid?"
My blush probably serves as confirmation, and he hands me a couple of pills. I huff and refuse his offer, my mood soured by the pounding in my head, and worry that Dante will somehow just know what I dreamt about last night.
"Come on kid, take them. I know what a hangover looks like, I've seen it often enough in the mirror."
Later on I use my hangover, which in all honesty is only a vague memory now, as an excuse to slip upstairs to my room. I'll feel less self-conscious tomorrow, after all, it wouldn't be the first dream I've had about Dante.
Nor does it prove to be the last, though as time passes I get better at disguising my shame the morning after. More often than not these dreams follow a night of heavy drinking, which seems to have become a regular occurrence these days. I'm sure Dante disapproves. I've learnt to brush off his sarcastic comments about the hangovers I wake up with, and just ignore his questions about how good my night was. He doesn't mean anything by them, and I'm sure he's still no clue about the nightly fantasies which my drunken nights out stir.
The dreams always feel so real, and I can almost believe they are, but I always wake up in my own bed feeling lonlier than ever. I did worry for a while whether Dante could hear me at night, I'm sure I'm not particularly quiet, but he's never mentioned anything, so I think I'm safe.
I've decided though, that I'm going to cut back on my nights out. These dreams, exciting though they may be, leave me wanting more, wanting something I can never have, so it's better to just forget about all of it.
I'm actually managing to stick to my self-imposed teetotal vow, and feeling particularly miserable when Dante corners me after a mission.
"What's up kid? You're not yourself recently."
"I'm fine old man, leave me alone."
"Not going out tonight?"
"You've been staying in an awful lot recently kid, go out and have some fun."
"Is this because of that girl?"
I blink at him. What girl? Oh right.
"Is it because of her you're moping about?"
No, you idiot. It's because of you!
But he takes my silence for an admission, and suggests I call the pretty redhead from the bar.
"What was her name? Beth?"
But I can't come up with a quick enough reason not to, so I find her number and give her a call. She's surprised to hear from me, but happy to go out. I promise myself I'll stay sober this time.
As I leave Dante smiles at me, but says nothing.
I push open the heavy wooden door that leads to his room, I'm in a kind of limbo right now, just drunk enough to actually enter his room uninvited, just sober enough to know that this is a bad idea.
Dante's lying on the bed, though he's not asleep. He sits up as I enter his room.
I walk over to his bed and sit down, this should be another dream, but I know it's not. I'm sober enough to realise that this is real.
But before I can get any further with my confession he leans over and kisses me. Perhaps he's already got the gist. He always was one step ahead of me in everything.
He pulls me back further onto the bed and starts to strip me. I move to help, but he pushes me back down. In record time I'm lying naked in front of him. And he's above me, just as naked. I trail my human hand down his chest and it feels glorious. He lowers himself until he's leaning onto me and I can feel the heat of his arousal, the friction of his erection against my own.
My breathing quickens, my heart races. I gasp as his erection brushes harder against me. He in turn places two fingers on my lips. I draw them into my mouth and suck, closing my eyes in the process. I can hear his moan and I feel a flush of pride that I can make him moan.
He kneels up before me, I whimper at the loss of his heat, but am soon silenced by his fingers pushing into me. He stretches me for a short while and then suddenly, unexpectedly hits something that makes me see stars. I arch upwards, moaning myself this time.
I nod, the power of coherent speech seems to have deserted me. He leans back down towards me, and the warmth is back. I hiss in displeasure at the flare of discomfort as he enters me, but it soon dissipates and I nod again, wordlessly telling him I'm ok now. He understands me once again, and begins to move. After a couple of experimental thrusts he hits that spot once again and I moan, and arch against him. When he moans again I lose myself, bucking and moaning beneath him in wanton bliss.
I throw my head back and arch my back as oblivion takes me at the same time as Dante.
I think I heard him say my name, but it could be just the alcohol still running through my system, though I feel decidedly more sober after that.
He smirks at me, evidently pleased with himself.
"I know kid"
"Back to kid now are we? And here was me thinking you actually knew my name"
He gives me an odd look, studying me before turning away. I'm uneasy with the scrutiny and pull the covers over myself as soon as he turns his head.
I've wanted this for so long I'm waiting for everything to go wrong. I feel almost as if I'm holding my breath.
"Something up kid?"
Yes. I don't want to wake up, realise it's just another dream or worse, that it was a mistake on his part.
His voice is husky still from what we've not long done and it's hot. I really want to jump him again, but he's not acting like himself. He's not teasing me, or reacting to my comment at all, so I'm waiting for it to all come crashing down.
"You sure there isn't something wrong kid?"
"Why do you keep asking that? I told you I'm ok."
"Well for a start you're almost sober this time. And you never usually stick around for this long afterwards."
What?? It takes my almost-sober brain several seconds to decipher what he means. During which time he continues to lay next to me watching me carefully.
"You never brought it up before"
"Why would I?"
"To remind me?"
That was the wrong thing to say. His face darkens, his eyes narrowing with fury.
"That memorable was it kid?"
His voice is dripping with sarcasm
I thought they were dreams. I never once told him what I'd been 'dreaming' of for fear that he'd be disgusted with me and throw me out. Or even that he'd laugh, and ruffle my hair like he usually does and tell me as gently as possible that he doesn't go in for that. Either way it would break my heart. Because there's nothing worse than wanting what you can't have. But they weren't dreams. So..
"Seriously Dante, why didn't you say anything?"
"Are you really that stupid kid?"
He looks at me through narrowed eyes, thin slits of icy blue in his tanned face. I realise I am, I must be, because I have absolutely no clue what's going on other than the fact that my dreams are all coming true, have apparently been for some time, and yet he hasn't thought to share this information with me.
He's standing up now, abandoning the bed. It suddenly feels several degrees colder in here. What is there to say?
"All those dreams..."
I'm talking more to myself, seeing as he has already dressed and seems to have forgotten our night already. I try to blink back the tears-seriously I should be better at this by now-but they are more stubborn this time. I keep quiet though, it's bad enough that I've ruined everything, spoilt our friendship in the most irreparable way.
He glances over at me, I feel rather than see it, and turn my face into the pillow. Despite the covers I feel incredibly exposed. I hear a sigh and the bed next to me dips down under his weight.
He seems unsure what to say now, and I'm certain that he's about to tell me that it was all a mistake, nothing more meaningful than a drunken fumble. I finally lose my battle with my tears and I sob into the pillow. I'm not even sure I care if he hears me any more. I was wrong. There is something worse, far worse than just wanting.
He sits in silence for a moment, seemingly deciding what to say. I feel his fingers ghost over my shoulder but then he evidently thinks better of it and pulls away. I'm perversely glad for it, I don't want him to touch me, not if he's going to say what I'm expecting to hear.
I know what's coming next and bury my face further into the soft pillow, choking back a sob as I do. He may be going to break my heart now but he doesn't have to see or hear it happen. Actually I'd prefer it if he didn't.
That shocks me into sitting up though, as he calls me by my name so rarely. From the small smile he's trying so hard to fight back I'm assuming that was exactly what he meant to do. Bastard. I wish I could read him half as well as he can read me.
He notices the tears now, and leans forward. His thumb runs under my eyes, wiping away the few remaining strays and he looks concerned. I give up on retaining any shred of my dignity, which is fortunate really because when I do speak the words come out choked
"I knew it was too good to be true."
He looks thoroughly confused, his brow creasing into a frown as he stares at me. If I wasn't feeling so completely heartbroken right now then that in itself would cheer me up. Dante confused is a rare sight, but a good one. If he wasn't so utterly masculine then I'd say he looks beautiful.
I have to explain myself, I owe it to him really, so I take a deep breath and start.
"I knew it wouldn't last, that it couldn't be what I wanted. I knew you wouldn't really want me."
"You're not making much sense kid. You're the one who high-tails it out of here as soon as we finish, and pretends it never happened in the morning. You only ever even come into my room when you're drunk. And there was that girl in Fortuna.."
He makes a noncommittal noise, which I take to mean yes.
His mouth falls open in an 'o' of surprise
"I figured you were just confused. Or lonely."
"I thought they were dreams. I didn't want to say anything in case you were bothered that I thought of you like that, that I liked you."
It's like a switch has been flipped. His eyes sparkle in amusement and he leans towards me.
"Dreams huh kid? Want to tell me about these dreams?"
I blush, and shake my head.
"Were they good dreams?"
This is better. This is good.
"Actually they were more like nightmares old man."
He gives me a playful shove and makes an exaggerated sad face
"And here I actually thought you liked me kid."
I'm feeling far more confident now, confident enough to tease back.
"Well you thought wrong old man."
He's still smiling but his eyes catch mine sharply, serious like before. He still doesn't believe me. I take a deep breath because he never really got my confession earlier. I assumed he knew because he always knows, he's smarter and older and just generally better, but he can still misread things so sometimes, now, I need to be honest.
"...I love you"
And then he's suddenly naked against me again, and it's slower this time, more sensual.
Afterwards as I fall asleep to the rhythm of his heart I faintly hear him whisper,
"Me too kid."
And for the first time in six months I fall asleep with a smile on my face.