Untitled (For now)

Hello there! Writing this in anticipation of DMC3! I can't wait! Can you?

Please forgive this rough unbeta'd thing. I just wrote it in one sng bng before I knew what I was doing...


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Feet pounded up to the white gate.

Vergil had been mean again, so he had run away.

So silly. Father would be ashamed.

Pound, pound, pound splash.

He looked up. Horror soldered firmly to his face.

"Momma?"

And he started screaming.

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Untitled -- Part One
Find Your Way

The streets were cold, dirty and windswept, lit by flashing neon signs that advertised sex in all its lurid modern forms. The perfect setting for a hardboiled detective novel. Add a sullen sixteen year old to this picture and it was golden.

Dante strode on through the thick air, a vision of James dean in his jeans and red jacket. His apartment lay on the third floor of the corner apartments, past the stone death elderly couple, the struggling working mother. Screaming kids, three of them, making a ruckus five nights out of seven.

With any luck, he'd be able to escape this hellhole soon enough. His landlord, a thin, sour man who looked drier than Weetbix was planning to throw him out anyway. Must have been his inability to pay the rent.

Right on cue, the thin and sallow countenance of this beloved man greeted him just as he broke the top of the stairwell.

"'Bout time you showed up."

"If you want money, I don't have it."

"Then if you want a room, I don't have it."

Dante stared at him blankly.

"At least let me get my stuff."

For a moment, it looked like the man was going to stare him down, but Dante's piercing blue eyes made him shift to the side.

"Whatever. Get your shit together and get the hell out."

Dante shrugged. He sidestepped the fellow and slammed the door behind him.

"Good night."

Padding quietly over to the yellowed mattress, he threw himself down on the lumpiness without removing his shoes. He was wearing a thing wife-beater under his jacket, and whatever warmth provided by the mattress was welcome.

"I want you out tonight unless you can hand me last month's rent!" A fist banged itself on the flimsy door, but not all too hard. It was nice to think that he was really a softie at heart and that he wasn't really about to dump Dante out cold on his ass, but he probably just didn't want to pay for the repairs of a broken door.

"Yeah, yeah..."

The banging continued. He'd usually give up by now. In addition to that, the children downstairs had re-doubled their efforts at giving their mother a nervous breakdown. The chronically deaf coupled cranked up their TV some more in an effort to actually hear it. Dante growled.

He yanked open the door and nearly got a fist in his face. The land lord glared at him, hand inches away from his head.

"What do you want me to do? Pull $50 out of my ass?"

"I don't care what you do. You can't pay, you can't stay."

That settled it.

"Well. See you around then."

"What about your luggage? I don't want that garbage cluttering my apartment."

"I lied. I don't have any."

Scuffing his heel on the top stair, he made his way down again, the low grumbling of his former landlord still resonating in his ears. On the way, he stopped by the weary, mother, sticking his head in the door. Abruptly, the screech and squeal of the children ceased at the sight of his countenance.

"Quit giving your momma trouble, ya hear? It' hard bringing you three up alone. You're lucky you have her."

Two boys and one girl nodded in awed unison. The mother simply looked grateful at this respite. Given the situation, they would probably be at it again once he was out of earshot. He gave the mother sympathetic look. She would have been a beautiful red head if she hadn't been worn down by work and three brats. He gave her a thumbs up and a lopsided grin.

"Hang in there."

Outside again, things didn't seem quite as cheerful. It was bitter cold, but not snowing yet, he lacked a place to stay; he didn't have money for squat. Three weeks earlier, he'd run away form the last foster home that they had stuck him in. Since then, he'd been scraping a living off whatever he could. It hadn't been easy, but it hadn’t beent hat hard either.

Feline body, albino-exotic hair and eyes, skin that hardly saw the sun. People generally turned to look at him when he stepped into any room. His last foster home hadn't been an exception.

His latest daddy, like the countless ones before had picked him because he was pretty. Mostly rich executives bored of their infertile wives. If they were going to plant seeds that came to nothing, mias was well do it in attractive young flesh.

He usually wound up back in the orphanage at the end of three months, tops. It wasn't that he was a bad son. He tried to behave, even let the kisses, squeezes and caresses slide by. Things just happened, sometimes.

The exploding vase, scattered flowers and running water? Well, that just happened.

Oh, and the drapes on the bed suddenly catching fire? That just happened too.

The first foster home he was shoved into got the worst of it. The stove in the kitchenette had blown out half the summer home. He had been twelve, and hadn't known why this man who falsely assumed the role of father was hurting him, and badly.

He wasn't stupid. His real family was dead; Momma, Father, and Vergil as well. Perhaps if his twin had been with him, he might not have suffered the indignity, but a creeping hunch told him that it might have added to his market value to have a twin. Well, good on Vergil for his lucky escape then.

At times, the guys were nice. He lasted longer in those. They usually didn't ask for much, just a touch, a taste. His stay at each home lasted approximately the length of time it took for these men to lose control and finally take what they had intended from the very beginning.

It wasn't that he minded trading his body for a roof over his head. He wouldn't have survived long in this part of town if he did. In truth, their hypocrisy drained him. His ambivalence grew with each new place and his expectations grew less.

This time, he had not so much as run away as stepped out into the night with just the things he had on him. The orphanage wouldn't have him back in now that he had hit sixteen. They were legally void of responsibility now that he was more or less able to fend for himself. No point in hanging around when he was going to get thrown away, so he made the first move. He hated being a kept bird anyway.

Dante looked up. He had wandered back into the stinking underbelly of slum central. The people here were too thin or overfed, greasy and slick all over with something that wasn't wholly physical. They eyed him, some with a brand of weariness or of disdain. Disdain mostly from the hustlers that lolled about. He seemed bad for business.

He wasn't that much of a threat, really, since he just took whatever he needed and left. Nothing too juicy, nothing too shabby either. He had scoped this area before, and some of them knew him on sight. The guy who clapped his hand on his shoulder and spun him around obviously wasn't one of them

"New guy huh? What's your name?"

"None of your business."

"Giving me lip, huh? While you're coming on our turf? Are you looking to die, sonny?"

Dante shrugged his shoulder out of the hard grip and gazed levelly at his opponent. It didn't surprise him to note that he wasn't much older than himself.

"Are you going to answer my question or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

The boy sported a split lip already. Perhaps a souvenir if an unhappy client. The mild rankling that he had felt died. The guy was just pissed and asking to have his ass kicked. Pure frustration motivated him, and Dante didn't feel up to wiping his face on the pavement. He turned to go.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

The boy grabbed his collar and threw him to the ground. He had enough sense to roll before he took any serious damage from it. People were beginning to stare, and a couple of other boys came forward to restrain the first.

"Hey, take it easy... fighting's not cool. You'll freak out potentials."

A black Saab had nosed its way into the filthy streets, obviously cruising, and others murmured assent at this.

Dante picked himself up, electricity crackling in his right fist. The three boys backed away slowly, looks of uncomprehending terror rushing over their faces.

"He’s a devil."

"Monster."

The words reminded him of a long time ago. Before the orphanage, but he couldn't put his finger on what. The purple electricity died as he unclenched his hand and lowered it to his side.

Meanwhile, the passenger door of the Saab opened. A slender arm and gloved hand beckoned to Dante.

"Get in."

An elegant voice to match an elegantly clad arm. Dante raised his brows. He gave the terrified onlookers one last look before he smoothed his jacked god got in. The door snapped shut neatly and whoever was driving quickly drove them away from the tableau.

The inside of the car was dim, but he could see well enough to tell that the man seated beside him was tall, compactly built and had a rather hooked nose. A monocle glinted in his left eye and his right hand rested on a jewel topped cane. A little tacky, but passable. What was he? 30, at most? He didn’t look old enough for such distinguished trappings.

"So... where’re we going?"

"Close by."

Huh. So the man wasn't going to bring him home. Fair enough, as long as he got adequately paid.

"My name is--"

"There's no need to get personal," Dante interjected, "I have no interest in knowing who you are."

"Ah." Amused. "Very well Dante."

He stiffened. How had he known his name? He bit down on the question, in an effort not to look foolish. This seemed to amuse the older man.

"Tell me, how much do you know of yourself?"

Dante resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Squirm. Something. He was beginning to regret getting in the car. Not only did this man know him by name, but he was also trying to coax vapid conversation out of him.

"Why are you asking?"

"Perhaps you'd be interested in learning more about your mother and father. Perhaps more of Vergil? News that he might somehow still be alive?"

Something was definitely up. His body had begun to tense with every word of the reply. There was a feeling of unease as he looked upon the angular profile lined in darkness and passing neon lights. The man... didn't even feel human.

As if he had sensed this thought, the man put a reassuring hand on his knee.

"How do you know my name? Why do you know these things about me?\ "I "I know more than you can imagine." The hand slid up the juncture of his thigh and hip. "The question is what are you willing to do to access this information?"

They had been traveling a while at a rather dangerous speed that the empty night streets could afford. The car shifted gears and slid to a halt and Dante nearly bolted out of the man's grasp from sheer instinct.

He hadn't noticed how far they had come at all. Apparently, what the man had meant with 'close by' was just beyond the city limits, by and old warehouse that looked like it had been abandoned for years.

Dante stumbled out of the car, closely followed by the tall gentleman. Even though he had caught only a brief look at the chauffeur, it was enough to discern glittering eyes that were anything but alive.

The man gave a subtle nod towards the entrance of the warehouse. Its broken windows stared hollowly at him and he felt a faint revulsion for it.

"Go on." He prompted.

Reluctantly, Dante made his way inside. It wasn’t that much different, inside or out, what with the cold air getting into everything. It was just all that much darker. He did not see, only felt palms rub over his shoulders and warm breath against his ear.

"Undress."

Dante nodded, but he couldn't tell what for. The few shafts of moonlight leaking through the broken roof admitted too little light to see by. He assumed correctly though, that the gentleman could see well into the dark. The man had eagle eyes, he was sure.

He shuddered when he had taken off the last of his clothes. Nothing much to go by anyway, but at least he hadn't been exposed to the elements. Through the blackness he could feel that pair of keenly sighted eyes drink him in. It was an uncanny sensation.

Gloved fingers ran their way around his throat, and he suppressed another shudder that had nothing to with cold. There were claws under those gloves, cruel hooks that could rip his vocal cords to shreds.

"*What* are you...?"

"You may call me Griffon if it pleases you."

"I... didn't want to know your name,” he declared stubbornly though the pitch of his voice had risen slightly.

A low chuckle.

"Are you afraid of me, Dante?"

"N-no."

The fingers, talons and all clenched abruptly about his throat. Wrong answer.

"Yes!"

The fingers relaxed slightly.

"Good. Now tell me. What are you willing to do to make me tell you what you want to know?"

"I don't know... What do you want me to do..? You can fuck me any way you please, if that's what you want."

He could sense the monster shaking its head. Wrong answer again.

"If you are so willing to be my whore, I will be more than happy to oblige you."

Downward pressure, like drowning in a pool of thick glop forced him to his hand and knees. The very air was rallying itself against him.

His knees were scraped against the rough concrete, spread in a familiar position for penetration. He grimaced, forcing back a sarcastic remark. Like hell this wasn\ant ant Griffon wanted.

There was a snick of a fly being unzipped, and then he felt the thick questing head of Griffon's sex caressing his entrance. He hovered there for a few moments, bracing himself for the initial thrust, but it didn't come. His teeth clenched, anger rising in spite of his uncertainty and rising fear.

"Just... Do it!"

"I only wanted to hear you say it."

The muscles of his back bunched in anger, and his fists began to glow with violet electricity.

"That's right. That's what I want to see."

Eyes to the floor, the first thrust nearly threw him face forward, though it did not penetrate. Subsequently though, his body came out of the lock down, and allowed passage to the long hardness. Griffon hadn't bothered to remove the rest of his clothes, and the steel buttons on his suit trailed coldly on his back with each forward motion. It was like being seasick. Hot inside, cold outside, rocked back and forth to the point of nausea.

The crackling energy gathering at his fists was growing second by second, enough to illuminate the grimy floor and the rusted drums in the corners. Griffon's talon closed around his stomach, just about enough to draw blood, enough to tell him that if he chose to discharge that pent up energy anytime soon, his innards would be laid bare to the world.

"Besides this cheap debasement, what else are you willing to do?"

"How... the fuck... should I know? Anything... it... Takes."

"Would you be willing to kill? Would you want to kill me?"

Griffon's erection struck him deeply, wringing a cry from his dry throat. His fists flared, but he somehow kept them in check, frightened even of this power than came from within him. If he cut loose, there was no knowing what might happen. Like something that had happened before.

"Answer me."

"Yes..!"

Was that all he wanted to hear? Griffon kissed his bare shoulder, dragging sharp, perfect teeth along the flesh to break it, and then he came. Dante dug his nails into the concrete as he felt the length of meat in him spasm and release its load.

Griffon slid out of him, then tucked himself gracefully back into his tailored trousers. Dante crawled into a sitting position. The power still seethed in his wrists and the light threw itself dancingly on their faces.

"Keep your end of the bargain."

He moved forward and Dante flinched back unwittingly. He didn't trust this devil at all.

"Be still."

He tilted Dante's chin up, stroking his jaw. Their lips met briefly in a kiss and in that small span of time, everything became cut crystal.

Dante shoved him back roughly, disengaging the lip lock. He was shaking now, as images of his father, what he truly looked like cavorted in his brain. Demon. Demon slayer. Murdered for his treason.

Griffon merely laughed.

"Now do you see? Why you have to kill? Harden your resolboy.boy. You still have ways to go."

From his pocket, he removed a thick wad of notes bound in elastic. This he dropped at Dante's feet, along with a printed card.

"Make your way to this place. I don't care how. There will be people there who will make sure you and I meet again."

Dante looked at the items, but they hardly registered. When he turned to look at Griffon again, he found himself alone.


End Part 1
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Where am I going with this? Umm... I think you'll find out before Nov/Dec... Since that's when DMC3 comes out and throws this entire thing out of the window.

Please send all feedback, death threats, etc to kojiluvsizumi@hotmail.com

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