Secret Mission Two

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Characters belong to Capcom.
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He was covered in sand and blood, sweat trickling from his brow, strands of silver-white hair clinging to a newly opened gash on one cheek. The congealing mess of flesh on the stairs just a few feet from his scuffed boots twitched one final time, then perished with a low whine. A far cry from the little boy who had burned ants with a magnifying glass, thinking it made him tough; now he couldn't even be bothered to think that these things drew breath, had hearts that beat faster and faster as they sprung upon him, only to be torn apart with the edge of a blade. It was too much trouble to philosophize when your life was on the line, and he had better things to do when it wasn't.

So Dante wiped the blade of his sword off on the nearest corpse, then kicked at the door he'd been attempting to enter in the first place. After a creak of complaint from rusty hinges, he pushed past the heavy wood into the darkened room. It was silent, so Rebellion went back into its scabbard and he took some time to brush his hair out of his face, dabbing the thick trickle of blood off his chin with the sleeve of his coat.

He took a look around the room- a library, a study maybe? it was pretty small- as well as he could, considering it was lit only by a few stands of candles. A velvet rug across the floor, stained with age and littered with broken glass, probably from the smashed window in the corner. Books fallen out of bookcases and scattered over the rug, some with pages falling out and stained with things he'd probably rather not know about. A mahogany desk, a high backed chair facing away from him.

"Hey, Verg'. Waiting for somebody?" His lip curled into a smirk, almost comic in its predictablilty.

The chair creaked, leather squealing as it turned. Even with a devil's eyes, Dante could barely follow the blur of blue and silver that was his brother, but knew enough by experience and instinct to throw himself back, arching his shoulder and neck far enough to the floor to avoid the blade that whistled through the stale air. He stayed there, bracing himself with a few fingertips burrowed into the thick, luxurious rug, frowning up at his assailant. "That's a pretty lousy way to say hello."

Vergil appeared less than amused, but he resheathed his weapon, rocking back on his heels. Dante pushed off the rug, catching his balance swiftly enough, then ran a hand through his still-mussed hair with a theatrical sigh. One hand still rested on the nunchuks against his hip, unwilling to let down his guard just yet, if ever.

The silence that settled upon them was broken a few agonizing moments later when Vergil laughed, a short and humorless sound. "Such distrust, little brother. I've put my weapon away."

"Yeah, so?" Dante curled a finger around the chain. "Doesn't mean I know why, or don't think you'll whip it out the minute I turn my back." He grinned darkly. "You're the one who decided we should do our brotherly bonding by killing each other. Can't blame me for expecting it."

"I wasn't aware I'd set a trend." Vergil spread his hands, taking a step forward. Dante considered taking one backwards, but stood his ground, the cold chain digging into his knuckles. "I was curious about your progress through my tower... I thought I would come and see for myself."

"Just peachy. Thanks." It was a fear that went somewhere beyond the simple fact that he knew Vergil could kick his sorry ass without breaking a sweat. He'd faced creatures that were strong enough to do the same- not as tough as his brother, but tougher than him- and he'd done it with a reckless laugh and a grin.

Nothing else had ever scared him like Vergil did.

"You're a mess. How did you manage to make it this far, bleeding like that?" There was a note of something like scolding in his voice, something that prickled along his spine and tried to convince him it was fondness, affection. "You'll never stop running into things without preparation."

"I'm plenty prepared!" Dante bristled. Vergil just smirked, hands still open as if to show he was still unarmed. "Look, 'bro', if you're just here to laugh at me, I'm goin'. Got more of your shit to break."

"Feel free, I don't want any of it." Vergil cocked his head, a strange glitter in his eyes. "Before you go, though..."

Dante choked, swallowing convulsively as the point of Vergil's sword poked into the hollow of his throat. He'd not even seen him draw it... not that he was surprised. The cold light that was dancing in those eyes hypnotized him as surely as any snake captured a mouse- he didn't dare look away, nor did he really want to.

"How about a kiss for your big brother?" His voice was a dagger in silk, soothing the stab into his chest with inhuman softness.

"So that's your game now...?" He tried to snarl, but instead his voice croaked out, wavering. "You missed your chance already. Should've thought about it when I offered it."

"There were more important things to take care of then." Vergil took a step to the side, sliding the tip of his blade away, instead easing the sharp edge against his sweating flesh as he circled him. Dante took a deep breath, holding still, following him with his eyes until it hurt too much on the edge of his vision. "There's much more time now... affairs have been concluded."

"Guess I shouldn't bother to ask what the hell that means." It was getting hard to breathe- not so much from the thin pressure on his jugular as the way his heart seized up every time another floorboard creaked under his brother's heel.

"No. You shouldn't." Fingers were toying with the ends of his hair, sending shivers through his neck. "You should save your breath... you seem to have so little of it."

Dante noticed rather belatedly that his chest was indeed heaving, straining impatiently against the leather strap. Probably anyone else would attribute it to the blade menacing his throat, but he, and undoubtably Vergil, knew better. His stomach, which seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his throat, would probably testify the same.

"You're a funny guy, Vergil." Dante bit his lip as a hand flattened onto his chest, pressing against his heartbeat. "Funny guy."

"And you talk too much." The sword wobbled at his throat, drawing a tiny bit of blood, but it stung less than the teeth that sank unforgivingly into his earlobe. Dante swallowed a gasp, stiffening. Vergil ignored him, the hand pushing roughly underneath the flap of his jacket, fingers digging into his side and dragging hard over his abdomen. As if to add insult to injury, he puffed a short, hot breath over Dante's ear, then brushed his lips over the angry wound in a mockery of apology.

He could only close his eyes, only struggle to breathe as that hand raked over his stomach, again and again, rhythmic enough that he began to flex into his fingers unconsciously. Vergil's mouth was on his neck, teeth snapping over the skin, tongue slicking after every sting, making his throat jump into the sword. There were trickles of blood reaching to his collarbone by now, but it wasn't worrying him- the pain in his throat was nothing compared to the stabbing ache coiling in his gut.

"I thought you were more of a fighter, Dante..."

"Put down the sword, and you'll see a fight," he muttered raggedly. Vergil 'hmph'ed against the back of his shoulder, then idly traced a finger through the trails of crimson, smearing the sticky warmth across his skin, painting lines on his chest and lazy arcs around and over a nipple. Dante could feel the shudder rolling down his spine, his stomach rolling with a mix of revulsion and nightmarish desire, and he tried to swallow, only to slit the wound open further.

"You'll hurt yourself if you aren't careful." Vergil traced his hand lower, staining the nearly-transparent trail of hairs below his navel crimson, drops of blood falling like molasses from his fingers to roll down the front of Dante's pants. "Don't disappoint me by dying too early..."

"You're getting the cleaning bill for these pants." It was hard to be flippant when the tips of Vergil's fingers were following the line of his zipper, up and down, up and down... "Your goons already fucked up my house. Hope you've got insurance." Was there any real point to trying to suppress a hard-on, when that was his brother's evident goal anyway? Probably not, and it was just as well, because Dante wasn't too sure he had the self-control left.

"You don't know how to get bloodstains out of leather...? For shame, brother. I was sure that was a basic life skill."

Dante's lip curled. "I guess Mom failed with both of us, then, huh?"

The reaction was immediate, Vergil's hand clenching painfully on his groin. He yelped, stars exploding behind his eyes, then staggered, knees buckling. The pain melted away after what seemed like the longest five seconds of his life, and he caught his breath, trying to hold himself away from the blade and catch his balance at the same time.

"Don't talk about her," Vergil said, and his palm rolled over him, fingers dragging between his thighs, heel rubbing in a slow circle. Dante could dimly feel his hips shaking and jerking, a sickly excitement choking him. "In fact, don't talk at all. I'd hate for my hand to slip."

"Verg'..." he pleaded hoarsely, breath stammering over his lips, "just put the sword down..." The once-tiny cut on his throat had widened, the steady trickle of blood pooling in the hollow of his collarbone.

"You're not going to fool me into complacence." It was almost like he intended the sharp rip of the zipper to be a punishment, the jerking motion pulling Dante dangerously close to slitting his own throat. "How much of a fool do you think I am?"

Any snappy response he could have made was swallowed by a desperate groan, head snapping back onto his brother's broad shoulder as he bucked into his hand. The sound Vergil made could been one of surprise just as easily as one of smug triumph, but the way his blood-slick fingers ravaged Dante was just as confident as his swordplay had ever been. His pale eyes watered, nails scraping cruelly over a pounding vein, spicing perverse exaltation with stabs of pain. Nothing more or less than he had expected, a simple ignoble surrender to any sadistic whim while searching frantically for the current of gratification that always managed to run beneath.

The edge of the blade caressed his throat as it withdrew, stirring congealed blood to flow freely again as Vergil replaced it in the scabbard. Maybe he thought his prey was sufficiently distracted and off-balance that the sword was no longer required to control him, maybe he'd just gotten tired of holding it up, maybe he'd been genuinely concerned that he'd kill Dante before he actually wanted to. The unarticulated reason didn't matter- all that did was that Dante could move now, he could convince his legs into action and lock an arm around Vergil's neck and shoulders, trapping the invading hand between their bodies. He caught only a flash of the cool face breaking into surprise and frustration before he snatched a hungry kiss, wet and sloppy like a kid's, but with a lewd swipe of tongue that was anything but.

"I guess it was foolish to let you go after all," Vergil glowered, hand tensing on the back of Dante's neck, squeezing the muscle until it went limp and twitching in his hand. "What are you trying to do...?"

"Just giving you what you asked for," Dante smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand, head lolling in his brother's grasp. "Oh, Vergil, Vergil... how many times've you tried this, huh? You just can't rape a guy who wants your dick like I do. Fouls it up right from the start."

Vergil's face was dark with a frustration that Dante remembered well, one he'd grinned up at years before, silhouetted by a nightlight. Even before they'd known was they were really doing, back when Mom was still alive. It was only sometimes, but it was hard to forget your big brother gagging you with a pillow and thrusting frantically into your little boy hips, always afraid to kiss you like Mom had kissed Dad.

Verg' never wanted him to like it, never wanted him to go along. But he'd learned young that liking it was the best way to get back at him for the bruises and the confusion- if he liked it, then he wasn't being controlled. It drove Vergil nuts when he cried for more.

It hadn't been hard to like it in the first place. He didn't even have to think about it anymore.

"Don't get all sentimental on me now, bro." Dante pushed into the fingers still cupping his shaft, keeping his eyes locked with Vergil's even as his eyelids fluttered, heart pounding in his ears. His fingers squeezed, and he mumbled an incoherent sound, digging his nails hard into Vergil's shoulder. Vergil chuckled somewhere deep in his throat, and then he was stroking him, too gently and surely to be for real, thumb smoothing over the head and flicking beneath the hood of skin, almost like he'd bothered to learn something over all those years hiding beneath the covers.

"Verg'... oh, shit..." His knees were turning steadily to water, thighs shuddering, and he realized what seemed like a hazy eternity later that he was hanging desperately on Vergil's shoulders, throat bleeding onto his coat, arms twined around his neck like a needy fiancee. "Verg'," he mumbled again, jaw hanging open, panting for air. "Vergil..."

"You're shameless, little brother." The hand holding his neck was steel, and it pushed, the strength of Vergil's arm and the weakness of his legs working in vicious tandem to force Dante to his knees. The hand that had been keeping him distracted rose to his shoulder, and he snarled a wordless complaint. "Shut up," Vergil reminded, then shoved him down, one hand pinning his shoulder to the floor while the other ripped impatiently at his pants. Dante rolled his head back, gulping and wriggling uncomfortably, a few of the glass shards he'd seen from the broken window poking into his spine. Normally, such a thing wouldn't bother him, but with his skin as senstive as it was right now, it was agony, even through the leather jacket.

But he'd be damned if he let it distract him.

This was the only time he ever saw Vergil in less than complete control; when he was tearing at his own bottom lip in irritation, the tiny buttons of his pants eluding scrabbling fingers, the zipper catching and refusing to give way until he nearly broke it with yanking. The only way he'd ever been able to beat Vergil was to drive him into fury with his own wanting... to contradict him and frustrate him and lead him along until he was too enraged to concentrate.

Maybe if he could draw his sword right now, while his brother was wriggling his pants down to his thighs and pulling the bloodstained leather of Dante's own to his ankles, he could take off his head without too much problem. It was a plan that always sounded good in his head, and it was logical... but thinking about it before always ended up in him underestimating the tightness in his chest, the tingling in his hands and electricity in his spine, the pounding ache in his cock that demanded attention before he did anything else. So instead of finding Rebellion's hilt, he arched his back and gasped, pushing into Vergil's hands. Fingernails raked the insides of his thighs, vicious and painful, but it was contact.

He was pliable to his knees being shoved up to his shoulders, and only bit his lip through about halfway when Vergil shoved inside him, the tearing pain not quite as bad as the last time he'd been stabbed through the gut. Not quite. Dante stared at the dark ceiling, the tiny explosions behind his eyes making them water, trying to breathe, struggling to relax. He knew he was shuddering, flexing and squeezing, if only by the way Vergil jerked against him, the way his breathing was growing harsh and ragged. He focused on the rips of agony as his brother's teeth snapped at the already-abused skin of his thighs, the trickle of blood marking his pale flesh and spotting the jacket he lay on, slick and sticky and hot. Vergil's fingertips swiped through the pooling, congealing liquid, then took firm hold of his cock again, painting the shaft with red swipes and the drips that fell from his wrist.

Over his own frantic whimpers and Vergil's rough panting, the squeaks of the floorboards beneath him and the crunch of shattering glass every time his shoulders slammed back into the rug, he could only hear his heart beating in his ears, the same thudding rush he could feel in the cuts on his legs, on his throat, his ear, now his back as the shards cut through his coat and into his skin. Faster and faster, until he thought his heart would simply explode, his eyes going blank and vision white, legs jerking over Vergil's shoulders as drying red mixed with spilling white over his stomach, and the world was ending-

Dante had no idea how long it took for him to return to some semblance of normal, but when he did, Vergil was already gone and his head was killing him. Attempting to raise himself to an elbow just cut him on some more glass, his legs hurt like a bitch, and a familiar red glow in the corner meant this room wasn't going to be so private in a few seconds. With a heartfelt groan, he propped himself against the desk as well he could, pulling Ebony and Ivory out and raising them to bear.

He'd have to just put on his pants later.