Got the Picture
folder
+A through F › Devil May Cry
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,265
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+A through F › Devil May Cry
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,265
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Got the Picture
Got the Picture
A/N: humor, NC-17, Vergil/Dante AU. That’s all the warnings here, babes. I do not own DMC. It is Capcom's.
Sitting seems to be the most effective way of coming to a conclusion. I came to that conclusion, sitting. But of course. But, more importantly, I came to one of the conclusions that I knew I shouldn’t be coming to, especially for Vergil’s sake. That poor, poor man.
While my laptop was so innocently sitting on my lap, I noticed it. All of my favorite animated porn sites dedicated to the infamous gaylove seemed to have a phobia of finishing the drawings. I mean, truly, what’s wrong with sketching out a nice, big, dripping cock? All ya need is a nice, big, dripping model. And it honestly wouldn’t hurt if he were a total Adonis, either. Muscular, too. And, yanno, being evil has always been a major turn-on for me. So, really, finding him wouldn’t be all that hard. No, finding him would be easy. But getting one’s wickedly evil, muscular, gorgeous roommate to consent to showing you his cock would be an entirely different matter. Thus, finding nothing better to do, I jumped off the toilet, laptop in hand, to go scheme, as I do best.
* * *
As far as scheming got me, I could SO be Steven King’s predecessor. Step one: find out if Vergil is gay. Process: not sure yet. Step two: lure him into dropping his pants. Process: definitely not sure yet. Step three: observe quietly. Process: Have him ride me while he shoves his undoubtedly talented tongue in my mouth so I don’t scream and wake everyone else in the fraternity up. See that last one? Pure genius.
* * *
From here on out, all log entries will be formatted: date, time, subject behavior. Why? Because I didn't get into college for being a complete dumbass.
* * *
August 14, 12:48 PM
Subject: Woke up at his insanely-normal-for-a-Saturday time of exactly 6:30 AM. I swear he practices this with an Exacto-knife to the head every Monday. I heard him showering, then dressing. I missed whatever he did after that, ‘cause I was busy with the heavy supply of mental images said shower produced. THEN, he proceeded to ignore my skillful cover of “playing those ridiculous video games of mine” and made ONLY himself coffee. Evil. I told you. After making sure he was unaware of my motive, I “shared” some of his coffee. Conversation as follows:
“Get away from me.”
“Good morning sunshine. What crawled up your ass and nestled burrs?”
“Go away.”
“What whore house did you go to last night? You smell like “oh god I flushed my pants down somebody’s toilet and came home buck last night”.”
“Fuck you.”
“Aww. Ya really mean that? I’m touched, Vergil. For you to care so much…”
“Dante, why don’t you go antagonize Naigira. I hear snake bite wounds swell up nicely.”
“Hey Vergil?”
“Fuck off.”
“Are you gay?”
* * *
August 16, 7:29 PM
Subject: The hospital treated me quite nicely. They gave me lots of morphine. Now, sometimes if I cough, I can see more than just regular colors. I have asked Vergil if this was normal. He ignored me.
* * *
August 17, 8:00 AM
Subject: Someone saw the claw marks on my face and commented on how much blood was on the kitchen floor. Thus far, my experiment has failed. I believe this is, in part, due to my directness in approaching the subject. I will now attempt to be less like a “stupid wasted fag from hell”, and more like I am, normally. And thus, during one of the many unimportant-yet-somehow-necessary Fraternity meetings, did the subject of laundry come about. And because of the “Fearless Leader’s” incessant whining about having to scrub the kitchen down because of ME, I was roped into doing the entire Fraternity’s laundry. This usually consisted of: my semi-clean leather things, sweaty jock straps, dirty underwear, yellow socks, and dripping shirts and pants. The only plus side was that everyone sorted their clothes, so I had room to decide what kind of gloves to wear.
* * *
August 18, 1:00 AM
Subject: Gloves, my white American ass! Amazing, wonderful things, one finds in such unexpected places. For only my research, I assure you, I snooped just a bit in my lovely subject’s bag. First, EVERY shirt that Vergil owns is the same color. Lucky for him, I happen to like the color blue very much. (Wouldn’t it be a shame if he didn’t know he was repelling me?) Second, he has no pajamas. Thus I decided while sitting on the dryer, he must sleep in nothing or just his…male G-strap. Or, possibly, the leather chaps. Maybe even the blue silk briefs with the open back. Oh, the possibilities of this discovery were endless. Some of them were so tight, they must have fit him like a second skin. And JUST that thought made me want to run to his room and be punished for looking at such sinful little scraps of cloth. Just come right out and tell him…so we can make wild, passionate love forever and ever. So I can most definitely never notice if anyone is standing in the doorway.
“What…are you doing?”
“Blue silk!”
See. I have this nasty habit of blurting…sometimes, I think out loud. Vergil, bless him, didn’t hit me this time. He froze up like a raspberry smoothie in an airplane bathroom. He made a tiny sound in his throat, too. I was about to analyze this, but he was too close now for me to think. He gingerly plucked the little treasure from my hands and made to leave. My plans had been to blackmail him with the thong that was in my pocket, but he was still too close for me to be thinking properly. My brain seemed to flounder for an excuse. My eyes said they could feel it flopping around like a fish out of water.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone!”
See? Blurting. Problem. He half-turned. He dropped the silk into his open bag and just stared. I could smell the icy-cold air around him. I shivered.
“Will you give that leather thong back someday, too?”
* * *
August 18, 3:00 AM
Subject: It amazes me that I was able to string two words together. Vergil, the subject of my dreams and suddenly oh-so-see-through “project”, was sitting no more than a foot away from me. ME.
“So…does it really look that bad?”
His hands were on my face, touching each deep scratch he had made.
“Uhm…honestly? You look like a train wreck. Sorry for doing this to you, by the way. I thought you were attempting to be funny.”
“No, I was actually asking you.”
“…You really suck hard at being subtle, Dante.”
“Thanks.”
I was taking everything that came out of his mouth like a compliment. Train wreck? Fetching, isn’t it. Moron? Do you like stupid men? Then he smiled, the very first time I had ever seen him do that, and that was about the time I turned into a red, white, and cream puddle of goo. Either that, or later- when he walked me to my door, seven past his, and gave me a kiss on the cheek goodnight.
* * *
August 19, 7:00 PM
Subject: Puddle of mushy, horny, paranoid goop. I hadn’t seen him all the next day, and not until later the nineteenth. So naturally having been turned into a lovesick puppy, I thought he was avoiding me. Turns out he went to a drugstore in Jersey and had stayed with a friend overnight. Why, I asked him. To get me, (ME), some special salve for my face that would heal it faster. Oh, why didn’t I guess this before? Duh…and I’m pretty sure my eyes crossed and I fainted.
* * *
August 19, 7:05 PM
Subject:
“Are you okay?”
“…”
“Dante?”
“…”
“HELLO?!”
“I love you!”
* * *
August 19, 7:08 PM
Subject: This was about the time I stopped fearing death. The very next day, Satan could have asked me to sell my soul for a Mars bar, and I would have said yes. And, for the second time in two days, I flinched when expecting to be hit. Chicken? No, protective of brain cells. But he didn’t hit me. He didn’t even make that tiny throat-sound. And I didn’t look at him. What a change from not being able to STOP looking at him.
“…You apply it twice daily, evening and when you wake up. It should clear up quite soon.”
I would have inexplicably fainted again, but he was holding my head this time. Even if Death didn’t scare me, losing my chance at ever being anywhere near him ever again did. I kept my mouth shut. He, just to spite me I’m sure, filled the silence with the question I had honestly forgotten about.
“Why did you ask if I was gay in the first place?”
I drew myself up as proudly as possible after fainting my deadweight of 210 pounds, which is all muscle, onto the floor and faced him.
“ I have observed that most artists never draw the cock when making that kind of sketch. I was wondering why it was so…hard. And I needed a model to pose for me.”
Then I thought I was either in Heaven or deaf. He tossed his hair back and laughed. I swear I could always get lost in that sound. He was so wickedly, evilly beautiful. Foreign in every right, but right at home wherever he went.
“That was it?! Lord, Dante…you are so……so..ungraceful! Why didn’t you just ask?”
This reads like he was yelling, but he was actually turning me into now cauterized goo with his laugh. And yet, some little part of my brain that was apparently connected to the speech part of my brain told me that asking him to drop his pants might not be a good idea.
“Heh…yea, I don’t think you understand…”
And now the randy part of my brain was mad at the rest of me.
“You are speaking of statues and things, yes? I’d be happy to stand still for a-“
“No, Verge. May I call ya Verge? Anyway, this is different…It’s like…like other things…like…” I was babbling now. “Like…porn, kinda. – I mean, not really porn, but…yanno…”
He was staring at me.
“…Oh.”
And he might’ve said something else, but I was halfway out the door by then.
* * *
August 20, Midnight
Subject: I don’t believe what he’s done to me! That little Adonis has single-handedly turned me into a red, white, creamy, gooey, possibly viscose, lovesick puppy! Woof. Now, not only are my chances of at the very least kissing him gone, but so were they of ever finding out why no one draws the best part! Wait, no. This must be it. Because anyone who tries gets caught in the trap and is forced to eat pizza to calm themselves down. (Yes, guys have comfort food, too!) No ponder-sitting would help me now. Nope, I was totally screwed. Totally, utterly, undeni-
And once again, Mr. Mystery God smiled down on me and barfed good fortune in my lap. I rose to greet said good fortune, which was literally knocking quietly at my door. Vergil, alone, was shifting nervously from foot to foot in my doorway. And I would have noticed he was nervous, had I not noticed he was half-naked first. I must have been standing dumbly, drooling like a retard, I didn’t care; I was to busy “noticing” everything. He was staring, now too. I have a hunch it was because I was still completely naked from previous wanking off at his mental image. He blinked, a comatose patient waking up, and let himself in, closing and locking the door behind us.
I turned and quite possibly died as he flicked off his (probably blue, but it could have been technicolor for all I care) robe. Vergil. Naked. In my room. With me. At his own will. Something in my brain must have snapped. I could most definitely do something about this.
“Why are YOU here?”
His lips twitched in a bare whisper of a smile.
“You asked me to model, didn’t you? Now you don’t want me to? Perhaps I should leave you to yourself, then, Dante.”
The way he purred my named out reminded me of a tiger I saw in a harsh little cage. I found myself VERY horny. But right now, the upper brain was thinking and not to be disturbed. I didn’t answer him, scooting my easel and chair over a bit, and bending over to shove a pillow behind his knees. His too perfect ass was inches above my face and, had I been a lesser man, I would have dropped to the ground and begged him to fuck me senseless right then and there. But, right now, the very small “arteest” bit of me that had somehow gotten me a scholarship at the school was making all the decisions for me. Vergil had really nice muscles, it said. All the better to squeeze you with! My cock cried. The arteest was blatantly reminded of a child in a candy store. My body was at war with itself, and in the event of a succession, the rest of me REALLY hoped the Arteest would be the one to break off from the nation.
* * *
August 20, 12:15 AM
Subject: And thus I found myself using an HB and charcoal to sketch Vergil’s Godly body, leaving the crotch blank, for now. My hands were flying across the page, while my beautiful model patiently sat still, giving me the very best bedroom eyes I had ever seen. Finally, the last piece was to be added. Before even I knew what I was doing, I got up, ignoring Vergil’s questioning look, and perched my still naked self on his thigh. His brows knitted together in still-perfect confusion.
“Dante, what are you doing?”
His voice was as silky as what he wore, but still so very powerful and commanding. I found I too, was susceptible to its very persuading charm.
“I want you…”
I paused, because even though I’m an arteest, I’m a kinky one.
“…Ready for the last part. Can you do that for me?”
He slowly nodded.
“What do you want me to do? If this is what you say, then I assume you want me…period. Am I not wrong?”
Did I mention he was foreign?
* * *
August 20, 12:35 AM
Subject: He had his fingers wound tightly through my hair, tugging insistently. I bucked against him wildly, somehow needing more than three of his fingers buried to the knuckle inside me. I vaguely wondered if he ever masturbated. He had already cum once, with barely even a whisper of a touch. Okay, more like a harsh squeeze, but really now. Paper and pencils lay strewn about the room, left forgotten in the mad frenzy to get to my bed. I was harder than I had ever been before, dripping and moaning and crying his name as he scissored his fingers so hard I thought I would break. He grasped my bucking hips, shoving me down to the bed and panting something in his own language in my ear. I had just enough time to register what language it was before he arched away from me, pulling his hand out. He leaned over me, licking at my lips to remove to blood I had drawn from biting before kissing me roughly. It was sloppy; it was hurried.
“Spanda i vostri piedini. Spread your legs.”
I did as told, panting harshly and wanting him so bad I thought I would die if he didn’t shove his-
All at once, without warning, he slammed into me, crying out some curse and hissing between his teeth. I thought, well hey. This must be good. So I squeezed him hard with all my muscles, and he crushed my lips with his. We were perfectly intertwined, reminiscent of a braided rope. A sweaty, writhing, pair of a better whole, in sync as he pushed in and out of me, gasping and moaning like the masculine god he is. The only break in the sounds of us together were the short bursts of ravenous kissing, locking lips with fierce passion as he pounded into my willing ass. My cock dripped onto my chest, and hell I didn’t care. This was beyond heaven, hell, or ecstasy. This was sin, fucking me, taking me over and over and making me scream. Finally, he arched his back up, crying out my very own name, and I clenched, feeling him swell inside of me. We came hard and fast together, crashing down on the surreal notion of orgasm. He still slid inside, deeper, but slower. Vergil’s muscles crunched and fell as he collapsed next to me, one eye open to watch me gasping and trying to recollect the shattered pieces of my mind. I finally just let chaos be, turning on my side and burying my face to his collar. The drawing would not be finished for another year.
* * *
August 20, 8:00 AM
Subject: Ever watched the news, and seen a train wreck so horrible that you want to look away and forget about the loss, but you just…can’t? This was it. This is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life, someone like me, and now it gets taken away. Isn’t this what always happens, really? Books, movies, songs. I feel like smacking myself in the head for not realizing that this was what was going to happen anyway I looked at it. And worse yet, I can’t even be mad at him. At all. Even if it was his fault, I couldn’t. And I came to this conclusion while sitting in the airport, bawling my eyes out because he is, in fact, a foreign exchange student and has to go back to Italy. Sitting, at least.
* * *
September 2, 5:00 PM
Subject: Phone conversation as follows:
“Hullo?”
“Ciao? Ciao? Dante?”
“…Verge?”
“Sì! I knew it was you!”
Insert sounds of laughing and being overjoyed here.
“…Where are you?!”
“Home. Italy.”
“Okay, yea. I should have expected that…Um.”
“Yes, yes. Listen, Dante. Our school year is almost over, summer is coming over Italy. Come see me?”
“…God, I love you so much, Vergil.”
“Reciproco.”
Even on the phone, he sounded so much different. Still wicked and sexy, but less threatening than ever. I guessed it was the climate of wherever he was. Fresh air, Ocean scenes, good wine, great food. Hmn. Sounds like I could use a little bit of Italy.
A/N: humor, NC-17, Vergil/Dante AU. That’s all the warnings here, babes. I do not own DMC. It is Capcom's.
Sitting seems to be the most effective way of coming to a conclusion. I came to that conclusion, sitting. But of course. But, more importantly, I came to one of the conclusions that I knew I shouldn’t be coming to, especially for Vergil’s sake. That poor, poor man.
While my laptop was so innocently sitting on my lap, I noticed it. All of my favorite animated porn sites dedicated to the infamous gaylove seemed to have a phobia of finishing the drawings. I mean, truly, what’s wrong with sketching out a nice, big, dripping cock? All ya need is a nice, big, dripping model. And it honestly wouldn’t hurt if he were a total Adonis, either. Muscular, too. And, yanno, being evil has always been a major turn-on for me. So, really, finding him wouldn’t be all that hard. No, finding him would be easy. But getting one’s wickedly evil, muscular, gorgeous roommate to consent to showing you his cock would be an entirely different matter. Thus, finding nothing better to do, I jumped off the toilet, laptop in hand, to go scheme, as I do best.
* * *
As far as scheming got me, I could SO be Steven King’s predecessor. Step one: find out if Vergil is gay. Process: not sure yet. Step two: lure him into dropping his pants. Process: definitely not sure yet. Step three: observe quietly. Process: Have him ride me while he shoves his undoubtedly talented tongue in my mouth so I don’t scream and wake everyone else in the fraternity up. See that last one? Pure genius.
* * *
From here on out, all log entries will be formatted: date, time, subject behavior. Why? Because I didn't get into college for being a complete dumbass.
* * *
August 14, 12:48 PM
Subject: Woke up at his insanely-normal-for-a-Saturday time of exactly 6:30 AM. I swear he practices this with an Exacto-knife to the head every Monday. I heard him showering, then dressing. I missed whatever he did after that, ‘cause I was busy with the heavy supply of mental images said shower produced. THEN, he proceeded to ignore my skillful cover of “playing those ridiculous video games of mine” and made ONLY himself coffee. Evil. I told you. After making sure he was unaware of my motive, I “shared” some of his coffee. Conversation as follows:
“Get away from me.”
“Good morning sunshine. What crawled up your ass and nestled burrs?”
“Go away.”
“What whore house did you go to last night? You smell like “oh god I flushed my pants down somebody’s toilet and came home buck last night”.”
“Fuck you.”
“Aww. Ya really mean that? I’m touched, Vergil. For you to care so much…”
“Dante, why don’t you go antagonize Naigira. I hear snake bite wounds swell up nicely.”
“Hey Vergil?”
“Fuck off.”
“Are you gay?”
* * *
August 16, 7:29 PM
Subject: The hospital treated me quite nicely. They gave me lots of morphine. Now, sometimes if I cough, I can see more than just regular colors. I have asked Vergil if this was normal. He ignored me.
* * *
August 17, 8:00 AM
Subject: Someone saw the claw marks on my face and commented on how much blood was on the kitchen floor. Thus far, my experiment has failed. I believe this is, in part, due to my directness in approaching the subject. I will now attempt to be less like a “stupid wasted fag from hell”, and more like I am, normally. And thus, during one of the many unimportant-yet-somehow-necessary Fraternity meetings, did the subject of laundry come about. And because of the “Fearless Leader’s” incessant whining about having to scrub the kitchen down because of ME, I was roped into doing the entire Fraternity’s laundry. This usually consisted of: my semi-clean leather things, sweaty jock straps, dirty underwear, yellow socks, and dripping shirts and pants. The only plus side was that everyone sorted their clothes, so I had room to decide what kind of gloves to wear.
* * *
August 18, 1:00 AM
Subject: Gloves, my white American ass! Amazing, wonderful things, one finds in such unexpected places. For only my research, I assure you, I snooped just a bit in my lovely subject’s bag. First, EVERY shirt that Vergil owns is the same color. Lucky for him, I happen to like the color blue very much. (Wouldn’t it be a shame if he didn’t know he was repelling me?) Second, he has no pajamas. Thus I decided while sitting on the dryer, he must sleep in nothing or just his…male G-strap. Or, possibly, the leather chaps. Maybe even the blue silk briefs with the open back. Oh, the possibilities of this discovery were endless. Some of them were so tight, they must have fit him like a second skin. And JUST that thought made me want to run to his room and be punished for looking at such sinful little scraps of cloth. Just come right out and tell him…so we can make wild, passionate love forever and ever. So I can most definitely never notice if anyone is standing in the doorway.
“What…are you doing?”
“Blue silk!”
See. I have this nasty habit of blurting…sometimes, I think out loud. Vergil, bless him, didn’t hit me this time. He froze up like a raspberry smoothie in an airplane bathroom. He made a tiny sound in his throat, too. I was about to analyze this, but he was too close now for me to think. He gingerly plucked the little treasure from my hands and made to leave. My plans had been to blackmail him with the thong that was in my pocket, but he was still too close for me to be thinking properly. My brain seemed to flounder for an excuse. My eyes said they could feel it flopping around like a fish out of water.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone!”
See? Blurting. Problem. He half-turned. He dropped the silk into his open bag and just stared. I could smell the icy-cold air around him. I shivered.
“Will you give that leather thong back someday, too?”
* * *
August 18, 3:00 AM
Subject: It amazes me that I was able to string two words together. Vergil, the subject of my dreams and suddenly oh-so-see-through “project”, was sitting no more than a foot away from me. ME.
“So…does it really look that bad?”
His hands were on my face, touching each deep scratch he had made.
“Uhm…honestly? You look like a train wreck. Sorry for doing this to you, by the way. I thought you were attempting to be funny.”
“No, I was actually asking you.”
“…You really suck hard at being subtle, Dante.”
“Thanks.”
I was taking everything that came out of his mouth like a compliment. Train wreck? Fetching, isn’t it. Moron? Do you like stupid men? Then he smiled, the very first time I had ever seen him do that, and that was about the time I turned into a red, white, and cream puddle of goo. Either that, or later- when he walked me to my door, seven past his, and gave me a kiss on the cheek goodnight.
* * *
August 19, 7:00 PM
Subject: Puddle of mushy, horny, paranoid goop. I hadn’t seen him all the next day, and not until later the nineteenth. So naturally having been turned into a lovesick puppy, I thought he was avoiding me. Turns out he went to a drugstore in Jersey and had stayed with a friend overnight. Why, I asked him. To get me, (ME), some special salve for my face that would heal it faster. Oh, why didn’t I guess this before? Duh…and I’m pretty sure my eyes crossed and I fainted.
* * *
August 19, 7:05 PM
Subject:
“Are you okay?”
“…”
“Dante?”
“…”
“HELLO?!”
“I love you!”
* * *
August 19, 7:08 PM
Subject: This was about the time I stopped fearing death. The very next day, Satan could have asked me to sell my soul for a Mars bar, and I would have said yes. And, for the second time in two days, I flinched when expecting to be hit. Chicken? No, protective of brain cells. But he didn’t hit me. He didn’t even make that tiny throat-sound. And I didn’t look at him. What a change from not being able to STOP looking at him.
“…You apply it twice daily, evening and when you wake up. It should clear up quite soon.”
I would have inexplicably fainted again, but he was holding my head this time. Even if Death didn’t scare me, losing my chance at ever being anywhere near him ever again did. I kept my mouth shut. He, just to spite me I’m sure, filled the silence with the question I had honestly forgotten about.
“Why did you ask if I was gay in the first place?”
I drew myself up as proudly as possible after fainting my deadweight of 210 pounds, which is all muscle, onto the floor and faced him.
“ I have observed that most artists never draw the cock when making that kind of sketch. I was wondering why it was so…hard. And I needed a model to pose for me.”
Then I thought I was either in Heaven or deaf. He tossed his hair back and laughed. I swear I could always get lost in that sound. He was so wickedly, evilly beautiful. Foreign in every right, but right at home wherever he went.
“That was it?! Lord, Dante…you are so……so..ungraceful! Why didn’t you just ask?”
This reads like he was yelling, but he was actually turning me into now cauterized goo with his laugh. And yet, some little part of my brain that was apparently connected to the speech part of my brain told me that asking him to drop his pants might not be a good idea.
“Heh…yea, I don’t think you understand…”
And now the randy part of my brain was mad at the rest of me.
“You are speaking of statues and things, yes? I’d be happy to stand still for a-“
“No, Verge. May I call ya Verge? Anyway, this is different…It’s like…like other things…like…” I was babbling now. “Like…porn, kinda. – I mean, not really porn, but…yanno…”
He was staring at me.
“…Oh.”
And he might’ve said something else, but I was halfway out the door by then.
* * *
August 20, Midnight
Subject: I don’t believe what he’s done to me! That little Adonis has single-handedly turned me into a red, white, creamy, gooey, possibly viscose, lovesick puppy! Woof. Now, not only are my chances of at the very least kissing him gone, but so were they of ever finding out why no one draws the best part! Wait, no. This must be it. Because anyone who tries gets caught in the trap and is forced to eat pizza to calm themselves down. (Yes, guys have comfort food, too!) No ponder-sitting would help me now. Nope, I was totally screwed. Totally, utterly, undeni-
And once again, Mr. Mystery God smiled down on me and barfed good fortune in my lap. I rose to greet said good fortune, which was literally knocking quietly at my door. Vergil, alone, was shifting nervously from foot to foot in my doorway. And I would have noticed he was nervous, had I not noticed he was half-naked first. I must have been standing dumbly, drooling like a retard, I didn’t care; I was to busy “noticing” everything. He was staring, now too. I have a hunch it was because I was still completely naked from previous wanking off at his mental image. He blinked, a comatose patient waking up, and let himself in, closing and locking the door behind us.
I turned and quite possibly died as he flicked off his (probably blue, but it could have been technicolor for all I care) robe. Vergil. Naked. In my room. With me. At his own will. Something in my brain must have snapped. I could most definitely do something about this.
“Why are YOU here?”
His lips twitched in a bare whisper of a smile.
“You asked me to model, didn’t you? Now you don’t want me to? Perhaps I should leave you to yourself, then, Dante.”
The way he purred my named out reminded me of a tiger I saw in a harsh little cage. I found myself VERY horny. But right now, the upper brain was thinking and not to be disturbed. I didn’t answer him, scooting my easel and chair over a bit, and bending over to shove a pillow behind his knees. His too perfect ass was inches above my face and, had I been a lesser man, I would have dropped to the ground and begged him to fuck me senseless right then and there. But, right now, the very small “arteest” bit of me that had somehow gotten me a scholarship at the school was making all the decisions for me. Vergil had really nice muscles, it said. All the better to squeeze you with! My cock cried. The arteest was blatantly reminded of a child in a candy store. My body was at war with itself, and in the event of a succession, the rest of me REALLY hoped the Arteest would be the one to break off from the nation.
* * *
August 20, 12:15 AM
Subject: And thus I found myself using an HB and charcoal to sketch Vergil’s Godly body, leaving the crotch blank, for now. My hands were flying across the page, while my beautiful model patiently sat still, giving me the very best bedroom eyes I had ever seen. Finally, the last piece was to be added. Before even I knew what I was doing, I got up, ignoring Vergil’s questioning look, and perched my still naked self on his thigh. His brows knitted together in still-perfect confusion.
“Dante, what are you doing?”
His voice was as silky as what he wore, but still so very powerful and commanding. I found I too, was susceptible to its very persuading charm.
“I want you…”
I paused, because even though I’m an arteest, I’m a kinky one.
“…Ready for the last part. Can you do that for me?”
He slowly nodded.
“What do you want me to do? If this is what you say, then I assume you want me…period. Am I not wrong?”
Did I mention he was foreign?
* * *
August 20, 12:35 AM
Subject: He had his fingers wound tightly through my hair, tugging insistently. I bucked against him wildly, somehow needing more than three of his fingers buried to the knuckle inside me. I vaguely wondered if he ever masturbated. He had already cum once, with barely even a whisper of a touch. Okay, more like a harsh squeeze, but really now. Paper and pencils lay strewn about the room, left forgotten in the mad frenzy to get to my bed. I was harder than I had ever been before, dripping and moaning and crying his name as he scissored his fingers so hard I thought I would break. He grasped my bucking hips, shoving me down to the bed and panting something in his own language in my ear. I had just enough time to register what language it was before he arched away from me, pulling his hand out. He leaned over me, licking at my lips to remove to blood I had drawn from biting before kissing me roughly. It was sloppy; it was hurried.
“Spanda i vostri piedini. Spread your legs.”
I did as told, panting harshly and wanting him so bad I thought I would die if he didn’t shove his-
All at once, without warning, he slammed into me, crying out some curse and hissing between his teeth. I thought, well hey. This must be good. So I squeezed him hard with all my muscles, and he crushed my lips with his. We were perfectly intertwined, reminiscent of a braided rope. A sweaty, writhing, pair of a better whole, in sync as he pushed in and out of me, gasping and moaning like the masculine god he is. The only break in the sounds of us together were the short bursts of ravenous kissing, locking lips with fierce passion as he pounded into my willing ass. My cock dripped onto my chest, and hell I didn’t care. This was beyond heaven, hell, or ecstasy. This was sin, fucking me, taking me over and over and making me scream. Finally, he arched his back up, crying out my very own name, and I clenched, feeling him swell inside of me. We came hard and fast together, crashing down on the surreal notion of orgasm. He still slid inside, deeper, but slower. Vergil’s muscles crunched and fell as he collapsed next to me, one eye open to watch me gasping and trying to recollect the shattered pieces of my mind. I finally just let chaos be, turning on my side and burying my face to his collar. The drawing would not be finished for another year.
* * *
August 20, 8:00 AM
Subject: Ever watched the news, and seen a train wreck so horrible that you want to look away and forget about the loss, but you just…can’t? This was it. This is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life, someone like me, and now it gets taken away. Isn’t this what always happens, really? Books, movies, songs. I feel like smacking myself in the head for not realizing that this was what was going to happen anyway I looked at it. And worse yet, I can’t even be mad at him. At all. Even if it was his fault, I couldn’t. And I came to this conclusion while sitting in the airport, bawling my eyes out because he is, in fact, a foreign exchange student and has to go back to Italy. Sitting, at least.
* * *
September 2, 5:00 PM
Subject: Phone conversation as follows:
“Hullo?”
“Ciao? Ciao? Dante?”
“…Verge?”
“Sì! I knew it was you!”
Insert sounds of laughing and being overjoyed here.
“…Where are you?!”
“Home. Italy.”
“Okay, yea. I should have expected that…Um.”
“Yes, yes. Listen, Dante. Our school year is almost over, summer is coming over Italy. Come see me?”
“…God, I love you so much, Vergil.”
“Reciproco.”
Even on the phone, he sounded so much different. Still wicked and sexy, but less threatening than ever. I guessed it was the climate of wherever he was. Fresh air, Ocean scenes, good wine, great food. Hmn. Sounds like I could use a little bit of Italy.