Standing in Wait

Standing in Wait

Vergil watched the dark silhouette of Arkham walking away down the wide stairs and past the heavy bronze door of the tower, heading out to ask the uninvited one to leave. Finally. He had thought the man would never leave him alone for even a short moment. The regular fluttering of the pages of that damned book he knew by heart was like an intruding heartbeat constantly reminding Vergil of Arkham's irritating presence.

This time around, he was not what Vergil wanted. He did not wanted the power-hungry human kneeling between his legs, pleasuring him with his own sword as he looked upon him with his usual, completely stoic expression, as if he had been picking daisies and not bringing his almost master to orgasm.

No, what he wanted now, he could give to himself, he thought as he slowly pulled the zipper of his snakeskin leather pants down. He then pulled his hard cock out, hissing when the cold, damp air of the night hit it and wrapped his hand around it to keep it warm. This time he wanted his own hand on himself, the hand just like the hand of his dear brother climbing his tower of evil just for him...

Releasing his breath, he removed his glove with his teeth to enjoy the feeling of skin against skin as he stroked himself, quickly, already very aroused. He did not feel like waiting. Where could Dante be now? Still struggling at Cerberus' door? Trying to solved the puzzle of the clock tower? Trapped in the trial rooms? Duelling with the twin guardians of the last door?

Groaning, biting down on the supple leather of his glove, he imagined his dear brother climbing the last stairs of the Temen-Ni-Gru, panting, sweating, drenched in the blood of his defeated enemy like a strong and proud devil, smelling good of victory and glory. Yes, his beautiful and strong brother, his only worthy adversary, his beloved twin brother, ascending his tower for him, killing so many just for a chance to see him again, spilling blood just for him...

His devilish roar rose into the night as he came, shooting past the edge of the platform that was the Temen-Ni-Gru's roof, keeping enough control on himself to not topple over into the emptiness. After licking his fingers clean, he tucked himself back into his pants, zipped up and put his gloves back on; then, again, he stood, dark and ominous figure on top of his monument to evil, contemplating the ravaged city without seeing it, waiting for his dear, dear little brother.