Criminal

Criminal.

Author’s Note: I got a heavy request to do a military theme Verge dominant. So here it is. (Thank you to Panther, for inspiring this fic!!!) Warnings: extreme dark/SM. Lieutenant Colonel Verge/ Soldier Dante. NOT FOR THE WEAK! Anytime you see three asterisks, it is either a brief flashback or a switch of character POV.

Utter silence suffocated the pair of men. Not even the sound of breathing permeated the thick, heavy air. Not even in the sudden explosion of enemy fire did either flinch. The sound of a safety being clicked off was deafening in comparison.
Dante grinned a feral, wicked grin, chugging down half a bottle of clear absinthe. He spun, aiming with deadly accuracy with a massive gun. His last coherent words before he slipped into a living, nightmarish hell of blood were:

“Choose your poison.”

* * *

He had killed tens of hundreds of men. Men with wives, kids, lives. With no remorse. He had killed his only friend in this god-forsaken platoon, on the direct order of his superior. With little remorse. And yet, The Living Weapon was finding it difficult to look the Lieutenant Colonel in the eye. No normal person could make your blood freeze and your heart stop with such a glacial stare. But then, Dante never seemed to fall for the normal, sane ones.

* * *

Gunfire was silent to him, the bullets whipping past already deaf ears, unnoticed. He let his own gun drop to side, staring through a hazy fog of flying dirt and alcohol induced illusions. But the dull thud and impact of that bullet HE had fired was no illusion. The man in the same fatigues, same military grace fell before him, eyes staring wide at the shock of death. The Major, his definite superior, fell dead and bloody, killed by his own hand and somehow, the shock pierced through his venom-muddy brain and he turned and ran for the first time in his life.

* * *

Lieutenant verge held the cap up. Bloody, with a neat, perfect hole in the center, fired by a .45 caliber pistol held in the hands of the unfortunate soldier at that moment.
Verge sized the man up. He had heard or this prodigal powerhouse before. Tuberculosis held nothing against the man, the beast, the others feared and called the Red Death. And now the silken steel officer could see why. This was no high school whore, sitting before him. This man had tasted every kind of sin God had forbidden. A worthy match against a man even his superiors labeled as dangerous. He hadn’t tasted the kind of delicacy the Red Death offered in a very, very long time.

* * *

Dante couldn’t suppress a shudder at his Lieutenant’s cold, unemotional stare. It was inescapably, trapping him in his seat, as one might pin a bug to a board.
This man could destroy him.
Through the harsh gaze, a brilliant gleam flashed briefly, giving away just enough for a soldier to form mental images no man should see. The Lieutenant had a bargain.

* * *

“You were intoxicated on a direct assault, stole illegal, untested weapon technology from our base, and killed your object superior Major.”

He did not deny it.

“You defied every civilization’s law, including your native country’s.”

The cool tone of this man’s voice sent new, chilling shivers up his spine and back. Death may not scare him, but Verge did.

“You then attempted to desert.”

A drunken mind had guided him past the boundaries of their station, made him attack the guards in his way, until Death’s voice licked at his ear.

“I could have you put to a firing squad.”

The murderer detected a distinct ‘but’ in his commander’s voice. He waited for the Lieutenant’s wonderfully torturous voice to speak to him again. As silence grated on, he became aware of how truly isolated they were. Five miles from base, five hundred miles from civilization, to far away from sanity to remember what it was.

* * *

A practiced, cruel smirk rose Verge’s lips. He had this beast trapped in a cage, and he knew it.

“But…I may yet have use of you.”

He moved around the still form of the man cloaked in red. Silently, wordlessly, he drew the age-old field knife from its sheath, kneeling behind the chair to caress the doomed man’s neck with it. He spoke softly in his ear, flicking his tongue across unflawed skin, tasting the spice that the sudden zest for life brings forth. “Tell me who you are.”

As though unfazed by the dangerously sensual caresses, the man lifted his head and spoke to the darkness.

“I am a condemned man.”

Verge was silent, as he closed his mouth over the vein in his soldier’s neck.

“I am sin.”

* * *

Verge spoke quickly, quietly, his voice being swallowed by the shadows haunting the room. He continued to suck and mouth on his newfound prey’s throat. The only sound breaking his voice, the hiss of tawny skin against rough cloth as he pulled the soldier’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

“Let me have you, and this whole ugly mess will disappear.”

He moved to the front of the man, leaning against the desk so his arousal was apparent, straining against his fatigues. He watched with the rapt attention of a natural predator, his cold eyes glimmering. The man before him gave a hesitant, almost imperceptible nod, opening his legs to the man that now owned his life.

* * *

Dante opened his eyes, immediately feeling rough hands on his body, working over his bare torso, quickly stripping him of his pants. He was already hard, his thick cock throbbing and dripping precum over his belly and thighs. Too strong arms moved him, bending him backwards and throwing his legs over the arms of the chair. The Lieutenant grasped his prey by the neck, moaning languidly, feeling the thick vein pulse just under each harsh touch. Oh, how he wanted to scrape the flesh aside and feel the living cord truly against his skin, crying tears of blood over him. He settled for squeezing the air away from his soldier. One turbid gaze met the other, before verge impaled himself in a velvet-tight sheath of fiery sin.
Blood raced frantically, struggling for more life-giving air as power ridden hands squeezed it from the man, leaving wrathful bruises in their wake. He thrust mercilessly into the rigid, struggling body beneath him. Their thighs were coated with mingled blood, thick and rich as deep sinful chocolate. A match indeed; the whore gave no sign of the wretched pain bursting through him, save the erratic breathing of a helpless man. Each buck of powerful muscles sent Verge deeper into ecstasy.
The man’s ass was painfully tight, muscles clenching spasmodically as he struggled for air. The molten heat of this feeling sent even Verge broken into wild screams and horse moans. He spiraled harder and deeper into black orgasm, searing the untouched flesh raw. He came in thick, white ropes of cum, pulling away and splashing his seed onto the pair’s thighs. Everything was still but the heaving chest of the man in the chair, as Verge slicked himself clean and forced two fingers into his soldier’s mouth.

* * *

Dante turned to his side and vomited over the chair, insides searing in pain. Rage turned to vile, choleric disgust, and seeing his own blood in vomit upturned the corners of his mouth into a grim smile, full of dark delight at the prospect of dying before he remembered his own name. He closed his eyes and fell forward, embracing it like the family he had left behind.

* * *

An icy voice licked like a lover at his ear.

“Wake up, Major.”

Dante opened an eye, hoping for home and finding inky depths of cruel eyes instead. He smelled blood and sick.

“Major?”

Those devilishly cold eyes gleamed, in insane delight.

“Yes, you. Major.”

The dark, horrible presence over him lifted, and he raised his head to see his Lieutenant shoving the bloody, filthy cap over his head. The murderer had murdered, and thus by some sick pull of Fate’s thread, did he take the place of his victim.

“What kind of army is this?”

The Lieutenant laughed, a sound to make the Devil’s cry and life flee the living.

“Army? Welcome to Hell.”

~END~

Disclaimer: This is in no way related to the US or any other military personnel. I do not own DMC. It is Capcom's.