Reminiscence

Author’s Notes:

Merry Christmas! This is a Devil May Cry holiday fanfic that was written for a DMC seasonal fics contest.

The bulk of the story (the reminiscence itself) takes place in Dante and Vergil’s teenage childhood. The older Dante who is experiencing the reminiscence is post-DMC1.

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all its associated characters belong to Capcom, and are being used and abused in naughty ways without permission.

Notes about References: This story contains references to Luce and Ombra, Sparda’s twin handguns, and Tony Redgrave, the gunsmith who later altered Luce and Ombra to become Ivory and Ebony (respectively) for Dante. (I am taking this at face value to be assumed canon, although there remains some debate regarding it; TokyoPop's release of the novella should clear it up... and just might end up rendering parts of this fic AU.)

Content Warnings: This is a yaoi fanfic and contains the following: twincest (incest between twins), a little foul language, sparring/comedic violence, hj, and playful bondage. It does not contain sex (oral or anal), but remains rather hardcore smut regardless. If any of these things bother you, DON’T READ ON!

Genre Notes: This is feel-good smut with a rather bittersweet cap and tail; don’t be put off by the intro, it’s not an angstfic, I swear! ^^

And lastly: If you enjoy this, please review / comment, and vote for it in the yaoi category of the contest!

Thanks much, and Happy holidays!


.: o------------o :. REMINISCENCE .: o------------o :.

Snow was falling thickly, a pure crystalline blanket that disguised and softened the harsh contours of jagged city rooftops. A neon sign flickered dimly through the flakes; high above it on the eaves a man perched precariously, the toes of his boots just overhanging the roof ledge. He might have been a statue, a demonically beautiful gargoyle, if not for the gentle puffing of warm breath condensing in the silent, frigid air. Snow was gathering on his shoulders and softly settling in his silky white hair, but he remained motionless, his pale face tilted skyward, black-gloved hands resting casually on the hilt of a grotesquely demonic sword.

This man did not celebrate the birth of a savior this season. There would be no bells, no holly or mistletoe adorning the halls of the dark building he stood atop. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips; he gently shrugged the light dusting of snow from his shoulders and turned his silver-blue gaze toward the meek sliver of moon attempting to creep between the heavy clouds.

Although his idyllic beauty did not betray his age, he had not consecrated a winter holiday in over twenty-seven years. Memories of a lost family beset him; as he languished in the cold night, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to a time less haunted by unredeemed innocence…

o-o-o

The unwieldy hunk of metal dangled from Vergil’s long pale fingers as he regarded it dubiously, and his gaze traveled reluctantly up to his twin’s eager face.

“What… is this?” he asked finally, disdainfully.

“New extended slide stop for Luce,” Dante enthused, pushing his empty plate aside and setting down his fork.

Vergil sighed. “Why did you buy this for me?” he queried wearily.

Dante’s ardent expression didn’t waver. “Tony cut me a deal on it,” he said. His chair groaned in protest as he leaned back, still grinning widely as he thumped his heels onto the tabletop, rattling dishes and silverware.

Vergil struggled to suppress another slightly more exasperated sigh as Eva’s voice drifted down the hall from the kitchen:

“Dante, I heard that! No feet on the table!”

“You really wanted this, didn’t you?” Vergil was twirling the slide stop in his hand now, rubbing a long finger along its smooth edge.

Dante shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve already got one for Ombra,” he said, but Vergil could hear a hint of eager strain in his twin’s voice. “That’s for Luce. And Luce is, you know… yours. If you want, I could assemble it for you though…” The eager strain had definitely converted itself to wistful longing now.

It was Vergil’s turn to smile. Sparda Christmases always followed this vein; the tendency to give gifts he wanted to receive was a long-running trait of his indiscreet younger twin.

Slowly, Vergil drew his other hand out from beneath the table, placing a carefully wrapped package between the two brothers. He gave it a nudge in Dante’s direction. “For you.”

Dante reached out and snatched the package, gracelessly tearing off the wrapping. Vergil sighed again.

Dante froze; amid the torn bits of paper and string, smooth silver metal gleamed brightly. Eyes wide, he lifted Luce reverently and wrapped strong fingers around the stock while cradling the barrel in his other palm. “No way, Verge… you’re really giving her to me?” he asked, obeisance in his voice.

Vergil rolled his eyes. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He slid the slide stop across the table toward his brother. “So that means you can have this back too.”

Dante looked crestfallen; “But now you—” he began, but Vergil interrupted him.

“Don’t be a twat,” groaned the elder twin. “What am I going to do with a gun part when I don’t have a gun? Besides…” he added with a smirk, “it’s family tradition for you to make an ass of yourself on Christmas.”

Across the table, Dante’s blue eyes narrowed. He set Luce down with care that Vergil hadn’t imagined him capable of. “It’s not like I don’t try,” Dante said defensively. “You’re too picky.”

Vergil laughed. “No, it’s just that you’re completely tactless,” he said, and then toppled backward off his chair as Dante’s thrown fork embedded itself between his eyes.

Dante began to laugh; Vergil leapt up and angrily plucked the dangerous eating utensil from his forehead, spattering a few drops of blood across the table. “Dante, you fucking—”

“Boys!” came Eva’s voice again, and both twins froze comically, Dante with his socked feet still propped on the table, Vergil clutching the bloody fork in his fist.

Their mother appeared in the doorway, her usually gentle blue eyes piercing as she took in the scene. “Outside. Now!” she snapped.

There was a quick scraping of chairs and scuffling of feet as her sons hurried to obey. “And do not throw silverware at your brother!” Eva called after Dante’s back as he beat a hasty retreat.

o-o-o

The air was clear and uncharacteristically warm for December. A collecting of several days’ snow powdered the ground and glittered in the sunlight; both twins squinted against the glare as they trudged through the abandoned fieldlot together.

“What are you anyway, some sort of heathen?” Vergil was saying as he zipped his vest and flicked blood from his forehead with a casual thumb. “What kind of ass throws a fork at someone?”

In reply, Dante made a sharp dash toward his brother and seized him forcefully around the midsection; together, they crashed to the ground. “Merry Christmas to you too, Verge,” he panted as he struggled to keep his twin’s violently twisting body pinned beneath his own. He felt a sharp heel spike his lower back and rolled away; they both stood and circled each other slowly.

“You know I’m better at this than you,” Dante egged. “You want a good present? How about a whitewashing?”

“Why don’t you wait to brag until after you’ve won?” replied the elder twin, feinting to the left, then lunging forward.

Dante danced out of his reach and aimed a high kick at his brother’s head, missing by a hair as Vergil ducked and skidded on his knees across the snow. In a smooth swipe, he hurled a snowball in his twin’s direction; it met its mark and struck him full in the face.

As he blinked snow from his eyes, Dante felt Vergil’s weight collide with his chest, knocking him backwards into a drift; he tried to raise a hand to wipe his face as his brother straddled him, but Vergil’s steely fingers closed over his wrist. Shaking his head against the cold sting, Dante stared up at his smirking twin, seated pompously on his midriff, knees squeezing his ribs.

Something was fluttering in his stomach beneath Vergil’s weight; Dante squirmed awkwardly, afraid his brother would sense his enlarging anatomy.

“What’s the matter?” Vergil smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.” He rubbed another handful of cold snow in his brother’s face. “Now who’s getting the whitewashing?” he taunted, unable to stifle the delight in his voice; too often he had been at the receiving end of similar circumstances. With a sudden mischievous grin, he seized the hem of Dante’s sweatshirt and yanked it up, exposing a flat pale stomach to the winter chill.

Dante’s eyes widened and he stopped wriggling. “Don’t you dare,” he warned; he was trying to sound menacing, but at the same time he couldn’t seem to will the corners of his mouth down to match his tone.

Knees akimbo, Vergil paused for an agonizing moment, grinning devilishly, before rubbing a fistful of ice-cold snow on his younger twin’s shivering belly.

Dante gasped and yelped; he tried to sit up, but Vergil’s cold fingers were creeping over his ribs, poking and prodding him into a helpless fit of uncontrollable laughter. “St—stop!” he protested breathlessly between chortles as his twin continued to tickle him ruthlessly. Dante could feel his jeans growing tighter as Vergil’s strong slender hands skated over his flesh, fingertips brushing his oversensitized nipples as they teased gales of half-ticklish, half-embarrassed laughter from him.

Finally the playful hands slowed… but instead of removing them, Vergil rested his palms on his brother’s upper chest under the sweatshirt bunched beneath his chin. Dante’s laughter had subsided, but his breathlessness lingered; Vergil was running a tentative fingertip along his clavicle, into the hollow of his throat.

“Vergil… what are y…” the words died on his lips as clear, pale blue eyes advanced on him; they were nose-to-nose now, and Dante could feel his twin’s breath flutter against his cheek.

Vergil leaned in and kissed him; it was a gentle kiss, laden with what might have been years of exploratory curiosity. He poked an inquisitive tongue between his younger twin’s flushed lips; he tasted different but familiar at the same time. Vergil allowed his hands to play over his brother’s smoothly muscled chest; he marveled inwardly at how it felt so like his own. His thumbs brushed against Dante’s nipples, hard from sensitivity and the chill, and he felt his twin shiver pleasurably.

Dante reached up and took his brother’s face in his hands, feeling his fine cheekbones and the smooth lines of his jaw; he tangled his fingers in Vergil’s tousled hair and pulled his head forward, deepening the curious kiss that was rapidly growing hungrier.

How many times had he envisioned this while exploring the passions of his own body? He had tried to convince himself that the face his imagination painted in the throes of euphoria was his own; that was masturbation. The idea of it being his twin always sent little thrills of mild revulsion down his spine, in spite of (or perhaps increasing?) the captivation the thought held for him. The whole concept was wildly preternatural from every angle; he never thought on it very hard, but if he had, he might have supposed that was why it was such a driving, arousing force.

Now, as his elder twin’s probing tongue wrestled with his own, he allowed any fleeting misgivings to be transcended by eroticism. Vergil’s inquisitive yet confident hands caressed his body in ways that made him shudder with sensitized pleasure; he was starting to ache with need.

Vergil could feel his brother’s skin growing warmer, becoming more flushed beneath his hands. Dante was pulling his hair as he tugged his head still deeper into their oral salutation; it hurt a little, but felt good at the same time. He stroked the tense ridges of his brother’s stomach, tracing along the grooves and dipping into his navel before hooking his fingers in Dante’s waistband. Through the denim beneath his palms, he could feel his brother’s hardness straining against the fabric. He applied some pressure there and Dante groaned against his mouth.

The younger twin freed his hands from his brother’s silky locks; he swiftly, assuredly unzipped Vergil’s winter vest and slid his hands beneath his twin’s shirt, finding warm flesh that shivered as his cold hands made contact. He wrapped his arms around Vergil’s waist and locked his fingers in the small of his brother’s back, drawing him closer, pressing their bodies together.

Vergil had unbuckled his belt now and was tugging the leather free from its beltloops. Dante broke their kiss to look down in mild surprise as his brother prized his arms from their embrace and wrapped the belt around his wrists. He opened his mouth to protest, but he wasn’t sure what to say; evidently, Vergil had his own devious agenda, and Dante wasn’t sure whether to encourage his twin or to accuse him of being a freak. He opted to stay silent, for now, and stared into Vergil’s eyes instead; his brother only stared back intently, daring him to react. After a few suspended seconds, Dante felt himself blush, and Vergil smiled a small, satisfied smirk.

Of course he could free himself if he wanted to; they both knew that he had only to apply an iota of inhuman strength to the leather and it would snap easily… but Dante allowed Vergil to cinch the buckle tight; he allowed his brother to raise his bound arms above his head and press his hands into the cold snow.

Their lips met again, more urgent, more devouring this time, the gentle curiosity chased away by mounting passion. Vergil unbuttoned his younger twin’s jeans and slowly unzipped his fly; then he gave a muffled chuckle against Dante’s assertive mouth.

How typical of his younger twin to not be wearing underwear.

He released his brother’s pinned wrists and turned the attention of both his own hands to the shaft that was straining to free itself from its denim restraints.

A low moan escaped Dante’s throat as Vergil wrapped ten steely fingers around him, caressing and exploring his size and shape. His elder twin was planting hot hungry kisses along his jawline now, his wet tongue and teeth scraping indiscriminately over the sensitive flesh of his neck, causing his pulse to race.

Vergil was stroking him with the same quietly self-assured confidence he applied to everything he did, and Dante could feel surging heat building in his abdomen; his eyes slid half-closed and he tilted his chin back as his brother continued to alternately kiss and nibble the column of his throat.

Still massaging his younger twin’s sex with one hand, Vergil scooped a handful of snow with his other and palmed it smoothly across Dante’s bare stomach. His brother drew a sharp breath and his body shuddered involuntarily as the ice-cold flakes rapidly melted on his hot skin; Vergil drew a cold wet hand up Dante’s shaft and rubbed his thumb gently over the throbbing head.

He was driving him crazy— his senses overwhelmed with need, Dante seized his brother’s head roughly with both hands, still bound, the leather belt biting into his wrists. He wanted that wandering mouth to be crushed against his own, and he positively ate at his twin’s face now, teeth grazing and then piercing soft flesh, tongue delving into crevices, dominating the space it occupied.

Dante’s fierce and frenzied assault on his mouth was pushing Vergil’s own control to its limits; he ground his erection against his brother’s hips and pried his twin’s clutching hands from his face, guiding his grip downward.

Dante needed no further encouragement; with a sharp snap, the belt tore and Vergil felt his twin’s now-unfettered hands groping at his flesh, blunt nails raking across taut muscle. There was no grace or finesse in the way that his brother’s strong fingers gripped and prodded his ribs and stomach; there was only a raw and unadulterated power, something at once viscerally carnal and beautiful at the same time… something so characteristically Dante that Vergil had to smile even as he tasted blood when his twin’s sharp canine pierced his bottom lip.

Vergil’s skin was hot and smooth beneath Dante’s roving palms; he was already so close to climax himself, and he was desperate to see his brother’s (his mirror, his own?) face consumed by rapture. He almost tore the buttons from their seams as he undid Vergil’s pants and took his length between his palms.

Vergil moaned at his touch, and redoubled his own efforts; they were both thrusting against each other in tandem now, panting and sweating despite the season, despite the snow that was quickly melting beneath their bodies.

Too breathless to lock lips any longer, they stared into each others eyes, each twin wordlessly daring the other to be the first to achieve that scintillating release.

After what felt like several suspended moments (but was probably only a matter of seconds), Vergil’s eyes slid closed and he let out a husky groan; Dante watched his elder twin’s face light up in ecstasy, and he felt himself mirroring the expression as they climaxed together, muscles straining and tensing and hands grasping feverishly at taut, sweat-beaded flesh.

o-o-o

Vergil stared absently up at the crisp blue sky. Faint wisps of cloud trailed, featherlike, across the sapphire; he sighed gently, and Dante’s head, resting against his chest, rose and fell with the small motion.

Their clothes were soaked with sweat and precipitation; they were muddy as well, since the vigor of their actions had melted the snow beneath them down to the barely frozen earth. The faintly pungent aroma of musk and spent passion lingered on their hands and bodies; Vergil cryptically imagined that they’d each have to sneak past Eva to the shower when they arrived home.

Christmas… a holiday he never looked forward to with much gusto, but this season’s had been truly… remarkable, in its own way.

Dante was breathing slowly and evenly. Asleep, thought Vergil, and he smiled vaguely, letting his eyelids drift shut.

Then a low, husky voice from his chest: “Sorry I didn’t get you anything good this year,” Dante mumbled.

Vergil grinned, although his brother couldn’t see his face. “You’re terrible with Christmas,” he said, his tone gently mocking. “You’ve never given me anything good before.”

Dante’s body stiffened slightly. “Sorry…” he muttered again, his voice betraying just a hint of hurt.

A pause. Then,

“You did this year though.”

And Dante smiled.

o-o-o

He made a silent leap from the roof, landing gracefully on the sidewalk far below, his coattails just brushing the top of the gathering snow. There was really no point in lamenting what had been lost; memories of one good Christmas were slowly being inundated by decades of lonesome ones. Eva was long gone, and Vergil had been lost to him not once, not twice, but three times now.

Dante sighed again and rested Alastor’s hilt guard against his shoulder as he slowly made his way up the steps beneath the dimly flickering sign of the Devil May Cry office. It was quiet and still, and after pushing open the door, he stood for a moment in the darkness, willing his turmoiled mind to clear.

It was then that he sensed a presence in the room; something barely there, just a whisper upon a breath of wind. He froze, his fingers tensing on Alastor’s hilt.

Someone, something, stirred; he could barely make out the outline of the beaten red sofa, and the presence was manifesting itself upon it. He stretched a long arm toward the lightswitch and flipped it up with a snap, magnified tenfold in the quiet air.

The flickering light played gently across handsome yet haggard features… features that were mirror-familiar, but which also showed signs of long torture and fatigue. White hair twisted in soft locks around a tall nose and high cheekbones and fell softly across closed eyes, dark lashes resting against pale skin.

The eyes opened… silver-blue eyes, eyes that usually stared back at him from a mirror; but these were clouded by suffering.

The figure lying, exhausted, on the sofa didn’t move except to raise his chin a fraction, those silver-blue eyes shining softly in the light. Dante remained rooted to the spot, disbelieving, something terribly painful rising in his chest, threatening to choke him, to overwhelm him.

The other man now raised a hand weakly in his direction; he spoke, and when his voice reached Dante’s ears, he felt hot, uncontrollable tears spill down his cheeks.

“Merry Christmas… brother,” whispered Vergil.

~ FIN ~