Heresy, Sacrilege, and Christmas Spirit!

Heresy, Sacrilege, and Christmas Spirit

AN: Someone warned me to put a huge, glaring warning on this thing. So here. IF YOU ARE BIBLE-THUMPING CHRISTIAN, DO NOT LIKE GAYS, DO NOT LIKE VOYERISM, DO NOT LIKE TWINSCEST, DEVIL MAY CRY BOYS, SPARDA, OR CHRISTMAS, FUCK OFF. THIS MAKES FUN OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION. A LOT.

…Anyone who has been around me for more than a few minutes will know that I AM NOT a big fan of Christianity. So here’s my salute to Devils, Heresy, and loyalty to thy parents…..to a certain extent!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but a pencil, which may be repossessed in a few weeks. DMC ain’t mine, I just like to borrow the boys once and a while, and get ‘em out of their stuffy angst.

The boys are 16-17 here, you decide, and Eva and Sparda are still alive. Reminding you, Eva’s a Christian human, and the boys well….aren’t. So what are two (three if you count dear ol’ daddy) bored demonic teens gonna do during a candlelight mass for Christmas Eve? What else? For the Holiday Fanfic Contest.
Now, On Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen!
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He looked at the piddly, drippy little candle in its burnt little plastic cup, thought about all it represented, why it was in his hand, and the people around him…and laughed, because the white dribbles of wax reminded him of something. Maybe a bit too loud, in retrospect, as the little waft of air that was kicked up when Vergil hit him blew out the tiny dancing flame.

Dante relit his candle, sighed, and shot Vergil a look. Vergil ignored him, facing forward through the crowd of people and utterly avoiding the yellow glare of the large bronze cross in the pulpit. He had to admit, his brother was one hell of a good actor, when it came to not getting his neck twisted because he behaved like Dante did during the Church services. Eva had an unnaturally strong grip.

Dante sighed again, louder, purposely aiming for the dying flame in his brother’s white candle. It flickered and gave up with a cough of smoke, dripping hot wax on Vergil’s hand. Vergil was already pissed that Dante kept trying to interrupt his productive train of thought (This Priest Should Get Longer Pants So His Hairy Legs Don’t Show), but the burning wax on his gloves was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Sparda glanced over in time to see the wondrous event of Vergil, smacking Dante over the head with his candle so hard, the well-deserving kid keeled over and dropped his own candle, which rolled over and over, miraculously staying lit, until it halted its procession on some poor well-to-do man’s pant leg, with burst into colorful bits of flame.

All of this blissfully went unnoticed to the priest at the front who, Vergil thought, should trade pants with the Man-On-Fire, so that way he wouldn’t have to look at his hairy legs for another two hours, as it was obvious that the Flaming man’s pants were too long.

Dante crawled up from the floor, using Vergil as leverage, and skulked down the aisles and out of the Sanctuary, where he shook his head until all the bits of candle left his unruly hair and found new home on the brand new carpeting. He looked back to the massive crowd of singing people, his slumped over father, who was positively shaking with silent laughter, and his steadfast brother who was, oddly enough, staring at the cuffs of the priest’s pants in horror. And, because Eva was still blissfully facing the front, he slunk off about the large, silent church.

~~~~~~~

What was it with religious people (he forgot their name), and big paintings of some guy with long hair and babies? The EYES, the eyes of those paintings followed him no matter where he went…disturbingly, there was even one above the urinal in the mens’ room. He had to find a closet, something, somewhere the paintings wouldn’t stare at him…it was like trying to fuck while a bunch of dogs watched you. Given the choice, a bunch of dogs would be preferred to these damn paintings, when all he wanted was to find a nice, quiet, private place to jerk off.

Who knew he would be thinking about that one picture of Vergil at a time like this? It couldn’t be helped. And, Dante being the person he tended to most often be, he blamed the whole ordeal on the candles. In some roundabout way, twisted further in Dante’s teenage, sex-riddled brain, the candles that were symbolic of the birth of Jesus Christ were invariably linked to the candles Vergil had strewn about their room, and that always seemed to be lit before, during, or after they had sex. Thus, candles here equaled sex. Somehow.

It was if someone really big and powerful and special had been listening in on Dante’s thoughts, as there, right across from him in a lonely deserted room that smelled of lavender, was a storage closet! Joy of joys! A large, ornate storage closet, even! Big enough for at least two people, if it wasn’t for that strange screen separating the closet into what seemed to be a connected pair of closets. How bizarre…

Without giving any more thought on the furnishing, Dante clambered in, perching on the small bench inside and not giving that any thought either. Blissfully, the only thing off that he noticed was the slight smell of lavender incense. Not a single painting! How fortunate for him, and his aching cock.

He braced both feet on either side of the door he had come in from, now shut, and leaned back, sighing blissfully. He had watched Vergil, once, stroke himself off like this, all finesse and grace and restraint. That image fueled him, made him that much more hurried to get back to his brother. He tugged down his pants, then slithered out of them, muscles recoiling as bare flesh met cool air. He shuddered, rough palm soothing over his throbbing flesh with a hiss and a slight jerk. Back and forth, bringing his hand all the way up his shaft and slicking himself with precum, until he was tugging and stroking so hard his back hit the wall behind him. He groaned softly, eyes slipping shut.

~~~~~~

Eva glanced about. The fact that the younger one was nowhere within her field of vision scared her, and even more so when she saw Vergil standing stock still and silent, eyes shut, swaying a tiny bit with each breath. (She thought Dante was a strange child.) And her husband, wiping a bit of what looked like soot from his hands. Silently, so as not to too badly disturb the poor, jumpy homeless man with the burnt and shredded pants, she looked from Sparda to the empty seat where Dante should be. It took a few times, going back and forth, before Sparda glanced in the direction she was looking and shrugged. She glared. He shrugged. She pointed at the seat. He looked at Vergil, who was still silent, possibly asleep, and shrugged. And so the silent battle went until Sparda calmly reached over, tugging Vergil out of his reverie (merely an escape tactic from having to stare at the hairy-legged priest), and pointed to Dante’s empty seat.

Vergil gave one long-suffering sigh and glided from the Sanctuary. He glanced about, the only obvious sign that Dante had been there being the crusty white candle-bits on the floor. So, if he were his twin- which thankfully he wasn’t, as that would mean that there would be no twins, only a single child, and thus this whole problem wouldn’t have ever been started- where would he be? In a church, with nothing to do, what would Dante occupy himself with? Vergil almost needed to think about this, and then he headed around the building to peer in every storage closet and small enclosed space that Dante could squeeze himself into with some room to shrug off his pants.

Vergil poked his head into every musty closet and found assorted things such as an economy bag of Smell-God Incense, the acolyte’s robes, little pins with flying doves on them, and a diaper box containing hundreds of socks that smelled like chemicals. No Dante to be found. Which left one thing, startlingly clear in Vergil’s mind, that Dante could possibly find appealingly small and quiet. Confessionals were built with the sole PURPOSE of being small and quiet.

~~~~~~~

Dante arched his hips into his hand, bringing the collar of his shirt into his mouth to stifle small pants and moans. He was almost there, he could feel his body trembling beneath his hand, and then he could go and wait out the rest of the mass with his brother. One hand still tugging insistently at his cock, the other wandered down further. He was almost there, so close!

He felt a strange shifting on his hips and looked up to see the door open and Vergil rush in, tripping over his pants and shoes, flying the short distance to land heavily on Dante and Dante’s high hopes of finishing and leaving.

“DAMMIT DANTE, THIS IS NOT A GOOD PLACE TO DO THAT!”

To have something so loud, so strikingly close to one’s ear when he is so near to coming all over himself can be torture.

“Wha..? Vergil, I was just…”

“IT IS A CONFESSIONAL, DANTE.”

“Oh.” The younger twin slumped back, pushing himself out from under the older and shoving open the door collect and reorganize his pants. He paused, leg half raised comically, and looked to his brother. “What’s that?”

Vergil stared, struck utterly stupid but his brother’s…utter stupidity.

“Dante…people go in here to confess their sins to a priest….”

Dante paused a moment, dropping his pants again, and then grinned a grin that no man should grin in a church.

“Then…forgive buddy, but I’ve gotta sin.”

He leapt at his startled twin, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

~~~~~~~

She hissed like a snake in his ear, only Sparda was smart enough to know that no snake could be as evil.

“Go. Get. Them. Now.”

And he was more than happy to go, having just now noticed the hairy priest, and how much like a horrible train wreck it was, and wanting badly to occupy himself with something other than that image. Thus, he not-too discreetly wandered out into the incense-free air of the commons, crunching something white and flakey into the carpet on his way. He pondered over the kitchen, deciding not even Dante could be so rude as to eat in church, then mused over whether or not the boys had gone outside. Throwing chunks of ice and snow at each other seemed to be what they enjoyed doing.

As he was shrugging on his coat, sensitive ears pricked at a soft sound, barely more than a whisper. Cautiously, as though some horrible beast lie waiting in the next room, he made his way to the open door of the confessional room, peering inside. Throwing chuncks of frozen water couldn’t have been farther from his mind as he took in the all-too provocative sight of his sons, tangled together in the shadows of a large, ornate confessional booth. He himself slunk into another dark space, watching quietly without a single thought as to the perversity of the whole thing, only knowing that whatever he was missing out on, Dante seemed to be enjoying quite a bit.

~~~~~~~~

Vergil vaguely wondered how in hell he had gotten into this, briefly, before all thoughts were roughly pummeled from his mind as Dante shoved himself all the way onto his rock-hard cock with a low string of curses. He paused, muscles locked with overwhelming waves of pleasure, threatening to squeeze him dry right then and there. Then with a shudder and growl, he bit down of Dante nape, ramming him into the wall of the confessional. Blood ran onto his tongue, down onto the floor, Dante’s small cry muffled by a moan that clawed its way out of his throat first.

Across the room, Sparda watched silently as his sons made love. No, they were making sacrilege.

Vergil gasped, practically chewing on Dante’s neck, thrusting deep and harsh into his smaller twin, rocking them both until Dante’s shaft rubbed along the smooth wood in front of him. Every breath sent spirals of spasming muscles, clenching and unclenching like a living sheath around his thick shaft, shoving them both closer and closer to a sweat-slicked oblivion.

Dante turned to look at his brother- chin dripping with a little blood, face twisted in a low growl of purest pleasure, eyes half lidded and boring into him- and that was just it, just the trick to push Dante over. He bit down of his lip, gasping in great lungfuls of air as he shot his seed all over the wall of the confessional and his brother’s hand, hips jerking against Vergil’s. He felt the thick cock inside him throb, then searing hot cum paint his insides in Vergil’s name.

Even while Vergil still ground his hips against Dante, Sparda looked on silently. He waited until the very last strings of pleasure were milked from the twins before he got up and sauntered out and back into the Sanctuary, where Eva shot him a glare that he ignored, mind still replaying the confusingly wonderful scene for him. Even better than sleeping.

~~~~~~~

Eva was fuming, a little cherry bomb just waiting to explode and blow someone’s hand off. And normally such a gentle creature, too.

“WHERE in the HELL did you GO?!”

Sparda refused to take his eyes off the road, he would not, it wasn’t his fault, Eva was fuming at THEM, not him, and he was innocent, no use pleading guilty to a crime she didn’t know they had committed yet.

Vergil glanced up from flicking a piece of candle wax off his gloves, looked to Dante with the briefest of grins, and turned to his mother with a somber, beautifully acted somber gaze.

“Dante feared that he had…done something wrong, and went to go confess.”

Sparda knew he wouldn’t choke or laugh if he thought about Eva’s mother in a pink muumuu. He didn’t laugh or choke, but Eva did.

“Dante? Our…wonderful…” here she gritted her teeth, “son? Do something…wrong?! Why, how impossible! Sparda, do YOU believe that?”

Sparda turned to her, now a fuming cherry bomb that was facing the front and not half turned in her seat to scream at the twins, then flicked a single glance back at his sons. Vergil looked up, caught his brief attention, and closed one eye, slowly.

Sparda turned back to Eva, and shrugged.

END


HAPPY FRIGGIN HOLIDAYS!!!