Of Swords, Jewels, and Devil Children

Of Swords, Jewels, and Devil Children

This is another Devil May Cry seasonal holiday yaoi fic.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Capcom and are being used and abused in naughty ways without permission.

Content Warnings: This story is a lemon and contains the following: violence (some comedic, some a bit more serious), foul language (lord’s name in vain— yes, this is Devil’s Christmas), self-satisfaction, twincest (incest between twins), and hardcore yaoi. If any of these things bother you, don’t read on!

Author’s Notes: Regarding the context, it’s set in Dante and Vergil’s teenage childhood. It’s AU due to the fact that both Sparda and Eva are alive (since canon storyline dictates that Eva died when the twins were around 8 or so, and Sparda prior to that). Of course, according to some, it's AU in more than just that respect; in any case, take it at face value to be a little outside what most consider canon.

This fic is a product of someone needling me to write something other than horribly depressing, torturous angstfics; you be the judge on how well I’ve succeeded. *nervous*

Translation Note: A bokutou is a wooden sword. But of course, you already knew that.

And lastly: Please comment / review… but be kind, this is my first AU and it's a far cry from my norms.

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They still did it out of tradition; they carried out the daily ritual as a duel of brotherly dominance. Really, neither of them cared who slept on the upper bunk of their wobbly mahogany bed. But through years of repetition, it had become symbolic to duke it out each day for the nightly reward of…

Vergil frowned, remembering the slippery strings of saliva his brother had gleefully dangled above his face the previous night. Who was he kidding? Dante loved peeling back the mattress so he could drop odd items through the bed slats onto the hapless occupant of the lower bunk. Spitballs, pen knives, ball bearings… Vergil swore that his younger twin devoted hours of his evening to collecting trinkets that would either embed themselves in his face, or clunk satisfactorily when striking a skull.

Vergil gritted his teeth; he would win today, and claim the position of dominant twin. Which was, of course, synonymous with the top bunk. Well, to him at least; looking at Dante’s eager expression, he knew that his blithe younger twin was only thinking of what uniquely imbecilic objects he could pelt at his sleeping brother’s face.

But that wasn’t the half of it; Dante had one up on him, and it was a weapon he could use regardless of which bunk he slept in. And use it he did. So regularly, in fact, that Vergil suspected it bordered on abuse of an asset. Eva had grown weary of his requests to change the sheets every time they switched bunks (which was virtually every night), so he’d been doing it himself for the past month or so. Dante loved that. Verge, the diligent housewife.

Never mind that Dante’s rhythmic rocking of the bed (and his stifled moans and heavy breathing) never failed to make Vergil hard. The clunk-clunk of the polished wood against the wall, soft at first and then with increasing vivacity, always prompted him to turn over on his stomach and bury his head beneath his pillow, his face burning.

So utterly shameless… he would never admit it, but Vergil had to envy Dante’s audacity. Once in a great while, when his twin was being particularly vocal, or exceptionally determined to rattle the bedframe to pieces, Vergil would take advantage of the chaos and indulge. And in the morning, he’d change both sets of sheets, counting on his brother not to notice due to his usual obliviousness.

In any case, he calmly tried to clear his mind of Dante’s primal nightly routine as he faced off against his brother in the December chill. It was Friday, and that meant bokutou day; he was confident in a victory. “En garde,” he called to Dante, shifting into stance.

But then again, it was also Christmas, and before they could lunge into an attempt to pummel each other senseless, Eva’s voice floated to them through the crisp air:

“Boys! Come inside!”

Vergil fell out of stance to obey as Dante rushed him; but it was child’s play to bring the wooden sword back up to parry, and he repelled his younger twin with ease. “Mother wants us,” he said stonily as Dante grinned at him.

His brother shrugged and shouldered the bokutou; they headed back inside, shoving and shouldering roughly to get through the door first, tripping over the array of boots and galoshes piled in the foyer. They both fell in an ungainly display of flailing limbs, and Dante’s fist caught Vergil across the jaw. He tasted blood and retaliated, striking his twin across the temple with as much strength as he could muster.

They were brawling fiercely now in an exhibition completely devoid of any tact or finesse; just fists and feet flying, boots and mud and snow flinging across the walls. Vergil had just finagled a solid sleeper hold around his brother’s neck before the two of them were roughly separated and heaved bodily to their feet by steely hands.

They stood shoulder to shoulder as Sparda stared them down, one eye hidden behind his monocle, the other narrowed dangerously. He didn’t need to speak; both twins cast their gazes downward. They trailed after him sheepishly as the legendary dark knight turned his back on them and stalked down the hall toward the kitchen.

The table was elegantly set; Vergil vaguely wondered why such painstaking efforts were being taken this year. He glanced at his father; as usual for Christmas (or any Christian holiday), Sparda looked slightly strained and wary. The three of them seated themselves silently as Eva glided in from the kitchen.

She was holding two packages wrapped unceremoniously in brown paper and string, one in each hand. Both twins shot each other a high-browed glance. No inordinate amount of perception was required to know instantly what the packages contained, betrayed both by their shape and the way their mother carried them. Excitement had plastered itself over Dante’s features, bringing a distinctly goofy-looking grin to his face. In spite of himself, Vergil could feel the expression beginning to mirror on his own countenance.

Eva came to a halt at the head of the table, but didn’t seat herself. Like her husband, she too looked slightly wary; but for different reasons, Vergil was sure.

“Your father thinks you’re ready for these,” she began slowly, her clear blue eyes lingering dubiously on the blood staining the corner of Vergil’s mouth and the purplish bruise swelling around Dante’s left eye. She heaved a small sigh and laid the packages gently on the table with a muffled metallic clink

The twins didn’t move; they looked to their father, who was smiling at last: a devilish grin, revealing a row of white teeth and a single pointed fang. He nodded once at them, and they both reached forward eagerly, seizing the packages.

In a frantic race, they tore off the wrapping and each lifted an exquisite sword. Vergil drew Yamato reverently from its sheath as Dante hefted Rebellion to stare up its gleaming edge, both blades glinting in the yellow light of the overhanging chandelier.

Vergil tore his eyes from the sword he had coveted, longed for, all his life. He looked at his parents; Sparda appeared genuinely pleased at their awe and obvious appreciation of his keepsakes, and even Eva was smiling gently, though her eyes still betrayed a hint of worry.

Vergil shifted his gaze to Dante; the younger twin was balancing Rebellion in his hand, its tip pointed toward the ceiling. He could tell that his brother was itching to swing it, to cause some supremely devilish havoc and destruction, and he grinned silently to himself.

After all, he felt the same way.

Sparda spoke then: “Back out with you now,” he ordered.

They didn’t need a second telling; with a scraping of chairs, they stood hastily. Vergil made a dignified dash for the door while Dante whooped once and sprinted from the room. As he left, Vergil heard his mother and father’s brief exchange:

“Dinner can wait, but they didn’t thank you for—”

“They thanked me,” said Sparda simply.

o-o-o

Rebellion felt like materialized bliss in his hand; it fit between his palm and fingers as though it had been crafted specially for him. Dante whirled the blade swiftly through the air and marveled at the way it whistled and sang; he wanted to test it, to test himself. He wanted to cleave flesh and blood with it.

He looked eagerly toward his older twin; there was no doubt that Dante preferred Rebellion to Yamato, and he smirked to himself, convinced he had come out on top in this exchange.

Vergil was sweeping wide arcs before him with the katana; he seemed to be enraptured by the way the setting sun’s rays fell and scattered across the blade. That was all well and good for him, but…

Dante smiled and flexed. He surged forward toward his brother, his muscles twitching in anticipation as he rapidly closed the gap between them. The two swords clanged loudly as Vergil turned and parried, the reverberations sending shocks of intense pleasure through Dante’s entire body.

He could live for this; probably die for it too.

They dueled as they never had before, trampling a wide circle of deftly expert footprints through the snowy yard, yelling in excitement, exertion, and sheer feral joy. They were spending themselves, relishing every clash of steel grating upon steel, sweating and panting despite the biting cold, despite the puffs of steam their breath summoned in the air.

Every muscle in Dante’s body was burning, and he knew from Vergil’s heavy breathing and lowered guard that he was tiring as well. Two pairs of sharp blue eyes silently agreed that their next exchange would conclude the day’s duel and dictate the winner.

Vergil charged first, and Dante prepared to block his brother’s strike. He slid a foot back through the snow to brace himself against the impact, but there was something there— something under the snow, and he felt the heel of his boot catch on it, and he tripped.

He fell as Vergil bore down on him and saw shock and surprise in his brother’s eyes as he tried to alter his swing, tried to deviate from a potentially fatal blow.

He was only partially successful.

Dante felt all the air forced from his lungs as Yamato pierced his chest, splitting his sternum in two and splintering several ribs. He didn’t have enough breath to gasp as he stared wide-eyed up at Vergil, who looked utterly horrified.

With a jerk that appeared completely convulsive, the elder twin yanked the blade swiftly from Dante’s body and a fountain of dark blood sprayed them both, splattering across their faces and painting the snow a deep crimson.

Vergil seized his shoulders and sat him up. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry…”

Dante glared up at his twin as fiery pain seared his chest. “I’ll be fine, you asshole,” he choked, scowling. “But I guess this means you win…”

Vergil stared at him blankly for a moment, then smiled slightly. “Oh for Chrissake, if it means that much to you, you can have the top again,” he sighed.

Dante laughed, then winced as copper filled his throat. He averted his head and spat a mouthful of blood on the snow. “This way you don’t have to play maid and wash the sheets again tonight,” he taunted, smirking.

A muscle twitched in Vergil’s jaw, and Dante knew his brother was fighting down the urge to smack him silly. Dignity seemed to get the better of him though, and he just sighed a long-suffering sigh.

Dante could feel the demonic blood pumping through his veins, warming his chilling body, mending torn flesh and splintered bone. He shoved his brother roughly away and stood shakily, collecting Rebellion from the sanguine snow while Vergil watched noncommittally.

“Watch out for Mother,” said the elder twin suddenly. “If she sees you like that, the swords…”

Dante laughed again and cocked an eyebrow. “You’d better watch out for her too,” he smirked, motioning toward his brother’s blood-spattered face with a casual hand. “You’re not exactly the picture of pretty yourself…”

They stood for a moment, staring at each other, each face reflecting the other’s sudden concern over the possible repossession of the swords. “She never said not to…” began Dante lamely.

Vergil snorted. “Not to what? Carve each other up with them?”

Dante shrugged helplessly. “Mad dash for the bathroom?” he suggested.

Vergil rolled his eyes slightly but didn’t reply. At his expert flick, the lingering blood on Yamato’s blade scattered itself across the ground and the elder brother sheathed the sword slowly. Together, the twins somberly made their way toward the house, half-heartedly attempting to wipe some of the gore from their hands and faces.

o-o-o

They eased the front door open as softly as they could (it still creaked a bit anyway), and picked their way carefully among the scattered boots and shoes in the foyer. As he crept down the hall after his brother, Vergil was acutely aware of the glaring, bloody footprints Dante was leaving on the polished wood. He groaned inwardly.

They had navigated their way past the kitchen and were almost to their bedroom before Eva’s voice wafted down the hall after them:

“Vergil. Dante. Get back here.”

In front of him, Dante cursed softly before turning. Like dead men walking, they trudged back toward the dining room with leaden steps and pushed open the door with something resembling mortal dread.

Eva met them with hands on hips; Vergil couldn’t meet her eyes, so he stared behind her at his father instead. Strangely enough, Sparda looked immensely pleased as he surveyed his blood-soaked sons. Vergil smiled briefly at this, then regretted it instantly as he heard his mother draw a quick, furious breath. He braced himself for the tirade… but instead, heard Eva sigh slowly.

“Alright, boys,” she said tiredly. Vergil finally lifted his head to look at his mother; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dante do the same.

Eva stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders and, to their surprise, pulled them forward and hugged them. The twins shared a confused glance over her back as they breathed in her comforting, vaguely flowery scent.

After a moment she released them and stood back, holding them at arm’s length. With a substantial pang of shame, Vergil noted that her blouse was stained dark with Dante’s blood. She gave them a long, pensive stare before producing two small packages from her pocket.

“Since your father has given you instruments of death, I’m giving you something to protect,” said Eva, extending the packages toward her sons.

Vergil grimaced slightly as Dante thoughtlessly smeared blood on his mother’s hand and the neatly wrapped gift as he accepted it. The elder twin wiped his palm vigorously on his trouser leg before reaching out for the package and unwrapping it with care.

A glittering, ruby jewel dropped into his hand as he gently shook the torn paper. It was set ornately on a gold chain. He held it up and watched as it twisted in the light; it was so large he could see almost his entire face reflected in it. He turned it over and read the engraving on the back: Vergil & Dante.

He looked at his brother, half-expecting his tactless younger twin’s face to betray confusion or distaste, but Dante was staring at his amulet with something resembling wonderment. “Thanks, Mom,” he mumbled softly.

“They’re beautiful,” Vergil added quickly.

Eva smiled at them. “Go get cleaned up for dinner, then,” she said.

o-o-o

It was night, and Dante was slightly drunk.

Alright, not slightly drunk. He was drunk.

He’d lost count of how many glasses of wine he’d had at dinner, and then he’d consumed a full pitcher of eggnog by himself at the fireside afterwards. Eva hadn’t approved, but Sparda had just shrugged and refilled his mug.

Vergil was still in the bathroom; not bothering with the ladder, Dante leapt easily into the top bunk and slithered between the blankets, the cold sheets raising goosebumps on his naked skin. Something warm and pleasant had settled itself in his stomach, and he stretched luxuriously, toes curling over the foot of the bed and hands striking the wall at the head.

They really were getting too old (and too tall) for this bed, but brotherly nostalgia had long prevented them from doing away with it. Dante rolled onto his side and let a hand drift lazily down his body and between his thighs. He wondered briefly if his twin could ever imagine that he thought of him when he stroked himself off like this. Dante imagined Vergil would be horrified, but that thought just made him even hotter.

The alcohol was muddling his brain. Was Vergil still in the bathroom? He didn’t think he’d heard him come in and climb into the lower bunk, but he couldn’t be sure. Not really caring, he allowed his fingers to curl themselves around his aching shaft and let out a soft groan. Rocking his hips gently, he began to stroke, rubbing the head of his sex against the cool sheets, burying his face under the covers and letting his chin rest against his chest.

The bedframe was making its usual dull thump-thump; the sound was familiar and comforting to Dante, and he arched his spine and braced both feet against the wall. His skin was becoming damp with sweat and he pushed the blankets off his head and down to his waist. Using both hands now, he pumped heat lasciviously up and down his cock, turning his face into his pillow to stifle the low, impassioned cries that were escaping his throat.

o-o-o

Vergil pushed open the door and reached for the lightswitch, but a whisper of a moan and the hint of steady movement made him pause. He had to shake his head in incredulity; his irrepressible brother was already engaged in… well, himself, doggedly rocking the old bunk bed against the wall.

But this time, Vergil smiled; he knew his brother was drunk, and he was feeling slightly intoxicated himself. He’d been surprised when Eva allowed Sparda to continue refilling his twin sons’ glasses time and again, and now he could feel the lingering effects warming his blood. He padded silently across the room and stood for a moment next to the bed, Dante completely oblivious to his presence as he continued his fervent routine.

Vergil stepped up onto his mattress and draped his arms over the low wooden rail of the top bunk. His added weight curbed the shaking of the bed a bit, but not enough for his preoccupied twin to notice. The moonlight seeping between the parted curtains cast erotically liquid shadows over the rippling muscles in Dante’s bare back; Vergil could feel himself rapidly growing hard. Slowly, he reached forward and laid a cool hand on his brother’s shoulder: Dante jerked as though burned, and turned startled silvery eyes on him.

With feline grace, Vergil leapt onto the bed beside his panting brother. He gripped his twin’s shoulders tightly with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. Dante tasted like toothpaste and brandy, an odd combination, but strangely satisfying nevertheless. Vergil allowed his hands to freely roam the curves and angles of his younger twin’s anatomy. Everything about him felt familiar, yet distinctly separate from what he knew of his own body. He hungrily plunged his tongue into Dante’s mouth, exploring his heat, wanting more, taking more.

Dante’s hands were traveling up his sides now, fingers digging pointedly into his ribs. Vergil rubbed his palms over his twin’s stomach down to his groin, teasing and stroking the sensitive area around the base of his erection. Dante stiffened and arched his hips up, but Vergil playfully eased his body away, caressing the muscles and tendons of his brother’s inner thighs. Dante let out a low growl, and Vergil began nipping and licking his way along his twin’s jaw until he caught an ear between his teeth. Dante groaned as he sucked gently, his hands still snaking around his younger brother’s hips.

o-o-o

He would have wondered how long Vergil had been having the same devious thoughts as he had, but there was no room in his head for curiosity. Dante felt only agonizing pleasure as his older twin manipulated his willing body into waves of passion that threatened to crash and break with every touch and caress.

And goddamn, he was good at this. He felt his toes curl as Vergil’s mouth left his ear and began traveling down his neck, kissing and biting. His older twin’s hands were still doing their maddening dance over his nether regions, tantalizing but not fulfilling. Dante heard himself let out another low growl as Vergil licked then bit the column of his throat. He seized his brother’s hips and roughly tried to remove his boxers; Vergil raised his body a fraction to let them slide off. Dante shivered as his brother trailed one hand back up his body, dipping into his navel briefly before tracing the groove between his abdominal muscles, over his chest, and up his throat. He slipped two fingers past his younger twin’s parted lips and into his mouth; Dante captured them gently between his teeth and licked and sucked them sensuously.

He was positively aching now, and Vergil’s incessant teasing was bringing about something resembling a carnal rage. He gripped his brother’s ass with both hands, feeling firm muscle twitch and flex beneath his palms; he brought their hips together, grinding fiercely.

Vergil delicately extracted his fingers from Dante’s mouth, and the younger twin felt him drift their cool wetness back down his body. They crept past his aching sex and came to a rest somewhere lower, and their moist presence there sent tingling shocks up his spine. Vergil’s mouth had returned to his, and the elder twin was crushing Dante’s lips against his teeth, wrestling his vying tongue into submission; those two wet fingers slid themselves past tender muscle and Dante wriggled a bit and moaned as they entered him.

Vergil’s other hand had finally closed around his throbbing erection, and he moaned again, louder this time, as his decorous older brother gripped his shaft tightly and began to stroke. His own hands were moving frantically, desperately clawing at his twin’s taut flesh; Dante twisted his fingers in Vergil’s hair and pulled him even deeper into the kiss, forcing his tongue down his brother’s throat, grazing soft lips with his teeth.

o-o-o

Dante’s voice was laden with need, and the soft sounds from deep in his throat were almost enough to set Vergil over the edge. He pushed his fingers deeper inside his brother’s body, feeling muscle reflexively tense and resist. Dante was panting against his mouth, strong fingers tangled in his hair, which was rapidly growing damp with sweat. Vergil pumped his younger twin vigorously, settling into a rough cadence with both hands, one stroking and one thrusting. The bedframe was pounding against the wall now, the dull thumping interspersed with moans and heavy breathing.

Dante’s hands freed themselves of his hair, taking a few strands with them in their hurry. They clawed their way down his shoulderblades and around his ribs, groping across his hot skin on their way toward his groin. Vergil groaned in sensitized pleasure as Dante grasped his hardness between both palms; his younger twin was biting his neck so hard he threatened to do him real bodily injury, and with a slight wince, Vergil moaned again in combined fervor and affliction.

He allowed Dante to stroke his shaft for as long as he could stand, but he was already tantalizingly close to release, and still aching to explore new territory. He heaved his weight off Dante’s body and released his brother’s throbbing erection to place a hand behind his knee. Easing his twin’s leg up, he raised his hips. He thrust into his brother once, twice more with his fingers before withdrawing them swiftly and replacing them with the head of his throbbing hardness.

Dante cried out loudly and Vergil moaned as he slid inside him, fighting against tightly clenching muscle; he allowed his brother’s body a few seconds to grow accustomed to him before slowly drawing back to thrust again, this time harder, deeper.

His younger twin’s voice was rising, his cries becoming progressively harsher as Vergil thrust into him; on the edge of coherence, some inkling of common sense prompted him to reach up and clamp a hand over his brother’s mouth. Dante bit his fingers, but Vergil let him, didn’t care. He tried to stifle his own pants and groans as the pressure in his body concentrated itself in his loins, fit to erupt.

His eyes slid closed and his back arched; beneath him, Dante’s body spasmed and convulsed as they allowed all the suppressed desires of oversexed teenage minds to shatter in an explosion of euphoria.

o-o-o

They were both still heaving; Dante was having difficulty maintaining intelligible thoughts. His heart was beating wildly beneath Vergil’s head, which was resting peacefully against his chest. He could feel his own warm, sticky release plastered over his stomach between their bodies, and Vergil was still throbbing inside him.

He took a few deep breaths and hugged his twin tightly around the neck. Vergil shifted slightly and withdrew, then rolled off his younger brother’s body onto his side. When they weren’t lying on top of each other, the narrow bunk was definitely not wide enough for the two teenage twins; they jostled and shoved a bit, Dante’s leg overhanging the rail and Vergil’s shoulder thumping against the wall.

For a long while they didn’t speak, just laid silently together, basking in the moonlit afterglow. There was no need to say anything; years of secret longing had finally been undone, and Dante felt blissfully free.

“Verge,” he said after a long while.

His brother made an indistinct noise to show he was vaguely coherent.

“Let’s junk this bed. Get a couple of bigger ones.”

Vergil raised himself up on one elbow to look at his brother. Dante gazed back at him, for once shamelessly allowing himself to admire the subtle differences between them; his older twin’s silvery eyes, the way he held his brows lower…

Vergil grinned. “Sure,” he said.

“Merry Christmas, Verge.”

“…Yeah.”

~ fin ~

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Final Notes: I'll just say that this fic caused me more pain and anguish than warm fuzzies ever should; I attribute it to being AU, and a bit outside of what I usually write. In any case, I hope it turned out decently, because it sure was a doozy to finish.

So thank you for reading! Please comment / review. ^_^