The Breaks

Title: The Breaks
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Pairing: Nelo Angelo x Dante
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hardcore gay fucking. Some mix of noncon. Violence. Dante's foul mouth and cheesy one-liners.
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Capcom for use and abuse.

A/N: Fanfiction has not interested me for months now. And this is the fic that broke me. It was originally for the Yaoi-Con 2006 Fiction Anthology as per request, but it never made the deadline because I am no longer capable of fannish writing. (I did some illustrations for the anthy instead, for Jo Asakura's story. :D) It's been months and months in the making. Countless painstaking hours spent sitting, staring at it, unable to write a single word.

So finally last night, I sucked it up and put the pedal to the metal to finish the bitch.

This is total fodder, but it's not ammo. It's for Calico, even though it contains some things she doesn't like. ;p

The Breaks

Trish was nowhere to be found.

Dante wasn't bothered in a professional sense. He preferred to work alone.

But he'd be goddamned if he couldn't get her out of his head.

He fidgeted with Alastor's hilt as he stomped through the majestic courtyard. Violence assuaged his demonic blood, but between the guts and gore and steel, there was always room for another base instinct. A more human one.

He tried to concentrate on something other than white curves spilling over black leather. Anything but strong, graceful fingers and petulant lips. And in spite of his best efforts, his pants were growing uncomfortably tight.

When Dante reached the rampart wall, he gave in. An abandoned ghost castle was as good a place as any to get a few jollies off. One of the perks of possessing very little shame—or very little sense, depending on the point of view.

Jabbing Alastor point-down into the grass, he lowered himself to the ground and yanked his gloves off. The guns were pawed from their holsters. They dropped and landed at his side as he fumbled with his buckle and zipper.

The hunter peeled leather off his thighs and dug a hand eagerly into his crotch. His practiced fingers massaged circles around the base of his cock.

Dante groaned as he leaned his head against the courtyard wall. His shaft twitched enthusiastically against his palm. Pressing a thumb beneath the head, he slid further down the sun-baked sandstone. This was just what he needed right now. His other hand snaked along a thigh and curved to slip down the cleft of his ass. Warm fingertips probed between the cheeks. A quick shudder shook his body as he spread himself open, moving in spirals to dilate the tight heat.

He pushed one finger in and his muscles seized at the invasion. A moan rose in his throat as he slid his palm down his throbbing length to cup his balls. They were tender and swollen—goddammit, Trish—and bolts of pleasure crawled up his spine.

The world tilted a little when he buried the first finger to the knuckle. It careened wildly when he added a second. Dante gasped and, grinning, reminded himself to breathe. He gripped the base of his cock and jerked his fist to the head, teasing several drops of pre-come from the tip. His lopsided view of the courtyard slid out of focus. Hips bucked and jerked beneath his touch, the fingers writhing deeper, aiming for that single electric spot inside him.

Close... he was so close—

Suddenly, it was all shot to shit.

The air had changed; it was charged and angry. The balmy ocean breeze was gone, and the hairs on the back of Dante's neck tingled. His brain struggled sluggishly with the transition from fuck to fight, hands still tangled in his groin as the earth at his feet erupted.

His arm flew up to shield his face against the shower of dirt and bits of rubble. Curls of blue flame licked the air around him. Wiping his watering eyes with the back of his hand, he coughed.

Son of a bitch...

He wondered how he'd been stupid, how he'd let his guard crack and let a foe slip through. Ebony, Ivory, and Alastor had been scattered in the chaos. He felt for them blindly, still spitting grit from between his teeth.

A guttural moan sounded close by. Too close for comfort. Dante froze and squinted up at the enemy towering above him. Even prone, he could see that the man—demon, monster, whatever—was several heads taller than he. The knight's body was encased in blue-black armor. A lush, velvet cloak swelled behind him.

Dante frowned.

Size meant shit, and nevermind that tanklike battle prowess—it was familiarity that unnerved him. He gaped up at the dark knight. Dully burning eyes stared back at him. The demon swept his colossal sword in an arc that sent grass and dirt hurling through the air.

Dante choked on a laugh when he realized his opponent was waiting for him to clothe himself. “Not so big on the naked lunch, huh?” he huffed as he yanked his pants up and fastened the button. The enemy waited silently while he dusted himself off and collected his weapons.

“Gotta admit, I'm surprised to find someone here who'd allow a man to get decent. I thought you were just gonna unleash on my bare ass,” Dante grinned. “How chivalrous. You a relic of this castle's glory days?”

The knight emitted a sepulchral noise from deep in his throat. Dante shrugged.

Ebony and Ivory slid into their holsters. Alastor's gleaming tip rose to level at the knight's chest. “Well then, your patience is appreciated. Let's rock.”

The words were barely past his lips before the knight's massive sword bore down on him. The force of the blow rattled his teeth in his jaw. A pained grunt escaped him as Alastor reverberated in his hands.

The knight raised his sword again and slashed toward Dante's chest. The hunter ducked—he felt the blade take a few strands of hair as it sang above his ear. Panic spiked in his cerebrum as he made an undignified scramble backwards. This enemy had something over him, and he didn't get it. His heart buffeted his ribcage. He was breathing too hard and too fast, adrenaline out-muscling finesse.

Dante cursed his uncertainty as the sword sliced through his shoulder, pulverizing bone and flesh alike. Sparks flew behind his eyelids—he would have screamed, but his chest was crumpled by the strike. A huge hand clamped over his neck, its armor slick against his skin. The blood boiling up in his throat was trapped and forced back into his lungs. It burned like fuck-all, almost as bad as the sword twisting in his shoulder.

His moan was muffled as Alastor slid from his deadened grasp. The knight wrenched the blade free, closing one burgundy eye against the spray of blood that coated his mask. Dante gaped into the demon's expressionless visage. His sight was fringed with red, lungs starved and spasming. Cuss words paraded through his brain.

The demon muttered something, but Dante couldn't distinguish the garbled words. The grip around his neck loosened; staggering, he fell to the ground. His knees struck the soft dirt before his face followed unceremoniously. He laid unmoved, desperately inhaling dust, feeling blood leak from his body.

Another gasp when stone-cold fingers curled around his wrist and tugged him upright. He licked blood from his teeth with a swollen tongue as the knight knelt in front of him.

“Funny,” Dante coughed. His voice sounded like gravel. Tasted like it, too. Something was extremely fucked up about this situation. “Where's the coup de grâce from the noble knight?”

Dante jumped when freezing fingertips touched his face. They pressed against his cheekbone, dimpling the skin inquisitively. He could've sworn he heard his jaw creak in protest as the knight forced it open and shoved three fingers inside. Dante groaned. His eyes bulged, teeth chipping against the armor. And still the knight's grip on his wrist tightened until his hand tingled.

“Hwahh—cker,” he choked angrily.

Everything about this enemy confounded him. The cold digits writhing against his tongue, the glaring mask inches from his nose... and now the disquieting hand groping up his arm. He was fairly positive he would've remembered this unparalleled, eight-foot angel if they'd crossed blades. Unless Hell was unleashing mind-warp cooties too now, they'd met before. He was sure of it.

But the confusion dissolved in a wash of fury when the knight ripped his vest open. Claws ploughed gashes through his chest and abdomen. Dante gagged and tried to twist away. His intestines coiled into knots. The knight held him by the jaw as he methodically shredded fabric and sinew. Dante bit down on the armored fingers in his mouth, wincing as he felt a tooth break. Thin gasps gathered in his throat and he tried to shield his torso with his arms.

A sudden pause, and silence.

The knight had frozen with his nails embedded in the tensed flesh of Dante's belly. The hunter fought to focus streaming eyes, his breath stalled by the hurt. Through the haze, he registered the angel gaping at his chest: at the heavy pendant with the ruby jewel.

Suddenly, Dante felt himself pitch forward. He collapsed on his hands and knees. Somewhere above him, the knight scuffled backwards. His ponderous weight kicked up swirls of dust as he retreated. Don't leave before I have a chance to wipe the floor with you... thought the hunter vaguely.

He lifted his head in time to catch a glimpse of something turquoise and netherworldly. Then he was spitting blood again, writhing against the ground as the object lanced through his side. It speared him like liquid fire, scalding. He tried to seize it and wrench it from his body, but it cracked into shards of blue light. Vision swimming, Dante pressed his forehead into the dirt and fought to coax oxygen into his lungs. Fuck... great...

The angel wailed at him. It was a dirge-like cry he could barely make out over the thundering of blood in his head. “W—winner takes... all...?” he hacked dully through a mouthful of dust.

“That's right,” a heavy voice hissed suddenly in his ear.

Dante gave a startled jerk and cracked his skull against the knight's mask. The rumble, even muffled behind the faceplate, was unmistakable as a chuckle. Armored hands reached around to tear at the dismal remains of his trousers.

“Knock it off,” Dante growled, disconcerted. He tried to push away the advances. The angel snatched both his wrists and crushed them against his wounded chest. Talons shredded his belt until the leather dropped to tangle about his knees.

Dante shivered as the breeze raised gooseflesh over his body. He was raw, aching, humiliated. His head throbbed so hard he barely felt the knight shrug the cloak away.

The breastplate followed. Then the thigh guards, stripped off one-handed while the other massaged Dante's stinging wrists into his chest.

When the mask's empty sockets stared up at him from the ground, Dante tried to turn. His fist would be en route to whatever face was bared behind his back; he could examine what was left of it afterwards.

Dante even managed to free one arm before a crushing blow walloped across the top of his spine.

It was Fourth of July again behind his eyeballs. Colors he had never seen before strobed through his brain as he crumpled. Dimly, he realized he was being cradled by smooth, naked skin. Through the agony, another spike went through him—but this one originated someplace lower. He cursed.

“Why did you come here?” rattled the angel. His voice was cold, and higher-pitched without distortion from the mask.

It seemed like a stupid question, but for some reason, Dante couldn't think of an answer. Cold breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. He tried to turn his head again. A strong hand grasped his hair, forcing his chin to his chest.

“Why did you come?” The demon's tongue trailed between his shoulderblades. He shuddered.

“Mundus...” he whispered as the knight curled an arm around his naked waist. The limb was frigid, the skin a translucent blue. It was stretched tightly over sinewy muscles. Human muscles, very like his own. What the...

“Mundus?” echoed the knight mockingly. “You came to deliver the last of Sparda's blood to the dark emperor?”

Dante was aware of the quavering note in his voice as the dead arm slid down his hips. “Something like that...” he muttered. The stiff pain in his groin was distracting him. The angel's fingers trekked between his thighs. Unbidden, his hardening cock leapt restlessly. “Sh—shit,” he moaned.

A low chuckle. “The son of Sparda is quite the whore,” the demon—human, now?—teased.

“You... interrupted me with your theatrical entrance,” Dante panted. “I've been stewing in my own juice while you played around...”

He was aware that his arms were free, but he couldn't bring himself to fight off the hand that dipped down to stroke him.

“How very human,” drawled the knight. Sharp teeth grazed the side of his neck. That cool tongue traveled behind his ear.

He gasped suddenly as the angel dragged him to his knees, a familiar hardness pressed between his thighs. “I... know you,” Dante whispered. He gave an angry shudder as confident hands skated over his body.

The breath in his ear was ice, but the words dropped like lava into his belly:

“And I you... Dante.”

His name was punctuated by mind-numbing pain as the angel shoved inside him. The invading thickness tore him, hurt him—ripped his breath away. He threw his head back and it came to rest on the knight's bare shoulder. The demon allowed it to remain there, pressing his cheek against Dante's face as he ground his hips in a slow circle.

The hunter's body bucked erratically as the angel drew back and rammed in hard, deep enough to roll nausea up from Dante's bowels to his throat. His hair was already damp with sweat. It clung to his forehead and his captor's face. “Nghh!” he protested. Against his temple, he felt the knight's lips curl in delight. “You—”

The barbed words never made it off his tongue as the world spun again, the ground barreling up to collide with his face. He was bent, hips in the air, the knight's throbbing cock still buried inside him. Cold hands grabbed his thighs and forced them wider. Spread-eagled in the dirt, Dante felt absurd. What was this shit—the infamous demon-slayer on his knees in the mud? He would have laughed at the irony if his Adam's apple hadn't stuck itself to the back of his throat.

“You live for this, don't you, son of Sparda?” the angel hissed, his voice husky with arousal.

Dante couldn't muster a retort, his chest was too tight. The demon's punishing cock forced a moan from him instead. He clenched and unclenched his fists as the angel's shaft pressed against his innards.

“You're tight, slayer,” came the breathless voice again. “But I can make you feel pleasure too...” A hand tracked around the rim of the stretched hole, held wide by the cock embedded inside. A shudder wracked Dante's body as the fingers slid between his legs. They caressed his balls before pressing hard into the hilt of his sex. That was it; the bold touch sent heat lancing through his groin and up into his gut.

“F... fuck...” he hissed airily into the dirt. His tongue felt like a slab of overcooked meat.

“That's right...” the demon crooned into his hair. Was that... a trace of affection? Couldn't be. Dante groaned again.

The wandering hand had closed around his shaft. A few hard strokes and it sprang to aching, ecstatic attention. Angular hips pounded into him again, and the knight began to stroke in tempo with his thrusts.

Dante hadn't seen this many fireworks since the collapse of the Temen-ni-Gru, after Vergil'd fallen into Hell.

Vergil...?

As if to pummel the thought from him, the knight increased his pace. Dante opened his body mindlessly now. That cold cock plunged in and out of him. It paused for the barest second, pulsing in his bowels before drawing back to stab again.

There was pain, sure, but over top of it, a delirious euphoria. Dante lived to dole out punishment. He never considered it a good thing to receive—but this enemy was something else entirely. If he could be called an enemy anymore. Dante found himself morbidly intoxicated by the slickness of his own blood as it coated their thighs.

And Jesus, that hand tugging at his cock... it knew what it was on about. Toes tingling, Dante arched his spine and moaned—how many women had moaned for him like that before? The angel answered with a growl, and bent lower over his back.

It was almost enough to knock Dante's nose back into the dirt. The demon rocked his body with all the mercy and grace of a bulldozer. He was screaming now, he knew this by the raw burning in his throat. He was probably screaming words, encouraging the punishment, but fuck if he knew what he was saying.

Both of the knight's hands grappled with his throbbing cock. Between that and the thickness filling him, it was more than even he could take. Dante came exuberantly, tearing through clouds of white haze. The demon didn't slow for him though; that kind of courtesy was unheard of in the underworld.

Dante's ears were filled with cotton, his spent cock still heaving its last as the angel pulled from him. His body tightened up at the sudden absence of sex—but not for long. He was flipped onto his back, and before his head could clear enough to take a good gander at the knight's face, the bloodied cock was shoved straight down his throat.

Dante's first instinct was to gag and struggle. Firm hands fisted his hair and pressed his face into a warm groin. Warm...? Not cold and dead anymore. This singular fact was suddenly the most fascinating thing to him.

“You can take it...” snarled a breathy voice somewhere above him.

He could. He sucked a breath through his nose and swirled his tongue against the tip of the angel's shaft. It twitched in his mouth. He took it deeper, as deep as he could, to the back of his throat and there was still more to go. The knight didn't seem to care though; he pulled out until the head slipped between Dante's lips, then pushed back in again, and that was all she wrote.

Dante was put in mind of a stuttering fire hose as come struck the back of his throat in spurts. Hot as it was, it was also thick and bitter; when the angel withdrew, he spat on the ground.

It took several dizzy moments for him to think to gaze upward, and by that time, the knight had already re-equipped his mask.

His body was still bare though. Pale, his smooth, bluish skin tinged yellow by the fading sun—or the hellish maw swirling in the sky... something like that. It didn't matter at the moment, because he knew that body.

It was the same as his own.

Dante was sure there was some humor to be had here, the two of them naked in the courtyard. The knight was nude but for his mask, the hunter splayed obscenely on the ground at his feet. He couldn't find it in himself to laugh though. Instead, he winced and struggled to his knees. The angel took a tentative step forward.

“Vergil...?” His voice wasn't his own. It was tremulous and thin.

And the one that replied did not belong to his twin brother, but rather to a demon wearing a horned, blue mask. Grating and low, it rasped, “...No.”

Then more stars, and Dante saw black.

o-o-o

He awoke with a start. It was still evening. Or maybe it was always evening here at the edge. He was leaning against the stone wall, his tattered clothes piled carelessly in his lap. His temples throbbed. He raised a hand to rub them, but there was something clutched in his fist.

Blankly, Dante stared down. His pendant's chain had been snapped and wrapped around his wrist. The jewel winked crimson at him, teasing.

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, holding it up in the light. “Defeat Mundus, save the world, remember mom...”

He became conscious that his other hand was hooked loosely around Alastor's hilt.

“...Find Nelo Angelo again... and thrash his ass this time around.”

Dante smiled.

~ fin ~