Wrapped in Glory: An Interlude

Warnings: Spoilers for those who haven't reached mission 7 at the very earliest, and mission 10 at the very latest.
Fandom/Pairing: Devil May Cry 4/Nero x Dante.
Full Summary: The Man in Red and the newest demon hunter do battle, yet despite coming far, the rookie’s defeat is imminent. The chase of the mysterious Man in Red and countless battles with fiends and demons has tired his body, and his upset mind cannot vent its frustrations. Little does the amateur know that his body’s stresses shall be alleviated in much more interesting ways.
A/N: This is my first time writing for the DMC series, and it was bloody enjoyable! ^^ I should really write more for these two, I had fun with them ;D Hope you enjoy!


There it was again. That arrogant, belittling laugh of his. It rang in Nero’s ears as he positioned Yamato to strike, darting forward; ready to plunge the sword deep into the assassins’ gut, only to find himself falling face-first onto a bloody, sticky carpet. His senses, heightened by the demon that stalked him upon the use of Yamato, informed Nero that his nemesis had reclaimed his sword.

His reaction time was perhaps slowed by the surprise of his enemy’s simple yet effective counter. At least, that was the excuse Nero produced when he found Rebellion sink into the ground beside his head, trapped by the harsh metal. His cursed arm rose to strike with Yamato, only to have a boot crush the thought instantly, Nero’s ability to move incredibly limited. His breath came in harsh, quick pants, a fierce stare focused on the one who had reduced him to this vulnerable state, resenting his inferior swordsmanship.

Dante (was that not the name mentioned by Agnus, but a few hours ago?) stood above him, triumphant, looking down at the fallen warrior at his feet, his breath only slightly quickened by the battle.

“You cooled off yet, kid?” Came his husky, patronising voice.

Nero whimpered, turning his head to shield his shamed face from Dante’s view. Dante’s smug use of the word ‘kid’ was a harsh reminder of his defeat, of how he was once again considered inferior, unworthy of recognition or appreciation.

“What’s the matter? Why the glare?” Dante pressed, forcing Rebellion deeper into the ground beside Nero’s head, emphasising his control of the situation.

Though already knowing the answer, he had asked the question. His eyes burned into those of Nero, watching as the handsome face contorted in frustration. Droplets of blood that had fallen onto his face during the fight cracked, flaking from the skin as he struggled to find a non-complimentary answer.

It was another fight that he could not win.

Bitterly, he answered, “You look as if you’ve just been playing me from the beginning.” His demon hand tightened around Yamato, wishing he had the stamina left within him to cast the weight of Dante’s boot aside. His breathing was barely back to its normal rate by this point, and the headstrong demon hunter scolded himself for being so weak, so defenceless. Nero had always prided himself in being a very capable warrior, despite not always being rewarded in the appropriate manner; yet this defeat had shaken his pride and beliefs, deflating the man’s ego.

“Well?” Nero snapped resentfully, his eyes focused still on his trapped arm, strands of hair falling across his face, shielding Dante from his fractious glare, “Aren’t you gonna do anything? Come on, you have me right where you want me. What’s stopping you from finishing me off?”

Nero’s acknowledgement of his current situation did nothing to deter Dante from remaining silent. He would do nothing until the shorter, weaker, younger man looked in his eyes.

Slowly, blue met blue as Nero tilted his head, his cheek meeting with the cool edge of Rebellion, eyes forcing themselves to make eye contact.

Unlike Nero, there were no splatters of blood on the Man in Red’s clothes, or even on his skin. His clothes were intact, though perhaps dirtied somewhat in the fight from being tossed about. Even his hair seemed to be in the same place as it was before they did battle. It was almost as if Nero’s actions had made no physical impact on him, as if standing perfectly still would have caused a similar amount of damage.

Dante was effortlessly powerful. He had swatted away Nero’s onslaught as if it were nothing. It was almost like a single raindrop trying to erode a cliff-face by itself - an irrational, unattainable goal. Yet like a child, Nero’s mind insisted that he would get the better of the older man; that he had the capabilities to redeem himself from their previous encounters.

In a mocking, almost arrogant way, Dante had evaded Nero’s vicious attacks, brushing off his most formidable, accurate combinations like he would a piece of dirt. And it was this knowledge that pressed Dante forward, his need to remind Nero of who was better swelling in his stomach.

Wedging Rebellion into the ground even more, Dante dropped to his knees, considering Nero with a half-curious, half-smug stare.

“You did okay, kid, but you got a lot to learn.” Dante stated, intently watching Nero’s eyes for any sign of a reaction. He kept also a watchful eye over his cursed arm, ready to subdue it should it move.

Nero hissed between his teeth, unable to admit defeat to this man yet again. He hated being patronised.

“But, there’s something about you that kinda interests me. A couple things, actually.” Dante continued coolly, amused by the boy’s pride. Though he had not wanted to, Dante had witnessed in Nero characteristics not unlike those of his brother. Whether these attributes had become more prominent since Nero obtained the sword that he once carried was uncertain.

“First off, you come all this way to find me and get revenge for the assassination of your saviour, but when you get a perfect, once in a lifetime opportunity, you hesitate.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed at this, displaying his confusion. Dante smirked, and took Ebony and Ivory from their respective holsters, before throwing them to the side, far out of his reach… But not out of Nero’s. His eyes never once left Nero’s, a grin fixed on full, dark lips, eyes anticipating a reaction that never came.

Unperturbed, Dante continued. “So here’s the deal. Here I am, unarmed, sitting next to a newbie demon hunter with my brother’s sword in his freaky demon arm, which could damage me easily. And you could have done this five minutes ago, when I let your arm go.”

Nero said nothing, and did not move. His eyes were fixed on Dante’s, realisation and concern curling in his stomach, unable to definitively claim what had caused him to not notice this.

“Or, if you wanted to, you could reach out with the said freaky demon arm and grab my two guns, Ebony and Ivory, and kill me with those. I can’t reach them, but you sure can. Or worse still, you could risk ripping your coat by wrenching out Rebellion and forcing it into my gut, like you did last time. Whichever takes your fancy. I think either would be quite interesting.” Dante said with a laugh, triumph swelling in his stomach at the thought of these observations being said without any form of violence offered as thanks.

Nero felt himself tremble. Why hadn’t he noticed the feeling of release in his cursed arm when Dante’s foot had left it? Why had he not taken the opportunity to strike the Man in Red while he was distracted, instead of focused and alert? Could it be that he was so physically drained that he had not been able to see it?

Noting the shaking of the body beside him, Dante leaned in and firmly placed a hand on Nero’s chin, their eyes meeting once more. He could feel the warmth of Nero’s breath on his face; see the faint pink tinge that was sprinkled across faintly bruised cheeks.

“Question is, kid… Even now that I’ve pointed this out… You still don’t attack me. Why?”

Nero allowed his demeaning nickname to pass with no bitter thoughts. He swallowed, hard, uncomfortable with the sudden closeness. His eyes closed. It was something that, he too, was wondering. Should Dante ask, Nero would not respond – He swore that to himself. It was not solely based on his dislike for the Man in Red, as he himself could not decide why he remained still, unable to attack.

Moments later, Nero’s eyes shot open in alarm, the husky murmur of Dante’s voice close to his ear. Through his suddenly heavy breathing, Nero could barely hear the older man whisper; “And before you ask-” Nero’s breath hitched, the swipe of Dante’s tongue against his earlobe all-too familiar, too demanding to ignore. “-I don’t carry hidden weapons.”

There was the faintest whimper of protest when Dante’s mouth met with Nero’s in a lip sucking, fiery kiss. Dante’s eyes bored wickedly into Nero’s as he nipped and licked at the teen’s lips, demanding entry.

Nero was unsure of what to do. He could submit to the Man in Red and allow himself to forget about everything, anything, as his body was consumed by passion; or he could force Dante away, and continue to fight in a battle that he was certain to lose. As his eyes stared up, panicked, Nero felt himself shiver under the intensity of his gaze. His body trembled, the sensation of having the powerful man suck at his lips creating an insistent ache in his groin.

Without regret, Nero allowed his eyes to fall to a close, his cursed hand reaching to the back of Dante’s neck, deepening the kiss while opening his lips, stifling a moan as Dante’s tongue plundered his moist, sweet cavern. His tongue came to duel with the demon hunter’s, craving more of the unique flavour that was Dante’s own, groaning at the contact.

Dante couldn’t help but smirk as Nero’s will crumbled beneath his touch, his own hand coming to tangle in the younger man’s hair, whilst the other dipped inside Nero’s shirt, caressing the taut muscle found there. He moved himself so that he lay on top of Nero, removing his lips from Nero’s as he rocked their hips together.

Nero gasped and groaned at the grinding, arching his hips. Grinning deviously, Dante rubbed his growing erection into Nero’s, groaning as pleasure washed through him, grinding harder as he sought more of that delicious contact. His fingers moved further up Nero’s chest, rubbing light circles around hard nipples. His smirk only grew as Nero’s moans were punctuated by little whimpers, who was fully aroused from the fleeting but rough touches from the older demon hunter. Nero snaked his hands in Dante’s hair, tugging to bring him back down for another kiss.

“Impatient, aren’t we, kid?” Dante mocked smugly, but he lowered his lips to Nero’s all the same. He gladly swallowed Nero’s moans and gasps as he continued his grinding, all the while pinching and pulling on already abused nipples.

Nero welcomed this passionate onslaught with open arms, allowing one of his hands to cup Dante’s ass, kneading the tight flesh there. He brought his legs up to wrap around Dante’s hips, the action only intensifying their frantic thrusting.

Without breaking the kiss, Dante set about stripping Nero of his clothes, before tossing each item aside, leaving the shivering boy beneath him in his jeans for the moment. Dante broke the kiss to pull back from Nero’s touch and admire the young body beneath him. Pleased by the redness of his nipples and his rapid breathing, Dante lowered his body back onto Nero’s and began nipping and sucking on his neck. His fingers returned to pinch and pull at tender nipples, his teeth gently scraping at the boy’s pulse as a wanton moan pleaded with him to go further.

Though not what one could call innocent, this experience was like no other for Nero. Dante’s caresses were rougher than he had previously felt, yet at the same time Nero had never been so aroused so quickly by mere touches, only whispers of the pleasure to come. He shifted under Dante’s weight, rocking his hips up into Dante’s, aching to be free of his tight confines.

Nero’s eyes watched intently as Dante slowly kissed and licked his way down to his over-stimulated nipples. It was harder to maintain eye contact when Dante’s tongue slowly licked out to soothe the hardened nubs, a look that dared Nero to object, intensifying the experience.

“Ahhn…” Nero moaned, forgetting about his pride and openly moaning under Dante’s touch. He ignored the look of triumph on Dante’s features and moaned huskily, “Please…”

Dante shook his head, smirking, continuing to apply pressure with his tongue against hard nipples. He was thoroughly enjoying watching the younger man writhe and arch beneath his touch, having missed the feeling of being dominant with a partner in a long time. He delighted in the surprised gasp and sob of frustration when a hand came to lightly cup Nero’s erection through his pants, feeling the intense heat through the cloth. He hoped that Nero would submit himself soon, for his own erection was twitching through the confines of his own pants, yearning for attention.

“A-Ah… Please…” Nero ground out, bucking his hips wildly at the contact. He wasn’t even sure of what he was asking of the older man, only that he was given something, some form of release from this wonderful torture.

“Please what?” Dante asked with a chuckle, his lips hovering a few inches above Nero’s. His eyes locked onto the devil bringer’s own as his hand moved to Nero’s waistband, a finger dipping beneath the cloth, teasing the sensitive skin strip of skin. “Tell me what you want…” He crooned, relishing in the responsiveness of the younger man beneath him.

Both of those actions sent a shiver along Nero’s spine, and he turned his head in shame. He knew what Dante wanted. He wanted to see Nero, the ever stubborn and headstrong amateur submit himself to him completely, leaving his inhibitions behind, opening himself fully to the older man. He wanted to see Nero show his all to him, to see what no one else could ever see, and know that only he could access it. It would only take several small, hushed words to establish Dante’s dominance of the situation.

Before Nero could respond, those lips were on his again, Dante’s tongue plundering his mouth in another heart-pounding, lip crashing frenzy, and Nero could feel himself about to fall over the proverbial edge of no return. And when Dante’s lips threatened to leave his, Nero moaned, following him in a frantic rush, hands clawing in the man’s hair to prevent him from leaving again.

There was no going back. To have come so far only to deny himself this simple, all-too human and sinful act would be to refute in vain this hunger he harboured for the older man, this craving to be held close and made to feel things that no one else could possibly hope to give him.

“I…” He started, pulling back only long enough to say these words in a low, hurried whisper to avoid his embarrassment about the situation, “I want you to…” He leaned up again to have his lips claimed by the moist, smirking ones of Dante, whimpering at the foreign feeling of intensity that his being radiated.

“I want you to get me off,” Nero paused again, pulling Dante back down so that his lips were hovering mere inches above his own, pliant and skilful. “I want you to suck me.”

It felt so awkward, not being entirely sure that Dante was the Man in Red’s real name, and so not being able to call him by that name even in this intimate situation. And in sensing this discomfort, Dante’s victorious stare softened and he lowered his lips back to Nero’s for another passionate kiss before his hands worked on removing the younger man’s pants. Nero arched his ass off the floor to help, hissing when his heated skin came into contact with the freezing stone floor. With his cock now free of its tight leather confines, Nero watched, his stomach knotted in frustrated anticipation as Dante’s lips kissed along his collarbone, down his chest; making sure to brush his tongue against sensitive nipples; pausing to dip his tongue into the younger man’s navel, causing Nero to shiver. His hands sank into Dante’s silky locks again, a silent plea for him to continue.

Upon feeling the hands in his hair, and seeing the look of shameless want on Nero’s face, Dante moved his lips ever lower, his eyes locking with the younger demon hunter’s own. His tongue licked away at the sweat gathered on Nero’s skin, relishing the groans and whimpers he extracted from him at the slightest of touches.

Deciding that Nero had waited long enough, Dante licked his way downward through the thin trail of hair leading down from his navel to Nero’s throbbing erection. He pressed his lips to the leaking head, his tongue swiping down along the hardened flesh. Smirking at the moan that action extracted from the demon hunter, Dante took his cock into his mouth, running his tongue along the length of it as he began to bob his head, sucking gently.

“Aahhh! Oh, God…” Nero moaned, arching his hips, wanting to feel more of that delicious suction.

Not one to disappoint, Dante increased the intensity of his sucking and began to moan on every downward thrust of his mouth. Nero moaned even louder and bucked his hips into that wonderfully moist heat, the chill of the floor beneath him a distant memory as he melted into the pleasure he was being given. Through half lidded eyes he saw Dante take himself out of his pants and stroke himself in time with the sucking. He withdrew his mouth for a moment, stroking his tongue up along the length of his shaft continuously, whilst Dante’s free hand went to caress Nero’s balls.

“Shit… Aahhn…” Nero cursed, tugging weakly on Dante’s hair. Lazily, compliantly, Dante took Nero back into his mouth, humming as he continued to suck on the hard length. Nero whimpered, his body thrashing against the floor, eyes screwed tightly shut against the suddenly all-too bright light of the room, all of his senses over stimulated by Dante’s skill.

Smirking around his mouthful, Dante worked more of the length into his mouth, swallowing the pre-cum that was leaked from its head, the finger that was stroking Nero’s balls moving down to massage probingly at the younger man’s entrance. Nero moaned loudly at the light touch, rocking his hips downward, letting Dante know that he could continue. Dante allowed his tongue to stroke up the length of Nero’s cock as he sucked, his finger probing in his tight channel. The white haired teen shuddered, groaning. It stung; it felt like nothing he had ever experienced before… And he liked it. It was an addictive sensation. He spread his legs wider, welcoming the intrusion of a second finger with a loud moan and a downward thrust of his hips. Dante drove his fingers into the tight opening before crooking his fingers, searching for that special spot that would have Nero seeing stars.

“Oh!… Oh, fuck…”

Dante continued to finger and press against Nero’s prostate, whilst sucking harshly on his swollen cock, humming to heighten the sensation for the ever-willing, beautiful body that lay writhing beneath his.

The sensation of being penetrated and sucked simultaneously attacked his senses, and with a loud, shuddery moan, Nero climaxed into Dante’s talented mouth, frozen in place as the heady after-effects of a powerful orgasm crashed over him. Dante removed his lips from around Nero’s cock only when he had drunk the boy dry, licking and kissing him clean. He took his fingers from within Nero, and fisted his neglected cock once more. His gaze met with Nero’s, never once breaking that stare as he brought himself to his peak, cum spilling over his hand and onto the floor. He collapsed beside Nero, panting heavily, fingers still wrapped tightly around his softening dick, his eyes closing as post-orgasmic bliss threatened to claim his body in the tight confines of sleep.

His exhausted state was stirred when he felt one of Nero’s fingers come to swipe across his own. He opened his eyes just in time to see a tentative, curious Nero lick the sticky substance from his fingers, frowning as he tried to determine whether he liked the taste.

“Bitter?” Dante asked with a chuckle, offering his hand to Nero’s lips. Nero nodded slowly, frown still in place. “So is yours,” He commented, letting that statement sink into Nero’s hazy mind.

It was then that the enormity of what happened struck Nero. He had just had sex with this mysterious man who had yet to learn his name. He had been sucked off by the man who he had been ordered to kill by Credo, to avenge His Holiness.

The teen swallowed. Duty. Obligation. Mission. He needed to kill Dante. He had to take Yamato and kill him with it, and he needed to do it while he was in this docile state. His cursed demon arm twitched, and Nero’s tongue swiped itself along Dante’s cum stained hand thoughtfully, unaware that he was being watched.

Dante could almost hear the thoughts that were stalking Nero. Once his hand was clean, he moved so that he was atop Nero again, staring down into the eyes that so strikingly mirrored his own. Instead of ruining the silence with a witty rejoinder that was sure to break the mood, he brought his lips onto Nero’s own, kissing him softer than he had before. He could taste himself on the boy’s lips, and knew instinctively that Nero’s hesitation was at the unfamiliar taste of himself on Dante’s tongue.

Breaking away, Dante paused to look into Nero’s eyes for a final time, before standing to reclaim his pants, coat and weapons, passing Nero his own even as he lay, still naked, on the achingly cold floor. As he redressed, Dante reclaimed Rebellion, cleaning the rubble and blood that had stuck onto the blade during their fight. He smiled, hoping that Nero would consider it to be nothing more than a distant memory.

“That sword,” Dante started, in reference to Yamato, “was used to separate our world from the demons’. I can’t have something of that kind of power floating around now, can I?” He explained. He had turned himself away from Nero’s spread, nude body as he spoke, for reasons that he couldn’t quite place.

Nero remained silent, watching Dante’s retreating back. He slowly sat himself up, and, breathing deeply, realised that life had to return to normal. He was still in Fortuna Headquarters and fighting bloodthirsty hell spawn, not in a wonderful land where Dante could fulfil his every need in peace. Resentfully, Nero took the clothes that had been passed back to him, and began to dress himself. What little warmth that was left in the clothes seeped into Nero’s skin, a welcome change from the chill of the uncomfortable stone floor. He took Yamato in his hands, silent, as Dante continued, finally turning to face the younger demon hunter.

“It’s gotta stay in the family.”

Nero thought back. Yamato, the sword once possessed by Dante’s brother. There had always been hushed conversations in Fortuna concerning the whereabouts and, occasionally, by some mad theorist who reminded Nero of Agnus, legitimacy of the second son of Sparda.

“I need this…” Nero said simply, his voice husky and tight from moaning so loudly before. His cheeks threatened to stain themselves a girlish pink colour at the sound, but he quelled the embarrassment, still not meeting Dante’s gaze.

Dante considered the boy for a moment longer, and shrugged, Rebellion wobbling slightly on his shoulder with the movement.

“Then keep it.”

For the first time since their final kiss, Nero’s eyes met with Dante’s. His lips were slightly parted, eyes searching and confused. Why would any man want to give someone who they had fought with on several occasions the sword that his brother used to own? Their situation was made only stranger by the fact that Yamato was an heirloom passed down to Dante’s brother by Sparda himself.

Dante, however, was not about to offer any explanation for his actions.

“Now that you’re calm and cool, get going.” He concluded with a gesture, turning away from that look. His coyness was an obvious façade, designed to tempt the younger man in for some sort of thank you, or even a replay of what had just transpired.

Instead, there was a slight pause. And then, Dante felt the wind brush against his skin, his coat shifting in the breeze created as Nero walked on by, clutching Yamato in his devil bringer arm.

“Hey.”

Nero halted. The memories of the last hour or so were still fresh in his mind, and he had had every intention of taking a few moments to make sure that the memories stayed with him for a long while. Yet at the sound of Dante’s off-hand, deep voice, he couldn’t help but hang back.

“What’s your name?”

Nero resisted the urge to laugh. After sharing bodily fluids with one another, they still couldn’t be certain of one another’s names. Not that Dante had ever heard anyone speak of Nero’s to begin with.

Turning his head to see if he could take one last look into those eyes before he left, he said;

“Nero… You’re Dante, right?” He waited for a moment longer before he had to tear himself away from the situation. Another moment in there with Dante, and… Well, Nero didn’t know what he would have done. The many implications of this worried him, greatly.

“Not a bad name…” He half said, half murmured to himself as he began to walk through a narrow tunnel leading out of the room. He pushed the feeling of disappointment to the back of his mind, and resisted the urge to look back.

Dante turned, admiring Nero’s retreating form. “Neither is yours,” He muttered, more to himself than to Nero, a small smile on his lips. He knew that they would meet again, and hopefully very shortly. Dante hoped for a repeat of this encounter, with some significant changes. He could still taste the boy’s essence on his tongue, could almost hear the groans and quiet panting of him as he was taken to a place where, Dante could tell, he had never been before.

These thoughts were cut short by the arrival of a dark skinned, scantily clad woman. Frowning at the obstruction before him, Dante forced his thoughts aside. Wishful thinking and reminiscing had caused him to be caught off guard like this, and it would not do.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.