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The decision to breed little demon nestlings had come during the Wintertime when a lull of peace settled between them, back from the depths of the Underworld—when a stillness came about and rested in what seemed like a permanent state (hopefully).
‘Decision’—well, it hadn't even really been a formal thing, either... More like, something that had just happened spur of the moment, in a fit of passion.
...A lot of things tended to happen that way with them, lately.
Shower-fucking. Bathing together turned into that, like it did more often than not, and that turned into stuffing Dante full of cream. Hand braced against the tiled wall, bent over the faucet so it didn’t rub against his cock, and arching his neck so the showerhead didn’t whack him inadvertently. …And, of course, with Vergil’s dick wedged in him good, making his pussylips spread lush, hanging onto his tits as he rocked his hips from behind, hot water spurting all over the both of them ‘til it ran cold.
That in itself didn’t necessarily mean he’d gotten pregnant—but this wouldn’t be the first time that cum dripped from his slit and rolled down his leg, pounded to the brim. Several times, actually, they’d gone back and forth with mating the last few weeks. Something like a celebration, a rowdy symphony of jubilee that lasted a fortnight and never quite ceased until then, when they were equally as worn-out yet satisfied.
But getting creampied every other evening certainly didn’t mean it was a surefire thing!~ Dante knew this, and yet…one afternoon came where it hit him that he just might be. He felt a twang like a warmth in his belly, something off-kilter, at the most random moment.
It was like he knew all of the sudden that his tree had indeed borne fruit, devil seed festering in the waters of his womb. The puzzle pieces all clicked together when he sensed the presence of a new, tiny form growing deep at his belly: so, the cravings hadn’t been his heat cycle, the new heaviness near his hips wasn’t sex soreness or old age, the slight morning grogginess and headaches weren’t from his insomnia, the bloating wasn’t from all the pizza and garlic bread he’d been unable to resist lately.
“You feel it.” That was his way of telling Vergil, of course, a statement of fact rather than a question—neither of them are ignorant to their senses. His brother had most definitely smelled the fetus even before he’d noticed it himself, his impermeable scent taking root more intensely on Dante’s form, and would stay there for eight months more.
It was all Dante needed to say, really, brushing a hand over his lower stomach (now beginning to round out just a bit) in the slightest hint. Only fair that he be the one to carry their brood this time; lovely, precious little Nero had been a spawn of Vergil’s own womb, after all.
Said older twin was at the stove, now, dolloping soup from the pot into two chipped bowls. It was a creamy chicken dumpling, something their mother used to make—no doubt the two of them had cooked it much less deliciously, though, but it was still an absolute treat during these cold months. The small kitchenette was positively a mess, like a typhoon had stormed the shop: a whole array of chopped leftover ingredients and every sort of spoon, knife, and ladle rested in the sink with the stack of dirty dishes.
Vergil raised the first full bowl, offering it up to him—although his skills with Yamato had proven fruitful in delicately knife-slicing each carrot and chicken part, the white meat still looked yellowish and charred at the skin ends thanks to Dante, and the thick broth was a little more goopy than it should’ve been. But Dante took it anyway, cupping it with both his palms, and looked back for an answer.
“...Then, eat well and take care.” He filled a bowl of his own, not even glancing at Dante’s incessant staring. Focused on not spilling a single droplet of food over the ladle’s rim as he brought it over. But then, Vergil pinched Dante’s cheek snidely, a puffed-out pocket full of overcooked stew, and looked back with the same stoic expression as always. “If you slack off while with child, I’ll make sure you regret it. Watch yourself, baby brother—I’ll give chase. ”
…Well, it wasn’t a bad reaction, in any case. Honestly, he’d maybe been expecting worse since it was an accident, considering the current state of things, namely the strained relations with their son, more-so on Vergil’s part. The thing was, his expression was accepting, maybe even content in the way his eyes seemed to perk up at the edges.
The sentiment was only further proven, when Dante began to finally show his pregnant fullness, through menial little actions.
Now, he pressed himself against Dante’s back, stroking an angled knee between his legs from behind, brushing up against his tender pussy over and over. Vergil sunk his sharp teeth, tiny pointed incisor fangs and all, into the flesh at Dante’s shoulder-blade, where the muscle stretched to meet his neck. Biting in, little droplets of scarlet blood dribbled out into his mouth, tasting more delicious than the juices of any pomegranate or blackberry or cherry, a lovely mix of Dante’s taste combined with his own—like a small taste of the baby.
Three more nibbles came after— I. Love. You.
That was his way. Dante purred back, sounding more teddy-bear than ferocious.
As Vergil teased Dante’s nips, he suckled the skin of his neck, too, leaving little kiss-bruised hickeys, all red and raw. From the nipples, his hands strayed to Dante’s tits, muscly still but softening up already, preparing for milk. And when Vergil came to dip his fingers even further, finding the heavy curve of a growing belly, christened by a pad of chubby belly-fat, Dante humped his dick into a plump pillow at the same second, pretending for a moment that maybe it was his twin’s buff ass, and creaming right onto the fabric case, newly washed.
A shame, maybe, but he knew he’d find it cleaned promptly the next morning—Vergil was nesting at this stage in gestation, and keeping a cozy little abode in order. Floors washed, a heaping of blankets on the bed and couch, freshly steamed rug, flawlessly polished windows… The need had been stronger when it was him who was birthing, but it was still almost as obnoxious this time around. Clean freak.
Time passed on in their “nest” and by now, they could tell it was only one nestling. One heated ball of life growing and growing, sapping up nutrients and conserving its energy. It’d certainly be a strong little thing! Sometimes its dull kicks would wake him up in the middle of the night, or make him lurch while greasing up the temporarily-retired Ebony & Ivory at his desk.
When Nero stops by during Christmastime to a gingerbread-smelling office decorated with cinnamon candles, warm lighting, and feather pillows galore, Vergil just tells him that Dante’s getting fat; his pregnant bump now makes a plump indent in his shirts, pinching his belt and giving him some proper love-handles. The fattiness of his breasts certainly helped with convincing him.
Nero seemed to take it in stride, believing it quite fully and grinning like a madman—“Slacking on the gigs, old man? Told ya the fast food would catch up to your lazy ass!” he teases in his snarky tone, as usual. He doesn’t notice how Vergil had puffed out the slightest breath of relieved air from the smallest corner of his lips.
…They’re determined to keep their literal twisted web of family relations a secret, for now. Poor kid doesn’t even know his dad’s really his mom and Dante is his real father. It’d be too much for him at once—ignorance is bliss, after all. When this birth happens, privately, they’ll say perhaps the newborn is Dante’s long-lost kid, this time. Even it out, hmm?
And the birth does come, soon, near the middle of February, like a pot of gold at the tail-end of a very long rainbow.
Dante keened back on the old mattress in the bedroom over a mound of tender pillows, legs spread wide as labor pushed on. He was half-triggered, and the heat and energy pooled to his womb.
The contractions were worse than anything else he’d ever felt, but he could grin and bear it—grit his teeth, sneer, crack a few jokes about how he’s gotta lay off the pizza for a good while afterward if he ever wants to lose this baby weight.
Vergil snapped back to focus on the birthing, you bumbling fool. Must be more terribly nerve-wracking being on this end, for once. The end with no control in how things play out, no way to help any of the pain. He knelt on the bed at Dante’s legs, gripping his ankles with the intensity only a parent could have. Almost made Dante feel bad for him, except he’s caused him and the world a whole lot of trouble—he can deal with a little overthinking brain for a while, can’t he?
“A while” ends up lasting for about another hour and a half, until a head caked in shiny placenta goes into breach, poking out of Dante’s cunt as he heaved. Heaved, and pushed, thrusting his hips forward with his jaw clenched and curses slipping through his lips.
So close, now… Vergil coaxed him for once, rubbing his thumbs over the insides of Dante’s fleshy thighs, spreading him out more as if to provide some ease.
And then: a wail broke through everything, baby head popping out free along with the small nestling body, wet and tinged with blood, promptly swaddled by Vergil’s awaiting towel before he’d have to cut the cord.
Some more babbling cries came from the little thing, and the hair was cleaned off enough from fluids that a gentle tuft of sparkling white shone bright. Those cute baby eyes finally opened to glance out at the world for the first time—
—and her irises were ultramarine.