Archive of Our Own

Cohabitation with Vergil is going fan-fucking-tastic, if anyone were to ask Dante.



And by “fantastic,” of course, he means it feels like two feral animals cautiously circling one another, wary of toeing the line between pissing each other off and barely coexisting.

Well. Not that he’d expected this to be all sunshine and peaches, of course.

Dante had known from the moment he’d cautiously extended the invitation for Vergil to crash at his place - once that whole Temen-ni-whatever fiasco was over - that it wasn’t going to be smooth sailing. He and Vergil had been apart for too long, been at odds for too long - even in the best of times, in their gilded childhood, they had never truly gotten along.

But he hadn’t expected it to be this tense.

Hadn’t expected the instincts immediately bristling within him as soon as his twin had set foot in his shop - once it’d been repaired, which had gratefully taken only a handful of days before the building was at least usable enough - telling him to challenge his other half for the right to his lair (in not so many or nearly coherent words, but he could get the hint). 
Freaked him out a bit too, but what could he do about it?
After all, deep down, he was grateful for the opportunity. 

Vergil, as he’d grown up to be, was a stuck-up asshole with a stick up his ass on a good day - but he was also the only family Dante had left. 


He could tolerate whatever demonic weirdness came with sharing space with his brother if it meant a shot at placating the howling loneliness he’d existed in for the past ten years.

Or at least, so he hoped.

Truthfully, things had already started off not on the best foot from the get-go.

After the tower had collapsed, leaving Dante, Vergil, and that girl who’d called herself “Lady”  standing together in the wake of its ruins, they’d spent the next couple of days camping up in Lady’s apartment, having nowhere else better to go until Dante’s building had at least a functioning roof.
As little as they knew the girl, it still felt uncharacteristic of her to allow them to share her space - but in hindsight, she probably didn’t want to be alone in the immediate aftermath of everything that had happened. 
Dante could sympathize; that Vergil had come back with him at all was probably the one thing that had kept him sane through it all, while she’d gone and put a bullet in her old man’s head.
That had to mess anyone up.


Still, the weirdness of the arrangement - both of them on their toes the whole time, overly cautious of not overstepping any boundary - and the shock of the events that had transpired in the tower itself probably had mitigated the onset of this weird territorial bullshit until they were back in the shop proper. 

There were still repairs to be done, mind you, and Dante was already grimacing thinking about how long it would take to repay Morrison for the loan he’d so generously offered for even this barebones restoration, but at least it was serviceable.

Of course, “serviceable” didn’t live up to His Majesty Prince Asshole’s standards - though Dante suspected it had less to do with the disrepair, and more with Dante’s everything that lingered all over the place.

The first thing his brother did, once welcomed so generously within Dante’s home, was frown, take a general look around, scowl deeper in the vague direction of the myriads of titty posters plastered on his walls, and roll his eyes so hard Dante swore it’d made a sound.

“Hm.”

Vergil had scoffed, actually scoffed, elegant nose turning up as if Dante’s lair weren’t up to his discerning taste. Which was full of shit, because Dante was sure he hadn’t exactly been living in the lap of luxury, either.

“Well, I know it’s not the Hilton, but-“

Vergil just dipped his fingers on the nearest surface in lieu of a reply, making as if to examine the thick coat of dust that stuck to his digit and looking meaningfully at Dante with a raised eyebrow.

“…And now you’re just being a dick for no reason.”

Dante was kind of expecting some form of judgement, but he hadn’t anticipated how crestfallen his brother’s reaction would make him.
The bitterness pickled into hot irritation under his skin, turning into barbs at his tongue before his brain could catch up.

“What, got anywhere better to be?”

Vergil stilled then, his back turned to him - the silence louder than any of his little moues earlier, tense like there was something he wasn’t telling him.

“…No, I don’t.”

It was Dante’s turn to scoff, then, even if part of his brain was telling him to leave well enough alone.

“Then you don’t have any room to complain. You know, if you hate it so much, you can just leave.”



Dante regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth - no, he didn’t want Vergil to leave, that was the absolute last thing he wanted - but he’d already said it, so the least he could do was stand his ground.



Vergil had whipped around to face him, his glare venomous, fingers closing around Yamato’s hilt like he was gearing up for a fight.



“Forgive me if I don’t fancy living in squalor, brother. I’m only here at your insistence.”



In a split second they’d had their swords drawn and pointed at one another - the motion almost an involuntary reflex, muscle memory telling them to hash it out violently. 


Dante had felt his demon roiling under his skin - the aggression hot and urgent, and he’d lashed at his brother almost in a daze, trading off blows until the ruckus knocked them back against a wall, thudding loudly and making the building shake.



At once, they’d broken out of their reverie - an unspoken understanding passing between them even as they glared at one another, realizing that if they continued, they’d probably level the newly repaired shop, and detached stiffly even though they were both still visibly seething. No sword fighting indoors, then. 



Whatever.



Dante hadn’t had time to show Vergil the guest room he was going to offer him before the outburst, but his twin seemed to manage to find it very well on his own, immediately moving in the right direction without a single word spared to Dante.

He did not leave, though.




– 

Still, that had been enough of a shit show, and it had thoroughly set the tone for what their new normal was gearing up to be.

After the initial misfire he can tell they’re both kinda dancing around one another - trying to avoid another incident, no doubt.



Dante tries, as best as he can, to return to what his routine before all this had been, to occupy his space however he pleases the way he’s used to, but it’s hard with the constant prickling awareness of his twin’s existence like a shadow always looming at the edge of his consciousness. 

It probably shouldn’t piss him off, the way Vergil moves around the shop, but it does - slow, measured, the kind of movement he’s seen in street cats when they’re trying to avoid conflict, which is probably exactly what Vergil’s trying to do. 
And while it’s weird as fuck to watch a person act like this, it should still be nice to know his twin seemingly doesn’t want another fight, but fuck, it just makes that coil in Dante’s throat wind tighter, even more so because he knows Vergil does want to fight him - knows because Dante sure does, and this tamped-down, blue-balled aggression with nowhere else to go continues boiling under their skin.



It keeps him moody, aggravated - like just hearing Vergil breathe pisses him off, and he doesn’t want to feel this way - he’s happy about how things shook out. He swears. He wants to keep his brother close after a lifetime of separation.



But it’s so hard to make stilted, awkward small talk over breakfast when Dante realizes Vergil’s finished the last of the coffee, and his immediate reaction is the almost overwhelming urge to smash his brother’s face in for it.



When his twin starts putting books and trinkets on the shelves, and even though the rational, human part of Dante is so fucking happy to see him taking up space, proving he’s putting roots down into his home and not planning to leave any time soon, the snarling demon inside him wants to whip his dick out and piss on them to remind them both just who this shithole belongs to.

Metaphorically, of course.
He hopes.


Worse still - the aggression and anger management issues are one thing, it’s kinda understandable in some weird, animal way. Dante doesn’t know much about how their kind works; he wasn’t paying that much attention back in the day when their parents were still around to teach them, and he’d sooner deepthroat Ebony or Ivory than sit and listen to one of Vergil’s lectures about it, but it’s kinda intuitive to think about: put two aggressive male predators in the same enclosure, you’re bound to get them locking horns, and there might be one or several attempts at them ripping one another’s throat out before a hierarchy forms and they can coexist peacefully. He wishes that weren’t the case for him and his brother, but that very much seems to be the shitty lot they’ve drawn.



But less explicable is how he’s also suddenly so much hornier than usual. Which is saying a lot by itself.

It’s with no shame that Dante would admit that he jerks off a lot - it just kind of comes with the territory, right? Demon blood and all that, or at least that’s what he assumes.
Even when he’s got time and can be assed to get out there and find someone to spend the night with, the need comes much faster than he can feasibly burn it out - so, he’d always been intimately acquainted with his right hand. 
It’s an arrangement that works out just fine for him.



But this is kind of ridiculous, even for him - it feels like he’s spending way more time at half-mast (at least) than he does not, and there’s only so many days in a row where he’s gotta lock himself in the bathroom to take matters into his own hands (literally) just as often as he’d go take a piss before he considers there might be a problem.


Even more infuriating is the fact that Vergil doesn’t seem to have nearly the same issue - or at least, not that Dante can tell.
Maybe he does, and he’s just better at hiding it - it’s deeply unfair, though, the amount of times he’s popped an ill-timed boner around his brother by now, while he has yet to catch the same happening to Vergil. 
He’s given up on trying to be covert about it, at this point. Surely, Vergil would understand how it is, even if he’s somehow cooler than an ice block - best Dante can do is be casual about it and let it lie.

It’s still a lot to deal with.


It’s definitely fraying at his nerves when he wakes up in the middle of the night for the umpteenth night in a row, hard as a rock and pissed off - must’ve been a dream that left him in this state, but he can’t remember any of it, only the vague taste of blood in his mouth and flesh under his teeth, and he goes from dead asleep to fully awake and buzzing in an instant. 
Vergil’s presence prickles at the edge of his awareness and he needs to - he doesn’t even know what he needs, exactly. Punch through a wall, maybe.

Instead, he settles for furiously jerking off and then stubbornly screwing his eyes shut, even though he doesn’t feel sated in the least and even though sleep eludes him, tossing and turning until the small hours of the morning.

He doesn’t think about the nervous pacing he can feel his twin doing across the hall every time something like this happens. 

– 

The breaking point comes on what would’ve otherwise been a perfectly uneventful Tuesday.

Dante had been looking for his last clean pair of socks, which have gone inexplicably missing - seemingly vanished into thin air when he's absolutely sure of where he’d left them: inside out in his boots so he couldn’t miss them.

He’d already gone halfway through his room and closet in a huff, throwing things everywhere trying to find the mysterious vanishing socks, when his nose picks up something unexpected in what is otherwise a perfectly mundane pile of clothes.



Vergil’s scent, layered over his like a mark.

It makes him immediately see red in a way he cannot explain - he’d told Vergil not to rearrange his things the first time he’d caught his brother trying to tidy up around the place - something, again, about “living in squalor” or whatever the hell Vergil liked to say - so the fact he’d not only seemingly done that, he’d gone out of his way to clean up something inside the sanctuary of Dante’s own room made him absolutely livid, and his already thin and fraying patience gave up one more chain link.


He marches down the stairs and into the foyer with all the grace of a raging bull, calling out as soon as he knows Vergil’s within earshot.



“Did you move my shit?”



Dante’s already raised his voice well before he sees him - but once he does, it does absolutely nothing to quell this irrational (perfectly reasonable) irritation.

Vergil’s sitting at his desk, cool as a cucumber. He’s got papers in front of him - clearly taking over call duty while Dante’s busy - but something about that, coupled with what he’s already so incensed over, absolutely enrages him.

That’s - that’s his chair. His desk that his brother is currently sitting at, ass parked onto the upholstery like it’s no big deal that he’s probably leaving his scent all over it, too. 


Vergil gives no indication of registering Dante’s absolutely murderous aura, instead just arching one elegant brow at him, like even just acknowledging Dante’s existence is beneath him.

“Lost something, brother? Perhaps if you didn’t throw your things around with no rhyme or reason, you wouldn’t be misplacing them so frequently.”

Dante feels the proverbial steam coming out of his ears, crowding up into Vergil’s bubble, reclaiming his space.



“No, I didn’t ‘lose’ shit. I told you to stop touching my stuff.”



Vergil stares back at him, unblinking, intense - this isn’t just about socks, Dante knows that much. This is everything they’ve been dancing around, boiling over.

“Forgive me for trying to bring some order to this pigsty, little brother. Next time I’ll leave your ‘shit’ for the mold and dust to take.”
Vergil’s voice is dripping sarcasm, and all of a sudden Dante forgets all the reasons he had not to punch him in the face.

He moves faster than lightning - somehow fast enough to take his brother off guard, and he manages to backhand Vergil hard enough that his twin’s neck audibly cracks as the force of the blow twists his face to one side.



Everything stands deathly still for a second, as if Vergil is processing the impact - then, rearing back like a cobra about to strike, he readies his own fist, face twisted into just as much rage as Dante feels in his own chest.

It shouldn’t be that serious, and really, it’s not.

But Dante still gets a thrill when Vergil's punch connects with his jaw, when he tastes copper and his demon surges up in answer, eager and hungry - and maybe, deep down, part of him would admit he’s doing it on purpose, goading a fight because it just feels good to touch Vergil, even if it’s violent - even more so because it’s violent - wants to see that fucking irritating icy composure break, pull him down to his level so they can be beasts together and he can pretend nothing ever happened to set them apart.


He tackles Vergil into the desk, which promptly crashes to the floor - sending them both down hard together with it. 

Dante‘s looming over him before Vergil can throw him off, and he pins Vergil's wrists above his head with one hand while the other fists in his infuriatingly immaculate hair and yanks.
Vergil snarls - an ugly, animal sound, rumbling up from his chest and dual-toned - and bucks his hips, trying to dislodge him. Their crotches meet.
They both go still for a beat as the sensation washes over them - Dante's dick is already painfully hard from the adrenaline, he realizes, and for once, Vergil doesn’t seem very far off. 


“Gonna admit defeat?” 
He breaks the silence to grin down at his twin, feral and slightly manic, blood on his teeth from his split lip - figuring if neither of them is gonna call it out, might as well try to turn the situation in his favor.
Vergil's pupils are thin slits, reptile-like, sending mixed messages with the flush high on his cheeks; his chest heaves against Dante's, and their cocks are still straining towards each other in tight leather, tips leaking precum and kissing through the constraining, unforgiving fabric. 
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

"Get off me." 
Vergil spits out, venomous enough to give a snake a run for its money. 

He glares at Dante like he truly, genuinely hates him, and Dante must be fucked in the head for the way that just gets him hotter - but he can’t be assed to care, at the moment. 

"Make me."


It’s a split-second thing - Vergil surges up, headbutting him, but the pain of a broken nose barely has time to register before Dante seizes his brother’s face by the handful, claws digging into the meat of his cheeks to mash their mouths together.

He doesn’t know why he did it. Just that it felt right, and the beast in him howls in delight even as Vergil’s teeth bite through his lips like he’s trying to rip his fucking face off. 
Neither of them had closed their eyes for it so Dante gets to see, up close and personal, how the venom in his brother’s gaze turns to shock, then livid fury, then something else that he doesn’t have a name for, but he instinctively understands because it perfectly mirrors what he’s feeling, too.



Anyway, this is no time for idle rumination, because his tongue is currently fucking his brother’s throat with the same violence they were pummelling each other with a split second ago, and said brother is… well. It’s hard to say if he’s game for it. 
He is fighting back, mind you, pretty viciously so - his teeth tearing chunks off Dante’s lips, making the slide of their tongues slick and salty with blood, and fuck, is that a delectable taste, and his nails have turned to claws where they’re digging into Dante’s wrists and neck, squeezing hard enough to make bones creak - but Vergil’s hips are rolling against his in counterpoint, and even though they’re both wearing leather pants they’re so soaked through with precum the slide is soft and effortless and obscenely good.



Dante breaks the kiss to pant for air, breaths coming in heated, steaming puffs - before he can put any real distance between them Vergil’s mouth latches to his throat immediately, jaws sinking into the muscle where neck meets shoulder, razor-sharp fangs tearing through the flesh like butter, and he snaps into Vergil’s face like a rabid dog, the pain at once infuriating and driving a hot pulse of electricity straight into his balls, pulling them tight against his body with the all-encompassing need to cum, yesterday. 

He hadn’t realized he was that close, but all of a sudden it’s all he can think about - finding release while rutting against Vergil, messy and violent as is. 

His hand finds Vergil’s throat, squeezing the air out of his twin’s trachea as if meaning to crush it - and his brother makes a sound, desperate and filthy, hips jerking up so hard it nearly knocks Dante off balance, then going soft and pliant like all the fight’s drained out of him at once.



It’s sudden enough that it almost shocks Dante out of his reverie - a distant pang of what could possibly be concern firing off in the recesses of his mind - but his demon’s screech is louder, insisting that this, too, is right: his other half has submitted, accepted defeat, and isn’t that great? Is that not exactly how it should be?



His hips snap with purpose, now, driving with renewed frenzy as if trying to make a hole to fuck through clothing, and he’s rubbing against something soft and hot and impossibly wet between his twin’s legs - and the thought nearly makes him feral, growling and snarling and drooling spittle all over Vergil’s face at the sheer idea of burying himself into his brother’s cunt and flooding him deep and full with his cum. 

Just like that, he’s coming like a torrent, thoroughly soaking the inside of his pants; Vergil, too, is convulsing around him, thighs spasming around his waist as he silently screams through his own orgasm.



Well. That just happened.

As they disentangle, panting like they just fizzled out of their Trigger forms, Dante chances a look at Vergil - expecting his twin to look murderous, to resume the beating they’d been giving one another, to say “fuck it” on their unspoken weapon embargo to cut his dick off - but instead his face looks carefully blank.



Not in an “oh, fuck, I just molested my brother and he’s so traumatized he can’t even be angry about it” way, at least; Vergil is on a whole different playing field than any human he could bed, but the concern had somewhat been there, in the post-nut clarity.



But no, Vergil looks… content? Still unreadable as hell, but there truly is no killing intent there beneath the facade. 

Well, maybe his brother really was pent-up - perhaps the stick up his ass truly is there because he doesn’t get off enough. Wouldn’t surprise Dante.



Without giving him a single word to help him process whatever the fuck just happened, Vergil up and leaves in the direction of the bathroom.
Dante’s left sitting on the floor - to contemplate the fact he just made out with his brother in the middle of a brawl, and he definitely did not hate it one bit.



He does what he does best with anything too emotionally taxing - shrugs and puts it in the back of his mind, filed away unless it becomes relevant again.



– 

They don’t talk about it at all, in the coming days, which Dante had sort of expected. 

Things resume the exact, frustrating, infuriating routine they had established before this blip on the radar.

Except, somehow, Vergil seems much less ice-cold than he’d been.



Dante can’t tell if something truly did change, or if he just hadn’t been paying attention - but he could swear, now, that he starts noticing his twin being just as restless and hot under the collar as he is. They’re still tersely trying to avoid aggravating one another - but there’s a more tangible quality to Vergil, now.

There’s something about his general demeanor, his vibes, his scent - even though he acts as above-it-all as he always does, Dante thinks he knows exactly what his brother’s getting up to when he disappears into his room for the umpteenth time a day.
Not that he can blame him - he’s in the exact same boat.


He’d filed away what had happened between them as a misfire of hormones and demonic instincts - after all, it wasn’t uncommon for him to get hard during a fight, for adrenaline to have that effect. He assumes Vergil had similar experiences, and if this isn’t a problem worth addressing for Vergil, then it isn’t for Dante, either. 
Though he wouldn’t mind it being a repeat occurrence - it certainly is a more pleasant way to end a fight than being run through with a sword.



But as things continue staying the same yet different, part of him wonders if that really, truly is all there is to it.

– 

He gets some form of an answer a few days later.

There’s a ring at the doorbell in the morning - the postman, there to deliver a package.
Dante knows he’s not ordered anything - the envelope is small-ish, about the size of a book, so he thinks he’s got a pretty good idea about the contents of it, and just who it belongs to.

Vergil hasn’t surfaced from his room yet for the day, and Dante figures he’s likely still asleep; he sees no issue with barging in to drop the parcel off to its rightful owner.

In hindsight, that really had been stupid of him, but hey, he’d never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the box.



“Hey, Verge, you got a-“



The words die on his tongue as he pushes the door open and his eyes focus on the sight in front of him.



Vergil’s in bed, sure enough - but he’s not sleeping, instead lying over the covers with his legs spread and his hand between them.

Dante cannot help but take a long, good look at it - his brother’s cock is standing at attention, sure, but he seems to be ignoring it completely, in favour of insistently rubbing his clit, his cunt soaking wet and dripping all over the sheets - twitching and clenching on air, like a mouth hungry to be fed.
Which Vergil does not stop doing, even as he levels Dante with an unimpressed stare, not even a flush on his cheeks to betray what he’s doing.



“I’m in the middle of something, Dante.”


Blunt, matter-of-fact, like it doesn’t even occur to him to be embarrassed about his brother watching him masturbate.

“Uh. Right. I’ll just - leave this here.”


Dante unceremoniously drops the package on the floor before absconding - not exactly embarrassed either, but definitely startled at the intensity of his own response to what he’s just seen.
He’s instantly, throbbingly, and painfully hard at the thought of Vergil playing with his pussy like that, under his roof. 

His thoughts are spiraling before he can even catch himself doing it - the visual is burned into his retinas, which is probably unfair given how gracious Vergil has been about ignoring Dante’s own libido-related blunders, but he cannot really manage rational thought right now.

Is that how Vergil always does it? It has to be, right? 
Dante never goes for that half of their anatomy for some simple release, reserving it for the rare occasion where he’s really, specifically angling for it - if this is how Vergil gets off on a random morning, he can’t imagine it’d be anything out of the ordinary for him, and there was absolutely nothing about the occasion that seemed special enough to warrant the extra attention. His brother had seemed utterly blasé about it.

That’s… not something he’d ever considered.

When they were kids, he and Vergil had both gotten the same birds-and-bees talk, from Sparda and Eva both, covering at once what would have been normal for a growing human and for a developing young demon. Dante didn’t have the best memory of that either, but he remembered the barebones - though he’d had to figure out the majority of it by trial and error, having been alone for all the sticky and awkward parts of puberty. He assumes Vergil had been the same.

He knows he and Vergil are different from regular humans, anatomy wise - a holdover from demon genes, and it wasn’t anything Dante had ever really been very bothered by. Sure, it’s inconvenient to have periods, but his had always been irregular, infrequent, and relatively light, so it’s not too much of a hassle to deal with.
And he’s had plenty of experience, through the years, to test out just what he thinks about his junk, and how he likes best to use it.

Sex is fun - it’s fun, and it’s good, and it scratches at an itch that’s always under his skin, just below the dermis, makes him slightly less of a moody douchebag - though it never really goes away.
For that, he’ll have it however he can get it - spreading his legs for whoever’ll have him is easy, and it’s cheap, and it’s quick, but it’s not what his instincts demand. Oh, he’ll do it, and gladly, because feeling something is better than nothing, but when he’s alone in his room and picturing the ideal hookup to get himself off, it’s always to the thought of burying himself to the hilt someplace nice and wet and tight - if he has a say in it, and it’s not for any self-destructive purposes, that’s what feels the most fulfilling. 
It isn’t something he’d really given much thought - assumed that while it’s nice that nature had gifted him an easier, built-in way to take dick if he wants to, he’s still a red-blooded man who loves getting his dick wet.

It simply is what it is, and he’d sort of just assumed Vergil to be the same as him - they’re twins, after all. It stands to reason that his brother might experience it similarly.
It’s what he chalked up the incident a few days ago to - hormones, adrenaline, two part-demon guys who just needed to get off.

It occurs to him now that he has no fucking clue about any of it - and that’s an at once sobering and electrifying thought.

The thought that Vergil might have different preferences than him - or different instincts, hell, whatever the hell it is that drives this - is jarring.
It’s not anything that’s ever fit within his understanding of the world, his view of his brother and their relationship, and he’s not quite sure how or why this would change anything at all, but it feels like it does.

It’s also, if he’s being honest, the hottest thing he’s ever conceived of.

He thinks about the way Vergil had gone pliant under him - in a way that had felt charged, but that he hadn’t been able to place at the time. Thinks about the way his fingers were moving over his clit.
His brain is just shy of connecting the dots - but the conclusion feels too big to put into words; he doesn’t have nearly enough pieces to slot into place.

He resolves to go into his own room to jerk off about it, and go about his day pretending nothing has changed.

– 

Traitorously, Dante’s hindbrain can’t stop mulling it over despite his better judgement.

The thought resurfaces, unbidden, the next time he’s doing laundry - a task he can’t get away with procrastinating on for as long as he used to, now that there’s two of them in the house.
It’s mindless and boring enough that his mind is wandering - Dante’s hands are on autopilot as he grabs articles of clothing from the hamper without even looking at them to throw them in the washing machine.
He freezes when he realizes just what he’s holding.

It’s the scent that gives it away before he even looks at it - call him a pervert, but he’s pretty well tuned to what pussy smells like. 
It’s strong enough to shock him out of his reverie - knowing a pair of used underwear in this household can only come from one person, given Dante routinely goes commando.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing worth writing home about. Dark grey briefs. Unassuming, plain.



And yet.

He’s dimly aware of a bead of sweat running down his throat as he lifts the pair of Vergil’s underwear to his face to inspect closer.
It’s a physical gut-punch the longer he stares at it - cataloguing the crusted-over stain in the middle of the seat, the single snow-white pube clinging to the fabric.



Dante’s higher brain function is completely gone as he presses the piece of cloth to his nose and breathes it in - doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until his cock throbs so hard he feels it in his teeth. 
He has to bite his tongue to keep it in his mouth - the smell is heady, all-consuming, and suddenly he’s overcome with the need to taste, to experience a fraction of what it might be like to bury his face in between Vergil’s thighs and eat him out until his jaw aches - that thought alone crashes into him, and he can feel his balls drawing tight, dangerously close to coming untouched in his pants like some fresh virgin just from smelling his brother’s underwear and thinking about his pussy. 
Jesus Christ.



He throws the briefs in the washer like they’re radioactive, just to keep one single shred of his dignity intact.

Okay, so maybe he wants to fuck his brother. And maybe the fact his libido seems to have picked up tenfold once Vergil started sharing his living space is no coincidence.

Still, he doesn’t know exactly what to do with that knowledge. 
Is he freaked out by it? A tiny bit, but eh, nothing too weird in the grand scheme of things. There had always been something odd about his and Vergil’s relationship - it’s not like any human sibling relationship he’s witnessed.

Well, some parts are typical - but the way he’s always experienced it, it’s never been “normal”. That it might develop into this is not that shocking, really.

But still, it’s not like he can hit on his brother the way he would pick up a chick at a bar. 
The incident the other day is proof that Vergil is at least some sort of interested - and not above getting down and dirty with his own brother, which is a plus. But he doesn’t really know how to approach him for more of the same - asking for it straight up has just as much of a chance of working as it has of Vergil stabbing or otherwise physically maiming him.

He’s hoping for it, though. 

At least now Dante’s overeager sex drive has a concrete form to manifest in, and over the next few days, his fantasies and wet dreams have all crystallized into Vergil’s smug, supercilious face.

Confusing sexual revelations aside, life continues on much in the same vein - frustratingly, they haven’t made any further steps towards a peaceful cohabitation. 

It feels like a repeat of the same buildup as it had been right before the last incident, and Dante idly wonders if they’re headed towards a similar conclusion. 
Is this really what awaits them for the foreseeable future? Several days of unspeakable tension, culminating in one violent explosion, rinse and repeat? That’s kind of depressing. Dante hopes things will actually improve, because as fun as it is to fight his brother (and as nice as it is to get to cum at the same time), he would appreciate some more stability.


They still don’t talk about it.

–

The next time things come to a head, Dante’s vaguely more prepared for it.



Okay, maybe it’s less that he’s more prepared for it, and more that he’s kinda sorta maybe doing it on purpose.



So what if he’s listening to his loudest, most obnoxious metal record just across the room from where Vergil’s attempting to read, just to see what his brother will do in response?
He’s aware that he’s being somewhat childish - playground pigtail-pulling, in essence, which, to be perfectly honest, is that not what he’d been doing with Vergil ever since they were literal kids? Maybe he’s the densest motherfucker on earth for only having just put it together.



Still, he can almost audibly hear the twitch in Vergil’s eyelid when his twin has hit his limit on patience - it feels like a victory when Vergil puts the book down and all but stomps toward the jukebox.

Why he hadn’t expected his brother to rip the cord out of the socket in the wall, Dante can’t say - as one says, play stupid games, win stupid prizes, but he is still irrationally irritated by the willful destruction of his property, and he immediately gets up to confront Vergil.



“Hey, what gives?!”



He grabs his twin by the lapels - perhaps the slightest bit too eager to get physical with him.

Vergil only stares back at him - and there’s something knowing in the way he looks at him, the set of his mouth, like he knows exactly what Dante’s trying to play at.



“I tire of your childish games, Dante.”

“Games? From where I’m standing, the only one playing “games” here is you, Verge.”

Vergil still only looks back at him, nonplussed - and he’s probably got him all figured out, knows that the best way he can piss Dante off right now is to refuse him a reaction.


It’s working.


Dante stares into those infuriating eyes - Vergil’s gaze is inscrutable, maddeningly intense, but there’s heat underneath.
Maybe he’s projecting, but it’s worth a shot.

Vergil is the one to break the silence next - and he is absolutely not imagining the impatience in his voice, at least.
“Perhaps, if there’s something you want, brother, you should just take it.”



Dante does just that, and pulls him in.

It’s less shocking when it happens this time - at least now Dante is both aware that this is something that can happen, and of how badly he does want it to happen.
But that alone sort of backfires - when his mouth finds Vergil’s, it’s hungry, demanding, sloppy - perhaps even more so than it had been the last time, when he’d been driven by nothing but instinct alone.

This time he’s painfully aware of Vergil’s tongue sliding wetly against his, of his brother’s breath in his face and the soft, bitten-off sounds Vergil makes as it happens.

It’s so good it’s addictive, and Dante’s faintly aware of how he can feel his heartbeat in his dick - the leather of his pants doing nothing to conceal how it throbs against Vergil’s thigh, urgently aroused. He’s vaguely aware he’s sweating, too, his jacket feeling damp and muggy on his shoulders as he all but steams against his twin.

Vergil seems to tolerate it - though his nails dig crescents into Dante’s shoulders as he’s all but bent backwards into the couch, and his breaths get thin and airy with how little oxygen he’s taking in through Dante’s ravenous hunger.

Well - maybe he’s doing more than tolerating it, because his stance shifts so that the apex of his thighs meets the hard line of Dante’s cock, and fuck - the knowledge that his twin is all but trying to impale himself on his cock through two layers of leather almost makes Dante come instantly.
Would have, too, if he hadn’t snuck a hand down to grab himself, squeezing the base through his pants to send the jizz back into his balls, but it’s a near thing.

“Verge… fuck, I need to-“

Vergil grunts against Dante’s lips as they finally part, twisting his head away so he can take big gulps of breath and refusing his brother another kiss.
That’s fine; Dante can mouth at his neck instead - he’s a man possessed as he all but tries to make out with Vergil’s skin with the same ferocity he’d been showing his mouth. He thinks he might genuinely die if he doesn’t get inside his brother before the night is over.

They should probably talk about this - Vergil’s been sending some mixed messages, and he hasn’t really cleared that this is okay - but he cannot think, there’s a muggy haze in his brain that demands he do something about it, and he starts pawing at Vergil’s belt, trying to rip his brother’s pants off.
Vergil doesn’t help him any, but he doesn’t stop him, either, which has to be good enough.

When Dante finally manages to get his brother's belt unbuckled and pants undone, he’s barely got time to slither his hand between Vergil’s legs before he's frozen in motion by how absolutely soaking wet his twin is.
The intensity of his own desire barrels into him - all of a sudden he feels like a bumbling virgin all over again with how overeager and overaroused he is.

Taking a moment to regain is composure seems like the wrong answer, though - one second longer of stalling, and it’s like a switch flips inside his brother’s head - before Vergil is trying to twist out of his grip, wriggling like a beached eel, digging sharp elbows into Dante’s gut. 
The impact jolts him back into action.

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Enough - if you’re just going to gawk like some overeager mutt, I could go be mounted by lesser demons for less hassle and much of the same result.”

It shocks Dante into white-hot fury - though his arousal doesn’t flag in the slightest.

At once, they’re tangling together like animals on the floor - it’s a blur of limbs and claws and fangs as Dante tries to pin Vergil down, and Vergil seems to be angling to disembowel or decapitate him with his bare hands, snarling like beasts and snapping their teeth at each other.

It ends when Dante manages to grip a fistful of Vergil’s scalp and smashes his face into the floor - there’s a sickening crunch of bone as his brother’s skull splinters, blood pooling under the dent he’s made in the hardwood, and now Dante has him on all fours underneath him.
He thinks perhaps the impact has made Vergil pass out, or it’s stunned him still - either way he goes pliant again like the last time, and Dante is able to maneuver his dead weight around so his brother’s ass is presented right to him, finally ripping those ridiculous snakeskin pants down so he’s bare and ready for Dante to see.

If Vergil’s mouth had been vicious, at least his body is honest - there’s so much viscous fluid coating the inside of his brother’s thighs Dante would be concerned under normal circumstances, Vergil’s cock and clit both so hard and straining they’re pulsating visibly.

As it stands, it only makes Dante remember with violent urgency how badly he needs to cum, and there isn’t a shred of rational thought as he rips his own pants off - fishing his cock, also leaking so much it should probably count as a medical emergency, to guide it with single-minded purpose against the thing that’s narrowed into his entire world.

He mounts Vergil like an animal and immediately starts fucking him like one - and either his brother hadn’t passed out after all or he’d just recovered, because Vergil’s pussy gives a violent squeeze around him, and he can hear him keen - a wrecked, high-pitched sound that he knows is going to haunt his wet dreams for the rest of his lifetime.

His hands have sprouted claws where he’s gripping Vergil’s inner thighs - keeping him pinned in place so he cannot wiggle free, although all the fight seems to have left his twin, who is fucking himself back on Dante’s dick with just as much ferocity as Dante’s pounding into him, and the sound of their skin slapping together is as violent as if they were still beating one another up, only punctuated with obscenely wet squelches and their ragged, panting breaths, too labored and punched out to even moan or groan.

If he were in his right mind, he’d probably be embarrassed by how quickly it’s over - but there’s an almost desperate urgency to them both, a physical need to consummate this union as quickly and violently as possible, and it’s a deep-seated instinct that has him latch with teeth onto the meat of Vergil’s shoulder, hard, canines embedding themselves into his twin’s flesh as he growls and spittles and fucks an explosive load into Vergil’s cunt - it feels like hours that he pulses jet after jet of cum in copious amounts, and though he’s too gone to check or think about it, he’s pretty sure Vergil is coming too, clenching around him and pulsating like the world’s most high-end fleshlight.

It occurs to him, as he finally softens and slips out of his twin’s well-used, puffy cunt, that he’s just crossed a line he can’t un-cross - you can’t un-fuck your brother once you’ve fucked him.

Oh, well. 

“We should… probably talk about this, huh.”



He speaks once he feels like he’s finally able to, gingerly tucking himself back into his pants, eyeing their ripped, ruined clothes and the come dripping between Vergil’s legs warily.

For his part, Vergil huffs, though it lacks its usual bite.
“What is there to talk about? You finally took the initiative, brother, I was starting to lose faith in your capabilities.”

It’s off-tone enough to make Dante stop in his tracks, staring at Vergil like he’s sprouted a second head.

“Lose faith in my- so what, you’d been waiting for me to do this? When exactly were you gonna tell me?”

Dante raises an incredulous brow at him. He’s sated enough - more than he can ever remember feeling - that even this doesn’t truly upset him, but he does feel the tiniest prickle of irritation returning. 

Vergil just looks at him, impassive.



“Never. I shouldn’t have needed to tell you. Either you would be strong enough to take me and earn my attention, or I would have written you off as a prospect.”


There’s - so much wrong with that, Dante can’t even begin to argue about it.
So he doesn’t, instead shrugging and leaning back on his elbows.



“Sure. Whatever. We got here eventually.”

His gaze finds his brother again - marveling at how soft and muted Vergil looks like this.
He’s slowly redressing himself with fluid, feline grace, and it’s a really good look on him, none of the previous restrained tension stilting his movements.
Dante’s spent dick gives a renewed twitch of interest.



“So… does this mean we’re doing this again any time soon? Preferably without all the violence beforehand.”
Dante throws out, hopeful, though he thinks he already knows what the answer will be.
Won’t hurt to double-check, though.


“I don’t see why not. You’re… not half bad.”


Dante scoffs.

“Oh, I’m the best lay you’ve ever had, admit it, Verge. In fact, you should probably take some pointers - your kissing skills could use some brushing up.”
Not that there had been any kind of problem with that in the moment - but he’d also been able to tell that Vergil’s not super experienced in the matter, and the thought of getting his mouth on his brother’s again and again with the pretense of teaching him is honestly kinda hot.



Vergil looks off to the side, as if he’s considering his answer - if Dante didn’t know better, he’d say his twin looks almost bashful. That cannot possibly be the case, though.



“…I wouldn’t know. That was the first time I’ve ever done that.”



Dante’s brain record-scratches, unsure he’s heard properly.



“….Huh? You’ve never…?”

“I’ve had intercourse before. I had not kissed in the human sense, though.”



Huh.


The thought that Vergil, high and mighty and impassible as he is, had somehow never kissed anyone, and Dante had been his first - it’s both somewhat unsurprising and also the cutest fucking thing Dante’s ever thought of. 
It’s also, somehow, fucking hot - what passes for a refractory period for them must be over, because all of a sudden Dante’s dick is back in the ring, all too interested in this discovery.

“So… about that round two.”





It turns out the “no weapons” policy does not extend to summoned swords.