Arkham had paused at a bookshelf, watching the boy in silence as he poured himself over the book, searching for something. The air he held unabashed by the grimoires of horror and the occult. All real, all forgotten or neglected in favor of a belief of simple hood. Yet this boy...
He read the tomes with not a curiosity, but a finality.
The boy knew what he was searching for, he just could not find the breadcrumbs to begin his quest.
It was this intrigue that spurred the older man to approach, to bear witness to the cold, calculative, precise fire in the boy. This boy was strong, he was of Sparda's lineage...
Perfect in his mix of beauty and reserved ferocity.
"Leave me, I won't tell you a third time." Not even looking toward Arkham, only wasting his breath out of courtesy, such command to his tone.
"Many steer away from the occult, in an effort to keep their simple lives pure," Arkham looked to the blade, grabbing it softly in his hand, he dug his flesh into its edge, "Yet other's welcome it. Yearn for it. Ready and willing to be seduced by evil."
That got the boy's attention, earned the boy's silvery gaze. Arkham returned the icy glare, excitement coursing through him.
The boy returned his blade to its sheath, "What are you getting at?" Curious and yearning.
Yes, he wanted this boy.
"To them their name is 'Truth', more than those forms they take, it is said that the name of a demon is closer to its true substance," Arkham's words echo in the cold, dark catacombs as they stood in front of the runic nail driven into the foot of the angelic depiction.
Vergil had insisted it was simply another demon, with the same cold conviction as always. So sure of his own words, yet not to the point where he would not learn.
Hanging on to Arkham's words as he recited to him the ancient scriptures he memorized front to back.
"To strike out a name...?" Vergil looked on in puzzlement, not quite in disbelief.
The boy was eager for knowledge.
Arkham moved closer, "Sparda was said to be capable of that. A mighty demon of unequaled power. To him, his demon subjects were like infants, lacking the same strength and intellect as he."
Perhaps," his hand traced along the small of the boy's back, watching him stiffen, the flickering candlelight caught in the reflection of the glare shot back to Arkham, "their failings, their fragility. Their imperfection is why he betrayed them."
Unwavering under the boy's scrutiny, Arkham trailed his hand along his hip. Only for Vergil to grasp him firmly by the forearm. Observing the shiver that involuntarily passed over him as Arkham's fingers swept over the boy's rear, breath catching between the boy's lips as he gripped the tender flesh. The glare never leaving, never wavering, yet he did not shun Arkham.
Receptive. Possibly even starving for touch.
Arkham turned his gaze upward as Vergil stared, noting the eyes of the statue had shifted, "Those eyes are always watching their visitors. Simply watching, for thousands of years. What they might be thinking is beyond our imagination."
Vergil's gaze shot upward, shoving the arm away as he put distance between the two, fixing his jacket. His glare fixated now on the figure.
There was a moment after he locked eyes with the creature that Arkham noted a look he'd never thought to see on the boy's face. Something close to fear. Yet the focus of his gaze was past the figure, fixated past the ceiling of the catacombs.
Could he be experiencing a vision? He supposed it could be possible.
That look of fear Vergil held, it was laced with a determined, cold nature. Like he was more than capable of killing its source with the ferocity of a calculative, precise animal. A jaguar caught in a corner, waiting to strike.
And strike he did, one clean cut, and the demon's visage fell to the floor of the catacomb. Crushing the stage. Vergil returned the Yamato to its sheath, the sclera of his eyes turned black, his silver eyes burning with a brilliant blue hue. Feral and demonic in its ire.
Even the boy's fear was fierce and powerful.
Vergil was been none the wiser to what Arkham had witnessed. A cherished, delectable privilege that only he would keep...
Arkham's gaze shifted to the shine of the blade as it's sharp edge pressed to the side of his neck. It was his fault, he had settled his hand along the back of the boy's own neck.
Yet instead of pulling away he continued along his path of intent, enduring the drop of blood that spilled just as he'd done on their first meeting.
Caressing, massaging along the nape of the boy's neck. Feeling the muscle tense beneath his fingers as he ground them into the flesh. His gaze meeting the boy's silver.
This time, however, Vergil's gaze did not stay on Arkham. Shifting instead to his actions.
His touch trailing to the crest of his jawline, thumb grazing across its contour until it reached his lips. The boy's breath felt against his skin as the thumb lingered on the bottom, pressing into the tender flesh. Peeling the lip away from his teeth.
It was only when he tried to slip the thumb into the mouth did Vergil jerk away. Stepping away from Arkham in haste, leaving the man standing in the sunlit hall.
Watching him depart, a smile creeping along his lips. Admiring the bit of the boy's saliva that managed to collect on his thumb from his experiment.
He brought his thumb to his own lips, licking it while the moisture was still warm.
"Do you not like them?" Arkham watched the boy scrutinize the corpses of the deformed animals and demonic pests of his collection that he had hanging, stuffed in jars, dehydrated and pinned around his laboratory.
"It is necessary for humans to experiment to understand the worldly, and otherworldly." The explanation didn't seem to comfort Vergil, though it wasn't so much disgust as it was puzzlement. Arkham stepped around his laboratory table toward Vergil.
The movement immediately held his focus, and Vergil watched him with intensity as he closed the distance between them. Showing his hand before snaking it under Vergil's jacket, brushing along his hips before Vergil moved away. Silver gaze still fixated on Arkham.
"Is that you are doing?" The boy asked as he moved around the lab table, using it to put distance between them. "Experimenting?"
"Those that seek knowledge must come by it by any--"
"You know what I refer to." Vergil's tone firm, final, reserved, commanding.
Yes, Arkham knew exactly what he was saying.
His tread slow and precise, he rounded the table at the same pace Vergil did, mirroring his movements. Together they circled, like a prowling dance.
"When I first laid eyes on you, I saw your lust for power."
"Did you?" Vergil's brow arched.
"You knew what you were looking for, the destination, yet it was the path that you were ignorant of. I admired that conviction, that understanding."
"Is that right?" The boy kept his pace even, steady as their circled one another, "I don't need distractions. My focus must remain my mission."
"I will be deterred by no one."
"Our thoughts in this align." Arkham's arms spread in a congenial gesture.
It was then that Vergil paused in the prowl, his gaze narrowed at Arkham.
"Then what is it you are after?"
Instead of playing dumb and prompting him for specifics, Arkham slowed as he neared Vergil, a knowing grin on his face. As he reached for Vergil he saw the boy stiffen, yet remain still as his fingers brush along his jawline. His thumb grazed along the boy's perfect lips, Vergil leaned his head away.
Yet he was not deterred, catching the boy's face once more, he languished in the feel of his youthful skin.
"What I am after," closing the distance between them, Arkham circled around behind Vergil. As the boy's neck craned to keep his gaze on him, his hand remained. Fingers slipping beneath the line of his collar to graze the collar bone. Arkham's face so close to the side of the boy's head the soft strands of his hair brushed along his face, his gaze also transfixed on the other.
"Is to help. To bear witness," slipping his hand underneath the coat, pressing his body against the boy's back, his grip on his hip tightening when the boy flinched, squelching the temptation to move away.
"Your lust for evil come to fruition," gripping his hip, his hand slid to the front, tracing the pant line, slipping to the front of the boy's trousers. His hand was grasped at the wrist.
"To see your desires come to pass," ignoring the grip on his wrist, he palmed the boy's groin, heard his breath hitching.
"And this?" Vergil asked as Arkham worked his groin through the pants, tense and poised. Like he was ready to break the old man, should his response not be to his liking.
A chuckle, his thumb grazing along the line of the boy's jaw, Arkham turned his face into the boy's hair, "A physical expression of my reverence."
Vergil accepted his words, slowly letting go of his arm, turning his gaze away. His breath unsteady as Arkham continued his ministrations, digging into the boy's trouser, using the cloth to his advantage as he rubbed the boy's cock.
As he felt the member begin to harden, he plunged his hand into the confines. Surprised when he realized the boy did not wear undergarments, voicing the glee in a soft hum to the side of Vergil's head.
"Shut up," The boy snapped.
He did as he was told, listening instead to the soft changes in breathing that Vergil thought he could hide from him as he stroked him. Unbuckling his pants to free his erection from its confines, Arkham renewed his strokes with vigor. Earning a soft groan from the boy, his arm grabbed tightly once again.
Still, he pressed on. Cradling the boy's face as his other hand stroked up and down the shaft, his thumb grazing along his lips, slipping the thumb past his teeth, digging the tip into his tongue.
Giving only a few moments for the boy to question the touch before his thumb retreated, only to be replaced by his index and second finger. Pressing down on his tongue, stroking to the back of his throat and then to the front of his mouth. Earning a confused sound from the boy, a jerk of his head, and a grasp on this wrist as well.
Yet as he continued, the boy began to drool. His hips swayed softly into Arkham's hand.
Though no sooner had a true moan escaped Vergil than the boy flinches and shoved his arms from him. Stepping away hastily, fixing his pants, practically rushing out of the room.
Arkham grinned as he watched him leave again, lifting his hand to his face to smell the precum that he had managed to collect. Licking it from his palm.
In the evening light, just before the dusk, Arkham finds Vergil in the room that he had chosen. Vergil was in the middle of slipping off his jacket, vest unzipped, the boy's icy gaze fixed onto him as he entered.
"What do you want, Arkham?" Dismissive, bored.
Arkham grinned as he approached him, holding up a heavy tome as the boy draped the coat over the back of the nearby chaise. A puzzled look as he received the tome, opening it as Arkham moved past him to the window. Vergil shrugged off the vest as he moved to sit on the chaise.
"What is this, a joke?" Vergil asked after turning one of the pages, flipping through them quickly, "I cannot read it."
Before Vergil could turn around to him, he stepped close to the boy, his hand's settled on his shoulders. Vergil stiffened as Arkham leaned close to him, speaking softly, "The tome is written in an ancient cipher."
Arkham remarked on how well the boy was acclimating to the constant contact. No longer flinching or grabbing at him. No longer did he show half-cocked displays of declination.
Undoing the cravat of the boy's shirt, he took silent pleasure in the shiver of the boy's body as his fingers grazed along his collar bone as he unbuttoned the first button, then the second. Smoothing over the open collar, Arkham's hands slipped down his back, fingertips dragging along the shirt, tugging at the cloth. "Unlike any language on this earth."
"Then how am I supposed to read it?" The ire of the boy's gaze leveled on him as his hands swept down to the boy's hips. Locking down on his grip when he felt Vergil attempt to move.
Arkham leaned closer in, his breath against the boy's ear, bracing a knee into the edge of the chaise, "Entertain me, would you? Your gaze will shift to an unearthly one, does it not? Perhaps there is a connection."
"And...? What you are doing has--"
"--Worry not of me, Vergil." He cooed into the boy's ear.
The shift of breath when he grazed his teeth into the crest of his ear; It only fed his appetite for the boy.
Vergil gave a disgruntled huff, turning his head away as his gaze returned to the tome. Arkham could feel the wave of demonic energies waft off of the boy's body, signifying that he was using his given power.
Opening to a page in the middle of the tome, he read, "... And so spurred they, less of flesh and tender of soul, the ire of the great King..."
The hum of intrigue was rewarded by Arkham, plunging his hand into his trousers to grope his cock firmly. A gasp escaping the boy, a hand resting on his wrist as he worked him.
Though it was awkward with Vergil sitting, so he turned the boy, pressing him down onto his back, earning a growl from the cambion.
"Arkham," Vergil warned, lip curling as his back hit the chaise, moving instead to prop himself up with an arm.
Unbuckling his pants, Arkham freed the boy's cock, languishing in long, firm strokes. Setting a steady pace, watching the boy's tension slowly uncoil within him.
Perhaps tonight he could get what he wanted.
Peeling his trousers down to his ankles, Arkham took Vergil's cock into his mouth. A soft, surprised gasp from the boy rewarded him. The boy's hand settling on the top of his bald head, hips swaying up into his mouth every so often.
Yes, that's it.
Arkham lifted his gaze, to find he was being watched. The usual cold expression was fighting to stay on the boy's face, twitching in its struggle to keep the facade. The boy's eyes still in that otherworldly shift, the brilliant blue glowed in the darkening room.
A smacking sound rang out as Arkham opened his mouth, taking the youth's cock deeper into his mouth. Earning that stifled moan and rewarded with that quick buck of the boy's hips. Then another, nails digging into the back of his head.
That's it, boy. Come undone.
Almost there, Arkham could feel the tension ease out of the boy, watching him relax against the chaise. Falling easily into the rhythm Arkham was setting. Good.
A few moments passed before Arkham reached his hand to the boy's face, seeking his mouth. Vergil turned his head away at first, but another try proved true. Arkham carefully coated his fingers in the boy's saliva as he explored his mouth. Once sufficient his hand retreated, and he slipped his fingers between the boy's ass cheeks.
That seemed to be the extent of what Vergil could handle, as Arkham was shoved back. The boy sat there, panting as he tried to get a hold of himself.
Arkham leaned down, running his hand through the boy's hair as he pressed his face into the side of Vergil's head, biting at his skin. "I'll leave you to your reading," He breathed into his ear before stepping away. Straightening his own clothes as he exited the room.
Again, he watched the boy pour over tomes. It seemed so long ago now that he'd found the boy in the grand library. Now he found the boy in the study of the abandoned estate, leaned over tomes set upon the table. The echo of the scene in which they met.
"I presume your trip was a successful one?" Arkham spoke up finally, approaching the boy in that slow, languished step he always took care in.
Vergil did not look at him, leaned over the desk his eyes fixated on the slew of books lay scattered across its surface. It looked as though he was memorizing the ritual. Though his eyes were not scanning the pages, he was simply glaring at them.
It was clear he wasn't reading at all.
"Perhaps you should find rest for the night," Arkham tried again, watching those tense shoulders as the boy turned the page of one of the books. As Vergil continued to ignore him, his gaze went to the table. It was hardwood, mahogany perhaps. More than able to support the weight.
With finality Arkham stepped closer, pressing into the side of the boy's body. His hand resting on the trousers of the boy, cupping him.
That got his attention, and in a brilliant flourish, the blade of the Yamato rested against Arkham's jugular.
"What have I told you about--"
Not letting the boy finish that thought, he leaned in as he furiously palmed the boy's cock, enduring the blade's edge to sniff the side of his head. Pressing his face into the silver hair.
Vergil immediately tried to shrink away, but a firm hand around to his opposite hip stilled that notion. Trapping the boy against him as he worked his cock, rocking into the boy's hip.
It was noteworthy that after a few moments the blade was placed shakily on the table.
"You... are distracting," The boy's desperate panting the only sound in the room, shallow and quiet as he could make it.
"You were already distracted." Arkham bit against the side of Vergil's head then, grazing his teeth along the skin, unbuckling his pants to pull the length of the boy's cock free from confinement. Not having to bother with undergarments, as always the boy wore none.
Working out the tension in the cambion boy as he stroked down his length, smiling when there was already some precum at the tip. A hand rested on Arkham's arm, gripping it firmly as his breathing hitched up an octave.
"Yes," He breathed into Vergil's ear. Come undone. Break that eternal facade, that air of control, "that's it, boy."
Vergil responded in a strained huff, his voice breaking at the end of it so exquisitely.
Arkham kept up the work until the boy's cock was hard and his knees weak. Only then did he turn the boy so that his back was against the table, shedding the boy's pants as he hoisted him atop of it, batting away the half-hearted shoves of protest.
If Vergil truly wanted to stop, he could so easily shove him right across the room.
He leaned down to take the boy's length into his mouth, earning another sharp hitch his breath.
Working up and down the shaft, sucking firmly so that a smacking sound would ring out whenever he broke the seal of his lips around the yearning flesh.
Earning each and every moan that Vergil tried so hard to keep stifled, even going so far as to cover his own mouth so that his debauchery did not escape him.
Arkham pulled the pants down to Vergil's ankles, hoisting his feet up onto the table to spread his legs wider. Slipping one of his boots off, freeing the leg of the confines of clothing.
Pulling the leg over his shoulder, he lifted Vergil's hips, shifting his gaze to appreciate the fruits of his labor. To find the boy gripping the side of the table, his head thrown back, eyes squinted in concentration and the hand over his mouth failing at subduing his whorish cries.
He reached with one hand to plunge it into Vergil's mouth, underneath the hand that stifled it. His fingers explored, collecting the boy's drool. Pressing his fingers down on his tongue, stroking to the back of his throat and then to the front of his mouth.
All the while keeping up his efforts, careful to give the boy just enough to keep him going without bursting at the seams.
Relishing every moment the boy spent coming undone, a fine wine to drink in, to enjoy with utmost care. It didn't take long for Vergil to begin to suck on his invading fingers, taking well to the training.
Allowing the boy to spend those exploratory moments sucking his fingers, curling his tongue along and in between the digits, encouraging him by stroking along his tongue, a feather's touch to the roof of his mouth.
When Vergil bucked into his head, then did Arkham return his attention to the boy's lower body. Pulling the saliva soaked fingers from his mouth, Arkham brought them to his entrance, rimming his fingers along the edge until they were puckered before plunging them in.
Vergil had stiffened against the invasion, his leg curling over Arkham's shoulder as he let out a strained, eager groan.
Just a little further.
The boy's breathing hitched again, Arkham was undeterred by the grip that settled once again on his arm. Curling his fingers experimentally earned a furious buck of the boy's hips, a yipping gasp escaping him.
Arkham worked his fingers into the boy's ass as he sucked him off, earning more and more the further he worked him through it. Another buck of the boy's hips, the volume of his moans increasing, it guaranteed Arkham of the state the boy was in; utter mindnumbing bliss.
As he worked both the boy's ass and cock in tandem, the more Vergil squirmed, gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat. So undignified.
Curling his fingers once again, working them in and out of the boy, spreading his fingers. As his fingers grazed one particular spot within him, Vergil moaned loud and eager.
Arkham fixated his fingers to that spot, causing the boy's back to arch and his squirming to increase. The boy's yearning belied by how tightly his leg was curled over Arkham's back. How his body became a vessel of pleasure and need.
Practically begging to be taken.
Arkham did not let up, abusing that spot until Vergil came in his mouth. Pulling back finally, he unbuckled his own trousers to free his hard cock, spilling Vergil's cum into his hand. Coating it along his shaft, any excess he used to coat the annals of the boy's ass.
Yanking his hips closer, his gaze settled on the boy as he drove his cock into him.
Vergil let out a cry, tensing again. Arkham sensed that the boy was reaching his limit, though instead of retreating entirely he thrust into the boy again.
"Ah!" And again.
"Arhk-ah!" Again, cutting off his cries.
"Arkham!" The boy's whines were clandestine, even as they were laced with growls, "A-ah! You--AH! Enough!"
Spurred by his own eagerness and excitement, he continued driving into him, ignorant of the protests, even as the boy grasped him by the neck.
It wasn't until he was thrown to the floor that he stopped, peering up at the boy's otherworldly gaze, the Yamato inches from his neck.
"When I tell you to stop, I will not repeat myself."
After a moment of the both of them staring at each other, with nothing but Vergil's panting breath between them, Arkham slowly rose to his feet, fixing his clothes.
"Very well," as he reached out toward Vergil, the boy stiffened. Taking the moment to caress the boy's lips before pulling away, exiting the room.
Watching the boy's fight, the ferocity, the intense thrill, and concentration on the boy's face, it was all so tantalizing. He knew Vergil had caught sight of him once or twice from the distance where he stood. His presence ignored.
Not that it mattered. The boy was his to play with, to pleasure, and his alone, he could not shake the elation.
The younger brother was stabbed, his blood coating the rain-slick tower. Left there by the older one, only to rise again in defiance. That was when Arkham intervened, reminding Vergil of his goal.
Having left the brother on the top of the tower, they began their descent. He could not help but notice the erection the boy sported.
Arkham waited for the right moment, that moment came when their progress was stalled momentarily by the tower shaking.
"What was that?" Vergil murmured, pausing in his steps.
"If I had to guess, it was the Leviathan's demise at the hands of your brother," Arkham responded, his gaze scrutinizing the puzzlement and mild concern from the boy.
Seizing the chance, he approached Vergil from behind, grabbing him by the hips to grind his hard-on against the boy's ass. Groping the bulge in the boys pants as he did so, Vergil let out a small gasp, quickly cut out by a moan of which he failed to stifle.
"Arkham," his whispers just as eager and yearning as his moans, though he had tried to give his tone some measure of annoyance, Arkham could not be deceived.
Arkham continued to rock into him as he stroked him, choosing not to respond, instead, he would mock a biting motion to the side of his head. There they stayed in silence, till the only noise echoing off the walls was the boy's barely contained pleasure as Arkham's hands roamed over his body. Moving the clothing out of the way as he needed access to the boy's skin.
"Arkham," his voice heady, needy, almost pleading.
"I watched that fight of yours. Your grace, your fury," He murmured into the boy's ear, "Toying with your brother as you were, it stirred your loins."
Vergil growled at him, though he did not deny it. Arkham chuckled, slipping Vergil's pants down his hips, his fingers rimmed his entrance, pulling a deep moan from the boy. Careful not to disturb the rhythm of their constant rocking.
"Or perhaps it was because I was watching you," He teased, grazing his teeth along the boy's ear.
"You think...hah... That highly of yourself?" Vergil managed between his soft cries of pleasure.
"Which is it? That you fantasize about your brother," Stifling the hiss of anger from Vergil as his fingers explored inside of the boy, "Or that your desire for my touch grows by the passing days?"
Arkham's hand shifted from the boy's crotch to still the hand that reached to unsheath the sword, pining the arm as he held the boy against him, increasing the intensity of his assault in the boy's rear. Earning every iota of the boy's cries, supporting him when his knees grew weak and he began to lean into Arkham's embrace.
The faint flush on the boy's face as Arkham's lips dragged down the side of his face, told him all that he needed to know, all that Vergil would never share aloud.
The boy was his.
When he finally let out a barely stifled whimper, Arkham abruptly shoved the boy into the nearest wall. Giving Vergil little time to recover as he drove into him; dry, even though he was prepared the boy still yelped and struggled. Keeping the boy's arms pinned, lifting one of his legs up, the boy's balance completely dependant on his hold on this body.
It took a bit of time before Vergil's yelps to turn to moans, distressed as they were. The boy did try once to buck him off, Arkham punished him by driving in faster, rougher. Using a bit of the strength he hid from the boy to keep Vergil subdued in his arms.
"AH! Arkh-AH!" Vergil struggled to speak, Arkham did his best to keep in that way.
"ST- ah! -AH!" His cries were divine, dripping with need.
"St-Sto-" Arkham interrupted him again.
"Don't say it." Biting at the boy's ear as he spoke, "Once we are through that door we may never again have a chance for this moment."
Vergil turned his head, glaring at him over his shoulder, watching him from his peripheral vision. There was a second that Arkham thought Vergil would deny him again, but instead, he turned his head into the stone.
"Good boy," Arkham teased as he grinned into the boy's hair, releasing his arms, he redoubled his efforts as he grasped Vergil's hips.
The boy was his to pleasure.
Oh, the possibilities.
Parting from the boy, he released him to turn him around, groping the boy's cock, stroking the precum from him. Relentless as the boy melted in his arms, clinging to him. Just as he knew the boy was about to release he stopped.
"Kneel, boy," He commanded his whore, reinforcing the command with pressure on his shoulder. Once Vergil was on his knees he cupped his chin, working his fingers into the boy's mouth. Allowing the boy to eroticize the action until he felt the boy moan into his fingers.
Grasping Vergil by the hair, he gave him no time to figure out what he was up to, thrusting his cock into the confines of his mouth. The boy gave a surprised cry and struggled at first as he drove his cock deep, pulling back to so again. Until it clicked what the finger sucking had been for, it had been training the boy for this moment.
Vergil growled into his cock, slamming a fist into his hip and even nearly biting him to show his ire for the trickery. Arkham had hissed, but as the boy hadn't injured him he kept up the rhythm.
"Mmm... Very good, Vergil." He panted, softly stroking his hand through the boy's hair, to reward him.
Arkham could only take so much of watching this dangerous, fierce creature take his cock so well and ready before he nearly lost it. Forcing Vergil down to the floor, he hiked the boy's pants down till they were practically off. Lifting a leg to plunge his cock back into the boy, where it was sheathed oh so perfectly.
He changed their position several times until he was satisfied.
Vergil struggled some, but Arkham just pinned his arms over his head. Pounding into him relentlessly. The hall filled with the sound of their skin slapping together and the boy's whorish cries.
The boy was his to fuck raw.
His whore to dominate.
After his release spilled into the boy, coating him thoroughly, the two stayed where they were. Panting with each breath. Once he'd composed himself, Arkham pulled out of the boy, fixing his own clothing first. He shifted his gaze to view the conflicted expression on the boy's face.
"That expression, what troubles you?" Collecting some of his cum onto his fingers; he leaned in to bite at the side of Vergil's head, "Do the throes of lust make you feel like a whore?" Arkham slipped his cum coated digits into Vergil's mouth before he could respond with more than a tired growl.
Vergil yanked a hand free, grabbing Arkham harshly by the neck to choke him, "I. Am. No. Whore."
"The only one you must convince of that," Arkham managed, swallowing as he waited patiently to be released, "is yourself."
A brief moment passed, and the eldest son of Sparda relented. Arkham pulled away from the boy, turning away to let the boy recover on his own so that they may continue to the ritual chamber. A dirty grin permeating the scholar's features.
So, the boy felt like a whore, did he?
The old man was useful, for now. If he hadn't been, maybe Vergil wouldn't have been so tolerant of the creep. Patience can backfire, it seems, and so can distancing himself so far from everything human that he never thought to consider the repercussions of being touch starved.
Vergil: I need an adult.
Vergil: NOT THIS ADULT)
CW: Overstimulation, Character Death (he fakes it, we know he does, but still), references to relationships we don't see
I listened to [The wizard by Bat for Lashes] while writing this.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
When it first happened, when the man touched softly along his back, Vergil had been frozen in surprise.
The old librarian's touch the second time around had been, again, unwarranted. They seemed to happen at random, for it was not every time they were alone together, nor did it happen every time the man stood close to him.
Even so, when he found himself leaning away, a loathing began to settle in him. He was not fearful of this man, yet he found himself stiffening when he was near.
When his touches became bolder, Vergil had tried to thwart this obsession the man was beholding of him with a threat of violence. Drawing the Yamato so swiftly the man had not the chance to back away as the edge rested against his neck, slicing into the skin, just deep enough to bleed.
The eldest son of Sparda gave a measured glare at the man, a warning. Surely the fool's instincts would deter him from his current course.
It did not.
This man, this mere human, was not deterred by the threat, his hand instead slowly, softly massaging the tension in Vergil's neck. The calloused fingertips digging rhythmically into his muscle; when those heterochromatic eyes met his, Vergil expected a look of challenge. He expected the man to be testing him, seeing if he would flinch if he would falter and put space between them again.
What he saw in that gaze he couldn't understand.
Vergil wasn't naive, nor was he daft. He knew the nature of the old man's advances. Or he thought so. Yet that look wasn't one of challenge, it was nearly identical to the look of esteem the librarian would give when Vergil would ask for more information, for clarification on his vast knowledge of demonology.
Eager to teach the student that was equally as eager to learn.
That look had caused Vergil to hesitate enough for the man's fingertips to trail along his jaw, taking the cambion's attention from those eyes. Gaze fixed in place at his touch as it graced along his lips. The unprovoked show of affection from a man he hardly knew baffled the boy, and it was perhaps this stupor that gave the man the welcome to slip his thumb past his lips, to graze the tip along his gums.
It was at this point that Vergil had stepped back, retreating from the hall and the man within it. He didn't stop until he was in the bedroom that he had chosen to stay in, the heavy door closed firmly behind him. Only then did he relax, his body still tingling in anticipation.
Silver brows furrowing as he felt the ghost of the man's touch on his lips. It had to be some game. Some ruse to put the boy in a false sense of... of whatever he was trying to invoke in Vergil. If he had to guess, it was to drop his guard, to make him vulnerable in his presence.
Well, he wouldn't play his game. Vergil was determined to remain unaffected by this blatant trickery. What Arkham's intention was, he did not know, but he was going to get to the bottom of it if he made any more advances.
Still reeling from the events in the laboratory by the time he reached his room, Vergil leaned against the door as he shut it behind him. His nerves on fire, he could still feel those calloused hands on him, the salt of the fingers in his mouth; tasting not unlike rosemary and old parchment.
The memory of which stayed with him as he tried to bathe sensations out of his skin.
It was almost routine now. Though it rarely lasted longer than a touch, a lingering hand on his shoulder, along the small of his back, on his thigh. Every time he was touched Vergil thought of the old man's admission.
If these touches were an expression of reverence, and nothing more, why were they all so... intense. Even the briefest of touches, of fingertips grazing gently along any bare skin that managed to be found, began to bring an unsolicited reaction from Vergil's body.
There was nothing more to be said about it, whatever annoyance Vergil had with the touches at first faded with the consistent intimacy. He did not know what day it had been that it dawned on him that the touches had become so regular that Vergil barely flinched or pulled away anymore.
"Arkham," Vergil growled against the feeling of the man's lips on his jugular, the teasing of teeth nipping at his skin, a warning against him biting too deeply or too fervently. He did not want to be marked by this man.
Heeding his warning, the nipping grew softer, till he was merely sucking the skin between his teeth. Did he think it would bruise? What a childish notion. A frown fixed on his face as his back pinched against the bookcase, his gaze averted from Arkham to the door. It was the third time he had glanced that direction, instantly regretting it when he felt Arkham chuckle into his collar bone.
"There is no need to fret," Arkham assured him in that sing-song tone that made Vergil growl again.
There was a reason to fret in Vergil's mind, they were after all, in the very library they had met. While this part of the occult section was sequestered away from the prying eyes of visitors, most too afraid of the heavy air the tomes gave off, some of the most precious ones enchanted long ago to deter the wary from their presence; That did not mean that they would remain undisturbed.
Yet here he was, pressed against the bookshelf, his vest splayed open, grasping tight around the man's wrist. Keeping his breath steady despite the careful attention Arkham was giving him.
"This is not relevant--" Vergil's words were caught in his throat as he had to bite back a moan when the tip of his cock was stimulated with a flick of the man's thumb. The asshole did that on purpose.
"We have a moment to spare," Arkham cooed, Vergil bit back a grimace at the hot wetness of the man's mouth as it caught hold of his left nipple.
"Daft old man," He snapped at him, brow twitching incessantly; he knew at this point that trying to argue with Arkham when he had his hands on him would prove fruitless, so he concentrated on keeping himself quiet. To wait until Arkham had his fill of reverence. Breathing evenly through his nostrils, his eyes drifted close to shutting as Vergil got lost in it. It was only a moment, truly, but it was enough time for him to miss that Arkham had moved down to kneel before him.
Eyes flickered with something unknown as Vergil paused to gauge what Arkham was up to, the flush came unbidden and sudden along his face, down his neck, and of course, his ears felt like they were on fire as the front of his pants came undone. “Arkha-mmm.” Clenching his mouth shut to still the moan when the old man’s mouth closed over his length, biting his lip when the man began to suck.
Vergil could feel Arkham’s grin on his flesh. Damn bastard.
Not knowing what to do with his hands, Vergil clutched onto the bookshelf behind him, sending some books to the floor with a thud. The noise caused him to glance once again toward the door, though no sooner had he done that than he would regret it as Arkham swallowed more of his cock. Vergil gasped, grasping the bookshelf firm enough that the wood complained in his grip.
Oh, holy hells.
Arkham didn’t let up, even as Vergil’s knees started to feel weak, even when he had to dig his face into the crook of his arm just to keep himself quiet. Just when he was unsure how much more he could take, the coil of heat and tension that had twisted in his gut released leaving him light-headed, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple, never had he been so hot in the face before, nor had he thought his knees could tremble so much from the effort to stay standing.
A chuckle drew his attention once more to the old man as he stood, Vergil averted his gaze from the look of satisfaction on Arkham’s face. Letting the man fix his clothes for him. Good, at least he was willing to clean up his damn mess when he made one. Though when he’d had enough of Arkham’s fretting, he batted his hands away, adjusting the cravat on his neck as he shot a glare at the old man.
Straightening when his knees could be trusted again, he fixed his hair, pausing as Arkham reached toward him-- No, past him? Vergil turned his head to spot the book that Arkham took from the shelf the boy had been using as support, incredulously he walked off after that.
Had... HAD THAT BEEN IT?!
Vergil rolled his shoulders as he glowered, clenching his teeth in a snarl as he marched after the perverted old wretch, the grip on Yamato so tight his knuckles were white.
The intensity of their rituals, the length of these elaborate displays of reverence, the audacity of this man, grew with each session. Till there was the constant taste of rosemary on the boy's tongue, his skin prickling whenever the old man entered the room. His breath stills every time Arkham’s hand lingers on him, his loins stirred when that hand wandered, whenever the man’s intent strayed from being chaste.
It was annoying.
It was distracting.
(It was exciting.)
Vergil had gone still when Arkham had reached toward him, only for the man to drag his fingers along his lips before leaving the study. After he was gone the boy let out a heavy breath as if he’d been holding one, draping himself against the top of the mahogany table as he gathered his dignity. When his breaths steadied from the desperate pants of a whore to something more recognizable to himself; when the fuzz and tingling in his head died down; when the ache in his back and ass untangled itself from his arousal when he started feeling like himself again.
A glance to his exposed self made his ears hot; sheathing Yamato, he fixed his pants first, slipping the boot back to its proper place on his foot. Once that was done, he looked to the research on the table, some of the books had been knocked down. He picked those up, placing those back on the table before he left the study.
Making a beeline to his bedroom, once he was inside he slipped out of his clothes, which inexplicably felt confining to him, and draped them over the chair as he entered the bathroom. Running the bath, slipped in before the water was done filling the tub, wincing when the water was high enough to agitate his abused entrance.
Settling into the hot water as it filled around him, he rubs his sore hip, once the water was high enough he shut the water off and sunk into the hot water. Lathering the soap up and down his body, his mind kept wandering to the events in the study. It was good until Arkham had driven his cock into him uninvited. Just the thought of it made him sneer, the disgust was partly aimed at Arkham for being such a despicable wretch, yet another part was loudly proclaiming, reminding him of the shock of hedonistic pleasure that had sounded through him in those scant moments before he’d shoved the man off of him.
Maybe reflection was painting the experience in a different light than it had been in the act. Was he disgusted with the act itself? Or that it was Arkham?
As he lathered the soap up his thigh, he stilled for a moment before slowly slipping his hand between his legs, leaning back against the porcelain of the tub. Shuddering as he rubbed over the tender flesh of his entrance, touching himself as he’d never had before, echoing the touches of Arkham’s roaming hands. He found himself lost in the effort, and the reactions of his body, as he worked his fingers inside of himself. It wasn’t a complete success, either because he had not the leverage or the knowledge. Even when he’d worked himself up enough to use his other hand in tandem on his own cock, a much more familiar act that it was, gasping when he released into the bathwater.
He stayed against the side of the tub, catching his breath, shifting his gaze look at the mess he’d made. The water was ruined, so he released the drain, rinsing himself as he stood from the bath. Letting the water run down his body, giving no heed to the scant traces of his cum as he stood before the mirror.
He could still taste himself, and the traces of rosemary on his tongue. With a groan, he ran his hand through his hair. The masturbation had done nothing to quell the coiling need in him, it just left him aching with want.
Despite the quiet, or perhaps because of it, Vergil’s flinches to wakefulness, the tension rolling through him doesn’t fade, even when his senses tell him it was Arkham’s scent that entered the room. Opening his eyes, he begins to turn onto his back to look at Arkham, only for the man’s hand to rest on his bicep, sending a tingling edge alight on his nerves.
How did he get so close?
“What do you want, Arkham?” Not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice, the sharpness which promised violence. Perhaps if the human felt threatened enough he would leave him alone.
No such luck, it seemed, as the bed dipped from Arkham’s weight. Vergil shifted to sit up, only to still as the pressure of Arkham’s arm on his bicep increased, a silent plea to stay as the man leaned in and feigned a bite along his temple. The reaction of his body was immediate, he can already feel his hard-on brushing softly against the silk sheets.
He hadn’t even done anything yet.
Vergil watched the man from over his shoulder as Arkham settled on the bed with him, as much as he was tempted to close his eyes at the drag of the calloused fingers sliding down his shoulder blade, he dares not to indulge too much. He wouldn’t give Arkham the satisfaction.
Yet, frustratingly, Arkham’s gaze had that sly, barely veiled smugness that never ceased to curl Vergil’s lip into a sneer. The breathy, dark chuckle sounded gently into his ear when the man’s hand slid under the silk sheets. Vergil responded with a growl. It wasn’t at all like he had gone to bed naked just for him, yet he could feel his ears flushing anyway at the croon of approval.
Breath hitching, barely above a whisper, as the man’s hand, slid between his legs, shifting Vergil’s hips for better access. Vergil’s head hung away from Arkham as his cock was worked with steady, practiced strokes. Letting Arkham lift his leg, he propped it up, planting his foot into the bed as the silk sheets slid off his body. Pressing into the weight of the man’s body flush against his back as he felt Arkham’s other hand slide down his spine, knowing, anticipating what he would do next.
A shock of pleasure shot through him as his entrance was toyed with so roughly, yet the old man managed to hit every right spot that Vergil could not find in the bath earlier. Vergil’s body trembled with every hook of his fingers boring into him, curling, opening him up till he was a sweaty mess, his mind swimming. He turned his head away, pressing his face into the pillow while his own voice betrayed him.
“That’s it, boy,” Whispered Arkham into his ear, he shifted them then, pushing his leg back down, pressing his weight down onto Vergil. He could feel the man’s erection as he hooked those fingers in him in time with the grinding against him. Vergil groaned into the pillow, his fingers curling into the bedsheet. It was then that Arkham’s weight lifted from his back, he only had a moment of hesitation to wonder what Arkham was doing when he felt his weight return, this time with no barrier of cloth between them. This time he felt Arkham’s cock as the older man would grind into him, the engorged member slid between his ass cheeks.
The boy tensed, drawing himself up to his elbows, “Arkham!” He growled at him, only to receive that faux bite on the side of his head and a soft croon into his temples. “Look at you,” he whispered as he hooked his fingers hit a spot in Vergil that made him see stars, made him visibly shudder, easily pulling a moan out of him, “So beautiful, so fierce,” The fingers retreated from him as Arkham continued rocking into him, slipping his cock between his cheeks once more, “Beyond compare.”
His ears go hot from the man’s words, why does he have to say it like that? With his voice heavy, praising, as if they were lovers. Vergil winces, tensing when the man’s cock enters him, slowly and carefully. His breath catches and he flinches, he reaches back to shove Arkham off. It was a pathetic attempt, so little effort put into it, easily thwarted by the man who took his hands to place them back down, wrapped his arms around his chest, and pressed him into the mattress. Gasping each time the man pushed deeper into him, fingers dug deep into the sheets, Vergil shuddered again, sweat beading down his temples. “That’s it, boy.” He crooned again into his ear, “Your doing so wonderful.” Vergil groaned as he went deeper, until the old man suddenly stopped, flush against him now. Holy shit, he thought he was going to burst from the pressure.
Arkham ran his hand through the boy’s hair, moving out of the way to see his face. Vergil turned his gaze away, only to earn soft hushing from the old man, who did that faux bite at his temple again. He growled, only it’s pitch was higher than he would have liked, embarrassingly it sounded more like a whimper. Swallowing as he kept himself still, even though every fiber of his being throbbed with the cock inside him.
“Arkham,” The way it came out made him sound needy. Fuck.
The bastard ate it up, giving that deep chuckle again, “Yes?”
Vergil refused to say anything more, refused to beg for him to fucking move. Damn it, to do something. But the bastard didn’t need him to, damn him, he seemed to know already. When Arkham moved Vergil failed to stifle the moans, seeing spots with every thrust, shuddering when the pace quickened suddenly. His blush running hot with the croon in his ear, “Mmm. Good boy. You're taking it so well,” Damn it he wished he would stop that.
They weren’t lovers. So stop with the patronizing.
Vergil’s half-lidded eyes rolled closed as he dug his face into the pillow, the sheets felt rough against his sensitive skin. Though not as rough as those calloused hands that roamed over his ass, riding up his hips and torso, toying with his nipples. Almost unconsciously, Vergil shifted his knees to give Arkham more leverage, all on his own, and it only improved the experience.
“Yes,” Arkham whispered into his ear, gripping his hips as he drove himself deeper with each thrust, earning a yelp from Vergil that he hadn’t been able to stifle in time. “That’s it, boy.”
The praise made Vergil shiver, he moaned into the pillow, nearly biting the cloth as it moistened against his lips. Fixing his leverage when he felt his knees slip, rocking back his hips into Arkham’s thrust, only to earn another praise in his ear, “Just like that,” Arkham repeated a few times before his voice either trailed off or was drowned out by the heartbeat pounding in Vergil’s ears. Their pace not unlike its rhythm.
For longer than he’d ever cared to admit, Vergil lost track of time as the man pounded down into him. The teeth nipping at his ear, the panting of hot breath against his neck, echoing his muffled cries of pleasure with the grunts of effort.
His hair was carded through with calloused hands, and Vergil hissed when Arkham yanked his head back. Moans no longer muffled by the pillow, not with his neck craned. He growls or tries to, its quickly swallowed by another moan when he was pounded into. The man’s pace quickening once more, it was beyond Vergil’s words to define. His mental capacity swallowed by the tangle of tingling pain and carnal pleasure. Yet he is not so gone in it that the very audacity of Arkham’s act escapes him.
After a moment (far longer, really) of collecting himself, Vergil twisted around, grabs Arkham by his throat and shoves the man off, and onto his back. Teeth bared, the tips of his fingernails growing into claws, the shine of his glowing blue eyes reflecting off the heterochromia of Arkham’s own.
Arkham’s hands are held up in concession to Vergil’s aggression, waiting patiently as Vergil catches his breath. After his brain was halfway back to working normally, his grip on Arkham’s neck loosens, the old man’s hands slowly find their way to his hips, pulling Vergil to straddle on top of him. Once he’s straddled, he guides Vergil to lean back onto his cock. “So fierce,” He croons at Vergil, his hand trailing up to Vergil’s chest, “So powerful, you are.”
“Do not forget it,” He growls between his teeth, his anger cooling as Arkham gently gripped his thighs.
“Never again,” The old man murmurs as he pressed his lips to the knuckles of Vergil’s partially shifted hand before moving to place a kiss on his collar bone.
Though it doesn’t feel like a proper apology, he still accepts it.
Vergil winces as Arkham’s cock slowly makes it’s way back in till he was full again, subduing his moans as much as he could manage to. “So beautiful,” Arkham began to kiss at his neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around him, guiding his legs to wrap around him as they are both sitting up now. Driving Vergil’s hips down into him as he drives his cock up, the angle was so different, it hit a spot in him that even Arkham had yet to find, leaving him dizzy.
He pealed out a groan every time Arkham hit that spot, his legs tightening around Arkham, his hands grabbing at the old man’s shoulders. Following Arkham’s silent instructions on how to participate, Vergil shivers, clawing into the man’s flesh, his head falling back, letting his moans out into the air as they move together. Stars above and gods below this was better.
So much better.
They found a rhythm again, settled into it just like before. Until the sound of their flesh slapping together nearly drowns out Vergil’s moans. The roughness fueled by lust and reverence on one end, loathing and lustful violence on the other. If he wanted so badly to please Vergil, he was going to make this disgusting old man work at doing a damn good job of it.
If Arkham wanted this so damn bad, Vergil was going to take him for all of it’s worth. He was going to make him fucking worship him, beg him for the mercy of letting him rest. Use the old man ragged, and make Arkham regret it in the morning.
That’s what he told himself, at least.
At some point he lost track of time again, his dignity along with it, till he was clinging to Arkham as he was pounded against the headboard, moaning like a bitch into the man’s shoulder. How he got here, he couldn’t recall, not in the moment. He knew that Arkham had tried to change their position at some point, but Vergil would not let him. How was this old, vile man lasting so long? He didn’t have the answer for that either.
When they had finally stopped, Vergil’s calves were threatening to cramp, Vergil’s neck was echoing the same threat, craned uncomfortably as it was against the headboard. The cool air hitting his dampened brow as he ran his hand through his hair. The grin on his collar bone reminded him where he was and who he was with, in case he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the old librarian that fucked him raw and dumb.
With a grimace, he ignored Arkham for a moment as he caught his breath, then did he untangle himself from the man, whose hands couldn’t keep to themselves even after all of that sex. “Get out,” He ordered in a tired, halfhearted growl, his mouth was too dry around the words.
Arkham chuckled, biting at the side of his head as his jawline was caressed, “Very well,” The old man pulled out of him, and retreated from the bed, allowing the cool night air to touch his sweat-drenched skin. “I will lay out fresh linens outside the door,” The notion would have been nice if it hadn’t been for the snide satisfaction dripping from his tone.
Once the door closed Vergil looked down at the mess made of the bed, grimacing once again at the state of it. When he was sure he could stand, he pushed himself to his feet and took a shower this time, despite the protest from his hips and legs. When he was done, he had stripped the bed and opened the door to throw the linens out of the room, only to be face to face with Arkham again.
For the moment he had to wonder if the man had been waiting for him the whole time or just now came to the door. Arkham’s eyes roamed over him, and he was glad that he’d yet to discard the towel, or his exposure would have made the moment more awkward than it was. Even with the towel, the man had a satisfied glint in his eyes.
Arkham innocently presented the linens to him, to which Vergil yanked them from his hand and threw the dirties at him in response. All it earned was a delighted chuckle from the old man, though Vergil couldn’t place what was funny or why his ears were flushing at the simple exchange. Once he had the fresh linens he shut the door, locking it.
“Goodnight, Vergil,” He heard from the other side of the door in that all too pleased tone. Vergil counted the seconds it took for his flushed ears to cool as he made the bed, making a note to himself to lock the door from now on.
That one night had opened the floodgates, it seemed. Since then Arkham had added the coaxing for sex to his habitual touches. Vergil held him off well enough, at least Arkham would stop when he ordered him to.
It was almost endearing, the way he would work so hard to convince Vergil to let him fuck him. Often invading Vergil’s space to do so, though this wasn’t new behavior for the creep. When it was most annoying was when he wasn’t blatantly asking, when it was just the touching again. If the man would just ask he would say no, and that would be that. But no. The slow build-up to making Vergil almost needy for it was enough to drive him mad.
It is no surprise when he does some digging on Arkham and finds rumors of satanic rituals and human sacrifice. Was it a surprise to find that Arkham had sacrificed his wife for demonic power? Perhaps not.
The man was...
It explained a lot, how the man had moments of inhuman strength or perception, how he could move as silently as Vergil in rare moments. (His inexplicable amount of stamina for a man his age.) He did wonder how far the man had been able to get with that ritual of his, did he obtain his full potential of power?
Was that the key Vergil was missing? The willingness to put familial attachments aside. Did he lack conviction in this? His hand touched his amulet, the cold emptiness growing inside of him, the rage that needed this outlet, he knew he would do what must be done.
It almost felt like a betrayal to his brother, what he intended to do. Hah. A petty human conflict.
Why should he feel like he was about to betray Dante when his little brother had done that very thing ten years ago? Vergil was alone for so long because his brother had discarded everything to pretend to be normal. He hadn’t even bothered looking for Vergil, more concerned over his pathetic human life than he’d been for his own brother. Vergil would never forgive him for that.
No. He lacked not the conviction for this.
The longest Vergil had held out against Arkham’s coaxing touches was just short of three weeks before he had, after an unsatisfactory few nights of masturbation to alleviate the tension, shoved the old man down on chaise in the study. Growling at the chuckle it brought from him, “Shut up.” Vergil had ordered him, and he did, but only for a short time.
“So eager today?” Arkham teased as he opened the man’s pants, Vergil paused, his ears and face flushed. Glaring at Arkham, he grabbed him by the jaw, tightening his grip until it was threatening to break until it solicited a wincing gasp from the old man.
“I told you to shut up,” He hissed, watching Arkham close his eyes, taking on that forcefully patient expression he got when they argued. It was satisfactory to see it and meant that Arkham was conceding even when he did not want to.
It was good to see some levels of violence still worked to deter the man.
Vergil decided to take advantage of the situation, drawing himself up to his knees, looming over Arkham, “Put that mouth of yours to better use, old man.” Arkham’s eyes opened and they stared at each other for a heartbeat longer than Vergil could tolerate, his grip tightened just slightly as he pulled Arkham up by it, “Do I have to repeat myself?”
“No,” Arkham had winced out, and Vergil released him only when Arkham’s hands were on his hips and undoing his pants. His hand settling on the chaise as Arkham sucked him off, it didn’t take him long to pull moans out of him like this. Though Vergil hadn’t planned on losing track of what he was doing, and before he knew it, Arkham had Vergil’s legs wrapped around his shoulder, his back pressed into the chaise. Fucking him out of his mind till was at the state where he didn’t know what to do with his hands, and alternated from gripping the chaise, to cover his face, trying to cover his mouth to stop the noises that betrayed him. He knew Arkham would never let him live it down.
Crooning into his ear, teasing him incessantly, praising him for the noises he was making. Vergil barely registered any of it in his lust claimed stupor, but just enough of it to try to be indignant, to give halfhearted growls and reprimands.
When he’d found enough coherency to form normal thoughts again, he was a mess on the edge of the chaise, his head hanging off of it. His ass in the air, Arkham pressed down on top of his back, gently rocking into him, though he knew well that the man was spent. Was... was he milking into him? The thought repulsed him.
“Get off,” he growled, glaring daggers at the polished floor of the study, earning a soft chuckle from Arkham.
“Soon,” Arkham murmured into his ear, giving a faux bite against his temple. Vergil’s eyes fluttered closed, and he groaned, earning another chuckle from the man as slipped his cock out, replacing it with his fingers. Those fingers worked him in every way that earned little gasps from Vergil that were more like whines than he’d ever care to admit, “You see, you aren’t sated just yet.”
Working him till he had begun to squirm and whine until Arkham had to pin him to stop him from moving around so much. Vergil gripped the chaise until his knuckles were white, biting into the material. Thankful that his face was away from Arkham, and that his hair was disheveled enough to be down, to hide the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. The man only relented when Vergil came, panting like a bitch as he tried to catch his breath. The spots in his vision had lasted longer than he thought they would.
Whether he took what he wanted from Arkham or if it was the other way around, he couldn’t tell anymore.
The first opportunity there was to investigate a possible seal in Fortuna, Vergil took it. Without Arkham.
Months later, after all the seals had been located and eradicated, he stood on what would soon be the top of the tower, the stone of the tower groaned and shook. The expanse of the top crushing through the roof of the caverns, wind rushing past him as it ascended to the sky. He’d gotten a quick glimpse of the establishment his brother owned before the rest of the city was no more than an ant colony before the might and glory of the tower.
The bells had shaken but settled as soon as the tower did.
It was maybe a half-hour before he sensed Arkham join him atop the tower.
“Arkham,” The boy called behind him as he heard the older man approach, the cool evening air telling him it was somewhere at the end of summer, just before autumn.
“Well? Doesn’t it excite you?” Arkham was droning on about the tower again, “The Temen-ni-gru has revived...” With an even sigh through his nostrils, Vergil drowned him out as he counted the seconds. Though, thankfully, when he was droning on like this, he usually wasn’t in the mood to show his ‘reverence’ of Vergil.
“Isn’t it a magnificent view?” Arkham was next to him now, Vergil opened his eyes, staring down at the town, he could feel his brother somewhere down there, careless as Dante was with his aura. “The greatest minds of their time, those that revered evil, constructed this glorious edifice. Now,” Arkham’s tone was getting too passionate, Vergil’s eyes closed again, counting the seconds of patience that he had left for the raving, and if Vergil was honest with himself, Arkham sounded like a lunatic when he lectured like this. “After two millenniums of confinement, it can finally fulfill the purpose for with it was intended!--”
“That is none of my concern,” Vergil interrupted him, unable to take the borderline madness in the old man’s voice any longer. When he asked, Arkham confirmed that Dante still had his half of the pendant. Turning away when the Hell Vanguard had come to beg him for forgiveness, the groveling of such a demon was disgusting.
Yamato sang from her sheath, as always. Just as quickly, after a flourish he returned her, the little effort it took to kill the vanguard was pathetic.
“Magnificent,” Arkham said again, Vergil glanced behind him to see the man was looking directly at him with a glint in his eyes. He turned away just as swiftly, feeling the flush creep up his neck as he descended the stairs to enter the tower.
He told himself he wasn’t going to let Arkham distract him, not on the most important day of his life.
“Your brother won’t reach the top for some time,” Arkham’s words echoed through the sanctum of the Temen-ni-gru that was filled to the brim with old tapestries, scrolls, and books. The unsaid words were plain, as Vergil placed the scroll back into its shelf he could already feel the anticipation in him spark to life. Damn it.
“So we wait,” Vergil looked over his shoulder at Arkham who was winding something in his hand, “What do you have?”
“Peculiar little trinket, it is the mechanical component to a music box,” He explained as he wound the key.
“Why do you have it?” He didn’t really care, but silence between them would be too sexually charged. He needed focus. Keeping Arkham busy, keeping him from distracting him, was becoming a chore today.
Arkham just smiled at him that cheeky, knowing smile, and Vergil knew it was going to be a frustrating evening. Everything was riding on this, he had to get this right. Crossing his arms, he glared at Arkham as he watched him wind the music box and place it on a shelf. The melody was beautiful, was it... “The Second Waltz,” He murmured, remembering the shelf clock in his bedroom as a child would play whatever cylinder he placed in it when the clock struck midnight or midday. The clock had been his first introduction to music as a boy before he took lessons on the violin.
“Good ear,” Arkham praised him in his bedroom tone, it caused his ears to burn, with a leveled breath through his nostrils he ignores his own flush. He knows where the old man’s mind is going, so when he closes the distance and offers his hand, Vergil does not take it, instead, he gives him a punishing glare.
When Arkham didn’t move his hand, Vergil’s jaw set tight, “Arkham-”
“We have the time, or would you rather be bored as your brother takes his sweet time to ascend?” Arkham’s gaze was challenging in the way it is when he talks about the twin’s rivalry.
“I will remain focused,” He reiterates, it was a pattern lately.
“Of course,” Arkham’s hand remains, patient and composed. With a sigh, he secures the Yamato on his belt and relents... It was a pattern lately.
Truthfully he hadn’t danced since he was maybe seven, he knows he is rusty, so he lets Arkham take lead, rather than make a fool of himself. Keeping up with Arkham wasn’t hard, it was a simple box step, though he found himself glancing down, counting the steps in his head with more concentration then he’d ever admitted.
The music box’s key must have been wound quite tight if it lasted so long already. “Are you nervous for what’s to come?”
“No.” Vergil focuses his glare at Arkham, digging claws into the man’s hand and shoulder, “Don’t dare suggest otherwise again.” He snapped, and Arkham gave him that apologetic smile and bowed his head to the side of Vergil’s.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to presume,” Arkham murmured in that bedroom tone again, and as soon as the faux bite came to the side of his temple, Vergil could feel his pants tighten. He could feel Arkham’s hand roam underneath his jacket, underneath his vest. “Arkham,” He growls, but he quickly has to choose between focusing on the dancing and where Arkham’s hands are roaming when the man introduces more complicated steps.
“Has it been a while since you last danced?” That sing-song tone makes him want to bite him, he growls again in response. It merely earns a chuckle from the audacious old coot. In a flurry, he’s spun until his arms are crossed and he’s pressed up against Arkham. They stayed like that for a moment, swaying to the music box. Vergil bites his cheek to quell whorish thoughts of anticipation. Sure enough, the old man’s hand wandered to his pants, and he crooned at the erection he groped there. “How excitable you’ve been lately,” Arkham teased softly against his ear, nipping at it.
Maybe if it hadn’t been for the teasing, Vergil could have been convinced to concede to the old man’s desires.
Vergil batted his hand away, turning sharply on his heel to face him, in a flourish Yamato sings from her sheath before Arkham could blink, the blade pressed to the side of Arkham’s neck. “I told you, I have no patience for your distractions today.” He snapped. Though it was difficult to discern that he lost his patience because he did not want Arkham’s touch, or because he welcomed it. Perhaps that lack of distinction was the true source of his ire.
Arkham stills for a moment before lifting his hand to the blade, “My apologies, Vergil,” dragging his hand down her length in such a sensual manner Vergil had to hold back a shudder.
Damn this man.
Stepping away from him as he turns to exit the library through the door that led to the top of the tower. It had begun to rain, good. He needed some way to cool down before his brother arrived.
He needed focus. He had one shot to get this right.
(Vergil sneers at her tale as it droned on, he had not come here to Fortuna to listen to the tales of a damaged woman. Even if she was poised to be his best way to gain the information he desired. With a beleaguered sigh he finally turned towards her, “What possesses you to put up with a man who disgusts you, then? Why do you stay with someone who you don’t love and is obviously just using you?” He snapped at her, knowing what to say to hurt her, to get her to shut up. Sure enough, he could see the hurt on her pretty face. Even the furious glare she gave him did not sway her homely beauty, he’d almost say it enhanced it, shocking as the thought was.
“Why do you?” Her remark struck him, hard enough to where he just watched as she stomped off.
It was only after a moment of silence did he react to the statement, “I don’t,” He growled to the air, though even to him the words seemed forced, and disingenuous. What did she know? She didn’t. So for her to pretend was just naive and arrogant.
Vergil turned back toward the water’s edge, his grip on Yamato tightening, “Tsk, stupid girl. You have it the wrong way around.”)
Why the memory comes to him now is no surprise; not with the way, he was left on the cold stone floor. Arkham was never good at what came after sex, and if Vergil hadn’t had a few nights, months and months ago, learning what is ‘supposed to happen’ he might not think anything of it. Was he expecting their dynamic to change just because his perspective had? No, he’s not that naive. They weren’t lovers. And he certainly hadn’t wanted that from him, anyway...
“That expression, what troubles you?” The question lacked any true concern, Vergil avoided his gaze, sneering at his body shivering when Arkham did that faux biting to the side of his head. “Do the throes of lust make you feel like a whore?” Shock struck him at the audacity to suggest such-Arkham slipped his cum coated digits into Vergil's mouth before he could respond with more than a tired growl.
Vergil yanked the hand free, grabbing Arkham harshly by the neck to choke him. For the claim that the sex was in reverence, only to treat him in such an undignified manner, with the taste of the old man’s cum (and rosemary) on his tongue, shot a wave of shame through Vergil. "I. Am. No. Whore." He growls back, trying to convey as much conviction in his words that he lacked at the moment. If anything at least his anger was well announced. Glaring daggers at the old man, all too tempted to summon his swords, yet he refrains. Arkham is... human, after all.
"The only one you must convince of that," Arkham managed around Vergil’s grip, swallowing as he waited patiently to be released, "is yourself."
A brief moment passed, and the eldest son of Sparda relented. Arkham pulled away from the boy, turning his back to Vergil but not before the boy spotted that dirty grin. Her words echo again in memory, followed shortly by a new wave of shame. It takes him a moment to collect himself, using a kerchief to clean himself up, biting back a wince as he straightened his clothes, fixing his hair. As immaculate as ever. Once he was standing, once he located Yamato, he glares at the back of Arkham’s head as he follows him to the last door.
“Soon we will reach the lair of judgment...” Arkham droned on as they approached the door, “The Temen-ni-gru will finally regain its full function and lead us into the demon world, where Sparda’s power has been sealed.”
Vergil’s gaze roamed over the door as Arkham fiddled with the locking mechanism, he closed his eyes once again, momentarily, at the mention of his father. Arkham’s chuckle was light, almost jovial at the irony, “and the one who will lift the incantation is you, his own son.”
Opening his eyes, he stared at the door. He had known going into this his father would never approve of what he was doing now. He would not be the one to make his father proud. Vergil couldn’t live as he had. But to hear the mocking irony of his actions were a jab to the all too human heart beating in his chest. His jaw tightened, he bit his tongue. They were close. He was close. Patience.
The door begins to open before them, Arkham backs up, gesturing for Vergil to go first. Vergil watches the dark expanse of the hall leading to the chamber, his gaze shifting back to Arkham when he felt those calloused fingers grace his chin delicately, firmly. The old man’s features settled into a devilish grin.
“Must be fate.”
If he was meant to twist his father’s legacy from chivalry to one of vengeance, then he alone would carry that torch. Arkham could never truly understand the path he’s chosen to walk, and Vergil would never waste his time trying to explain it. Not that it would matter now if he tried.
Silver eyes locking onto those heterochromatic ones, Vergil could see something possessive behind them as the man stroked along his jawline. Did Arkham think Vergil was his? Was that the reason behind that glint in his eye? Maybe the answer to those questions came when Arkham closed the distance, pressed his face to the side of Vergil’s head, and dragged his teeth along his skin with that faux bite to his temple, sending a wave of arousal through Vergil, his eyes fluttering closed and he had to bite down hard on the sound that tried to escape him.
For a few heartbeats, they stayed like that. Vergil stayed still as if he was waiting for Arkham to do something. When he felt the man smile against his temple, the Fortuna woman’s words come back to him. Snapping him out of the stupor arousal and anticipation had put him in.
Pulling away from Arkham, pushing those thoughts away, Vergil ventured just beyond the doorway, pausing when he heard Arkham hesitate. His jaw tightened again, this time he did not bite back his words, “Does that woman really bother you?” The soft, disgruntled gasp that came from Arkham stoked the fire of something in Vergil.
“What are you talking about?” Arkham’s tone indignant maybe even offended at the tone in which Vergil asked his question.
“Why didn’t you kill her?” Vergil chided, recognizing the feeling bubbling in him as jealousy.
Why would he be jealous? What did he have to be jealous over? It was merely the man’s daughter, after all.
“Perhaps because she’s your daughter,” He didn’t know if he was answering the silent questions swelling in him or if he was answering the question he’d voiced. Perhaps both.
Was he growing some attachment to this greasy old librarian?
The thought that the man had, in some manner over the year he’d spent with him, become something more than just a tool to Vergil. Enough to feel a twinge of jealousy over the concern for his daughter, not to kill her even if she sought to end his life. A sort of protective devotion to his offspring despite all the man has done.
Was Vergil jealous of the devotion from father to daughter, or jealous of the split in Arkham’s attention?
He hated the question. He didn’t want to know the answer, yet he found himself asking aloud anyway, “Did some pesky fatherly love get in the way?” The bite in his tone as sharp as Yamato, he could hear Arkham approaching him.
“That’s none of your concern--” Dismissive, reprimanding, indignant, scolding was the man’s tone, Vergil could feel the man’s hand touch his arm. A touch that aroused that anticipation in him again. He was sick of it. Sick of this man, and the unsolicited reactions of his own body. Sick of the disrespect veiled in reverence, sick of the pining for the man’s touch. Sick of the self-loathing and shame that had started festering in him since his return from Fortuna. And now he should add jealousy to the mix?
He was done.
Yamato sang from her sheath, finding a home in the man’s gut. Stopping his words, even if it didn’t stop the touch. The old man’s grip tightened on his arm, his tome dropped to the floor, forgotten. It felt liberating to hear his gasp of surprise, to feel his blood coalesce on the tsuba, touching his fingers before dripping to the ground. Vergil took a deep breath, drinking in the feeling of freedom after severing the anchor of so many mixed, conflicting, vile feelings that threatened to drown him over the past year.
He turned slowly towards Arkham, switching his grip on the Yamato from backhanded grip to front, not bothering to veil the contempt in his tone as he went on some rhetoric that revealed he knew all too well what Arkham did to gain his demonic power. “...Knowing this I thought you would be more useful to me,” The cold settling beneath his skin and in his bones was welcome after a year of his life spinning recklessly out of his control despite the very precise set of goals he’d set.
“But I was wrong,” He twisted Yamato, the man’s anguished gasp, and desperate grip on his arm as she cleaved through his vital organs was clandestine. Half lidded gaze, cold satisfaction clearly on Vergil’s face, and his contempt for this man finally unleashed. He felt like he was slipping back into his skin again, after so long.
“No wonder your attainment of power is incomplete. You lack conviction,” He drove the Yamato in deeper, stepping closer, the volume of his voice dropping, though it did not lose its sharp and dangerous intonation, “and I have no need for softhearted fools.”
What he didn’t expect was Arkham leaning toward him, almost to where their forehead would have touched if Vergil hadn’t have leaned back ever so slightly. Even so, with Arkham this close, he had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What about you?” Arkham’s breath was hushed, pained. Yamato must have punctured a lung, for the soft gurgling to his tone, and blood pouring from his lips. Music to Vergil’s ears. “You’re an incomplete being as well,” (Why did Dante come to mind?) “Both demon and human blood mingles in your veins,” The way he said it was like the slap of an insult.
Vergil’s shoulder’s squared, and he glared at Arkham, who merely returned it with a grin of his own. Like he had earned some little victory. “Shut up,” He growled, sneering at the man, yanking Yamato out of him roughly, turning away from Arkham.
Perhaps he stood closer to him than he had anticipated, for he stilled when he felt Arkham’s head on his back. He slowly sheathed the Yamato, listening to the ragged breathing from the older man, his eyes closing for a moment. “You are right about one thing,” His tone was softer than he meant it to be, even with the spite behind it, “This is the last time you’ll ever touch me.”
He swayed back against Arkham, forcing the man’s unsteady balance backward despite his attempt to grab Vergil again for support. Yamato snapped closed in her scabbard as the man collapsed on the floor behind him, the smell of blood pungent in the air.
Leaving Arkham to bleed, he entered the dark corridor.
His fate awaits, and he did not have the time any longer to dawdle with fools.
Twitter post for this chapter https://twitter.com/unpopularmyth/status/1169178973978484736
A fellow member of the Spardacest server and I described this ship as more like a canoe, that's taking on water, and you only have half of an oar. Also, the canoe is on fire.
If you want to see a third chapter, to just finish up the whole Temen-ni-gru mess, let me know! Could be interesting to write Jester.