Nero had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he'd be able to move on now that he'd gotten what he'd wanted. There was no denying he'd be thinking about the experience for weeks to come—Dante's hands, Dante's dick, the sound of his voice as it'd cracked, just barely, during his orgasm—but perhaps that'd be enough. Sate his curiosity, soothe his overactive demon-puberty fueled libido, and let him live his life in peace.
He'd been horribly wrong, of course, because that was the life that he apparently lived, hopping from one problem to the next like he was bearing some sort of curse. (And knowing his family as he now does, he still hasn't ruled out the possibility, to be honest.)
So perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that he’s spent his Tuesday spread out on his bed dealing with what he can only assume is the aftermath of said problem, his eyes trained on the cracked plaster ceiling of his rented room in the Devil May Cry shop. He’s been trying, for the better part of an hour now, to will himself to stop being so aware of Dante’s presence—fiery bright and red, sharp and distinct, and, worst of all, incredibly alluring.
Convincing himself to stay in bed and not seek Dante out, to drop to his knees and take the older man’s cock into his mouth again, is apparently an all day affair. Trying to talk himself out of it hasn’t really been working, and he’s never been very good at things like meditation or sitting in quiet self-reflection. It’s only violence that’s managed to keep him where he’s currently lying, his fingers digging into the bedsheet beneath him and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip the only things that have worked even a little at dragging him back to some kind of normalcy.
Overall, though, his efforts are failing spectacularly. He can't not sense Dante. Nero can feel Dante move through the shop, can feel the way his energy naturally ebbs and flows as he goes about his business. Can smell him as he passes through the hallway, and god, that's the worst, because he smells so enticing Nero has to dig his claws into the bed sheets to stop himself from yelling out in frustration.
It doesn’t occur to Nero that there might be something actually wrong with the entire scenario until he hears the front door of the shop swing open, the bell overhead chiming merrily to welcome their newest visitor, and his teeth immediately sharpen into daggers in his mouth in response. There’s a new presence on the edge of his demonic awareness, familiar but unwelcome all the same, and his gut, instinctual reaction is to shudder with sudden, bright, intense rage.
Murderous rage—enough that he almost Triggers on reflex, his wings flaring to brilliant life on his shoulders before he's able to stop them and his claws growing long enough that he's tearing into the mattress on reflex. It takes every ounce of Fortuna-instilled self control to keep himself on the bed, in his room, away from the lightning bright flare of Trish's power, but fuck.
For some reason, every single nerve in his body wants him to go downstairs and kick her out. He's never experienced anything like it before—it’s a compulsion almost as intense as his earlier desire to seek Dante out and suck him off, so fierce that it’s all he can think about. The emotion is all consuming, burning through him like a wildfire, and the only thing he can think is that she's encroaching on his space, trying to take what he wants, and god she really needs to leave the fucking shop before he snaps and he doesn't even understand why.
Desperate for some distraction from the feeling, he digs his claws into his thigh, hissing out a pained breath as blood wells warm and sticky beneath his fingertips. It's centering, at least, enough that he's able to feel like he can breathe again, if even for a few brief seconds.
What the fuck is wrong with him? He's had no shortage of new experiences since he woke to his demon side, but this one probably takes the cake for shit he doesn't understand and doesn't want to deal with. Every inch of his body feels like it's on fire. Trish’s presence is like a thorn in his side, a threat and a warning that he’s compelled to address, and every time he hears Dante’s voice he has to swallow down a quiet whine in response. More than once he catches himself almost speaking, Dante’s name on the tip of his tongue, and it’s so embarrassing that he throws an arm over his mouth in a desperate plea to stifle the word.
Whatever's going on is definitely more than a stupid obsession with Dante, because even before they’d started hooking up, he was never this bad—or, at least, not physically, his desire before always soundly a more mental problem. With a low groan Nero rolls onto his side, curling around himself and folding his wings so they drape a little more comfortably off the bed. Stupid things. Normally he has better control over them, but dismissing them seems to be a lost cause right now—he can't really concentrate on trying. Having the wings out helps to alleviate some of the building pressure that's simmering under his skin, at least, an outlet for his overactive demonic energy, so he'll just have to deal with them for the time being.
Nero lies tense and awkward, idly keeping tabs on where Trish is in the building, until he hears the front door slam shut and senses her presence slowly fade into the distance. Fucking finally. Maybe now that she's gone he'll be able to relax a little, sleep off whatever's plaguing him. Nero's never been sick a day in his life, but he's also never jumped head first into so many hordes of demons before, and his new fighting style in his demon form definitely gets him up close and personal more often than not. It could be that he's contracted something that actually stands a chance against demonic immune systems. Is there such a thing as the demon flu?
As if in time with his thoughts he shudders, hard and uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around his torso to try to hold himself together. A low, pained growl works its way out of his chest before he can stifle it against the mattress. Jesus, it's bad. His head is swimming and he's both too cold and too hot all at once, his skin burning to his own touch and his palms clammy with cold sweat. Kyrie’s gotten the flu once or twice since Nero’s known her, so he’s pretty familiar with the symptoms even if he’s never had it himself, and it’s the closest comparison he can make at the moment.
He’s in the middle of attempting to remember through his fever-addled thoughts how Kyrie normally dealt with a fever when Dante’s voice comes from the other side of the door:
"Nero? You okay in there, kid?"
The sudden voice makes him jump in surprise. He was so wrapped up in his own sorry state that he didn't even sense the other man coming. Nero bites back a quiet whine at the sound of Dante's voice so close, then takes a few slow breaths through his mouth to try to ignore Dante's scent, warm and enticing on the other side of the door.
When he's finally able to make himself respond, his voice is so quiet he's not even sure Dante can hear him: "Yep, I'm great."
"Well, that's a lie if I've ever heard one," Dante says, followed by a quiet thump against the door. "Can I come in?"
"No," Nero snaps, but his demon must have a different opinion on the matter, because a loud, low growl crawls its way out of his chest and through his clenched teeth. The sound tapers off to a whine, leaving him shivering on the bed with conflicting desires. He desperately wishes Dante would come into the room, touch him and let Nero touch in return, but at the same time, he has no idea what the hell is happening to him. If Dante comes in here, could he get sick, too?
To Nero's surprise, it's not another cocky phrase or quip that comes from Dante in response, but an answering growl of his own, a little higher pitched than Nero's and a lot less desperate sounding. Dante must take Nero’s growl as a sign of agreement, because he opens the door and slips inside despite Nero’s pretty clear command not to do so.
When he turns to face Nero, his eyes are bright and vibrant crimson, intensely glowing in the low light of Nero's room.
"Shit," Dante says, lifting a hand to drag it through his hair, a telltale nervous gesture that Nero’s starting to recognize in their time together. "Should've known."
Known what, Nero thinks, but the words don't manage to make their way out of his mouth, because Dante crosses the room and sits down on the side of the bed and his sudden proximity sends Nero's brain reeling. Before he can make an effort to stop himself he reaches for Dante with one of his wing hands, curling the long talons around his upper-arm in a tight vice-like grip that makes the other man flinch, just barely, in instinctive response.
Which makes something in Nero wail, loud and frustrated and overeager, and shit.
Feeling Dante's firm muscle beneath his grip is immediately soothing, however, quieting the rising panic that had been slowly building since Nero first felt sick this morning. He wishes Dante would actually touch him back, but the older man is clearly hesitating, staring at Nero out of demonic eyes through a curtain of hair with an expression that's so serious Nero wonders if maybe this sickness is terminal.
That'd be his fucking luck, huh? Get sick for the first time and it's some kind of mega demon flu.
"How do you feel?" Dante asks, after what feels like an eternity and a half of awkward silence, and Nero groans, pressing his face down into the cool sheet of his bed to try to make the sound a little less embarrassing.
"Dunno," he says, honestly. He feels like shit, but he also feels keyed up beyond belief, and he's also developing another problem now that Dante is so close to him, and the combination of sensations and emotions is a little more than Nero can process at the moment. "Like I might be dying."
Dante laughs; the sound is the most wonderful thing Nero thinks he's ever heard in his life. "Not quite," he says, and then he reaches out and touches Nero's shoulder, pulling gently like he wants him to roll over, and Nero honest to god keens at the contact of Dante's palm on his bare skin.
He's only wearing a tank top right now, having stripped down to the bare minimum in an effort to combat the raging inferno beneath his skin, and holy shit, Dante's touch is overwhelming because of it. Nero complies with the wordless request anyway, but when Dante attempts to pull his hand away, Nero grabs his wrist, vice tight, and presses Dante's palm to his chest. The muttered "please" tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he's at least coherent enough to feel an adequate amount of shame for basically begging Dante to keep a hand on him, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Sorry," Nero says, to which Dante just shakes his head.
Dante rubs his thumb over Nero's pectoral muscle soothingly, and Nero sighs and melts beneath the touch, feeling some of the tension bleed out of him at having Dante's attention. He doesn't feel any better, really—far from it—but it's comforting to have Dante nearby.
"So," Nero says, when Dante doesn't make a move to continue talking, instead staring intently at Nero's face. At his prompting Dante shakes his head, sighing quietly and pushing the hand that's not preoccupied with keeping Nero calm through his hair.
"So," Dante says.
And then he says nothing.
Nero groans, forcing himself to sit up a little bit so he can get a better look at Dante, who's still staring at Nero like he's trying to pick him apart with his eyes. Getting into an upright position without dropping Dante's hand from his chest is challenging, but he makes use of his wing-arms, folding them behind himself, and that gives him the leverage he needs to pin Dante with his most unimpressed look.
The older man is being uncharacteristically hesitant about this entire thing, clearly mulling over his words before he says them, and Nero doesn't really have the patience for it right now. Between the feeling of general malaise that's making every inch of him ache and the desperation that's continuing to slowly build in his gut, he thinks he'll snap long before Dante can spit it out at this rate, and he's pretty sure that's not going to do either of them any favors.
In an effort to encourage him, Nero lifts one hand and sits it over Dante's on his chest, sliding his fingers between the older man's in a firm grip. When he trails his thumb over the back of Dante's hand, it seems to dispel whatever trance he'd fallen in to, because he blinks once, very slowly, and then focuses back on Nero with normal, pale blue eyes.
"Sorry," Dante says, with a small laugh. "You're a little distracting like this."
"Like what?" Nero says, trying for gently encouraging but landing somewhere a little closer to growl-y and annoyed. "It'd help if I had any idea what the hell was going on, because it really just feels like I have some kind of fucked up demon flu, but I'm getting the impression it's not that simple."
"Well," Dante says, then he frowns, mutters, "shit, I suck at explaining this stuff," and closes his eyes for a second, to attempt at composure. "Basically, you're currently broadcasting on about three different demon channels, 'hey, come fight me or fuck me,' and, god, that's distracting."
"Yeah," Dante says, opening his eyes again to watch Nero's reaction. Nero squirms under his gaze a little, which makes Dante's hand on his chest shift down over his nipple, which makes Nero growl—which, in turn, makes Dante growl, and it's almost funny how fucked up and weird the entire situation is.
"I dunno how to explain it, kid. Every few years, your demon biology is going to come knocking and basically drive you to go have a dick measuring contest. Fight something or fuck something big and strong enough to sate it, because that's what demons do—they like that whole 'proving yourself' thing." Dante pauses here, distracted momentarily by rubbing his thumb over Nero's chest again, before he manages to continue. "Had a feeling you were about to experience it, just based on how you've been acting, but I wasn't sure until now."
Nero groans. "And you couldn't have warned me?"
"You're mostly human," Dante says with a shrug. "Kinda hoped it wouldn't be a big deal, but it looks like I was wrong."
"Alright, great. Why do I feel like shit? Seems kind of counterproductive."
"That's probably from ignoring it. Gets worse as you ignore the urges until eventually you feel like you're going to snap and things get ugly," Dante says, flat, a little more serious than before. Something dark flashes across his face, contorting his expression into something ugly, before he’s smoothed it back over again into his usual casual indifference. "So eventually you've got to do something about it, one way or the other. Lucky for you, Morrison just dropped off some good jobs, and there's—"
Nero doesn't really think too hard about his next move: he's up and leaning forward, pulling Dante close to him by his shoulders, and shoving his tongue halfway down the other man’s throat to shut him up before Dante can so much as flinch in response. He's wanted Dante for fucking weeks, and they've been dancing around it, going slow because Dante wanted to go slow, but between the blazing fever under his skin and the desire to—biteclawclaimsubmit—that’s currently buzzing through his veins like a static charge, he really can't hold out any longer.
Dante stiffens for a few seconds before both of his hands come up to cup Nero’s face, firm and cool and steady, and Nero moans into the kiss at the contact, desperate for more. He fists his hands in the front of Dante’s coat for something to hang on to, then tugs him closer, forcing the older man to scramble to climb onto the bed before Nero just drags him there. For all of Dante’s attempts at approaching this thing delicately, he’s quick to give in to Nero’s demands, kissing back in that slow, leisurely, confident way that Nero loves so fucking much. It leaves him dizzy, both from the lack of oxygen and from the intensity of it, and by the time they break apart for a breather, Nero is panting hard.
“Nero,” Dante says, his voice cracking just a touch in that low, husky way it does when he wants something very badly and is trying to stay the responsible one out of the two of them. Fondness flutters to life in Nero’s stomach at the sound, and he shakes his head, smiling softly at how absolutely absurd Dante can be, especially considering the current circumstances.
Nero loves him for it.
Which isn’t a word he’s thought about regarding Dante yet, and the second it pops in his head he pauses, staring at Dante’s intense, questioning expression in a moment of quiet revelation, and then he blurts out: “I love you.”
“I—wait,” Dante says, hands tightening on Nero’s face as he backs up on the bed a little, like putting a larger space between them will help him understand the words better. “What—”
“Dante.” Nero shivers, reaching up to grab Dante’s wrists, afraid he might let go, break the physical contact. The thought of that is so terrible that Nero whines before he’s able to swallow down the protests of his demon side and force his brain back into good old human language again. “I do.” Another growl; he laughs, feeling almost giddy. “God, you can be infuriating, but—but I do. And not just in a, uh. In a human way, I think. I dunno if that makes sense, but it feels right, so there it is.”
“Listen, kid. This thing you’re experiencing right now—”
“Has nothing to do with it,” Nero snaps, baring fangs. He forces himself to take a deep breath and reevaluate himself a little bit, because he can admit that Dante maybe has a point, but, yeah. Yeah, this isn’t new. “I definitely want you to fuck me more than usual, and it might have something to do with that, but I—it’s not why.”
He runs out of steam and just shakes his head instead, hoping that somehow Dante will understand his meaning and stop being so cautious and careful with him and just go with it. Dante hesitates for a few seconds more, eyes scanning Nero’s face, before the hands on Nero’s cheeks tighten, and then he’s being pulled closer to Dante again. Their kiss this time is sloppy and frantic, a little too much fang from Nero and a little too much aggression from Dante to be wholly comfortable, but Nero moans happily into it anyway, because god, this is what he wants, he wants Dante so bad it actually hurts.
One of the hands on Nero’s face slides down his neck, nails dragging along the pulse point in his throat, and Nero has to break the kiss to moan, throwing his head back in response to Dante’s gentle touch. Everything feels a hundred times more sensitive right now—Dante’s fingertips, his nails, the scrape of his teeth on Nero’s bottom lip as he leans forward and nips at him, grinning mischievously.
Nero anchors himself against the headboard of the bed with his wings, and they're the only thing stopping him from falling over backward. Dante has one hand on his face still, the other trailing along his throat, and Nero shudders when he realizes that it’s a glossy black claw that’s tracing the major artery in his neck and not Dante’s normal, blunt human nails.
“Shit,” Nero hisses, tilting his head to the side to give Dante unimpeded access to kiss along his jaw. “Why’s that feel so—so good.”
Dante chuckles, his warm breath against Nero’s neck sending shivers down his spine. “Instincts,” he whispers, dragging his tongue down the same path on Nero’s throat before stopping at the curve of his shoulder, where he presses a small kiss. “God, you’re almost impossible to resist like this.”
“Yeah?” Nero asks, flushing with pride at Dante’s admission. He threads his arms under Dante’s to circle his torso so he can pull the older man closer, intent on pressing every inch of himself against Dante that he can, but Dante pulls back, planting both hands on Nero’s chest to stop him.
“Fuck, yeah,” he says, laughing breathlessly. “Wait a second, kid. Let me—Let’s do this the right way, at least.” Nero sees him take a deep, slow breath, reining in his own demon with stern and practiced control that Nero lacks even on his best days, before Dante starts to back out of Nero’s arms.
Which is almost more than Nero can handle, because the second Dante starts to pull from his grip he whines at an entirely new, embarrassing pitch, and digs his claws into the older man’s back. Dante hisses between his teeth in discomfort, but he’s laughing in the next second, so Nero doesn’t have much time to feel too guilty about his sudden impulse.
“Sorry,” Nero says, and then inwardly, to himself or to his demon half or to whatever depraved god might be watching him, Chill the fuck out, alright?
“Here,” Dante says, taking Nero’s wrists and pulling his hands away from Dante’s back, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of his right hand as he pushes Nero’s arms away. “How about you get naked while I’m gone. Sound good?” When Nero narrows his eyes, glaring at Dante doubtfully, Dante laughs again. “Promise I’m gonna make this worth the time, alright? Trust me.” His face goes a little more serious, voice a pitch lower—double layered, too, and Nero’s not even sure Dante realizes he’s done it. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
The declaration immediately soothes him, so Nero nods, consenting to let Dante stand up from the bed and leave the room. It’s a point of pride that this seems to be difficult for him, too—he stops at the door and turns back, looking at Nero through eyes that are once more limned in a thin ring of red, and Nero has to force himself to wave his hand in a vague “I’ll be fine” gesture before Dante actually slips back into the hallway.
Without Dante’s presence in the room to help center him, Nero can feel his nerves starting to return, a coil slowly tightening in his chest and stomach. He’s still too warm, too, a fact he’d been able to ignore with Dante’s hands on him capturing his attention; now that he’s alone again, the unpleasant sensation comes rushing back tenfold, overwhelming enough that he groans in frustration.
Nero wastes no time in pulling the tanktop over his head and slipping out of his jeans, tossing both to the floor without a single care for where they end up. Normally he’s a little more particular about his things, especially considering he is, technically speaking, sleeping in a borrowed room, but right now he couldn’t really give a shit. The clothes could go in the trash for all he cares—the only thing on his mind is getting Dante’s hands back on him.
Thankfully, Dante’s not gone long. Nero can hear his footsteps coming down the hallway even before he picks up on his scent again, gunmetal and smoke and—roses? It’s not unusual, considering the older man’s hobby is a surprising rose garden in the back of the shop, but still, the scent is remarkably stronger than normal.
The reason for which is explained the moment Dante opens the door with a dramatic flourish.
“Oh my god,” Nero says, stunned into momentary inaction by the sight before him.
Dante is wearing only his leather pants and his cowboy hat, a red rose clutched between his teeth and a bottle of lube in his right hand. The expression on his face is perhaps supposed to be alluring or sultry, yet manages to fail at both, and looks simply goofy. It takes everything in Nero to not laugh, and instead he buries his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment for the older man’s antics.
Dante shuts the door with more force than is necessary—mutters a quiet “oops” when it rattles on its hinges, as if he’s lost track of his own strength for a moment—and then he is crawling onto the bed and toward Nero, grinning around the rose in his mouth like an absolute idiot.
“What are you even doing,” Nero says, and Dante laughs, sitting the bottle of lube to the side so he can use his hands to grab Nero’s knees and spread his legs.
“What, can’t a guy get all dressed up for his big date?” Dante says, the words muffled and clumsy around the rose stem in his teeth. He maneuvers between Nero’s legs so the smaller man is pinned beneath him, an arm on either side of his head, his body warm and solid overtop Nero’s. “Come on, kid, you know I look good like this.”
Nero flushes even hotter, keeping his face pressed firmly to his palms. “God, you’re the worst.”
“Hey,” Dante says, as he lifts a hand to grab Nero’s wrist. Slowly he pulls Nero’s hands from his face, and when Nero blinks and focuses on Dante, he sees that despite his playful demeanor, his eyes are still demonic red, his mouth baring inhuman fangs. Whatever’s going on is still affecting him now as much as it was before, he’s just… being Dante about it. Which is both ridiculous and charming, and Nero can’t help but smile back in response, feeling inordinately fond of the older man. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
Dante takes the rose from where he’s sat it to the side so he could speak unhindered, and before Nero can stop him, he tucks it behind Nero’s left ear.
“Cute,” Dante says, and Nero rolls his eyes, throws his arms around Dante’s neck (knocking the hat from his head in the process, which, thank god for that), and drags him back in for another kiss.
The humorous atmosphere doesn’t last long after that—Dante strips him the rest of the way and pushes him up on the bed, back against the headboard with his wings stretched out to give them room, with a low, demanding snarl that makes Nero shiver from head to toe. Nero fists his hands in Dante’s hair and basically shoves his face into his groin, canting his hips before Dante’s even able to get him in his mouth, which just causes his dick to slide across Dante’s cheek, rough stubble on his sensitive skin making Nero whine.
“I like this more aggressive side of you,” Dante says with a laugh, leaning onto his left arm so he can free up his right hand. He uses it to grasp Nero’s cock, stroking him slowly a few times before guiding him between his lips with a low hum.
He sucks Nero off slowly, achingly so, and Nero whines and rolls his hips in desperation. It feels good, but it’s not enough, not with how the blood in his veins feels like it’s boiling with anticipation and the voice in his head is screaming with the desire to bite and scratch and demand Dante give him the satisfaction that he wants.
“Dante,” Nero hisses, and Dante hums again, the subtle vibrations of which makes Nero shudder with pleasure. God, Dante’s way too good at this even when he’s being a horrible tease. It’s almost maddening—but before he can sink claws in and demand what he really wants of the older man, Dante slips a hand beneath him and trails a finger over his entrance.
The sensation is new and enticing in a way Nero hadn’t anticipated, and he gasps with pleasure as Dante continues to slowly trail his fingertip over his sensitive skin. They haven’t done this yet, and Nero’s never gone that far with anyone else before, either—not on the receiving end, not with another guy, at least—so he’s not really sure what the hell he’s getting himself into. Dante, at least, seems to be approaching this the way he does everything: with cool confidence and affection, his mouth working over Nero with such delicious expertise that he doesn’t even notice when Dante’s slipped a slicked finger inside of him until he’s knuckle deep and slowly moving his hand.
“Oh, god,” Nero says, releasing Dante’s hair with one hand to instead cover his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle his rather embarrassing moans. “God, that’s—”
A second finger makes him keen, words dissolving into mindless groans. It’s toeing a line between uncomfortable and amazing in a way that makes his demon and human blood sing with want, and he rolls his hips and fucks himself back onto Dante’s hand with a low whine.
“Hey,” Dante says, pulling off to press a kiss to Nero’s thigh. “You like that, huh?”
“I—yeah,” Nero breaths, spreading his legs a little wider as he rolls back into Dante’s motions. “Please—”
“Just you wait, kid,” Dante says, lifting his face from Nero’s thigh to lick at the head of his cock once. “I’m gonna be so good to you.” A third finger and Nero’s gasping, dragging his right hand down his own throat and chest and clawing at the back of Dante’s head desperately with the other, seeking purchase. “Gonna make you feel so good.”
Dante does something with his fingers, then, and it’s like an electric jolt of pleasure shoots through Nero’s gut. His moans give way to cries of pleasure as Dante sets up a relentless pace of licking and sucking and crooking his fingers just right, and Nero comes harder than he’s ever come in his life, jerking and crying out as he loses himself for a few brief moments to his orgasm.
When he finally manages to blink back into some kind of awareness, Dante has his chin propped up on Nero’s belly with a lazy, self-satisfied grin on his face. His fingers are still inside of Nero, moving slowly now, and Nero drops his head back against the bed and lets himself have a moment to just breath, because holy shit. He’s not sure if its the demonic hormone induced horniness or if Dante’s really just that skilled, but he feels like he maybe died for a few seconds there, and he needs a moment to gather himself.
Now that Dante’s not occupied with sucking Nero’s cock, he instead focuses his attention on Nero’s hips and his belly, kissing and licking a messy trail across Nero’s abs. “Doin’ okay?” he asks even as he licks along the curve of Nero’s hip and then back across to his stomach, dragging sharp fangs over where Nero’s most vulnerable, and it feels a bit like a threat, which makes the blood run even hotter through Nero’s veins with want.
“Yeah,” Nero breaths, then he reaches down and grabs Dante with his wing arms, hauling him further up Nero’s body. Dante laughs even as Nero manhandles him until he’s lying on top of Nero again, so Nero leans up and bites his jaw. “Fuck me,” Nero says—snaps? Growls? He’s losing track, a little, his better judgement long since lost to his need—and Dante growls back, the vibration through his chest against Nero’s making the younger man writhe beneath him in delight. “Please. Right now.”
Dante, thankfully, doesn’t need to be told twice. He backs out of the vice of Nero’s legs only as long as it takes him to strip off his leather pants, and Nero watches him through half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of his broad chest and slim hips, the muscles of his thighs and his glorious, ridiculous cock.
“Fuck,” Nero says with a laugh, reaching down to coax Dante back onto him and between his legs. “I swear to god I forget how big you are every time.”
Dante kisses him in response, which Nero realizes is a distraction the moment he feels the slicked, blunt head of Dante’s dick pressing against his entrance. He whines into the older man’s mouth and Dante licks his way inside, keeping him occupied as he slowly rolls his hips and pushes into Nero, inch by incredible inch.
It hurts more than it feels good at first, but the part of him that’s been screaming for this since this morning is alive with a static charge that feels like it’s buzzing along every nerve, from the base of his spine to the top of his head, and that makes it good, too. Like scratching an itch that’s been bothering him for days. Nero breaks the kiss so he can breath, throwing his head back against the mattress and squeezing his eyes shut as he rides out the initial burn.
“Oh shit,” Nero says as Dante bottoms out inside of him. He claws at Dante's back and writhes beneath him, pulling him close against his chest for something to hang on to. It’s so much but, fuck, it’s so good.
“Yeah.” Dante drops his forehead to Nero’s shoulder, one hand pressed to the pillow by Nero’s head and the other digging into Nero’s hip so hard it’s starting to hurt. “God, you gotta hold still for a minute, kid. Feels too good.” He nuzzles the side of Nero’s neck, beneath his ear, taking a slow and steady inhale.
It seems to help center him, because when he pulls away he’s breathing a little more evenly, his usual cocky grin back on his face. Nero turns his head to kiss Dante’s brow, aimlessly pressing his mouth to whatever part of the older man he can reach, until Dante humors him and kisses him back, quickly, one more time.
With that done, Dante pushes himself up a little more, readjusts his grip on Nero’s hip, and smiles. “You ready for me?”
“God, just do it, I swear to—oh fuck,” Nero says, because Dante has just twitched his hips, very slightly, and derailed any complaints Nero might’ve had in the process. It feels amazing, appeals to that wildly thrashing part of him, and he tightens his arms around Dante’s neck and breaths out a thin laugh.
Dante tries to go slow, to ease Nero into it, but it’s clear his desire is winning out over his caution, and he’s steadily rocking in and out of Nero in no time, panting quietly against Nero’s chest. It takes every ounce of Nero’s focus to just hang on for the ride, hands clasped around the back of Dante’s neck and legs clamped around his hips. Despite how overwhelming it is, he makes it a point to roll into every thrust, rocking in time with Dante’s movements until they’re both breathless.
The impulse to bite and claw, to make his mark on Dante the way the older man is doing to him, overwhelms him with such intensity that he can’t help himself—his nails sharpen into talons and he drags them down Dante’s back, between his shoulder blades and along his spine, drawing blood beneath his fingertips. Dante moans and bucks his hips hard in response, arching his back and growling so low in his chest that Nero can feel it vibrate through every inch of him, resonating with his own devil and encouraging him to repeat the motion.
When he drags his nails over Dante’s shoulder blades a second time, the other man leans forward with a growl, pushing Nero’s hips up until he’s practically folded in half. He hooks one of his hands under Nero’s right knee, lifting his leg to prop it onto his shoulder, and the new angle this grants him allows him to thrust harder, deeper, making Nero writhe with delight beneath him.
Between thrusts, Dante pants out, “Feels good, huh?” and Nero shakes and clutches at the mattress and claws up his own chest in his frantic need for some kind of handhold, because yeah, fuck, it feels so, so—
“So good, god, yeah, don’t you dare fucking stop,” Nero says, doesn’t realize he’s even opened his mouth and said words until he hears Dante’s huffed laugh. Laughing even while he fucks Nero’s brains out, like this whole thing is a joke, which, whatever. Laughing during sex is probably good, right? Nero’s feeling pretty damn giddy himself right now, unable to catch his breath and like every nerve in his body is lit up, and he’s close, he’s so close and he hasn’t even touched his dick yet, and he’s probably going to come long before Dante. Which makes him feel a little bad, like he’s doing something wrong, but he can’t possibly hold out much longer, especially not when Dante turns his head and bites at the inside of Nero’s thigh, breathing out a quiet,
“You feel so good,”
and that’s it, that’s all Nero can handle. His orgasm hits him like a suckerpunch, his vision going white and his breath catching in his throat. Desperately he claws at his bedsheets, realizing in some distant, still miraculously coherent part of his brain that he’s absolutely shredded them at this point. Which, in the grand scheme of things, is a small price to pay for the mind-numbingly amazing orgasm he’s just had, so he supposes he can’t complain too much.
Dante doesn’t afford him much time to recover before he’s pulling out of Nero, grabbing his hips with both hands, and flipping him over, onto his belly. With a growl the older man thrusts back into him, setting a relentless pace that leaves Nero breathless, and he crosses his arms beneath his head and buries his face into the crook of his elbow to hide how desperate he now sounds.
Even his demon is pleased with Dante finally just taking what he wants, though, and for the first time all day Nero actually feels like he’s not going to vibrate out of his skin. When Dante leans forward, pressing his damp chest against Nero’s back and curling a hand around the front of his throat, pulling his head up and away from his arms, Nero shudders from head to toe, as if in anticipation.
“I want to claim you,” Dante says, low and growly. It’s almost entirely the voice of his demon, the casual, warm tone of humanity burned out of it by desire, and he nuzzles at the nape of Nero’s neck, teeth grazing over his spine. “If you want. Don’t really like the idea of doing it without your permission, but, shit.” The teeth on his neck press a little harder, enough that he punctures skin, just barely. “I want it.”
Nero’s not really sure what claiming means, at least not in human terms, but there’s something inside of him that pulses hotly in response to Dante’s request, like he instinctively understands the implications of what Dante’s saying. To be claimed by a more powerful demon, to be owned, to be wanted—
Nero wants it. He wants it so fucking badly he whines and cranes his head to the side and lets himself go lax under Dante’s weight, signalling his submission. All his life he’s wanted nothing more than to feel like he had a place where he belonged, with people who understood him and loved him, and Dante’s request feels so much like that that it almost makes him laugh. (Or cry, he can’t quite tell, because everything is too much and the wires have gotten crossed in his brain, he thinks.)
“I—yeah. Okay,” Nero says, and Dante shudders, pressing a kiss to the back of Nero’s neck.
“You’re sure?” Dante says, even though Nero can tell it’s taking all of his willpower to resist. “Not something that’s taken back lightly, you know.”
He’s stopped in his movements to explain this, slowing his thrusts, and Nero bucks back into his hips and growls and turns his head, as best as he can with Dante’s hand around his throat, to try to get a look at Dante’s face.
He must not need any more prompting, because he laughs, rolls his hips, and then sinks his teeth into the back of Nero’s neck up to the gums, and everything in Nero’s world goes white.
Nero comes to an indeterminate time later to Dante curled around his body, his warm hands splayed over Nero’s chest and one leg tossed over Nero’s. He’s petting him, slow and repetitive, from his collarbones down to his belly and back up again, and the motion is so intensely soothing that Nero simply closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the attention for a few moments longer before he finally says Dante’s name.
“Welcome back, kid,” Dante says, pressing a kiss to the back of Nero’s neck, a memory of the bite he’d placed on him earlier that makes Nero shudder.
“Did I… seriously pass out?” Nero asks, reaching up to grab Dante’s hand on his chest, tangling their fingers together and resting the other man’s palm against his abs. It feels so good to be held like this, to wake up in Dante’s arms to the gentle brush of his calloused hands, the press of his mouth against the back of his head and neck. Fuck, he could get used to this.
Which is a dangerous prospect. He probably shouldn’t—permeance and important relationships don’t really go hand in hand in Nero’s life, and becoming attached to one is almost certainly going to be a dangerous game. A small voice in his head reminds him that he’s already lost Dante once, for those six months when he was in hell, when Nero hadn’t even known if he’d ever return. The idea of losing him again, now that they’ve taken this next step, is almost unbearable.
Dante seems to sense Nero’s worry, because he nuzzles his face against the hair at the back of Nero’s neck and sighs. “Yeah,” he says, peppering kisses on every inch of Nero’s head he has easy access to. “I’m a good lay like that. Happens to everyone.”
“Bullshit,” Nero says, halfheartedly swatting at Dante’s hand that’s now brushing through his hair.
“I definitely rocked your world, though.”
Nero groans and turns his face into the pillow, too tired to engage in much bickering with Dante, and the other man lets up on his teasing to instead gently tug at Nero’s arm in a signal to turn around. With a grumble he complies, surprised to find that his lower back and hips are actually sore—a feat, really, considering how quickly he heals, especially now that his demon side is awake. Dante wraps his arms back around Nero’s shoulders as he cuddles against the older man’s chest, breathing in the scent of blood and sweat and Dante with a pleased little sigh.
“Feel any better?” Dante asks, after some more time as passed. Nero nods.
“Yeah. I think, uh. The bite did it, honestly.” Nero works one of his arms free, reaching up to touch the back of his neck in mild curiosity. There’s dried blood on his skin, flaking under his nails when he drags his fingertips over it, and beneath the thin layer he can feel small ridges of smooth skin.
Scars. Holy shit.
“I told you it’s not something that’s undone easily,” Dante says, voice low and serious. He presses a kiss to the top of Nero’s head as he says this, hands dragging up and down Nero’s back slowly. He’s being uncharacteristically tender, free and liberal with his gentle touches and kisses in a way he normally isn’t, but Nero can’t find it in himself to complain. He’ll take it while he can get it.
“I don’t regret it,” Nero says quickly, pulling back to be sure he can meet Dante’s gaze as he says this. “I wanted it.”
Dante doesn’t look entirely convinced, a dark line of guilt and worry settling into the crease of his brow and in the faint circles beneath his eyes, so Nero reaches up and grabs the other man’s face in both of his hands. He tilts Dante’s head down until they’re properly looking at each other, despite the other man’s larger size, and then he digs his nails in a little, to make sure he has Dante’s attention.
“I’m serious, old man. And I’m also serious about what I said earlier.”
There’s a heartbeat where Dante doesn’t move at all, his expression still and serious, his eyes searching Nero’s face, before a smile cracks through his uncertain facade, and he presses his mouth to Nero’s forehead.
“Never figured you’d be such a sap in bed,” Dante says, and Nero grumbles and tucks himself back under Dante’s chin. “But I hear you, kid. Love you, too.”
The words make something hot and intense flutter to life beneath Nero’s ribs, his cheeks immediately flushing in embarrassment and surprise, and he hides his pleased shock against Dante’s throat.
Of course he’d say it like that, casual and easy and still somehow incredibly sincere—which is, really, the perfect description of Dante as a whole, Nero supposes. He’s learning that pretty intimately now that he’s moved in with the other man, and, wow, that’s probably something he’s going to have to work through, now that they’ve taken this step in their relationship that he’s not entirely sure how to parse.
Both the demon and human half of him are, at least, content with his current situation, and so he decides not to worry about the long term too much. They’re comfortable and satisfied, warm and secure in Nero’s bed, and that’s enough for him to finally feel at peace with the situation.
“And, hey,” Dante says, that tone of voice that means he’s being both incredibly serious and simultaneously a huge pain in the ass back in place, “you know, that whole claiming thing—it’s not one way.”
“Yeah. So if you, y’know, get the urge to take a bite out of me, let me know. I wouldn’t mind.” Dante laughs. “It’d be hot, honestly.”
Nero flushes again, pressing his face against Dante’s collarbones as the other man just laughs, and god, he’s so irritating, but—
But Nero kind of likes the idea, all the same.