V was peculiar, askew, off.
His body was a strange vessel to him, an unholy skeleton of a temple that was adorned with a myriad of black gothic spirals. His flesh was spindly and weak, as he possessed a build that was unexceptional and not at all something to covet, but it was all in one sturdy piece. (And for that he was most thankful)
He still had the memories of another, a far superior being, but they were not V's memories. Those recollections that hacked their way through the bleak wilderness of his skull were not actions that he had performed, virulent words he had hissed, or unforgivable atrocities that he had committed.
Still, the dark blood stained his hands all the same.
But V knew better than to lay down in defeat and trouble himself over passed regrets, to pull at his hair and shed worthless tears over the trail of bodies left behind and the countless lives that had crumbled down into ruin like pillars of salt. As selfish as it was, he was free now, his body healed and restored.
He did not have to worry about any of that anymore.
A…A is for aftermath.
V's life was his own now, and he would do with it as he pleased. For the time being at least, he did not wish to exert himself anymore than he had to. V cat-napped and rested whenever the urge to sleep pulled at his eyelids, and ate whatever his stomach either craved or was presented with without complaint. He peeled apart bright sweet-smelling oranges and split the slices evenly with Griffon. (If only for the wonderful but brief silence that followed) Tossed Shadow small chunks of sausage and pepperoni from his slice of pizza, and then the crust when he was done with it, every single morsel gulped down by his Familiar's grateful mouth.
He fought with renewed vigor, delivered devastating blows at his leisure, sometimes ordering his beloved pets to wait until the demon regained its wits and staggered back up, only to have them knock it down again. He would laugh and whistle and dance in victory, as the once delicate swan-neck of his life was no longer being strangled by the unfeeling hands of time. His clock was his own now, time was his essence, and the grains would fall only after he had given them permission to do so.
Vergil, his other half, had neglected himself for so long. V recalls faint memories of both want and need being tossed aside in favor of what turned out to be an ultimately fruitless pursuit. A never-ending quest for power that had led half of his soul down, down, down into that lonely place named nowhere.
But now, now he was free to explore and breathe life back into those urges that had been mummified and buried deep in the underground catacomb of his psyche. For V wished to indulge them, to entertain and beguile those desires back out into the light with the kind of love that was greedy, selfish, and long overdue.
For V was a devil hunter, a book keeper, and a born-again pleasure seeker.
V could not tell what emotion was making him do this, still feeling the need to get acquainted with his own heart again as if they had been estranged. Just what sort of sentiment was it, what was its name? Would it answer to him were he to call out to it? All V knew was that it was faceless, something voiceless and limbless that floated aimlessly in the purgatory that lay in between adoration and abuse, in between kindness and malice.
Perhaps they were scraps, left behind by a man who threw away his humanity. A man who, after all these years, was still sought out and needed by his younger brother.
Dante, who was originally so dismissive and nearly scornful towards V, changed his behavior completely once he learned of V's true roots. He became apologetic and guilt-ridden, unable to even meet V's eyes when he said sorry that first time. And whenever V recalls it he can't help but smile at the image of Dante's downcast head, thick dirty fingers scratching and pulling at the hairs on his rugged chin, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he waited for a response.
V accepted the apology with a small nod and grin that would have been considered curt if done by anyone else. But Dante did not see it as such; and instead viewed it as a blessing, as his eyes smiled and then his mouth followed before he moved and scooped V up into his arms without another thought.
That embrace was an unspoken truce, an armistice, and one not speckled with reluctance or the spoiled sweetness of false promises. Dante would not fight him anymore, as V could not stand up to him. It was seen as a welcomed necessity due to their unique circumstances, the unlikely ending to their once eternal sibling rivalry.
And not unexpectedly, it made their interest in each other very…fascinating.
Together in the van, V undressed with very little effort, making things painful and slow for the fixed stare of his watcher. He undid the lacing of his coat and let it fall from his shoulders onto the floor. He slipped out of his sandals and pushed his pants down his legs, gingerly stepping out of them. From where Dante is sitting on the couch, his well-read issue of Slap & Tickle forgotten beside him, V could see that his hands were shaking in his lap.
It has been quite the learning experience for V. Finding out how humanity (which he had been convinced was so bland) cannot protect you from depravity. He was silent as he glanced briefly over at Nero; who would not look at him, petrified and sweating in his passenger's seat like a disciplined child who had just been told to wait until his father got home.
How cute, an unbaptized bastard playing the role of an innocent and unassuming creature, knowing very well that once V was through with Dante, he was next.
Denuded, V made his way over and sat down into Dante's lap, looking into those murky blue eyes as he slid his fingers through that long gunmetal gray hair, enjoying the length and startling softness of it. He did nothing to hide his distended delight as Dante leaned into his touch, just like the battered old dog that licks the hand that beats it out of a hateful kind of love.
"Don't move, Dante. Be good." V whispered.
Dante did as he was told, obedient and loving; as well as a surprisingly good listener. He willed himself to stillness, inflexible, his muscles like warm marble under V's grasp; doing nothing as his pants were opened and pushed down his hips. V always liked how Dante made no verbal complaint to his instructions, sighing as he turned away from him, and adjusted his body so that he was perched against Dante's bare skin, feeling him twinge in anticipation.
Licking his lips, V worked the head of his member inside of him, slowly; very, very slowly. He grinned as he listened to Dante's breath growing rougher by the moment, keeping his eyes forward as his own mouth panted open in rough little sighs.
He moved his hips gently in persuasion to force the rest of him in, letting out a shuddering breath of air once Dante's girth was fully enveloped inside of him. The groan that V let out was whorish, disgusting in how sweltering with want it was.
(No, no, no, it isn't disgusting. It's human. It's perfect)
He would not let his body be dirtied by the intrusive thoughts of another.
V's hands found Dante's knees to steady himself as he moved his hips to find a reasonable pace that Dante tolerated and V relished. He let his head fall forward with a trembling exhale, his black hair descending down to his mouth where he sucked on a few stray strands. Sweat was beginning to gather on his naked skin, making his movements sound slicker and wetter and more desperate than they already were.
V's fingers clawed into the fabric of Dante's pants, shaking and trembling as he continued to fuck himself on that rigid muscle. The pleasure that he was feeling, building up heavy and sweet so deep inside of him, was nearly making him delirious. V's one hand left Dante's knee and found his own lips, biting at his knuckles and not knowing whether it was to silence his shrill breathing or to make sure that all of this was real.
His eyes rolled like a pair of tossed jade stones and then closed. His breath hitched higher and higher, his toes twitching, his thighs shaking and trembling like dead leaves about to be torn from their branches.
V came, having stirred himself to completion. A small mess of white cum on his stomach, shiny and sticky and new. He couldn't think, he couldn't move anymore, his hand still locked as he had left it, one in his mouth and the other still holding onto Dante as if it would cost him his life to let go.
There was a pause, a not quite uneasy quiet that V began to feel once the high from his orgasm began to wilt. He realized that Dante was still silent, still breathing, and still very hard inside of him.
B is for burden.
"I'll…I'll leave that beast to you." V licked his lips with a mean spirited tenderness as he pushed himself up off of Dante's lap, wiping the stain from his stomach with the hem of Dante's coat, the shape of it raising up obscure images of a diffident red dress that didn't seem to mean anything important at all.
"C'mon, V. You're just gonna leave me hanging like this?" Dante gasped out, his tone playfully indignant, his face relaxed and boyishly impish. Gesturing to his immodest problem as if it were a minor inconvenience that V had promised to fix long before had they started.
"Oh don't fret. I'm sure those women in your reading material are more than happy to assist you," V's arm gave a weary flourish towards the magazine that lay on the couch cushions before glancing over at Nero.
Knowing his other half much better than he knew himself, V hypothesized that Nero's mother had to be someone well-bred and high-class, the daughter of a family of incredible importance in Fortuna. Someone who carried herself like a queen, and was always admired from afar. Someone who was meant to be protected and never seduced. She had to look, act, and smell a certain way before Vergil would even consider acknowledging that she was even alive.
V thought about Vergil, actually being moved enough to copulate with her, to lie on top of her and give her a piece of himself to keep for a little while before she would have no choice but bleed and scream and have her body ripped apart in order to give it back.
Though this was nothing more than a hypothesis, an educated guess; he really can't remember anything at all about Nero's conception.
The boy that he was walking undressed towards was not his son.
C is for cachaemia.
V nearly simpered at the thought as he rolled his painted shoulders back and casually slid one long leg across Nero's lap, settling down against him, poised and gleaming with perspiration; still panting lightly after his waltz with the Midnight Cowboy.
"Uh…hi." Nero mumbled as he rubbed his nose, an odd yet fitting gesture of discomfort.
"Hello," V smiled at him, taking a moment to push his hair out of his face, slicking it back. He paid no mind to the obvious tension peeking out of Nero's unzipped trousers; large and dripping, as he would soothe it very soon. "Is that for your pleasure or for mine?" His gaze glided over towards the white silicone appendage clutched in Nero's hand, who looked as if he were getting ready to slip it over his arm. V tilted his head lazily to the side as he stared at the contraption, reaching out to squeeze and feel the soft silicone fingers, keeping his expression set to that of a scientist's neutral curiosity.
He found Nero's lack of authentic experience and overabundance of caution made obvious by the need for this glorified safety glove. But it was for V's own sake, as his skin did wound and bruise little too easily for Nero's tender-hearted comfort. Still, it took everything within V not to laugh at the thing, as he knew that even the tiniest snicker would be more than enough to drive a stake through the heart of Nero's pride.
"It's alright. You can touch me with your hands. I promise not to break so easily."
Images of shattered sticks of chalk and piles of sawdust flakes did not trouble V at all anymore.
The tips of Nero's ears rouged at the remark, and any sentence that he had been rehearsing in his head falling to pieces as V leaned in and ensnared his lips in a slow yet fervid kiss, the prosthetic clattering off to the side and onto the floor. A kiss that Nero wanted to return but was startled into motionlessness by what had just gone on moments before, right behind his very back.
No matter how many times I have done this, it always seems to come as an unforeseen surprise to the boy, V thought as he slipped his hand down into Nero's coat pocket, searching among the packets of gum for something much more important.
"Come on, don't be shy. Say ah~."
V was calm, his voice as soothing as sugar being sprinkled over the open wound of Nero's astonishment. He pressed the edge of the condom into Nero's mouth, watching through hooded eyes as those straight white teeth dutifully clenched down, unmoving as he tore the wrapper open in one single flawless movement. Nero's eyes flit over to the black condom that V held, the wrapper still dangling from his teeth, his breath making it quiver against his chin.
Oh, now there's a familiar sight.
It was that little wrinkle of skin that would pucker in the center of Vergil's brow whenever he was wandering through an endless fog of deep thoughts, or was being spoken to and quietly wished to remain undisturbed. So stern and still, his teeth pressed tightly together, as his eyes, dulled to a smoky and unreachable gray, stared off into nothing.
Nero could mimic that expression perfectly, having no idea that he could. That grim austerity, that even breathing and creased skin, all of it an unmistakable heirloom that belonged to his father.
"I would love to get to know the other you a little better some day. But I believe that can wait." V purred gently as he slipped the condom over Nero's erection; his movements precise and gentle with a fast-learners experience. Nero was still, his lips quivering as V plucked the wrapper from his mouth with dainty little movements and tucked it back into his coat pocket.
"V—" The name was crushed to death under Nero's clenched teeth when V wordlessly positioned himself and gently sunk down with hardly a gasp.
V moved his hips, his greedy inked arms wrapping around Nero's shoulders to hold him close, clutching desperately at his coat, gasping and pulling and tugging at the heavy fabric. Wanting another kiss and finding Nero's throat a suitable place to rest his lips, opening his mouth to suck and bite with his teeth.
He felt Nero tilt his head back against his chair, stupefied, acting as if his brain was far too heavy for his skull to support, weighed down and doltish. V scraped his teeth up to Nero's ear, moaning lightly as a single desperate "Fuck!" was hissed out from the younger. All teeth, all spit; viscid and lilting, like he had just been wounded.
V heard a low subhuman groan and knew by the crudity of the sound that Dante was pleasuring himself, bearing his burden just as V had told him to do.
"Touch me," V breathed out, reaching blindly for Nero's hand, taking hold of his wrist, brazenly clutching at him so hard that they both were shaking. "Just touch me, touch me, please."
He gasped as he felt a smooth hand enclose around him, stroking him in time with their movements. V knows that that particular part of his own anatomy was nothing to envy; and that even when it's filled with blood, Nero could easily hide its entirety in the palm of his revitalized hand. He leaned in and gently kissed Nero's forehead, his lips puckered and eyes closed; seeing the blue light of the severed Devil Bringer flaming behind his eyes.
He felt weak and was growing weaker by the moment. It had frightened him at first, the vulnerability that came with being with Nero. But now he thought of it as wondrous, how he was reduced to infantile whimpering as he climaxed into the younger's tight fist; who seemed to join him in bliss not long after.
V watched as Nero squirmed, knowing that his toes were scratching at the inside of his boots. The younger's reinvigorated fingers finding their way to his mouth, sucking hard; as if his fingers had been pricked by a sewing needle.
V kissed him as soon as he pulled his fingers away, and it was the kind of kiss that nourished V's mouth and stomach and made him feel like he would never need to eat again. It was fulfilling, more than sating, and it kept his eyes closed for so long that he actually felt sleepy when he decided that enough was enough and pulled away.
Looking at him and blinking sluggishly, V noticed that Nero's eyes were off-focus, glancing about hither and thither like someone under hypnosis waiting for the freedom that comes with a single finger-snap. "Damn it, V…" He groaned, licking a bit of cum from the corner of his mouth, his face unreadable with thought as he moved his jaw, perhaps wondering if it tasted the same as his father's.
D is for…delectable.
V pushed himself off of Nero, his limbs feeling gelatinous as he swayed passed Dante, the scent of the both of them wrapping around his body like an animal's fur, holding him together like as well as skin and bones and blood.
"Shit!" He heard Nero hiss, the subsequent sound of a condom being removed and pants zipping telling him that the women were making their return to the van. But that didn't bother him at all.
V dressed with an impractical slowness, stepping into his pants and shimmying them up his legs, his chains rattling as he fixed the notches of his belt, adjusting the buckle just so.
"Please, hurry up. Please, V? Please?" Nero's voice was practically a whine, which only filled V with a lazy wickedness as he bent over to pick up his coat, brushing a bit of imaginary dust from its collar, the female voices growing closer and closer.
Finding his garment fit to wear again, V leaned against the counter and methodically undid the lacing. He tilted his head, his tongue poking out from in between his teeth as he slid the string out of each eyelet, something that he would normally avoid to do were it not for his after-sex serenity.
No amount of desperate 'pleases' or 'hurry's could quicken his movement or hasten his hands. V slipped his arms through the coat and straightened it over his slender torso, smoothing the unwrinkled leather down over his body.
He ignored Dante's soft laughter and Nero's frenzied worrying, instead focusing on redoing the lacing. His fingers shaking a bit as he worked the string into the first eyelet and then the next...
He can see why his other half would avoid something so pleasurable. Sex made him lethargic, as the pleasure that he gave and received drained any and all motivation from his body. All human fear and worldly care had been expelled in a few drops of white, like some salacious exorcism. Both the brain and the mind left drugged and floating in a soft and gentle place that shimmered like liquid mercury. At that moment, V could be threatened to have his throat slit, and he would have been all too happy to bare his neck to the blade.
He worked the string through the loops easily, it was not as intricate as it seemed, made simple enough due to muscle memorization, his hands working without him, putting everything in its rightful place. The artiste and the nimrod mere moments away.
"Now now, that wasn't so terrible, now was it? We have all the time in the world." V grinned gently as the door at his side opened.
E… E is for epoch.