Sleep eluded him and blue eyes stared at the ceiling tracing every crack and mar in the plaster. Truthfully though he didn't mind, for warmth caressed his bare skin and limbs entwined with his. He detested the cold and with the bed covers long since discarded he was grateful for the arms that encircled his chest, the head nestled into his neck, and strong legs that draped across his hips. Hot breath touched his side every few moments; lingering in warmth and just before the cool night could claim his skin again it was replaced.
He tilted his head slightly in a protective gesture to the other not that the loud-mouth needed protection, it was habit, want. Despite everything he had an insatiable need to protect his lover knowing full well he did not need it, perhaps even hated him for it. Despite all his own self-loathing he loved his brother with all that he was.
Even the anger that welled inside him when his reading was interrupted, or when a stray bullet from twin guns tore through his favorite coat, even then he loved him. Pain lashed through his psyche as memories surfaced. They had fought bitterly each one pressing to see the others demise and yet beyond that it was more. As children they had been close, had been each other's first kiss, first everything. Time had driven a wedge between then and while he had embraced his demon with open arms, his kin had not.
Even now joined once again there were moments he wanted to strangle the life from his brother for being so human. Fire and Ice, meant to be, he supposed aware so painfully of the fact that he would never lay with another, and would only slip back to madness if he lost his twin. They were committed to one another through blood and semen, love and hatred. Only the twin could sate the needs of the other matching in strength and wit. Even sex was a struggle, though fueled by violent passion and an itch within their marrow that only the other could scratch.
Scratch. A sly smile caressed his lips as fingertips trailed across the back of his kin who still slumbered away peacefully. The gouges left upon his back no more then raised skin and by sunrise all traces would be gone. It was a shame to heal so quickly, more than once he'd wanted to have their acquaintances see just what kinda of hold they had on one another.
Closing his eyes he could see the look upon the she-demons face along with her human counterpart with the mismatched eyes as Dante sauntered downstairs wearing only his pants. It was customary for the red devil to be asleep when they came calling and he probably did like the attention he received due to his lack of clothing. But what if he didn't heal, what if they could plainly see the marks?
Their eyes would widen in stunned silence as blood dripped off the chiseled torso and slipped between the definition of hard abs. Tears in flesh done by claws and bruises along his hips, his arms, his back. Dark marks across his neck and collar would attest to his pleasure points that he abused so easily to pull forth such delicious sounds from his brother. They would see that their indestructible half-demon was indeed vulnerable to one man. Ah but alas their healing powers were also a blessing for as much as it fed his egotism to blatantly claim his twin, he reveled in the subtly that only he could see.
A limp from a rough night, easing himself into his desk chair, or taking an extra second longer to throw on that red coat he loved so much. Telltale signs that he could do that, was allowed, nay encouraged.
At first he had tried to be gentle, and on occasion still was, but both he and Dante had grown tired of the notion neither feeling fulfilled despite being entwined. Brash words flew from his twins mouth and had caught him off guard, had added fuel to the fire he'd tried to smother. That night he would never forget.
Dante knew how to push his buttons and even though he tried to quell his need in favor of what he assumed the other wanted it licked at his insides. Anger grew within and though he knew it might end with this last coupling he took his brother with a fury that was fueled by years of suffering. Being ripped from the mortal world, forced into demonic slavery and tortured under Mundus' control, having to clash with the only one he loved. It poured out of him in claws and quick snap of hips. He didn't even remember triggering but he could see the bruising form under his talons and watch the body of his twin writhe in pain. And pleasure.
In truth he had always longed to be set free, to rut as hard as he wanted, as hard as he could. Even his own hands were rough with his flesh abusing the rigid member whenever lust got too intense. He had not wanted to hurt Dante though. But this was a Son of Sparda too, only minutes his younger and he could take it. Indeed in those moments he wanted it. Even in sex they fought.