A/N: Without further adieu, I present my newest obsession. Because I like pairing Dante with random people, here's some random one-shots I started writing last night. Dante Sparda from DMC and Cole Macgrath from Infamous. I only played the 2nd game, so don't judge me. And it's gay as rainbows, so don't even start with me. It's safe for work (so far).

He decided, I think I like this guy. But that was long before they collapsed in a heap after a deadly car chase that had ruined four city blocks in the wake of a monstrous battle. Cole's chest was heaving as he caught his breath, patches of sweat making his white-and-blue shirt cling to his skin, his eyes vivid with adrenaline as he looked at the devil hunter next to him. Dante hardly seemed winded but he had caught that excitement, that thrill, and Dante thought maybe Cole decided he liked him too. They were grinning at each other like fools and Cole had slapped him on the shoulder with a shock of heat that made him rub his shoulder after thoughtfully and every night after that.

Cole had only a few years to get used to what he was. A Conduit with the power of the gods at his command. Dante had been a half-demon since the day he was born. If Dante could command any element it was fire. Adaptable, hungry, insatiable.

Cole tipped back a beer, watching the interplay of light and shadow on the clever little television set. He wasn't really watching. His head was craned aside, tight corded muscles relaxed as his legs splayed open and he put his feet up. Dante thought his shoes were nice - a neat addition to help him navigate and jump and dash, like his body truly was arcing electricity from one point to the next. Right here, right now, he saw not electric man and no Demon. He was flesh and blood and he could see it clearly in the dim light gleaming off his damp skin.

Suddenly their eyes met. Dante drank from his glass bottle, didn't break the gaze. Cole grinned a little. His voice was like sandpaper and Dante could listen to read War and Peace all night. "Can't stand this show either, huh?"

The news. Showing the pair of them facing off against an enormous boss creature easily the size of one of the buildings they were driving past. It had been harrowing - a bloody, terrorizing ordeal. But they'd come out alive and it was weeks ago but they still liked to play the same clips over and over again.

"You'd think they'd get nicer looking guys to play the heroes," Dante said, and before his fool mouth could correct itself, he added lazily, "I like the blue guy better. He's got a down-home kinda look. Approachable. Tattoos are nice." He gulped down a swallow of his drink, hard. "Not bad."

Cole squinted. Out of the corner of his eye, Dante saw the flex of his jaw as he tried to work the words around in his mind. Consider from what perspective they came from. There were tiny scars, Dante noticed, trailing all over his shaven head that showed through the short buzzed hair gleaming in the TV's lurid glow. One in particular that was nasty, right on his face. He wanted to ask about it.

"I think the guy in blue looks like some kind of escaped convict." Cole leaned back, breaking that gaze. "But, uh," he coughed, "you're entitled to your own opinion, I guess."

"Okay. I will." Dante smirked, feeling his face heating up as he sipped the remaining, disappointingly small droplet of beer. By that point, he busied himself by peering near the bottom as if he'd find the next thing to say.

Cole had adapted to the role of superhero quite well. Dante didn't always agree with his choices. And sometimes the yelling matches were ugly. But in the end, he had to concede that Cole had to make these choices himself, otherwise he would always live with this kind of self-doubt. Dante had a hard time remembering that not everyone was imbued with that kind of self-assured outlook. He knew Cole needed no guidance. He could leap from building to building. Call forth the white fire from the heavens if he wanted to. He could practically fucking fly.

He wasn't afraid of anything except his naturally occurring nemesis, water.

The man had a right to be afraid of it. Dante found this out earlier on when they'd first met. Dante hadn't quite worked out how they would start working together - the demons being the work of a Conduit who could tap into the (unfortunately) natural energies of Hell, rip open holes and let the little bastards spill forth. And only another conduit could find this conduit - because they could use the same corridors in Hell to traverse through space, escaping notice. Cole had been reluctant to let Dante work alongside him - he was better off alone, he'd snarled with a furrowed brow. "Demon hunter or not. Just stay out of my way, all right?"

The town had been flooded; a dam had broken after a strategic attack on its infrastructure. Water gushed into every street, forcing people out into their homes in make-shift and rubber rafts.

Dante forged ahead. He hadn't seen which way Cole had gone. But he had to find the major demon that had broken the dam, kill it, and make sure its lackeys were also slain before assessing any further damage. And besides, that was the government's job.

Except the demons had flooded the town too; aquatic little monstrosities with fierce, poison-tipped barbs that flicked with deadly accuracy for his limbs. They managed just fine on solid ground, too - and that's what Cole found out when one of them gripped him by his shirt and threw him headlong into the muddied eddying pool.

Dante saw the flashes of electricity from a block away. He was bounding across soggy, slick roof-tops, knowing with a sinking feeling in his gut who it was. He saw the shaven-headed man caught up in a powerful current, arcs and cracks and jagged serpents of white fire crackling all around him, and the serpentine demons knifing through the rapids to reach him before Dante had already made up his mind and thrown himself in after.

Blood turned the water dark, then frothy as slippery demonic bodies fought to push in for the kill. Poison barbed pierced his jacket and stung his flesh, turning his body against him. With sluggish, powerful sweeps of his arms he dove down, stunned by the impossibly strong volts lurching through his arm, and made for the nearest soggy shore.

He was smoking. His entire body felt numb. He felt better as he deposited Cole's unconscious body, smoking as well, and so very still and pale, onto the shore. He turned to face off with the fishy monstrosities, their impossibly jagged, long fangs already red with his and Cole's blood.

With halting breaths, Dante clamped his hands onto Agni and Rudra and pulled them forth. Fire and wind. He would roast these motherfuckers until they were nothing but charred husks steaming on the grass.

When the last of them had fallen, sectioned into sushi-sized chunks with a final breathtaking flourish, Dante thrust the blades into their sheaths in mid-fall as he sank beside the Conduit's prone form. He rolled him onto his back, just as the man spat a lungful of water and started coughing, his hand clawing blindly at Dante's sleeve.

When a clear, easy breath wasn't in between two minutes of coughing, Dante sat back with a scowl, clearly displeased and with no reason to be this angry. No reason to have felt that scared before.

Because whether or not Cole wanted it, they were working together from this point on. When Cole wiped the water from his eyes and met that chilly stubborn look with a weary, withered glance, he knew he was going to have to put up with it.

Dante pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks."

Dante felt his anger at the stubborn man dwindle. Now it was just irritation. He rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me to begin with."

Cole narrowed his eyes. Then something seemed to click into place with a painful clarity and he spent a moment to wring out his shirt. Fingers of white energy crawled up along his body.

"Only next time, let me know when you want to go for a swim." Dante watched the energy for a moment longer before he turned his back, not letting himself become too mesmerized. He was just a human. A Conduit was just a human, all the same. He could die, like any other man. "Ready to go back over there?"

"Yeah." Cole joined him near the bank. His fingers flexed convulsively, an anxious movement as he balaned on one foot, then the other, gauging the jump. Dante chanced to look; for a moment the hardened, stubborn man seemed to show his first traces of fear, eying the surface of the water and the monsters that might lay within it.

"Hey."

Cole looked at him. Naked terror danced in his eyes.

"I won't let them grab you and I won't let you fall in. Just stay close."

Cole slowly nodded. Then he leapt, his hands making its own electric propulsion as he moved and landed lightly on the nearest rooftop. Then he was sprinting, keeping a short lead as Dante followed him, toward the monster heedlessly stomping on buildings in the distance.

His fingertips were talented. They could scorch anything without him even thinking about it. But he'd had practice - practice for months, over a year. His touch could illustrate how much he liked you or how far up on his shit list you were. But for now, all Dante knew was how good they could feel.

He closed his eyes and felt them in his hair. A nasty lump on the back of his head swelled to the size of a goose egg, but when Macgrath's touch found it, he couldn't feel anything but a thrill of electricity, a humming in his bones that was almost pleasant. His eyes closed and his wounds seared closed. The pain didn't bother him. Cole almost found it disturbingly intimate, the way Dante took his powers in stride and let him touch him without a hint of fear.

Without fear. Without a wince of pain or a touch of doubt.

For about the hundredth time they looked at each other, communicating - what? - but he knew his touch felt good from the way Dante's lips curved into a half-smirk, that lazy smile that pulled one from Cole's scarred face, too.

He knew it felt good when Dante's fingers curled into small fists, as if trying to hold back. That happened so much more often. How challenging it must have been for the impulsive youth in a man's body.

Cole realized how close they'd become. Dante's hands clenched at his sides with almost white-knuckled focus and the smile had been replaced with a different look - confusion, even something close to irritation.

Why?

Cole's fingers were still tangled in his hair, his body craned forward on his knees. A gentle static hummed from his fingertips, and he pulled his hands away. In a whiplash of motion, Dante caught his right hand with his left, spreadig his fingers open and letting the touch resume, palm to open palm.

Cole let it continue. A slow drain, a pull forward.

A sharp inhale.

Cole's eyes narrowed distrustfully before he pulled back again, closing his fingers and laying his hands on his knees.

"Thanks," Dante mumbled. Almost tiredly.

Cole nodded slow, minding where and how his limbs were arranged. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted to touch Dante right this moment.

"No problem, man."