He comes in the night

A.N.:This story is set after DMC1. There will be four parts (already written, may need some editing). Three weekly updates to come.

I don't own Vergil. He doesn't own me. But apparently he owns my OC. He showed me his extreme displeasure when I said she was mine.

Part1

The wet miserable day had turned into a cold miserable evening. I was home late from work. An accident caused by bad weather and worse driving had left me stuck in the tailback and had delayed my escape from the noise and fumes of the city by an hour. It was dark by the time I got home. I hung my coat and scarf on the coat stand, changed my boots for comfy slippers and went into the kitchen. As usual the heating had come on half an hour before my earliest due time. Because of the delay the living room and kitchen had had time to become toasty warm. Only in the entrance hall did the damp chill still linger.

A nice warming stew had been simmering in the slow cooker. Just the right thing to have on a day like this. After dinner I washed the dishes and lit the open fire. While that got going I did a bit more of the translation I had brought home to finish in the weekend. The old clock chimed nine when I finally sat down with a cup of cacao and a good book.

I was in the middle of a tense chapter when the doorbell rang. I decided to ignore it. Whoever was out there would have to come back in the morning. I had no intention to move. But my unexpected guest didn't want to be ignored. The doorbell rang again, insistently, as if the idiot at the door was leaning on it. I got up determined to tell him to sod off.

In the hallway the shrill ringing of the bell was even more annoying. Then I heard the banging on the door and I knew who was out there. For a moment I hesitated, thinking this time I would not let him in. Just for a moment.

I knew all too well that if I didn't open the door he would just break it down, step over the broken pieces, and say, "Woman, I could smell your presence. Did you think a piece of wood would stop me from taking what is mine?"

I opened the door and he came in, just far enough to stop me from closing it again.

"You were going to leave me standing in the rain."

"Hi, Vergil. Come in so I can close the frigging door. It's too cold to leave it open."

"And yet you wanted to leave me in the cold. It took you several minutes before you opened the door."

"I was sitting comfortably. It took me a while to get up and find my slippers. I'm not actually in the habit of bivouacking in the hallway on the off chance that you will honour me with a visit. You're too irregular a visitor for that."

He stopped my tirade with a kiss. His lips were cold and wet

He held my head with one hand, and kissed me, hard, forcing my mouth open, tasting me. Rain dripped from his hair onto my face and down my throat. I shivered. His other hand went into my blouse, buttons popping as he pulled it off me. He caressed my body with his cold, damp hand. The rain on his coat seeped through the remnants of my blouse and bra. I shivered and blamed the cold. A moan escaped me and I knew it was desire.

He pulled away from me, looked at me with cold eyes.

"Foolish woman. Don't make me wait outside again."

He walked towards the living room, dripping water on the way. Shivering I closed and locked the door and followed him.

He'd taken off his coat and hung it on one of the high-backed chairs. His boots stood next to it. The man himself was sitting in the sofa, in my spot, looking at the book I'd been reading.

"Your taste in literature is still deplorable," he said, tossing the book on the coffee table.

The bookmark flew out and I swallowed a curse.

"What should I read then? The Demonic Tales of 1001 Nights? The Devil's Kama Sutra?"

In the blink of an eye he stood next to me. The speed of his movements still surprised me, even after all this time. Before I knew what had happened he held my wrists in one hand behind my back, scraped the nails of his other hand gently over my exposed upper body, and trailed with the tip of his tongue from my brow to my ear.

"I could instruct you in the best of the latter," he whispered.

His voice sounded deeper than normal, rumbling through my body. His eyes flickered, and I knew he was about to trigger.

"Are you hungry? I've got some stew in the kitchen," I said, trying to destroy the moment.

I failed. He laughed with that strange laugh of his, mirthless, cold, barely touching his mouth, never reaching his eyes.

"You look more appetising than any food could do. Don't try to waste time when we both know what we really want. You even more than I," he said.

There was danger in his voice, danger in his eyes, danger in his hands that roamed my body, knew too well how to arouse me, and made me forget everything except one thing.

"Take me, Vergil, take me. Give me what I need. Please."

"Only when you say the magic words. Say it!" he ordered, and I obeyed.

"I'm yours, Vergil, I'm yours. I'm your possession to do with as you please."

And he did as he pleased, in front of the open fire, without tenderness, just to fulfil his devilish need and my all too human one. When he was satisfied he got up, leaving me naked, used, humiliated, and on a deep dark level more completely contented than the sweetest lovemaking with any other man could ever have achieved.

I closed my eyes and tried to take hold of the satisfaction to fill my whole being with it, past the humiliation of being treated as an object, past the anger I felt because I let him use me like this.

I heard Vergil return and sit down on the sofa. I knew he had poured a glass of the expensive whiskey that I kept just for him. He usually did.

"Your attempt at seduction is futile. I am no longer interested. Cover yourself."

It was a rude awakening from the dreamlike state of contentment I had just managed to attain.

"You bastard," I said, grabbing the last remnants of dignity I possessed.

"I can assure you I am not. Sparda and Eva were joined in several ceremonies: human, devil, and demon ones. She wanted to be sure about their union before allowing him to touch her. You on the other hand …"

He didn't have to finish his sentence. He wouldn't have been able to. I picked up a cushion from the sofa and threw it at him with perfect accuracy. I hit the glass as he was raising it, and I smiled when the whiskey went over his clothes instead of in his mouth. I walked past him, ignoring the growl and the dangerous light in his eyes.

I had feared him – and in a way I still did – but one day I had reached a level of fear that could not be maintained. His merest movement, the merest word he had spoken had sent my heart beating so fast that I thought it would jump out of my chest. I could have died of fright. That's when self-preservation had kicked in. I had gone past the fear-threshold and had accepted the danger he presented. I had stopped being a shivering wreck and had become myself again.

He grabbed my arm as I went by and pulled me round to face him.

"Don't you ever dare do that again," he said, still with the deep growl to his voice.

"Don't you ever call me a whore again," I retaliated.

"But you are a whore. I don't recall that we shared vows in front of witnesses."

"No, we didn't, but you know full well that no other man has touched me since I became yours. So don't insinuate I can be had by anyone."

"You could have stopped me the first time. Who knows, I might have respected you for it. Perhaps I would have made you my wife and mate, as Sparda did with Eva."

"Don't make me laugh. You're not the marrying kind; you're the using kind."

His grip on my arm had slackened. I pulled it free and left him to put some clothes on. I wished I could get rid of him; I wished I could resist him; I wished I had never met him. But it had been my fate to become his plaything when I had taken him into my home.

ooOOoo