AN: I've never played neither Baten Kaitos nor Devil May Cry, but I'll do my best to keep Kai-chan's favorite crack pairing in character. This is my first time writing a crossover, and I doubt I would do that again, so don't ever ask me to write something like that. Kai is a friend whom I've known for years, so I'm making an exception. The pairing is not listed in my profile and will probably never be, so don't ask for it. If we get to befriend each other in the future, and remain in contact for more than three years, then I may consider writing something that's not from my already set list of pairings.

Kai-chan, I hope you'll enjoy the story! ^^

Genre: Romance/Angst

Type: One shot; yaoi

Rating: M

Pairing: Vergil (DMC) x Sagi (Baten Kaitos)

Warnings: Mature content, man-on-man action, a bit of a plot; this is a rather contemplative piece.

And, finally, disclaimer: I do not own neither these games nor the characters from them, only this story. Now, finally, after this long note, let's move on to the story! Please R&R after reading it.

Quietly

They'd known each other for quite some time now. Under what circumstances they'd met, they'd rather not say. Vergil liked silence, so Sagi would always do his best to provide it for him. Vergil hated explanations, long stories, anything that had to do with talking, so Sagi never said much, that is, never said more than it was necessary.

Vergil was a tall, robust individual, with his short silver hair swept back (anything that could make him look different from his much despised twin brother, Dante), cold eyes, and symmetrical features. He wore a long blue coat that, naturally, suited him perfectly and made him an epitome of elegance. For his elegance, beside the coat, the 'culprit' was his build. Besides this classy coat, he wore very tight pants and knee-length boots, which, combined together, by nature, revealed rather than concealed his strong, agile, long legs. Beautiful in his strength and garments, he was anything but effeminate. He was beautiful, possessing that kind of delicate beauty, but nevertheless manly.

On the other side was Sagi: shorter than him, not to mention much younger. Vergil possessed wisdom Sagi could only hope he would receive in, perhaps, forty years, if he was lucky. He could never stand with him on equal grounds, partly because he was still so young, and partly because he wasn't of the same mix as Vergil. The youth was just a byproduct of a cruel experiment.

When Vergil had first seen him, Sagi had some funny clothes that made him look stout and not very attractive. As the time passed, the youth, unconsciously, in his desire to look up to the man, changed his dressing style as well. Now he wore long black coats and pants similar to Vergil's. His new garments revealed his strong, slender form of a warrior. Even though he was short, his muscles were finely developed and in proportion with his height.

Sagi had an unusual hair color, much as Vergil himself, or Dante, for that matter. They were comparatively young, but had white hair, whereas Sagi sported short hair of turquoise color. It was popular in those days, and very natural, for all the warriors to dye not only their hair in unusual colors, but their faces and bodies as well. Sagi never dyed his hair. As the proof, there were his eyes, of the same color as the hair. So the boy wasn't dull in entirety. His exotic colors made him interesting, as well as his skills as a warrior.

His countenance revealed he was a friendly creature, stupid in his innocence. But what he had actually been through, what his thoughts were when he found refuge in a couple of hours of solitude, not even Vergil knew.

The half-demon had debated, at first, whether he should take him in, presuming that he'd probably be a hindrance in the days to come. Having seen his ability to kill, however, had made him believe Sagi was a perfect comrade in his search of ultimate power. They would grow together in their strength; the demon would retrieve the powers of his father, something that by nature belonged to him, since Dante didn't want any (he would give Dante his human half, and take Dante's demonic half in return, if he could), and make the boy his disciple. It had been a simple plan, indeed, and it worked for a long time.

Sharing their silence as they would share their meal, they lived their day-to-day life. Sagi liked to ponder on things about his master he never dared to ask, while he was sitting by the fire and poking it with a stick. Nights could be terrifyingly cold, and the fire couldn't keep them warm enough, so the thoughts were the only distraction. He was aware of the sadness his master carried inside. There was not much of it, but it was still present; he was lamenting the past, the time when power didn't matter whatsoever, and where his younger twin brother and he shared a deep respect and love for one another.

Everything was absolutely irrevocable now, because Vergil had set his priorities. He craved that power; or, simply put, his interests differed from his brother's; the siblings had been driven apart by both fate and their preferences. In what degree Sagi could relate to that, he himself didn't know, but the fact that he could drive some conclusions about Vergil was a comforting thought.

On the silver haired man's part, everything that concerned Sagi wasn't something for him to know. Except for the fact that, sometimes, the boy would suffer great pain, which would surge throughout his body, often unexpectedly, at any time of the day, and that was when he had to show his concern for his disciple.

Sagi wouldn't show up in other places when such seizures occurred; he would always stay where he was, gripping the sleeve of his master, who was holding his tongue with his gloved fingers in order for him not to swallow or bite it, and holding his head with his other hand so that he wouldn't bang it against the ground. The seizure resembled an epileptic one, but it wasn't it. It was just an intense pain followed by the blackouts, probably some psychosomatic disorder that remained there, after everything he'd experienced with his space/time travel and other things he never made known to Vergil. It was beautiful, verging on poetic, the care and rawness of the act on Vergil's part, the way he never left him alone in moments like these. It made the pain almost desirable, to the youth.

Set into a comfortable routine, Vergil trained him, mercilessly, yet tactfully, watching him grow into a beautiful adult. Sagi's features sharpened, his eyes brightened, his hair grew longer. The boy was almost as tall as him now. In a way, Vergil was proud of his creation, yet the young man still wasn't a fully developed warrior. He needed more experience, especially when it came to taking away others' lives.

That particular day was chilly and overcast, as they practiced on some cliff. No trees, only bare hills all around them; the clouds colored them gray. There was no wind, luckily. Sagi's lips were parched because of relentless cold, and he licked them, preparing himself to attack his master. The only bright thing that day was his hair, which was stubbornly sticking to his mouth and nose, for he moved fast.

He made last preparations and rushed toward Vergil, a sword in his hand. His body convulsed, cold sweat emerged from the pores on his forehead, and he stopped in his tracks. His big eyes widened and he fell to his knees, dropping his sword. The pain surged throughout his body, every part of it burned; muscles went into a spasm strong enough to make them snap (or such was the impression). He firmly shut his eyes, gripped his hair in despair, because of the migraine forming there. Not even once did he even grunt He was afraid, however. The seizure was the longest one in years.

His eyes didn't want to see that disdainful look Vergil would always send in his direction, even though he helped him every time. This time, the pain was of a different kind, so Vergil's assistance wasn't needed. His pseudo-epileptic seizure had been long gone. His tongue and head weren't in danger. It was the intensity of pain, nothing else. So his master stood there, with his eyes cold and unforgiving, and, beyond all doubt, disappointed, but nobody could be sure.

Sagi was rolling in the dust, wrapping his arms around his middle, gasping for air. His belly hurt terribly and he wasn't able to breathe. His lungs burned. His eyes burned. His heartbeats were irregular. His head threatened to explode. Arms and legs, fingers and toes, his teeth, nose, ears, were in pain. His spine was splitting in half. This time, he knew, Vergil wouldn't help. When he gathered the strength to open his eyes, he saw that Vergil was leaving.

The man had his reasons, Sagi knew. That was the only thing that prevented him from becoming what his master wanted him to be. Because like this, he was an embodiment of weakness. Bile was rising and, like acid, was burning his palate.

But Vergil hadn't left. He'd just waited for the seizure to be over. He was sitting by the fire, watching his young disciple crawl to his side, his clothes ragged. The night was falling. It was still very cold. Sagi didn't touch his supper. Instead, he just collapsed and fell into a deep sleep.

A strong arm wrapped around him; the hand crawled under his shirt, massaging the aching muscles of the youth's belly gently, in circular motions. Another hand served as a pillow for the smooth cheek. Next to his ear, had he been awake, he could have heard the even breathing of the sleeping man next to him.

When he woke up, the dull pain in his head was still present, his body too exhausted to move, his mind barely capable of any kind of coherent thought. It was freezing, and the fire was long extinguished. He felt a hand on his belly moving slightly, tiredly, in circular motions. How many hours had it passed?

"Two days" a voice whispered. Surprised, Sagi winced, placing his hand on top of Vergil's.

The man had his goal set, he was adamant when it came to it. He was strong and ruthless, almost in entirety emotionless, and had a healthy sex drive. Toward women, most probably. He never showed pity. He was standing on his two feet and needed no one. A man who stood behind his actions and words.

The fingers never stopped massaging. Vergil had no particular feelings for the boy. He had yet to be shaped into something that actually had a purpose and meaning. He was a young adult now, but something wasn't there for him to be worthy of the demon's attention. He was just a mere disciple. Just a bit more than a mere human. Just barely worthy of anything.

Yet the fingers made a few more circles. "Two days" Vergil repeated. "Warriors sleep less than two minutes, if necessary" his voice was reprimanding, lips pressed lightly against Sagi's ear. His palm was warm and soothing.

"I apologize" Sagi said quietly. He knew his apology meant nothing to his master. "But I can't help it, you know." His voice was faltering. "It paralyzes me"

Vergil could understand that Sagi still had a child spirit to him. He didn't know how he'd spent his childhood, but he had surely had less happy memories than he and Dante. Or so were his presumptions. He was aware of him being cold to the young man, but never found anything strange with that. He got up, never offering a hand to his disciple.

"Come on, we're leaving the camp" He said.

Several months later, the seizure happened while he was in a red light district with Vergil. The older was waiting for him to be done with his prostitute, so they could move on. From time to time, they would visit such places in search of sexual relief. Their trips were extremely exhausting, and could last for months, so they, naturally, never missed any opportunity to sleep with a woman when available.

This time, however, Vergil wasn't particularly interested, so he waited in the lobby for him to be finished. Sometimes solitude was all that he needed, not a warm body of a human. He was watching as other clients, with beautiful, naughty women, were sprawled all over the place, on various sofas, armchairs, divans covered in purple velvet and silk. They were waiting for the rooms to be empty so they could have an actual thing. In the meantime, fellatios and lap dances were a suitable substitute. Like some kind of an aperitif before the main course.

He heard the door slam upstairs, and then loud steps; it sounded almost like running. Sagi's girl quietly asked a servant to bring her some water and painkillers. He heard her clearly; her client had a terrible headache.

Seeing as how Sagi wouldn't be able to do anything in that condition, and not wanting others to see him in that state, he approached the prostitute and paid extra money to be alone with him. "We've tried with painkillers. It doesn't work." He said.

Sagi's breathing was shallow and discontinued. His hands didn't know where to go first. Everything hurt terribly. Perhaps he was sick for real. Perhaps his mind had nothing to do with it. Vergil locked the door and fixed his eyes on him. The boy was curled up in a ball, half naked, and painfully aroused.

Slowly, he approached the bed, without any reaction on his face whatsoever. The corners of Sagi's eyes were full of tears, his long hair falling into his face. The face of an adult male, tortured by something nobody could take away from him. He looked desolate. For the first time, Vergil thought that the youth, who was full of life, was suffocating in his presence. That he, the almighty, was killing his happiness. Yet he didn't feel indebted to him nor felt guilty. Things simply were as they were.

With a slight yank, he removed arms from Sagi's face, making him lie on his back. He sighed. The pain was increasing with his every move, and straightening like that made things worse for his belly.

Vergil's fingers slowly started massaging part by part of his body; his legs, arms, belly, chest, throat, ending up on his temples. The warm air from his mouth was touching Sagi's face in a reassuring way, but he couldn't relax. He was aroused and in pain, and couldn't bear it fully conscious.

In his clouded mind, he could hear the belt unbuckling; his legs took an awkward position, and the pain surged up his back. But he was used to it by now. The constant pain…Someone took his arms and pinned them above his head; mouth crashed against his. Before he could even register, Vergil's tongue was shoved deep inside his throat, remaining motionless there. The deepest kiss he got, without a motion whatsoever.

Vergil's eyes were tightly shut, as he slowly thrust forward and backward, in a steady motion, his pants around his knees. He hadn't planned this, but thought it would be a great way of distracting the boy. He would soon forget the horrible state he was in, thinking only about how the man who was coldest to him, who showed no interest at all, was inside of him.

And, indeed, Sagi felt as if his mind had been out of his body. He felt light for some reason, out of this world, privileged. Vergil held him gently yet strongly in his embrace, adding more pain to his already horrible state, yet the organ inside of him felt soothing in a way. It was a way of caressing the insides of his body and his soul, like stroking the head of a child who was incessantly crying.

It was an awkward way of dealing with the problem at hand, and both of them found it unnecessary. Sagi wondered why, and Vergil thought that any kind of support he provided for his disciple was because he deserved it. After all, he hadn't let a cry escape his lungs even once, whenever he found himself paralyzed by that unbearable pain. That was his way of proving he was brave.

Sweat was forming on Sagi's pale body, which meant the seizure would be over soon. Now he could feel his member pulse and ache in anticipation, and knew he was close to his release. Vergil opened his eyes, breaking the kiss, and was looking at him with his look of steel. As if he wanted to say 'you will be okay, kid'. As if he accepted that part of him, the part that was weak. Because, after all, Sagi was a rare animal. An exotic one. Not quite human. Not quite weak.

He could feel slight trembles coming from his master's body. He was close to his release, judging, as well, by the frequency and force of his thrusts, his erratic breathing, his teeth dug deep into the side of Sagi's neck. Arms that were released from an iron grip found their way to Vergil's silver locks, driving him closer. They were numb and fatigued. And soon, the man came into him, violently. Sagi came shortly after, ribbons of white semen spurting over their flat bellies.

The seizure completely stopped half an hour later. Wordlessly, they got dressed and left the room adorned in dim orange light. Sagi walked slowly, weak in his knees. Hours would pass before he gained his strength again. Even though he was still dumbfounded about what had just happened, he was happy. He was happy because he knew Vergil wouldn't abandon him, and because there was a possibility of him extending a hand of friendship. He didn't know if they would make love under those awkward circumstances again. Or make love at all. But, was that important now? Quietly, but surely, Vergil was showing him his version of kindness.

The End