Unspeakable
Chapter 3: Trespasser
Hey everyone! Phew. When I finished my first draft it was a little more than a 1000 words, what the hell happened? Lol. You should know I ramble, and go crazy on describing feelings and thoughts even though sometimes I'm just hating to go detailed on any-bloody-thing. XD . Makes no sense, I know. Anyway thank you for all the reviews! Chrome, Lina and Cimmerian Sorceress for requesting this update, I hope I didn't take too long, and enjoy it, cuz tis for you especially, and for all you reviewers' kind words :-)
I chose the name 'Trespasser' because, well, it's kinda confusing, it has more than just the one connotation, but read on and see what I mean!
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"Am I an acquaintance of yours?"
He asked earnestly, face of the familiar impassiveness. Nevertheless, he was taken aback – there was no doubt in his mind, this was the boy in his vision…
Amazed was Dante,
"what the hell! Is that supposed to be another one of your lame, sorry attempts at humour!" Having recovered, he was grinning and shaking his head, disbelieving. What a dickhead! What was wrong with his brain! Did the psycho think pretending not to know him would make it all ok? Dante felt like his chest would rupture, something inside screaming desperately to break out. He thought that the big vein in his neck was throbbing, his fists were definitely shaking. How could he, Vergil, his own twin, how could he do this, everything?
It was puzzling, the natural infallible cool that he came to know he possessed was failing him. It had something to do with this boy. "Do I know you?" His expression darkened. He didn't know why he had to retort. He must have known him before, but he just could not remember anything, except for…
"Is that what you really want, Vergil?" A sudden loud bang was heard. Dante stood up, the stool he'd been sitting on only an instant before kicked into the bar. He laughed uncontrollably. "Really, does it make your sad little life happy?" He stared at Vergil, his smile was full of resentment, bitter, a trace of melancholy, "if you want to fuck around," his head was lowered now, white hair concealing his eyes, "if you want to play this schizo or whatever charade," a roar erupted as he threw his head back, his eyes bulging out with rage, "THEN GO BACK TO YOUR FILTHY HELL HOLE WHERE YOU BELONG WITH ALL THOSE LITTLE DEAD SHITS!"
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Dante ran outside. He thought that he heard a voice called out after him, probably Joanne's, but he wasn't sure, he couldn't care. The outburst a second ago felt somewhat satisfying. Dante realised that he must've resembled a sulking child surely, stomping to his room in a foul strop. But it was worse than that, a lot worse. It wasn't exactly like when they were kids, where Vergil would just indifferently break his toys and that was that. He couldn't just forgive and forget this time. So why the hell was he, Dante, running away?
The only thing he could hear was his boots hammering on the ground, it sounded strangely shrill to him in this turbulent silence, he wanted it so badly to shut up. His chest was heavy, no wait, it was light: light as if it had no vigour left, to drive him on, but heavy because of all the mess and muddle weighing it down; a knot of some sort, a big one at that. And it was taking a lot out of him to drag it along, to keep going and not be left frozen up like a dumb statue in that conflicting moment of when he saw Vergil. He didn't like this feeling.
Rushing to his apartment along 66 Avenue, he wasn't even aware of the drizzling of rain. The illuminance from the street lights appeared a blur of white flashes. With this hasty speed, it was not long when he reached an area that was not lit up by anything, save for a few flickering lights from broken streetlamps, sounds of the failing bulbs were heard as short, repetitive hums, this was a block away from his apartment. The ground was speckled with a few wet, dark marks. The near encompassing darkness was solace, it was soothing, this black nothingness, it made him feel somewhat better. Amidst the brief moment of stillness, unexpectedly, he felt a droplet of water against his cheek. Slowly bringing his fingertips up to feel it: he didn't want to look up to the night sky, but with the mind numb, his head moved as if out of its own volition; thin sheets of rainwater glistened, shimmering silver, as the brilliant glow of tonight's Moon illuminated them, like dashes of Mercury they looked, blissfully transfixing, and eerie. Dante sprinted the rest of the way home
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Meanwhile, back inside Bull's Eye, an annoyed but uneasy look was draped on Vergil's face as all eyes glued onto him yet again. He had to admit, the boy's reaction had stunned him. What was it that he did to make him so angry? Sad? He wanted so desperately to find out. To understand why he felt this strange familiarity. To know the reason for this warm nostalgia, yes, he wanted to ask him very much, he would ask him. That boy stood for the only relics of the forgotten memories, departed…long lost, dead; all these such sad words. Forlornness. Outside, inexplicably sad feelings were cast onto him by the morbid Moon, and still they lingered on him like a dark cloud above his head. Feeling incomplete, yearning. He needed to know, like he had needed to drink, that horrid yet blessed thirst now the avid yearning for the answers to these salient questions, and in these questions, bewildering intimacy overwhelmed him, flowing wildly and made his heart pound with anticipation. He needed him.
"Well? Aren't you gonna go after him?" Joanne's voice was full of concern. She smiled and shook her head when their eyes met. "I've never seen Dante like that. Whatever you did, you sure did it well." At that point, she looked around the bar, and then gestured with her head to the unconscious Tucker with her eyes on his friends. They quickly scurried over to him.
Clapping her hands together several times to gain everyone's attention, she shouted with a loud, clear voice, "Right, peeps, I think we've had enough excitement for tonight. But, come back tomorrow and you might get to see Tuck sporting a stylishly unrecognisable new mug."
It seemed they were all fond of her, Joanne, they respected her. There was a nice round of subdued laughter, a cacophony of noises low and high, a "go easy on him, Jo.", and a "Tucker's a lucky man." could be heard.
"Joanne, he was so incomplete until he married you. Now he's finished."
"That was low, Bruce. You ripped it off."
Most used the main door, the one that he had used to come in, but a few others, mostly men, chose another door, a wooden door with a striking pink sign above it at the other end of the saloon, he could make out what it said. As they were going out, some customers gave him a hesitant backward glance. The rest just pretended not to have seen him before, passing by him and laughing to each other cheerfully. Joanne smiled and acknowledged their words all the while they were leaving, until, slowly, all of them left. Tucker lay on one of the tables, his friends had left him there.
"What the hell are you still standing around here for!" She mocked an indignant tone and looked exasperated. "Go and sort out your little spat. Get out of my bar already!" Her laughter followed.
As if he had anywhere else to go anyway. Dante, was it? He doubted though, that Dante was going to welcome his enquiries with open arms… He was looking at her, it was almost indiscernible but the corners of his mouth rose upward into a hint of a smile. Tucker was just over there, unconscious, he felt like he should say something about Tucker, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Without warning, he then sped over to the door.
"There was this day, he said he'd lost something."
He stopped to listen.
"Haha, heck, he was like a Morrissey double. You know, the look he had when he came in tonight was one and the same. "
"..."
"Vergil, is it? You're his—"
But he was already gone.
"—twin." From near the bar, she looked to Tucker; the only sign to show that he was still alive and well was his soft breathing.
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The jets of water gushing out of his shower were immensely revitalizing, and much appreciated. Dante absentmindedly watched as rivulets on the wall streamed down, merged and formed patterns with each other on their courses, leaving wet dark trails behind. Cool liquid sprayed and trickled down his well-developed body, muscles relaxing. He didn't want to let his mind wander, but somehow these cursed showers always made him. And currently, it concerned Vergil. No matter how many times he pushed the subject of his brother out of his head, they simply just kept coming back every single time to trouble him even more. It didn't matter if he was to distract himself with other thoughts; the snake would always swallow its tail, and round and round again Vergil would always come to him in its vicious circle. He let his head drop back, muscled neck taut, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, his face met the torrential streams of water with welcome. How was it possible? Vergil was alive! He was tired of it, fed up of constantly thinking about Vergil, of these stupid emotions bugging him to no end. Warm liquid appeared from both of his closed eyes, mixed with other little streams on his face, trailing down his jaw lines and went down the drain like all the rest finally. Dante cursed. He placed his hands on the walls on either side of him, the arms were at right angles to his body; and the walls, they were hard, tingly chilliness forcing him to tense his back muscles.
Then suddenly, his head snapped back up.
Flashes.
The dream. And the thrill.
They were coming back to him in flashes.
Of sex.
Melody lagging out…
Madness, going insane.
It all flooded back.
Dante, how could you get it so wrong?
Haha, funny that…
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They were never about him.
Never about Dante.
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In his bedroom on the first floor, with a towel hung around his shoulders, Dante made quick work of closing the big window and the red thick curtains, banning the persistent moonlight from entering. He figured he couldn't be bothered with this anymore. The bed was situated next to a wall opposite the window. He just wanted to crash down on his bed; mmm, nice, soft double bed, feeling the cotton-like fabrics of the duvet and the bed envelop him, and unwind him into a dreamless, endless sleep. Somehow, though, Dante knew he wouldn't have it that easy. He tossed the towel to the far corner of his room without looking, and beside a table there, a chair's backrest caught it perfectly. He flicked the light switch off, and then there was only darkness. Satisfied, he dropped onto his bed; delicious, this sleepiness. The dream world was just a corner away.
Mild wind caused the curtains to move very slightly. In the middle of them was a wide slit, allowing a silver iridescent strip to manifest itself there, running in from the window, and in darkness, the room glowed with moonlight. The window was open. Dante's panting was heard. His duvet was kicked off; the only thing he wore was a pair of loose-fitting trousers, toned, moist chest exposed. A grave expression draped his face, cold sweat glistened. This was followed by a smirk, then a feral growl.
"Vergil!"
Vergil who had been watching arched a brow. Dante was dreaming. Just what the hell kind of relationship did he have with this boy, Dante? It was unexplainable but for some reason, he knew he could find Dante here. He had come to terms a little more with his extraordinary strengths now, and of-course, getting up here was easy work. It was still kind of creeping him out, though, these powers. Upon finding this place, he looked up at the window, simply staring up at it, and then all of a sudden, his body moved as if he had no more than weak control over it. He remembered one moment he felt like cutting through the air itself, a quick, cool rush against his body, and the next he found his feet on the window ledge, all of the force in his body he could muster in his fingertips, digging in dents on the building as he clung on for his dear life!
Trespassing, that was what he was doing. But he couldn't care.
He walked up steadily, the long azure coat gleamed even in the dim light. Standing just a few feet from Dante's bed now, he gazed down at its owner's countenance. The expressions were continually changing, the face so subtly animated, never staying still, never lifeless, shifting ever so slightly every few seconds. There was something about this boy; all the colors of his form looked somewhat dynamic, full of life. Surrounded only by a black shroud, the soft moonlight revealed Dante's sculptured, sensual body, and gave him an ethereal radiance. The young man named Vergil stood there, quietly enthralled. At that moment, the slumbering face seemed pained. He didn't know what it was, but, as if drawn in by some invisible strings, as if in a trance, he moved towards the sleeping form with no hesitation. And then, Dante's face softened.
Oh, how he was held spellbound. The very glimmer that had graced its presence inside him this was. Appeasing his barren, cold mind with no more than a fleeting radiance, it gave him a reason to endure, offering restful warmth; it gave him hope. But a mere glimmer it was no longer. Dizzying and intense, this was light itself, his light. Only moonlight illuminated Dante's sleeping form; blissfully dead to the world, drifting mindlessly somewhere faraway, the eyelids beautifully molded over his eyes, long lashes looked like dark points of stars, his glistening silver hair fallen, cascaded down and branched out onto the pillow. And indeed, he had such striking features, his complementing sharp nose and generous, skillfully shaped mouth, and magnificent bone-structure were passive, softened, as the disdain and indignation Vergil had seen earlier had dissolved completely as if they were never meant to spoil this face. This beautiful face. How he was so deeply entranced with this boy, Dante. For all he was worth, he was absorbed, completely taken in by everything about him, it was madness. And he leaned closer now; so vastly magnetizing, this quiescent form below him; over the bed, his face hovered above Dante's, a knee finding comfort on the soft material of the bed. Two hands were placed on either side of Dante's face, on the pillow, his weight resting on both of his arms.
Right now, he could care less for the foreboding that was starting to creep into his mind. He forgot all about what he wanted to ask Dante, just gazing down at this slumbering face… Longing. Missing this warmth. Was he forlorn of this? Was this what he was longing for? Dante…Dante was panting loudly now.
Without warning, his eyes snapped open, he clutched at his own chest. For a long moment, Dante just lay there, looking up at Vergil, catching up with his breath, the right hand was still lingering on his chest. Vergil was very still above him. Then, as though he'd only just realized, Dante's eyes grew wide, his lips parted as if to utter something but nothing came out.
It must've affected him, Vergil's calm stoicism, because now Dante's eyes relaxed, softly gazing into Vergil's own. Dante slowly lifted one hand up and touched Vergil's face, gently; his fingertips felt the smooth and firm skin of his brother, a sensation long forgotten. But then, the touch turned rough abruptly: Dante's expression changed; he grabbed hard at that side of Vergil's now alert face and threw it face-down on the bed, then his hand moved up to push the back of Vergil's head down as he rolled onto his side, using one of his knees to force himself upright, he straddled the back of his brother. Tensing his muscles, Dante didn't let go of the hand pushing Vergil's face down on the crumpled bed.
Dante smirked, "Hmm, I'll say a lot has happened to you, alright. Now, not only you're an official moron of the century, you've turned into a low-life burglar, too?" He bent down a little and spoke near Vergil's left ear. "I really didn't appreciate you breaking into my room, you know." Dante was now an inch away from Vergil's ear. He lowered his voice as he grazed the sensitive flesh, "Was there anything in particular that took your fancy up here?" He exerted more force into the arm holding down the rear of Vergil's head.
Despite the fact that Dante could kill him at any second and that he was at his mercy, Vergil chose to remain motionless, there was no struggling of any kind on his part.
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Verge, you're not gonna struggle?" He brought his face down so that it was nearly level with his brother's. "Ohhhh. You don't think that I have the guts to kill you. Isn't that right?" Pulling Vergil's head up by roughly yanking at a mass of silver hair above his forehead, Dante twisted his brother's face with that hand to directly look at him. Their faces were at an intimate distance. "News flash, I do. After all, YOU TRIED TO KILL ME, REMEMBER!" Dante's face was all warped with anger. Then he laughed like a maniac, "yeah, I almost forgot; you tried but then you failed," he grinned.
"I don't remember." Vergil did not look one bit fazed. Piercing eyes calmly inspected Dante.
Bullshit. When the hell are you gonna let this act go? Still smirking, Dante stared hard into Vergil's eyes.
He felt a little mischievous now. Dante tilted his own face so that it was almost at right angle to his brother's, their faces now even closer. Looking up at Vergil, silvery blue orbs glinted once in the moonlight, the shadows on Dante's face made him look all the more menacing. His tone was playful when he spoke:
"Then let's play a game to jog your memory."
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The endings to my chapters are so not satisfying, haha. I've started chapter 4; there are 2 ways I can go from there…choices, choices!
Did you enjoy that? It always makes me happy to recieve feedbacks,lol, let me know what you think! Til next chapter :-)
