Chapter 7

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Thanks so very-mucho for those readers who left a precious review, they really light my cosmo (sorry, Saint Seiya was my first truly Japanese anime).

Cuttlebug: I hope this chap will compensate a little for your previous frustration :D; your review made laugh a lot, LoL, I'm really grateful and I hope not to leave you in a worst condition with this new entry (I think a cookie will suffice to go through it).

Lilangelz: Thanksss, you are very kind, I'll really try to translate the next chapter sooner.

Ehem, hem…

(Insert political tone)

To all those silent readers, I encourage you to not follow the norm, rebel against custom! Abandon the closet of anonymity and left a review which, in exchange, will procure more updates so future generations will enjoy a lengthy reading.

That being said…

The Warnings: Just a lot of drabble, some kinkiness and… BEWARE, the sinister cliffhanger!


The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Proverbs of Hell


Against Dante's, D's lips turned out to be warm, silky and exquisite; not wasting time, his hand captured D's nape, pushing the dhampir further against him while caressing his body and running his tongue around a sharp fang.

A low growl obliged him to return from Nirvana; his hunter's instinct made him withdraw from the dhampir, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. D was as tense as Dante had thought he could ever be; his head was so down his chin it almost touched his chest, and the Demon Hunter would not dare to bet of what was he thinking. Maybe of the top five ways to kill him?

At that distance, all D could feel, smell and see was Dante… and he found it so appealing that he almost got up and run for all he was worth.

- Stay away… -spoke the dhampir, and his voice was of someone who fights for control. His breathing, imperceptible before, was agitated, and between the large locks of silky darkness that hung down on his face Dante could see the fangs growing… His eyes were shut firmly, as if D didn't want to see himself.

- Why? –whispered Dante, bending down with deliberated slowness to those pale lips. The Demon Hunter fell prey to an almost irresistible and abrupt hunger; his dark self was screaming in delight, for it had found at last that which could quench his sinister desire.

And now that he was at his mercy, it was not going to let it go.

D would have wanted to push him away, hit him at least, but he didn't dare; he didn't want to touch Dante in any way, his sole closeness was conflictive enough just as it was. Why wasn't he going away? The dhampir opened his eyes.

Rubies bathed in fresh spilled blood, that was what his eyes had transformed into. Their scarlet shine was seductive; the hunger behind them was inhuman and it seemed that nothing in the world could ever restrain it, not even the iron will of Vampire Hunter D.

But Dante was not afraid. On the contrary, his blood boiled as his other form protested under his skin… What was it that made him react in this way? In that moment he could not care less, and still, he saw a shadow of sadness in those crimson orbs, and it was warning him; but that agony just encouraged him to go on.

- Do you want my blood? –asked the Demon Hunter, a tempting smile on his lips, just centimeters away from D's countenance, which looked even whiter than seconds before-. Try and take it…

The hand of the Demon Hunter moved like a thunder. Grabbing D by the collar, Dante pulled the dhampir towards him and spinning at the same time, effectively trapping his mouth into another merciless kiss.

D found himself on his back in the grass, immobilized by the portentous strength of the other hunter; a growl rose from his throat and was almost drowned in the mouth of Dante. His fangs were fully extended now, but the Demon Hunter didn't care; the only downside was just that now he could not kiss his lips.

"That calls attention to other parts…" –thought the son of Sparda, smirking as the cat that got the mouse, just before dodging a bite that could have taken his head from his shoulders. In moments like this he gave many thanks to his inhuman heritage; and so, with the ability that reduced the best martial artist to a crying baby, he connected a punch to the dhampir's chest and then grabbed both his wrists above his head. With both knees in the grass at each side of the slender hips, Dante pinned the other against the ground, and their bellies join each other like they were meant to be that way.

D let out a moan that could not have be mistaken for anything else, much less when Dante felt his arousal against his own.

"Who would have thought that he was so sensitive when he is not feigning to be a rock?" -thought Dante to himself, even when he was also burning like never before; his senses yearned for more of those adorable noises, relishing in the power that emanated from the divine form below him. The Demon Hunter moved his hips with precision, obtaining a little sob from that precious and feral mouth; the dhampir looked more than gorgeous from his advantageous position, an he was enjoining the view even tough he was also making use of all his might to conquer him.

All his years of beating infernal emperors and beings of the darkness were surely paying off.

He was playing with Hell's fire, but hadn't he done that all of his life? In that instant Dante realized how sick and tired he was of always restraining himself, maybe because, for the first time, it was not necessary; he wasn't going not kill D by mistake, he didn't have to watch every single move he made, nor keep the demon away, afraid to scare someone to death… Besides, it was so clear that D liked it, so why he resisted it so much?

Dante got the impression that the dhampir had denied himself every single minute of his long life. He had learned a long time ago to go with his instincts and stop with his heart (blessed be his mother), but maybe D had not been so lucky…

D stopped looking at Dante; his head went backwards forming an elegant arc, his mouth open and the fangs shined in the pale light of the night. He trembled and cursed his body. He founded himself at the edge of an abyss he had never crossed, and Dante –that totally stranger-, kept pushing him, with his hands, his body and even with that haughty and indomitable voice. Didn't he understand what he was doing to him? NOBODY had ever touched him like that, never… At least the blood thirst by itself was common to him, and D avoided by any means to put himself in a position where he could feel tempted.

Not even in his worst nightmares would he mix blood AND sex in the same equation, but there he was, without notice under someone's body, prey of his heat and the artful way in which Dante made his skin tremble with desire. His famous willpower was evaporating rapidly in that delicious madness, finding that he NEEDED the contact, de closeness of another person, almost as much as he craved the blood… But he should not –could not—get carried away by the momentum; he had to coerce himself not to smell the life force under that soft skin, ignore its sensual siren call and at the same time not pay attention to the almost painful, desperate, pressure building in –it felt like— his hole body at the same time.

It seemed like and impossible task.

The dhampir didn't want to think how weird it felt to be touched in that manner by another. The proximity in itself was completely alien to him, as he never allowed it. D barely repressed the impulse to get closer to the half demon, and clenched his fists until the bones cracked, frustrated, furious by his own need.

Making a display of great flexibility, Dante leaned his face even closer to the dhampir's, looking at him as if he truly understood the vortex in his soul.

- What are you so scared of? –whispered Dante to him, and when D encountered those pale eyes he saw a hunger that rivaled with his own. That being was truly a demon, the dhampir thought; behind that smile and his arrogant attitude, was hidden a monster who loved excesses, violence and chaos. Would that be the taste of his blood? His fangs hurt in the cold night, denied of his due sacrifice; it was ironic that someone accused HIM of being afraid, but it was accurate. His own life or dead were of no consequence to him; he had just one goal… But, must than anything, he was afraid to loose his scarce humanity and become the monster that was the owner of his hate.

D had never crossed that line in all his centuries; he was –although he hated to remember it—conditioned to resist.

So, he did the only thing he knew to do in that situation.

Dante proffered an exclamation when he felt D propelling upwards without any apparent effort and then, showing a speed that surprised even him, inverted their position. The Demon Hunter looked at the dhampir with a little surprise, and just remembered a phrase that he had read in some of those books that Vergil piled up in his room when they were kids…

At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise...

That denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd.

D breathed in ragged gasps, and was looking at him as a god deciding the destiny of the insignificant mortals at his feet. The sinful shine in his eyes was still there, and Dante felt that, if he continued to watch him, he would offer his throat himself and every single drop of his life, gladly.

Blood spattered in Dante's face.


TBC…

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