By Blood Connected
A Fan-fiction by Vir M.
Chapter 36:
"Breathless"
The initial shock of water splashing against my shins was cold, but not numbing. Rather, it cleared my head; sharpened my senses so until I was utterly awake and completely aware.
I could feel the pull of the surf as it gently tried to tug me out to sea, the way the wet sand ground and shifted beneath my bare feet; the way the wind delicately picked up the hem of my white dress and made it ripple and swirl around my knees.
The moonlight reflected on the water, causing whorls of angular silver to dart and slash the crests of the waves, seriating their edges with molten pigment. Wind sighed breathily, with an almost human ambience.
It was beautiful.
I pressed forward until the waves crested against my knees and I was forced to hold my dress above the spray to avoid the water. The cloth felt cool against my palm; gliding gently between my pliant fingers. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my open mouth, gathering up my dress, tasting the salt air on my tongue and in my throat. It was exhilarating.
"Jira?"
I opened my eyes and turned my head, looking back at the beach.
Vergil, in perfect, beautiful synchronization with the majesty of my surroundings, had appeared behind me, holding my sandals in one hand. He stood away from the damp sand at the waters edge, keeping his boots dry. I could see the footprints I had made; his own prints, larger than mine and with different shape, overlapped them, and I saw that his stride was almost twice the length of my own.
"Is this," I asked, "H20 friendly?" I dangled the edge of my skirt between my forefinger and thumb. "It's getting a little wet." Indeed, it was hard to keep out of the rushing waves.
Vergil nodded at me, eyes calm. "It is."
"Good," I replied, turning back to the ocean, letting go of the skirt. The hem fell to precisely the top of the waves, and billowed out while resting upon the undulating surface of the water.
I inhaled again, this time through my nose. Vergil shifted behind me.
"It is getting late, Jira."
His voice carried on the wind. I looked back at him again.
"But Verge…" I mock-whined, "it's so pretty out here."
He cleared his throat, not looking at me. "You can swim tomorrow, if you wish."
"But Vergil…" I tried again. He pinned me with a look.
"No 'buts'."
"Five more minutes?" I pleaded, this time for real. His cobalt eyes danced in a way I recognized to be expressing amusement.
"You would stay out all night if you could." It was not a question.
"Mm-hmm." I smiled slightly and looked back at the sea and sky.
"You're enraptured," I heard Vergil say. I 'mm-hmmed' again. Vergil continued: "You wouldn't care if you stayed out here all night and caught pneumonia, as long as you got what you wanted."
My head whipped back around, and I offered him a frown. He smiled at me, and my heart fluttered, frown evaporating.
Vergil then closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly, as if regarding the moon above. He was, more than ever, perfection made flesh, dreams made real, beauty incarnated into not-quite-human form.
Vergil's lips parted slightly, then curved into another of his heart-wrenching smiles. Then he spoke:
"My precious, precocious little idiot."
The words came out honey sweet; powerful. His tone overflowed with emotion I could not fathom, and with intentions I could never name. The way he said it sent a chill down my spine and a spear through my heart, in utter contrast to the indignation that flooded my mind at the actual meaning of the words.
I deigned to not say anything, however. It would have come out harsh, and tonight of all nights was not the one to alienate him. Instead, I remained silent and thought:
So I'm 'his' little idiot, huh? Still, as awkward as that sounds, it's probably the most intimate thing Vergil has ever said to me. I felt my cheeks flush slightly, eyes still fixated on Vergil.
His eyes opened almost lazily, then fell on me, and I wondered how he saw me. And in what light? Was I still a child in his eyes, standing before him barefoot and soaked below the knees? Or was I an adult now that I had come of age? What did he expect of me today, tomorrow, and every day after?
Vergil's head leaned forward slowly, and then he turned away from me. I did not understand the ache in my chest until I realized that I was mourning the loss of the sight of his face.
His voice floated to my ears once more: "I will be waiting for you at the table. Join me when you are ready."
Vergil stood for a moment with his back to me, my shoes in hand, and I had an idea.
Not a smart one, mind you, but the word 'idiot' was still fresh in my mind. Now, it was time for payback.
Before Vergil took a single step forward, I rushed forward, bent from the waist, and scooped up a handful of salt water. Then I flung it, hard, at Vergil's retreating form, at the same time throwing as much of my magic gravitational momentum into the water-bomb as I could.
The aim flew true, and I was rewarded. The blast had hit Vergil squarely in the back of the neck.
He froze where he stood, body tense. His shoulders hunched slightly; expressing surprise and wariness.
Then he turned to me: his look was dangerous, but betrayed by the sparkle of engagement in his blue eyes.
"Is that," he said slowly, voice a low rumble, "a challenge?" Evidence of a slow, lazy smile hovered at the corners of his eyes and lips.
The words sent chills down my spine again, as did the look. I had to suppress a grin, as well as a shudder that may or may not have been caused by fear or glee.
Instead, I opted for a look of bemused innocence.
"Maybe," I said brightly, covering my triumph with a doe-eyed look. I then turned my back on him and hooked my hands behind my back, trying to act nonchalant.
It was then I learned that turning your back on Vergil was never a prudent decision.
I did not expect him to retaliate, so when I felt the shock of stinging cold splash squarely between my shoulder blades I could not help but yelp loudly. I spun around and glared at Vergil.
He was stooped low from the waist, one hand poised above the small waves breaking along the sand bank. His digits were dripping with saltwater, and my shoes had been abandoned farther up the beach. His featured were alight, and his eyes were glittering with mirth.
"Now we're even," he said, voice low and throaty.
I snorted and folded my arms. "Not really. I've won."
Vergil straightened, eyes confused.
"See?" I said. I immediately turned and retreated about eight feet into the water. The waves reached mid-thigh, and my skirt was soaked. "You can't get me, but I sure as hell can get you with my gravity power." I grinned at him, and he scowled.
Then, unexpectedly, he turned and began to walk away from me.
"Sore loser…" I muttered, turning back to the water. My heart sank, but then I snuck a glance over my shoulder.
Vergil walked a little ways away, about to where he had left my shoes; then dropped down on one knee and began to fiddle the laces of his right boot.
"What are you—" I began, eyes wide. He responded by yanking off the boot entirely, doing the same to the next, and rising. He then stripped off his shirt.
I promptly forgot to think. After all, Vergil was half-undressed. Who wouldn't have been a bit… preoccupied?
Before I could really take the sight of him in, however, he cleared the distance between us in the space of a second, barreling forward almost too fast for me to follow.
He tackled me; we went down in a high splash of water and foam.
The water closed over my head, and I only barely remembered to close my gaping jaw in order to not suck in a lungful of brackish wave.
I came up spluttering; blinking furiously and coughing. The water reached halfway up my chest.
Once the water cleared from my eyes, I looked to my left: Vergil was kneeling in the water next to me, water reaching his waist. He was smiling smugly, cobalt eyes dancing.
I got a good look at his torso as my coughs subsided. He looked like a marble statue: hard, strong, imposing, perfect, but the heat I could feel radiating off of his sea-slicked skin shattered the illusion to slivers and pieces.
I realized I was staring, then looked quickly up at Vergil. His lips pulled into a grin; he had caught me looking. I covered it by crossly sending a plume of water splashing up into his face as my face flushed.
"What was that for?" I asked, mock-anger coloring my tone. He took no time in splashing me back.
Then the all-out war began. It was World War III with water.
We were (almost) evenly matched: I had my use of compulsion via my gravitational manipulation, and Vergil had his demonic speed, strength, intelligence, grasp of physics, and—oh, who am I kidding? I was getting creamed.
We fought for what seemed like hours. Eventually my muted cries of crossness faded into giggles, then laughter, as our fight got worse and worse.
At one point, I got close enough to Vergil latch onto one of his wrists. With my other hand, I threw water at him from point-blank range.
It didn't work as planned.
Vergil shifted and dodged the spray, then grabbed my free hand with his own. He pulled me forward via that hand so I was crushed against his (very bare, very wet) chest, then pushed.
We fell to the ground, rolling and fighting and grappling like puppies in the shallows. I was at a clear disadvantage, but I didn't really care: it was fun, this playful physical banter. My laughter and Vergil's colored the night.
I tried to dunk him: it didn't work. Instead, I wound up halfway straddling him.
"Oops," I muttered, blushing furiously. I shifted and tried to roll off of him, but Vergil had a firm grasp of my wrists (he had been winning, it seemed) and wouldn't let me. He sat up, water pooling around his thighs, and pulled me forward so that my arms were wound tightly around his waist; my face pressed against his chest. One of his arms slipped around my shoulders; the other around my waist. Then he laid back—pulling me with him—so that we were lying together on the dampened sand.
If he could have seen my face, he would have laughed: I was crimson. My shoulders were tense, but I soon relaxed as Vergil's hand slowly caressed the skin of my upper arm until the apprehension drained away.
My right ear was pressed to his chest, and I could hear the steady beating of his heart beneath his pale, marble-esque skin, as well as the sound of air being drawn into his lungs. I could feel the heat of him pressed to my cheek and body, keeping me warm despite the chill of the sea.
I loved it; every moment of it.
It was scary how easily he had gotten me to relax. Very scary. As I realized that, however, the tension returned, tightening my muscles.
Vergil felt it, seeing as how the hand touching me stilled. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice a tad bit sharper than expected.
I unwound an arm from around his waist, then braced myself on his chest. He protested wordlessly, reaching to grab my wrists again, but did not make much out of it once he saw that I wasn't actually going anywhere.
I opened my mouth to reply, then forgot what I was going to say. I frowned down at him, and his beautiful features looked troubled as he saw my expression.
"What's wrong?" he reiterated. I shook my head, signaling for silence, searching for the source of my disquiet.
His face was the same: heart throbbing and addictive. His eyes were the same blue I adored, but there was something off about the way he looked.
Then I noticed.
Vergil's hair had fallen out of its usual style and hung forward into his face. The strands framed his features pleasingly, but for some reason… I did not, could not, like it.
In fact, I hated it. It made him look like a completely different person.
Impatiently, I lifted my free hand and ran my fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. It felt like damp silk beneath my fingers, and even after I had returned it to its former, glorious style I continued to run my fingers through it, reveling in it.
Vergil's eyes had stayed fastened to my features, but now they drifted halfway shut so he could regard me from beneath his long lashes.
I had never really noticed those until now. They were full, a lot like his lips—
My eyes shifted to stare at Vergil's sensual mouth. My fingers gently drifted down from his hairline to trail lightly over his cheeks, nose, and finally his lips.
My index finger touched his bottom lip for a long moment, sliding over it from one end to another. Then it was joined by the rest of my digits. They trailed downward to caress his chin, then his throat. Finally, I rested my palm against his chest and closed my eyes, bowing my head so that it rested on the back of my hand.
Vergil shifted beneath me, then stilled. I snuck a glance up at him: his eyes were open, looking at me.
"Jira," he said. Nothing more; just my name.
"Vergil," I said. Nothing more; just his name.
Vergil's arm, the one wound around my hips, released me and took my hand, the one pressed to his chest, into his own. He sat up, holding me, then pulled my arm over his shoulder so that it was wound around the back of his neck. Then he released my hand.
Acting on some instinct, I wound the fingers of that hand into his pushed-back hair, closing my eyes. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent, the scent even the seawater coating his marble skin could not mask: musky yet clean, fresh, sweet.
We sat there for a long moment, holding each other. Then I felt a slight pressure on the underside of my chin.
I let Vergil's hand guide me, tilting my chin up so that we were face to face. Strangely, no butterflies fluttered in my gut. I was calm, collected, and composed. This was right. No other words can convey it better than that.
This was right.
I opened my eyes, looking up at him. His stare was calm as well, and mirrored how I felt.
Vergil leaned forward, then lightly pressed his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes. I felt his lips travel over me, brushing feather-light kisses on my nose, cheeks, and eyelids. Then he paused.
I opened my eyes, blue met green in a rush, and Vergil kissed me.
The kiss was tender, sweet: a mere brush of lip on lip that sent a shiver washing over me and a bolt of electricity rocketing through my veins. Vergil's lips were gentle, unlike what I had expected. I had expected a marauding—instead, I was being laid to waste by this, a mere caress.
Despite it being a kiss almost bare of contact, a fire smoldered behind it unlike anything I had ever expected. Passion was there in Vergil's careful lips, reigned in by god-knew-what and sheer will power. When he broke away from me, I almost sobbed. I felt myself aching for another kiss, felt my head spinning with sudden, unadulterated need. My composure had been shattered, and I began to tremble.
Vergil leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed, and brushed a strand of loose wet hair behind my ear. His fingers were almost, but not quite, steady, though compared to me he was as solid as a boulder.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice husky. "I should not have done that."
I couldn't speak.
His eyes opened—and his look was tortured.
"I'm so sorry, Jira," he said in a whisper. "I should have asked you first, I should have—"
"No."
I did not realize I had spoken until Vergil stopped talking. I drew in a trembling breath.
"Vergil, I—" I began. I stopped, struggling for words, but found none. I looked at him imploringly, attempting to convey emotion in my eyes. "Vergil…"
His own blue eyes were pained. I felt my heart melt.
"Vergil…" I whispered, pleading. He stared at me, realized what I wanted, then swallowed.
And kissed me again.
I met his lips eagerly, moving my mouth against his in an almost hungry, carnal way. He responded in kind, dominating me, and I submitted: a voluntary captive.
A breathy moan escaped my parted lips as Vergil broke our kiss a second time, then moved his lips down the column of my throat, scraping his teeth over heated skin. His hands clutched at me, possessive and strong and gentle, burning, and I held onto him in turn, running my hands restlessly over his skin and hair, lost to the sensation and emotion saturating every breath, motion, move.
Eventually, the moment of fire tapered and I was unable to respond; Vergil leaned back into the water again, holding my limp form against his strong body. His breathing was ragged; heart beats slightly erratic, though of the two of us it was I who was the wreck. I could not move or think as we lay there in the shallow water, simply being.
I was left breathless by it all, by the feelings suffusing both my mind and body.
The kiss—our kiss—had meant much more than any physical gesture could have meant. It meant more than any other gesture could have possibly meant.
It was—terrifying, erotic, meaningful, gratifying—and it changed everything.
Nothing would be same again.
I looked forward to it.
AUTHOR TIME
17 pages long, with over 3000 words. A chapter with events to remember, as well as pivotal plot points.
I'd better get some reviews out of this (glare) Ha ha I joke. Did I mention that this fic just recently gained over 10000 hits? 10k. The big 10 000. Thank you all SO much for your support.
Praise the almighty J for editing this mess. SHOWER HER WITH ADORATION AND GIFTS!!! WORSHIP AT HER FEET!!! (ahem) moving on...
Anyway, I'm sorry, but in the interest of getting this chapter out as fast as humanly possible, I will forego review replies at this time. They WILL be back next chapter, however (so no, don't wet yourselves; this is not the end). Instead, I would like to thank all of my reviewers collectively (starting with the most recent):
RoXian, Kami-sama, OneLastCigarette, MetalMuffin(thanks for the OC lend!), Norientra, ShroudOfShadows, PunkRocker505, Anna, Dark-Kunoichi, Laochra, DantesDarkQueen, Angelus2040, Emey, CancerStick, AbsinthX, Marloes, and LadyCrystineRayne. YOU GUYS ALL FUCKING ROCK!!!! Sorry if I missed any of you guys---just know that I love you all to pieces. I mean it. NO, NOT LITERALLY. I'm not THAT mean...
And I know that Jira is a bit more.. docile than usual, but she is simply getting swept away by all of this, so… Yeah. She'll be back, bringing all hell with her, soon enough.
Anyway, GIVE ME COOKIES, and TELL ME HOW YOU MUCH YOU HATE ME FOR THIS CHAPTER(but do NOT lynch me!)!!!!! Cheerio!
DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM
BY BLOOD CONNECTED © VIR M.