Author's Notes: This chapter concludes the M-rated abridged version of Poison. The full version is 8 chapters + an epilogue (see Version Notes in Chapter 1 for further info).

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Chapter V

He was losing his ability to maintain coherent thought… that had been a last-ditch effort, that desperate grab for Cerberus, and when it was swept out of his grasp, his supply of pure adrenaline had run dry.

On top of that, his left pantleg was clinging to his skin in a stickily confusing way. Was that blood? Why wouldn't Vergil kill him and be done with it? The room was blurring and Dante swayed and staggered— or he would have staggered, but now his left leg wouldn't support his weight and it buckled when he tried to right himself. He grabbed at the corner of the desk, missed, and collapsed ungracefully onto the floor.

It was almost impossible to breathe now. Down one lung, and a gaping hole in the throat, he thought desolately. He was a wreck. And now… Vergil was just standing there again! Couldn't the man make up his fucking mind?

Uncharacteristic rage was boiling up in his chest. His body was on fire, every inch of him was aching and sweating and oozing blood… and the poison, it just wouldn't subside. The fog was growing denser; through it, he wondered faintly if Vergil was just waiting around to watch him bleed to death.

Vergil… you pride yourself on being so dignified, but you're really just a goddamn coward. He had no breath to speak it, so he thought it bitterly to himself. He would have clenched his fists, but the best he could do was curl his fingers weakly. Vision was becoming useless now, everything was hazed over in red mist; he closed his eyes.

He didn't even have the energy to open them when he felt a rustle of motion nearby; through ragged gasps, he managed to croak two words at his brother:

"Get out." If you aren't going to kill me, get the fuck out.

No response. He lifted a heavy hand and, wincing, placed it over his ribs; his fingers came away slick with poisoned blood. It's still not healing…

Then someone else was putting pressure on the wound with a cold firm hand; his whole body convulsed and he tried to gasp, but choked instead. As he tried to draw breath into his one remaining lung, something warm and moist pressed against his mouth; someone else was breathing down his throat, gently forcing oxygen into his bloodstream.

Someone else…

How idiotic, there was only one other person here. Dante had to smile incredulously against the lips pressed against his own; that person wasn't capable of being caring or gentle… at least, not anymore, came the sad afterthought.

His concentration was fragmenting; he wasn't capable of stringing thoughts together now. Someone (who?) was touching an exploratory tongue to his bloody lips.

But it was Vergil. There was no one else here, however much he wished it was Lady, the only other person… the person who had beaten him into senseless submission not minutes ago… was definitely his older twin brother.

This final realization sent recoil clawing up Dante's spine; he finally willed his eyes open, and though the features they fell upon were far from hideous, he was horrified.

But he was powerless too. He knew that if Vergil wished, he could perform a coup de grâce on him with a single finger. He tried to pull away, but his brother's mouth was hot and insistent— now he was crushing his lips against him, exploring him with a needy tongue.

The hand that had been pressed against his wound traveled up to his nipple, trailing a thick streak of warm blood across his shivering flesh. Another hand curled steely fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his head forward into the hungry kiss.

Every muscle in Dante's body protested with indignity, but that's all they did— protest. He couldn't summon the strength to resist as Vergil's slick, bloody hand slid from his sensitive nipple down his stomach, tracing the outlines of his abdominal muscles on its way to his hip.

A small noise of protest escaped him (was it a whimper?) and he felt Vergil smile against his mouth. That bastard… he really enjoyed humiliating him, didn't he?

The hand on his hip was moving again; now fingertips were following the top of the waistband of his pants, pausing at the snap…

That was too far. Ignoring the searing pain racing through his body, Dante managed to lift his arms to brace his hands against his brother's shoulders in an attempt to push him away.

For a moment, he stared at his own reflection in Vergil's clear, silver-blue eyes; then he threw his head back and gasped a soundless scream as his brother jabbed a finger directly into the wound between his ribs. Agony shot straight through him and then raced up and down his spine, fraying all his nerve-endings as it electrified his entire body. He struggled desperately to maintain consciousness (though really, what was the point?), drowning in the red haze again. As his body shook uncontrollably, Vergil retracted his finger and wrapped a strong arm around his back, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together.

He could feel his twin's hot breath in his ear, his whispered "Foolishness, Dante."

He let his head fall against Vergil's shoulder— not willingly, but because he couldn't hold it up any longer. His heart was racing; it felt as though it would leap out of his chest and burst into flames.

His eyes slid half-closed.

Vergil… you bastard.

You bastard…