Dante shifts against him and mumbles something incoherent in his shoulder.

Moving her from the downstairs couch to her room is a low effort task and he notes with disgruntled displeasure just how light she is and how etherial she appears. Like a mirage.

Vulnerable. The thought comes to him unconsciously and he presses his lips in a thin line. Open to an attack or an injury, with no one to protect her back.

The darkness is making everything feel surreal. Even Dante's breath against his neck barely brushes against his skin, so soft and silent that only the steady rise and fall of her chest stops him from pressing his fingers to her pulse point to check.

He steps over a piece of disregarded clothing.

It's still Devil May Cry, of course, but also not.

The signs of life that have become so apparent and, dare he say it, cherished, are all but nonexistent at this point in time.

In their stead, the place is littered with bottles and other kinds of junk - papers, bills, stray bullet casings and magazines.

Unerringly, there is not a single paper takeout box in sight and Vergil knows that Dante doesn't cook.

He is smart enough to realize what that means, even though he wishes he didn't. Dante's attempts to drink herself into an early grave is rather in character for her. The abyss that has opened like a chasm in her chest is yawning a mile wide and ready to consume everything, starting with her.

This won't kill her, of course, but it won't be doing her any favours either.

Sometimes the burden of life crushes people incessantly.

Vergil's grip on her tightens. He wants to shake her until she wakes up, until she listens. He wants to tell her that she will survive this and that he will regret this because she was right. That she should be living her life right now instead of wasting it on someone who couldn't, didn't, value or cherish it enough to stay with her. That it will get better, even when it feels like she is still in front of a cliff gazing down into the dark abyss, looking for something she won't find.

He wants to dig his claws into her nape and hold her still, make her see, listen and bleed-

Vergil takes a deep breath, slowly lets it out, then gently sets her down on her bed.

He wants to turn to leave, but her fingers catch on his sleeve and curl around it. She looks delicate like this. Usually, her attitude is larger than life - ostentatious to the point of annoyance, eye-catching and unforgettable and it makes her appear the same. Animated in a way that draws everyone's eyes to her, beckoning them to follow, she makes a room feel small just by being in it.

Yet here, in the dusky drawn twilight, all he sees is an exhausted woman, wrapped in a crimson red coat that shines as bright as her personality did once upon a time, but now seems like a burden too herculean for her shoulders to carry.

It doesn't matter that Vergil knows her strength. Right now, she trudges through life one step at a time, not caring one way or the other.

This.. displeases him greatly. He feels infuriatingly out of depth, fingers twitching for either the Yamato or maybe something else, yet reaching for nothing, for he knows that there is nothing to be done here.

He stands over the bed staring at her face for what feels like a small eternity. Logic dictates that he should be working on figuring out how to get back, on making sure he doesn't cause some sort of time paradox, and yet.

His twin's face has him arrested on the spot. He traces her prone form with his gaze, mindful of touching her more despite the itch in his fingertips to make sure she doesn't simply fade before his eyes like a will-o-the-wisp.

Insipid moonlight sneaks through the pleats of a carelessly arranged curtain and caresses her cheek, bathing one side of her face in cold, silvery light. The white flash of it highlights the pallid visage of her skin and makes the dark bags under her eyes stand out evermore, as if they have been permanently carved in place.

He presses his lips in a tight line and turns away. If he doesn't leave at this very moment he will probably do something he shouldn't. Like lie his head on her breast and beg for her forgiveness, for he is the one to blame for her current state.

It had been hard enough to hear it when she told him about the years he had been absent from her life when he himself had been more of a concept than a person, more like a vengeful spirit and a soulless husk, than a man. It is even more harrowing to see it in front of him with his own eyes.

Too bad Dante has never cared for his carefully laid, if ultimately worthless plans. The grip on his sleeve tightens and he freezes in place. He knows he could just yank it from her slack grasp, but right now the thought is nigh-unbearable.

"..Verge?"

Vergil doesn't move, barely breathes. By all appearances, he could make a convincing marble statue. There had been plenty of those in the Underworld.

There's a tug on his sleeve and Vergil can't help but glance back, finding Dante's eyes on an instinct that's long since become ingrained in his blood.

The look in her eyes is dazed and murky, reminiscent of looking up at a blurred world while being trapped underwater. Vergil absently wonders if she has found herself prone to somnambulance lately, before dismissing the thought as unimportant.

"Must be drunker than I thought." Dante pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs at it. Her hair is messed up. "Can't say I haven't dreamed about you before, but such a solid vision is a first." Vergil's hand twitches at his side. "What, no quips for my bad life's choices this time? You should really stay in character, brother. We talked about this."

Vergil doesn't quite understand what she is referring to at first, but by the sounds of it Dante seems to have been having conversations with him. And considering that her tone is that of someone who's had the same argument so many times it's become more like a comfortable irritant than actual annoyance, the talks happen often.

Ah.

His mind draws its own grim conclusions from that. Here he is, faced with the greatest of consequences from his own actions. Something in his chest burns.

He's unsure as to whether speaking now would be for the better or worse and remains silent, gauging her expression.

Dante simply shrugs and leans back, running her hand through her hair, grimacing when her fingers catch on a knot. She eyes him, tired but curious. "You look different than usual. Older. " She squints up at him for a few seconds, before her eyes flutter shut and she takes a deep breath. Vergil tenses. "And I can smell you." She blinks wonderingly. "It's been a while since I've dreamed so vividly. Mind truly is a miraculous thing, although I never would have guessed that my imagination would be up to par. You look even more beautiful than usual."

Dante keeps looking at him and her smile turns crooked. "Or maybe I'm just that desperate." The statement sounds rhetorical. Tired. "Or are you here for something else?" She purrs and bats her lashes at him playfully.

Vergil weighs his options. Probes his prospects. If Dante thinks she's lucid dreaming.. well. An idea blooms in his mind, indistinct at first but slowly taking shape.

He can.. work with this. And if he manages to assuage some of Dante's guilt in the process, then even better. "I have plenty to say to you, Dante." He drawls out in his usual unhurried manner, speaking for the first time.

"Oh yeah?" She asks with clear interest. Her pupils are blown wide and he feels the stab of her arousal as assuredly as he feels his own echoing need. "Not to say I don't love listening to your voice, but can it wait?"

Her needs come first. Vergil nods and like that he has his arms full of his sister, as Dante surges up, catching the lapels of his coat and pulling him down on her, forcefully pushing her lips against his.

Vergil goes easily, braces his forearms on either side of her head and responds to the kiss. Her arms have encircled his shoulders, one resting on his nape which sends a prickling feeling down his spine and the other buried in his hair. She always did have a fixation on it, he thinks with a tinge of indulgent amusement.

Vergil takes the lead, shifts his weight to one arm and uses his freed hand to grasp her jaw and tilt her head in a more optimal angle. He slides his tongue over her bottom lip, bites down hard enough to bruise but not break the skin and soothes the sting all the while Dante makes tiny, pleased sounds against his lips.

He runs his tongue against her teeth, feels the sharp canines and lets himself be cut on them, flooding their mouths with the sweet taste of blood, as Dante parts her lips wider, inviting him in.

She tastes of whiskey and blood and he wonders if it would be possible to get drunk off her like this. He's inclined to the belief that it is.

She slides her tongue against his and against the cut he made, sending a flash of heat through him and he growls.

Vergil releases his hold of her and runs his fingers down her throat. Brushes her clavicle, itching to mark her, to dig his claws in her skin and tell her that this is real, that he is real.

He doesn't.

His fingers stall at her sternum and he presses his palm over the skin there, feeling the rapid beat of her heart.

She breaks the kiss and arches against him. "You can have it if you want, y'know. I would let you."

At first he doesn't understand what she is trying to offer, but then Dante hikes up her shirt, leaving her upper body exposed and he gets an inkling of her meaning when she sharpens her nails into talons and digs them into the soft skin of her breast, just above her heart. They pierce the skin easily as hot knives sliding through butter and blood immediately starts welling up from the gouges, filling the space around them with a sweetly metallic scent. He catches her hand on instinct, grip crushing for all that she doesn't seem to notice.

Rather her bruised lips tremble. "Don't you want it?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, lips moving around the shape of the words.

Vergil eases his grip, draws her hand to his lips and gently kisses her fingers, trying to calm his own racing heart. She has surprised him, caught him off guard in an awful way. The feeling of dread rolls through him but he shakes it away. Her blood is hot on his tongue as he licks it from her fingers. Spilled for the wrong reasons that it may be, he won't let it go to waste.

"I'd rather you left it where it is." He rasps in a voice he doesn't quite recognize as his own.

Even the demon in him is quiet as if struck in silence. It doesn't quite know how to reconcile their strong and beautiful mate looking so desolate and defeated. He licks his lips, chasing the coppery taste and takes a breath to restore some of his inner equilibrium.

His teeth sharpen in his mouth and his voice comes out in a low growl. "I won't have you give yourself to me like that, Dante. When I kill you," he won't, "I'll do it with my own hands in a fair and glorious battle."

Dante's eyes are wide, her pupils so blown they are almost swallowing the sclera. She's lost some of the mindless desperation that has been driving her actions up to this point. "And then?"

Vergil shudders and grinds against her, almost painfully hard, despite the seriousness of the situation, and always so attuned to her. "And then I'll eat your corpse."

Dante shivers under him and pulls him into a wretched kiss that's all heat, desperate burning need and clashing teeth.

When Vergil deigns to pull away Dante whines, high and needy so he presses his lips to her throat and bites down. She convulses and her hands trail down his chest and to his trousers, desperately looking for a way to undo them.

Vergil leaves her to struggle for a moment, then bats her hands away which earns him another muffled whine. He shuffles back and lowers his head to her breast, licking a stripe then bites her nipple gently, sucking and worrying the nub in equal measures. Pulling back he blows cold breath on it and watches her face as it contorts in both pain and pleasure.

His other hand travels low, lower and deftly undoes the buttons of her trousers before he pulls them down. Dante helps eagerly, lifting her hips and legs one at a time.

"No underwear, Dante?" He asks, unsurprised but amused. Affectionate.

Her voice is breathless, her chest heaving. "No. What's the point?" She kicks the trousers away and they land somewhere on the other side of the room. Neither of them care. "Please, Vergil. I need you."

"Hmm." Vergil kisses a trail down her stomach and her muscles contract at his every touch, ignoring his own erection, painfully tight in the confines of his leather trousers.

Demons feed not only on blood but also on sex. That she is so worked up already is mildly concerning, if unsurprising, for it means she hasn't been taking care of her needs. His inner demon is pleased that no one else has laid claim on her for he would rip, tear apart and desecrate their corpse, but he knows that she has other means to achieve the same effect, subpar as they may be.

The problem is that she clearly hasn't done so.

He lowers his head between her legs, kissing her inner thighs as he works his way down. The scent of her sex is heady and makes his head spin. She is already wet and so turned on, the slick runs down her legs and she keeps trying to buck up, searching for friction that's being kept from her. He takes a moment to tease the sparse silvery hairs on her skin, keeping his touch away from where she wants him most and she growls in frustrated arousal. Taking a pity on Dante, he moves forward and finally lets his tongue taste her.

She jolts at the first touch and then exhales a pleased sound, a mix between a sigh and a moan. Her fingers find their way in his hair and clenche it in a tight grip, nails scratching at his scalp. "Mmm. That's what I like about you, brother. You give as good as you get." Her words dredge up memories of their previous times together. She is right of course.

He swipes his tongue between her wet folds, seeking and finding the hardness of her clit.

"Oh.." Dante sighs and presses closer, her grip on his hair turning bolder tugging with just an edge of pain. It's thrilling. Vergil closes his eyes and lets her guide him, licking gently at first, then harder, alternating the pressure of his tongue and listening to sounds she makes.

Vergil shifts what he's doing, slips down to play with her opening. Dante seems to enjoy that too and makes a purring sound at the back of her throat.

Suddenly seized by inspiration, he lets himself Trigger just the barest amount. Just enough that it shifts his nails to extended claws and his tongue to a longer, more monstrous and lightly textured form. He thrusts it into her as far as he can and she actually cries out in surprise, her chest heaving.

"That's a new trick." She utters breathlessly and Vergil would smirk, was he not otherwise occupied. Using his elongated tongue, he fucks into her slowly, pulling all new kinds of gasps and sounds from her, all of which he keeps a careful track of and commits to his memory. His fingers come up to play with her clit, careful as to not hurt her with his claws and he curls his tongue up in a way that makes her arch up and cry out. It doesn't take long at all before she comes, hips pushing forward against his tongue, trying to have him reach deeper in her and his name on her lips.

Vergil pulls back, dismissing the Trigger and feels immensely smugly satisfied with himself, which is why the sight of tears sliding down her face catches him entirely unprepared.

He doesn't get a chance to ask her what's wrong as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down, pressing her mouth to his. Dante licks into him, chases after the taste of herself on his tongue and it's all he can do to wrap his arms around her waist in return, pulling her closer and tighter.

They separate after an uncertain amount of time and Vergil brings his hand to her cheek, gently tracing salty trails on her face. "Sister.." He murmurs. He wants to ask her what is wrong, but it is pointless. He knows where the wrong is and he is powerless to right it.

"I just-" She hiccups and squeezes her eyes shut with a gasp, glistening drops of dew resting on her pale lashes. "I miss you, brother. I miss you so much." She confesses to him like a devout worshiper before the altar of a god. "I'm so lonely. Why did.. why did you leave me behind?"

He has no answers to give her, but his heart hurts for her in a way he didn't know was possible. In the end he lets her bury her face in his neck, trembling and shaking as she cries her heart out.

"It was the greatest mistake I ever made." He admits quietly and only to her ears. "Dante, I'm sorry."

Dante is quiet for a long moment before she finally releases a shaky laugh. Like a person who is so exhausted and terrified, and exhausted of being terrified by a situation that they can't help but spontaneously find a little bit of humour in everything - good or bad.

"Not very characteristic of you to admit to your weaknesses, brother." She finally says, but her trembling slowly subdues and the next breath she takes is easier.

I'm older now. Vergil thinks to himself, even as his heart keeps beating a painful symphony in his chest. I can admit to the faults I carry that have caused you such pain, dearest sister.

"You are my strength." He says instead. "I know that now."

"It's strange to hear you voice these words. I longed for you to say them or something like that for so.." She sighs. "..for so long. But yet here I am, the weakest and the one left behind. What is there left for me to live for?" Her voice is quiet and serene, and it sends a spike of alarm up his spine.

"Dante-" he begins but she leans back and presses a finger to his lips, as she had done once upon a time before everything happened, all those years ago.

"It's fine." She tells him. "Even.. even if the promise you made is illusory, I'll live.. live for your words. For the hope that one day you will come back to me. Whatever it is as another apparition or in actuality, it will be enough." It has to be enough. He hears the unspoken admission.

She leans forward and rests her forehead against his, brow against brow. "Hey," Dante says quietly.

Vergil swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yes, sister?"

She looks him in the eye and places her hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheekbone. He leans into her touch. "Love me for tonight?"

He grasps her hand and pulls it towards himself, palm up and presses his lips there. Goosebumps rise on her skin and she shudders. "Always." He replies just as quietly.

They make quick work of the rest of their clothes, garments hastily showed somewhere on the floor to reveal skin. Dante kisses him again, her edge of desperation barely tampered. He slides his hands up her sides, blunt fingernails leaving the slightest of marks that will be gone by the morning.

Vergil leans back on the bed and lets her climb over him and trace his face, his shoulders, his chest, all while they share a liplock for long minutes.

Her hand encircles his cock and he bucks in her grip, hard to the point of madness and wanting her. She rubs the head of his cock and smears the precum there and gives it a few strokes, spreading the wetness down his length.

She shifts her hips then and he can feel the heat radiating from her before she sinks down on his cock and encloses her in the tight space of hers, her inner walls rippling around his length.

"Fuck yeah." She whispers in his mouth, between their shared breaths.

She leans back, settling hands on his shoulders for balance and sets a slow, languid pace. Vergil lets her do what she wants. As much as he would like to pound into her until she comes apart, again and again, this is first and foremost about her comfort and her needs.

Instead, he lets her set the rhythm as she pleases and brings his hands up to cup her breasts. They fit in his hands perfectly, as if made for him and the demon in him rumbles in pleased approval.

"I've missed your hands." She gasps and snaps her hips down with a keening sound, drawing a groan from him.

"My hands?" He asks.

"Yes." Her breathing is laboured and the scent of her arousal permeates the air. She is so tight and wet around him. "Mmm. They look deceptively delicate, yet in your hands, anything could become deadly." She bites her lip and shivers, the action drawing his eyes to her pale throat. "I used to be jealous of the Yamato." And there she shakes with a silent laugh again. "Imagine, being jealous of a sword? But I was, brother, oh, I was. I wanted to-" she trails off in a moan as he thrusts into her sharply.

"You wanted to?" He prods and alternates between light squeezes and harsher pinches of her breasts and nipples, even bringing out his claws to lightly slice into the skin, which makes Dante convulse around him.

"Mean." She accuses him. At least her earlier despair has been washed away and she laughs lightly, growling playfully in her throat as he leaves trails of red on her body. "I wanted to," she slams her hips forward and he meets her evenly, thrust for thrust. "Ahh, wanted to know how you would touch me. If you would afford me the same care that which you held your blade with, if you would curl your fingers around my wrists or thighs as firmly as you would around her scabbard."

"Oh? And how long have you desired that for, dearest sister?" He asks her. One of his hands settles against her taut stomach muscles. Like this, he can feel himself moving inside her and his loins tighten. "Did you also think of me when you pleasured yourself?"

Dante groans and her thighs tremble around his. "You, yes, always you. Ever- ever since I learned what it meant to desire, you were everything I wanted. Ahhh-I often thought about it after you found me again. Especially after our spars. Those - mm - really reignited the fantasy." Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat from their combined activities. "When I laid back at night, I would think of you. When I slipped my fingers in, I closed my eyes and imagined they were yours instead. You in me, over me, pressing me down. Yo-ahh-ur fingers on my clit, your hands giving me the pleasure and pushinnghh me over the edge." Her orgasm takes her by surprise and she slumps forward in his arms with a gasp, hips twitching forward.

Vergil takes the opportunity for what it is and reverses their positions, flipping Dante on the bed on her back. She whines when he slips out of her, but she doesn't have to despair for long. He slides his hand under her knee and hooks her leg on his shoulder before slamming back into her and setting into a brutal pace. "Then tell me, Dante, how did it compare to the real thing?"

"Ver-giiil," Dante's breath gets punched out of her with each thrust and she writhes against him, her hand clawing down his back, her fingers sharp as talons. He can feel rivulets of blood running over his skin and it only spurs him on. "It was nothing like I had i-haa-imagined it would be. It was better. So, so much better. But I always kne-mmm, I always knew, that in the end, nothing would ever compare to you."

"Is that so?" Vergil murmurs and licks the sweat that has gathered on her jawline.

"Yes." Dante keens. "Brother, please." The pitch in her voice grows higher.

He knows what she wants. Still, he can't resist asking. "Yes, my love?" The endearment slips free of his lips unexpectedly.

" Oh.. " she stills against him for a second before she's coming again, shaking silently and squeezing around his cock in a way that feels almost unbearable.

Vergil fucks her through it and rests his hand on her sternum, feeling the rabbit-quick beat of her heart echoing in his own ribcage, like a symphony that's been made for their ears only.

Dante's leg still rests on the back of his waist and she uses that to pull him closer, to urge him to continue. She nuzzles his neck and peppers kisses, interspersed with small bites, along his collarbone. "You haven't called me that since we were little."

"I remember." Vergil tells her softly as he kisses her and starts moving slowly again, and she slides her hands up and down his back, feeling his shoulders and leaving touches light as a butterfly's kiss over each individual vertebrae.

It's what their Father most often used to refer to their Mother. Vergil had picked up the words for his own use with the solemn air of someone who had no idea what they were saying but wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.

He still remembered Eva's twinkling laughter when she had heard him use it on Dante and how innocently beautiful Dante had looked when she had blushed in her pleasure.

It had been different then, of course. Eva hadn't thought about the words in the context of her children being together like they are now. She had just thought of them as two kids playing house. Vergil hadn't said it with the intention of ever being attracted to, or in love with, Dante. He had just been repeating what his Father had said.

Their Father, who in their eyes could do no wrong, and their beautiful, perfect Mother, Saint Rose and Mary herself.

Indeed, their world had been entirely other than the one they lived in now. Yet this is where they have ended up, together and in each other's embrace, as they should have been throughout it all.

From the cradle to the grave.

Dante's presence calls to Vergil like a moth to a flame. How often did he think about her, even when he committed atrocities she would never understand in the name of his twisted love for her, then later, even when his mind was being stolen from him?

Dante's lips are hot, her tongue is hotter and her body burns against him like a thousand suns. He slips his hand down to the place he joins her and he presses his thumb against her clit, rubbing slow, gentle circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

He's sure Dante hasn't been keeping the count on the number of times she's come, but Vergil figures he can wrangle at least two more orgasms out of her before he's done too.

Really, it's for her own good.

Her head tips back and he slides his arm under her when she arches into him, pressing harder against her. His thighs are covered in her fluids and the room smells strongly of sex.

"Come on, Dante." He whispers in her ear. "Come for me, sister." Dante opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out of it are her ragged gasps as her chest heaves with the exertion. Her orgasm hits her like a freight train and leaves her panting and shaking, her legs trembling and toes curled.

"Very good." Vergil replies soothingly and presses kisses all over her face that has gone slack in pleasure.

She pulls her arm towards herself and weakly hits him on the chest, opening one bleary, glazed eye to glare at him without true heat. "Bastard, you." She laughs and gives him another push. Her hair is mussed to hell and back. She's stunningly beautiful. "Get on your back. It's time I did some work."

He lets her manoeuvre him as she sees fit and only clamps his hands down on her hips when she wavers, her legs as unsteady as a newborn lamb's. He tries not to feel too smug about it, but his demon doesn't even bother, purring in satisfaction. She gives him another glare as if she knows what he is thinking, but rolls her eyes and settles down on his cock again with a long exhale.

"Damn," she mutters dazedly and pushes her hair back from her forehead with one smooth motion. "You've really worked me almost to the bone here. This is certainly the most vivid dream I've ever had."

So Dante still thinks it's a dream. That's.. good, Vergil decides. And not entirely surprising considering what little he knows about what her mental state had been at this stage of her life.

If this brings her comfort going into the future, he thinks he will have done an adequate job. He doesn't think too much about the fact that he will leave her here, all alone eventually. Her and her emotional baggage. Will not, can not feel sorrow if it's got them to where they currently are. Where things are better, where they are almost content, almost happy.

For all that he loves any version of Dante, the one that he holds as his equal in all the ways is the one that waits for him in the future. He doesn't think she will begrudge him this though, especially when his main objective here is to provide for her in her greatest time of need.

Maybe that's what this displacement was about in the first place.

"Well?" He asks quietly and raises an eyebrow, squeezing her hips in timed intervals.

"Let's do this then." She nods and leans back this time, stretching her arm behind her and leaning against it as she starts to move her hips in small but fast circles, driving him as deep into her as possible. Her eyes blaze, hair sticking to her forehead.

Vergil's hand slides over her thighs, her calves and brushes her ankles. His other once again finds its way between her soft folds, where they are joined together so intimately and presses firmly.

Dante shudders, gasping and her hand shoots out and catches his wrist in a firm grip. She doesn't push him away entirely but makes sure he keeps his pressure light on her oversensitive clit.

The heat has been building in him steadily this entire time. If he were less in control of his body - something that he keeps a tight hold of after experiencing what it felt like not to be for so many wasteful years it felt like eons - he would have come immediately. It's his own iron-clad restraint that he's been relying on as well as his desire to make her fall apart first; his pride wouldn't allow him otherwise, not before satisfying her needs. Dante doesn't lack in her technique, she knows exactly how to make him fall apart and she's been using her tricks.

His hand drops on her forearm and he pulls her forward, making her fall into him, into a hungry kiss, into biting teeth and soothing licks.

"Come on, brother." She mutters against his lips. "Come for me. Come in me. Please, I want-" she shudders with a choked groan that sounds more like a sob, shaking apart on top of him.

Vergil closes his eyes, overwhelmed with a pleasure that makes his mind blank out for a second and comes with a cut off moan that somehow manages to cut through all of Dante's own cries.
-

Afterwards, he methodically cleans himself up. He managed to find a piece of cloth and it had turned out that the office actually had running water and he sweeps the cloth over himself, cleaning off most of the sweat and the gore accumulated on his skin.

He does the same for Dante, who had passed out after her last orgasm, spread on top of him in a purring heap of contentment. He runs the cloth over her face, her neck, her chest and each of her long legs.

She shifts and grumbles when he dips between her legs, but his seed dripping from her and down her thighs on the bed is a pretty damning piece of evidence of what had taken place here and he's uncertain if it's a good idea to leave it.

The skin on his neck and back tingles and he can already feel the flesh knitting back together. He had deliberately slowed down his regenerative factor to make sure Dante could feed on at least some of his blood. Not enough to fully appease him but enough that it should tie her over as she tries to pull herself together.

He dresses mechanically, one piece at a time. Underwear, shirt, vest, trousers, everything.

The Yamato is the last piece he takes, and the one he takes with quiet relief. As he touches her scabbard he is seized with a sudden certainty of what he needs to do. Seems like she is eager to get him home.

Vergil casts a glance at Dante and he wants to-

His feet carry him to her side without his permission. Her face is relaxed in her sleep, a healthier flush blooms in her cheeks and over her body. All the marks he had left on her body have also healed.

He reaches out his hand and runs it over the bedsheets, muttering a simple spell that erases the traces of bloodstains and his presence here. The level of the spell is low enough that the cold burn of it will fade before morning arrives.

Dante shifts and pulls a pillow closer to her, muttering something unintelligible.

He can't resist tracing a hand over her cheekbone and tucks a few stray hairs behind her ear. He leans in and speaks in her ear, voice soft. "Wait for me, sister. Live. Wait for me, for I will return."

He presses a kiss to her forehead and lets go. Then he turns around and leaves without looking back.

A/N. Do I have any dignity left? Prooobably not, no. Point out any mistakes you may spot, because there probably are some. I just hope they don't take away too much from the story itself, or else I have majorly fucked up somewhere lmao.

Oh, and I have never written F/M porn so this is a new territory and an excuse to practice. Also, his is kindaaa part of a longer series I'm working on and technicallly like the 3rd (maybe? it keeps changing) work chronologically, but eh. If I get around to them, I will, if not.. well.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Yes, I know I will probably go to hell, but hey! I can save you a seat too.