Author: Moiranna
Theme: #02 - Kiss
Rating: R
Realm: Devil May Cry
Pairing: Vergil / Dante
Characters: Dante, Vergil
Genre: Angst, pwp
Warnings: Smut, angst, blood
Word-count: 680
Summary: We have to stop doing this. I don't want to, but it's madness. You know we're going to destroy one another if we keep this up. Vergil x Dante

Oh, one last time
Close your eyes and laugh with me
Just one more time
You know that I'll pretend to be s this time
If that last morning would come

One Last Time - Miriam Bryant

"We have to stop doing this."

Soft kisses trailed down a broad shoulder, ending with a pointed bite. Too-light eyes observed him through the reflection of the mirror with an unreadable expression even for someone who knew his every gesture, should know exactly what that look meant. (Didn't want to understand what it meant.)

"This is madness. You know it won't- ah," head falling back and spine bowing upwards and towards the hand trailing along his abdomen, long fingers expertly seeking out their prize. Surrender to me.

Sharp canines breaking the tender skin near the pulse-point, carmine red welling to the surface almost instantly. A low pleased groan, teeth digging in sharper to gain more. Breath coming in soft pants, still remaining motionless, scarred hand tearing holes into the bedding. You know you're mine.

Blunt nails of the left hand scratched over a muscled torso, leaving angry red lines trickling with the truest of reds though there was an almost tender note in that touch as they reached the jagged scar over the lower left pectoral, pads just tracing along the very permanent and visible reminder of what he had done to his twin. You'll always be mine.

If there was a notion of remorse flickering in light-blue eyes the other chose not to see it as he gazed at his brother through the glass of the mirror. Leaning back instead against that muscled form, the only concession to what was going on, watching with a peculiar form of detached fascination how crimson dripped down his torso. A sharp tug reminding him of how talented fingers coaxed his body into responding, though honestly there was no need for coercion. They both knew all too well how this would end. Instincts at last taking over, demanding morenowharderyesGod.

As if uncoiled from the tight spring of inaction he turned, tackling his twin to the bed, lips colliding, teeth clashing in harsh biting kisses. Hands trailing everywhere, into ivory strands and yanking almost reflexively, eliciting a low warning growl, nails tearing bleeding gouges though neither of them cared, just losing themselves in the here and now of the moment.

The dance of positions an age-old battle, struggling for dominion, flipping one another over again and again with equal amounts of possessiveness and amusement even though they both knew how this would end.

At last a low groan as long fingers none too gently pressed down on a shoulder, thumb digging into the hollow drawing blood to mutely convey stay put. At any other moment it would only cause a snort of disbelief and more struggling from the other twin, but with the additional weight of a body pressing down the order was, for the time being, acknowledged and adhered.

There was no such thing as making love when it came to them. Not verbally at least. It always boiled down to instincts, to being whole again. Primal, the line between human and demon blurring. Bodies moving hard and fast, desperation clinging to each motion though neither of them would admit even subconsciously to it. Teeth sliding deeper into bloodwet flesh, the unvoiced mine all too present in that motion when completion crashed over them, a roar of yes echoing throughout the darkened bedroom.

Stillness returning slowly as laboured breaths eased and bodies sank into relaxation. Almost fully asleep there was the faintest of caresses against Dante's shoulder, a whispersoft brush of lips.

"You need to let me go."

The younger twin sat up with a sharp gasp, panting for breath. There just wasn't enough oxygen in the room, stumbling blindly to the window, throwing it open, eyes closing with bliss at the cool wind against his clammy skin. Just focusing on the inhale-exhale, relearning how to breathe past his frantic pulse. A callused hand reaching for his throat, massaging his windpipe, a low sound suspiciously like a wailing keen leaving him as he, much as he had known discovered that there were no bruises littering the pale column of flesh. That even after twenty long years he knew - he could never let go.

AN - you're welcome.