Unspeakable

Chapter 4 - Expectation

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#She's aliveeeeeeeeee! LOL. Hello! I finished this well past morning glory so forgive my cuckoo-ness. It's been, what, 4 months? 4 months?!!! I bet nobody reads DMC fics anymore… I'm so sooooorry. Life got more hectic, heart got problems, EMO, LoL, I felt the strong urge to write 3 days ago, we are on xmas break after all, woot! Anyway, this might seem a little weird, at the end of it you might be like WTF?! But variety can do you good, people : ) Anyhow, I personally don't think it's that fed up at all. And I'm gonna shut up before I give anything away… Enjoy! Or at least try…lol.

Oh yeah, lemoness, as in like, mano a mano? Don't like it, get out, don't embarrass yourself.

Vergil's First Person Account.#

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I looked intently at his face. As you would expect, this was a position which was rather disadvantageous on my part. My back was straddled, my head immobilized; I had no idea that this boy, a captivating adolescent with a deviously angelic face, and body like it was carved out by the masters of antiquity, could possess such a demonic strength. I had been deceived. Lured. Seduced.

What a mystery! For what seemed like an eternity, I had been drifting in a world that had lost all of its lustre, when, in reality, I only remembered tonight's Moon; colours were lifeless streams of insipid tumult. I knew of nothing, and with its excruciating layer, it was only the nothingness that embraced me wholeheartedly, no-one else would.

Memories abandoned their owner. I wanted to believe in the revelations: the glimmer, then, the light: desperately hoping that they weren't just illusions, that perhaps it had in fact been too late for me, the shadows of insanity casting on me and perhaps I was just a madman. But I could not entertain that notion anymore than I could comprehend the bond I felt with him. Even when his eyes looked harshly in my direction, his voice sounded wicked, gestures threatening, I could not bring myself to despise him. Why? Try as I best could, I could comprehend the intimacy I felt with him not, this Dante. It was inexplicable.

But I thought…No, rather, I saw. I saw that he could be the one who would acknowledge me, and give back the colours and wonders of the world to my eyes. This melancholy dullness would be no more and I would be alive again, the memories that were forgotten would live again. Show me, show me what I did not know. Let me see it.

I longed for it.

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A force surged inside my blood so suddenly at that moment. So rapid was the rush that I could have ignored it had it not been for the intensity that accompanied. I still did not have the answer to my question as I broke free from Dante's hold, saw his utterly surprised face as I span around and gazed up at him directly.

"…the fuck?" the boy growled, eye brows gathered in an exasperated manner.

He was still on top, but I had trapped one of his hands, the hand that he used with the intent to cause me asphyxia when he tried to drive my head through the bed, with my own. I clutched his hand tightly, our arms extended to my right, my muscles taut. I felt surprised that my vigour could rival his.

The next second we were wrestling. The duvet covering the bed was a dark sea, with creases and folds as disorderly waves littered upon its body, moving and changing shapes ever so abruptly while we writhed. And we struggled, and hit, then struggled. The polyphonic staccato of our heavy breathing filled this silent night, along with his constant cursing. Dante panted, his silver hair wild, the intensity of the battle forced him to roll onto his side - I forced him. It was me who smashed his face with my free hand and threw him down so that now we were struggling while facing one another on the same level. He kneed my stomach. Dante was topless but my clothes were in disarray, my long jacket pulled down, perhaps even torn.

There was an immense dynamic as I strike and was strike, as we rolled around and brawled; I felt it, it was almost inhuman…

I chuckled under my breath, through what felt like swollen lips, though I could not sense the pain in them anymore. Even when Dante presented a particularly lethal punch, I would only suffer sharp pain for a sliver of a second, like a stinging needle. And even though occasionally a punch of mine seemed fatal, I could only elicit a grunt from him. As we thrashed about, he groaned with some difficulty, "shit, Vergil, what the hell are you playing at?"

The body was controlling me, it commanded that I retaliate every time. The closer we were the more that tender nostalgia shrouded me, the more his malice baffled me: the intense the intimacy. I had to know, it had eluded me for what felt like my whole life.

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We fell. On the carpeted floor I found myself on top of him, hands on either side of his face. I at once used this opportunity to capture his wrists and pinned them above his head with both my hands, as to not invite any surprise attack with an opening. I bestride him. He appeared irritated through the indifference he shielded himself with, gasping for air. I eyed his face intently, my head tilted. The turquoise of his eyes, his lean nose, the full mouth, of-course, I had known them before, his lips… I must've cut his lips because there was blood remaining on their left corner, this time I was not surprised that there was no wound, or cut, or bruise. Like my own blood, which I had the privilege to witness back in Bull's Eye, his was, too, strangely transfixing: dark red liquid that emanated radiance, the glow in that richness.

"Why the hell are you staring at my lips?" He said quietly, his turquoise eyes vacant.

"Not your lips, your blood."

"MyGod," he jested, "you do remember how to talk." Hs face turned defiant and angry at this point, he spat out, "then how about telling me why the fuck you're on top of me and look about to drink my blood, vampire dickhead?"

The corners of my lips curled up. I knew that insolence. I was tired of these things, like missing pieces of a puzzle, they represented fragments of the entire memory belonging to an existence - if only I could see. As if blind, I could not place these pieces back into the incomplete jigsaw picture that was my very being, and I felt trapped. Damn God. What was this, penance?

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But if you're the light, if you're the eye--

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Guide my clumsy hands to where the pieces belonged.

I didn't care anymore. Nothing else existed apart from the boy and his curious blood.

He started when I touched the red liquid on the corner of his lips with my fingers, a hand remained gripped firmly at his wrists. I felt dominating, our roles were reversed. The silver-haired boy beneath me did not struggle, the only thing that was perverse to my action was those eyes, eyes that hid a secret behind their flaring resentment. Gently running a finger along his lips, I smeared them the colour of this crimson essence that vigour and dynamism of life seemed to spring from. I let my innermost instinct overpower me.

And I licked it. From the tender flesh that was his lips. It was a secret wanting to be told: a single tear escaped from one of Dante's tightly shut eyes and streaked down his jaw line. Something cut my heart. We were beside the bed's post where moonlight could not reach us, darkness now was our solace. I planted my lips onto his smooth cheek bone and traced the watery trail of his tear. I wanted to laugh. If nothing else but this precious tear should satisfy my thirst, then only this boy could complete my existence. I kissed his closed eye, the source of his tear, then slowly moved to where his brows furrowed, as if to ease whatever kind of pain he was suffering from. With my fingers I felt his moist lips again, they demanded my own presence.

Breaking through the hot screen of his breath, I felt his mouth open, kissed him, softly at first, my lips barely brushing against his. Dante opened his eyes only to close them again, this time serenely. And our lips met again, now with passion and violence as immense as when we fought earlier tonight. He parted his mouth, my tongue delved, my free hand grasping at a side of his face. We were kissing so feverishly that it seemed as if we had longed for the other's flesh and warmth our whole lives, yearned for it, waited for it. Dante was hot like fire, his saliva was as fresh as water but his kiss made it burn, and I thrived on it, that soothing heat. We would lose our breath just to recover it again from the same air, without pulling apart, our bodies moved in accord with what Nature instilled in us. Never had my heart beat this fast tonight. I could feel his heart thumped wildly against my own, our pulses mended as one at this moment as our bodies were crushed together. And moved together. Never had joy been so close to pain.

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But I had to pull away from him. Sitting up, panting, I wiped off the blood that was running down from my mouth in a generous stream with my forearm. Dante had bitten my tongue. I grinned, it didn't hurt much. He licked traces of my blood that lingered on his own lips and grinned back. The boy gave the impression of wanting to lap at my mouth as he propped himself up on his elbows. Click. Suddenly, god knew where it came from, I felt cold metal against my forehead. A gun.

I smirked, "you… never fail to amaze."

"Shut up."

Bang.

I stumbled back and my head fell on a bedpost. There was blood. I had a headache. Hesitantly, in awe, I brought a hand up to my forehead. Dante got up and left the room. Amidst the quietness, I heard shuffling of bare feet on concrete or other from beneath the window. It stopped after a short while, a slump followed. Another gunshot echoed throughout the night. In humid air that was an October slumber, in the midst of darkness, it was the last thing I heard before my eye lids slid shut.

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Morning came so swiftly that I thought last night was only a twisted reverie. I sat up, cradling my forehead with a palm, even though it didn't ache anymore. But still I--

"Fuuck!" A familiar voice yelled out in frustration. Crash. "Oww!"

The door swung open. Dante was there, he had changed into a pair of black trousers, his silvery hair smoothed out . One of his arms was high on the doorframe to support his body, his back crouched, while the other arm tried to zip up the black boot hung from a foot that hovered above the opposite leg's ankle. "I'm so throwing these away…" he mumbled. I grinned, with unexplainable relief.

Sitting with my legs spread out on the floor, I let myself stare up at him. I had no idea what I was expecting, I held no expectation.

"You know," He walked over to a wooden coatstand by the window, his boots shuffling steadily on the floor, and grabbed a long, red leather jacket from there, he turned to glimpse my solemn face, paused "…..never mind." And with that, he swung the jacket over his left shoulder and headed back for the door with haste.

I found myself looking at his naked back instead of an empty doorway as he abruptly stopped while just about to exit, his hand clutched at the left side of the doorframe.

He signed, "I want the window that you broke last night fixed before I get back. And...," he paused again, "rent is 200 bucks a month." Then he looked back at me, and smirked impishly. Like all of his grins that had burned their impression in me, I now had this one freshly memorized inside my mind. "Miss it and I might just kill you."

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I hope to hell that people get the irony in that last quote…I'd lost all my poetic-ness by the time birds started chirping outside, lol, so if you spotted inconsistency, I'm sorry. You kinda have to have read chapters 2 and 3 to understand what could've possibly gone out inside Dante's head. Please R&R! I know I've been bad by not updating for 4 months #snifflesf# I sincerely apologise. By the way, this is not the ending : )