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Your mind is eerily blank, void of all thought and comprehension as you sprint down the empty street. There are really only three things you're currently aware of; the sound of your own feet against the pavement as you run; your erratic pulse beating relentlessly in your ears; and your own haggard breaths that echo and rattle in your chest. How long have you been running for now? You can't say for sure, but it's been long enough that your lungs ache and burn, and your body, especially your legs, feel as though they've been filled with lead, making them numb. Sluggish. Like you're being bogged down, trying to run through quicksand. It's a miracle that you haven't tripped over your own two feet yet for all the feeling that's left in them, but the crash that sounds behind you, accompanied by a frustrated hiss of an equally frustrated demon, is a harsh reminder why you haven't stopped to take a breath. With it, a darkness creeps and spreads, a physical,
tangible
cloak that engulfs the creature and its surroundings. You can see it in your periphery - tendrils of a deep, endless black that crawl and snake along the ground, the walls, consuming all the cars, the dumpsters, even the streetlights that you both pass. It follows the creature. It
is
the creature. But your destination, your goal, your beacon in the night is only just around the corner. If you can at least reach the front door, the very first
step
leading up to it even, you'll be safe. That's the only thing spurring your weary body forward. The only thing that protects you from the pitch black void that pursues you.
"Running away to him again?" Though it's directly behind you, close enough that you swear you can feel its humid breath on the back of your neck, you don't chance the look over your shoulder, fearing that seeing it so close might be the final nail in your coffin. Yet the sound of its claws scraping the pavement as it lopes after you on too many feet, and the bloodcurdling, guttural rasp of its voice is somehow more chilling without the knowledge of its appearance - your mind already working against you and filling in the blanks. But you can already hear it slowing its pace, deciding, at least for now, to give up the chase because you've made it to the front stoop of Devil May Cry, and no matter how tasty a morsel stands before them, no demon is stupid enough to try anything on the home turf of demonkind's most hated and infamous man. Now that you know you're safe, you take this moment to double over, leaning your hands on your knees and gulping down entire lungfuls of air. You can barely feel your legs - you only know they're shaking because you can
feel
it under your hands - but taking precedence over that is the fact that each breath you take burns your throat, your breaths sounding more like wheezing on each inhale.
"How long do you think you can keep this up?" The demon, and the encroaching darkness that follows it, slows to a stop just beyond the front stoop. You can't make anything out inside that dark cloud, no vague shapes, no shifting shadows, not even a pair of eyes. Only a line of crooked teeth that catch the light of Devil May Cry's neon sign, giving them an eerie pink glow and reflecting it back at you - a sinister Cheshire Cat. Like shards of broken glass, they line the maw of the creature, jutting out at odd angles, yet still somehow perfectly lock together to form a mocking grin. "Do you think you can outrun me forever? It's true that you've managed to escape me time and time again, but..." The mouth shifts in the darkness, inching as close to you as it dares, lips pulling back in a sneer to reveal more jagged, uneven teeth.
"You would do well to remember that I need only catch you once."
Your heart stills at the grim reminder, numb and clammy fingers gripping the material of your pants. Though your body is close to overheating, those words send an ice cold dread coursing through your veins and clenching your heart, sending a shiver straight through you to physically manifest as goosebumps on your bare arms. Seemingly satisfied, the demon, the mouth of glinting teeth fades out of sight, taking with it the oppressive darkness that's been plaguing you for weeks, and then you're left standing dumbly on the front stoop of the only place you ever feel truly safe anymore, trying to control your breathing. Because now it isn't just the fatigue that's affecting you…
You jerk when the door pulls open behind you with a tired creak, and standing there in the doorway, bathed in the warm orange lights of the office, is Dante, wearing an easy smile.
"Hey. Thought that might've been you - you're the only one whoever thinks to visit me outside of office hours." Although his tone is ever casual, his eyes subtly flicker down the street on either side of the store. There was another presence just a short while ago, he's certain of it, but the street lies empty now, leaving you, out of breath, and clearly unsettled. He doesn't like that at all. "Did you run all the way here just to see me? Aww, you sure know how to make a guy feel important, babe, but don't put yourself out on the account of little ol' me."
Your breathing is a little more even now, a little more controlled, and you manage a thin, wan smile at his lighthearted jests. Even just that, just being himself, is enough to lift the veil that is your concern. You're convinced there's very little he wouldn't be able to do for you, and all he would have to do is be there.
Dante steps aside, opens the door wider for you to reveal the office behind him, a shred of normalcy and familiarity in these unsettling and frantic few weeks. "Well don't just stand there, what sorta gentleman would I be if I didn't let my favourite gal in." He watches as you brush past him into the warmth of the office, your home away from home, but what you don't see is the way he scans the street one final time, the smile dropping off his face as his eyes narrow and darken.
A silent threat to the creature he knows is still watching.
Your chest has finally stopped aching by the time you settle on the old worn couch, sipping at a mug of ice water that Dante handed to you. He's standing a short distance away, leaning his hip against his desk with his arms folded across his chest. You're not saying anything about what just happened, why you were so nervous and out of breath when he opened the door. He wonders if the best way to address it is to simply be direct about it, but as he goes to open his mouth, you beat him to the punch.
"Is Vergil not in?"
Dante closes his mouth again, not really able to help the pout that purses his lips. Why is the first thing you say to him tonight about his brother? But in the interest of moving the conversation forward, he answers you earnestly. "Nah, he went out about half an hour ago." But now that he mentions it… "You know, I can almost swear he's meeting up with somebody, but he never tells me anything."
That perks you up a little, the unintentional derail helping in soothing your nerves, both at the close scrap you just had, and at the prospect of what you actually came here to ask tonight. "Meeting with somebody?" You do your best not to laugh, and Dante has to commend you for your effort - he understands that the very notion is absurd, especially given what you both understand about Vergil.
"I know, right? Never saw him as being into booty calls."
You can't help the burst of laughter that erupts from you at that, having to hide it behind your cup of water for fear that Vergil will somehow know and come crashing through the door to reprimand the both of you.
"So…" With the tension successfully appeased, Dante figures now is a good a time as any to segue into what he actually wants to talk to you about. "What's actually going on with you? You've been jumpy recently. If there's anything I can do…" He trails off there, leaving the ball - whether you'd like to divulge your troubles to him or not - purely in your court.
Staring down into your cup of water, you take a deep breath, trying to force your rising heart rate back, because you really, honestly,
truly
can't believe what you're about to ask of him. But it has to be done. If you don't do this, it'll never end. That demon will keep chasing you.
"
I
need only catch you once."
You forcibly unclench your jaw. "I…" Good lord, where are you even supposed to begin? "We've been friends for a while now, right?"
Dante tilts his head, confused, but when he answers you, his voice is confident. "Of course."
"And you know I trust you, right?" The jittery, fluttery feeling in your gut comes back the longer you drag this out, and it's getting harder to keep from getting flustered.
"Babe, just tell me what I can do for you, and I'll get it done, I promise."
Oh god, why did he have to follow up with
that exact
line?! That just makes what you're about to say to him even harder.
"I-- I--" It's now or never, so you steel yourself by squaring your shoulders and yelling it with all the determination you can muster. "--I need you to have sex with me!!"
Silence.
It's so potent and suffocating that if a pin were to drop, you wouldn't hear it purely because of the fact that the air is so stifled and thick with the sheer awkward and suddenness of your request.
Dante blinks. He blinks again. "...huh?"
Needless to say, that is
absolutely
not what he was expecting. Even with his heightened senses, he can't be sure he heard you right. There's no way you just asked what he thought you did. Surely… But as his surprised gaze meets yours (were your eyes always that colour??), as he takes in your reddened cheeks (were you always this cute?!?!), the more he's convinced he heard you correctly.
Doesn't mean that he can really believe it though.
"You… want me to…" He can't even bring himself to finish that sentence, as if merely speaking the words would undo what just happened.
"You're the only one I can ask." The heat that's rushing to your cheeks is almost unbearable, alleviated only by the smallest margin when you break eye contact with Dante to stare down at your lap instead. "I know you pretend a lot, but you know there's a demon after me, don't you? It… it keeps saying it wants me for my v..." It's miraculous how hard all of this is to say even though you've already surpassed the main hurdle. Why is the act of providing context into your sudden request more embarrassing than directly asking Dante for sex, when the exact opposite is supposed to be true? Oh right, because the very reason itself feels like a counterpoint against you. "It wants me for my virgin blood!"
Oh god, oh christ, it's out, he knows you're a virgin at your age, it's done now, your life is over, may as well just head back outside and let the demon finish you off.
Except you know that Dante wouldn't allow that to happen.
"You're a…" for whatever reason, he's having trouble processing this slew of information, one hand rising to rub at his temple. He's surprised, that much is clear, but not for the reason you're expecting. "You're a virgin? A total knockout like you?"
The sound that escapes you can hardly be classified as human. All you can hear is a high-pitched shrill, and you're surprised the mug you're still holding onto doesn't shatter in your hands. "No?! I mean, yes?! Is that bad?!"
"What? No?" For what it's worth, he seems genuinely perplexed that you'd ask him such a thing. " I just… you know, you look," Dante gestures toward you with both of his hands in a vague manner, "...uh. Good. Guess I'm just surprised to hear you haven't done… the thing."
You look good… The thing
...
Good lord, what is he, a ten year old? What elementary school is he in right now?
Dante's clear discomfort is… strangely comforting, and knowing that he's been thrown off, even if just a little, and even if for a different sort of reason, helps to allay your fears. Part of your reluctance in bringing this up to him at all was the worry that he'd laugh you right out of the office. And well… it also helps that he called you a total knockout.
"I've been in a few relationships before, but none of them really went anywhere." Because none of those people were Dante. "I always broke things off before it reached the point of… um. The thing." It's funny how naturally you fell into his mode of impromptu address. "But I'm tired of constantly having to sleep with one eye open, and checking around every corner. I'm tired of running. And I figured if… if I wasn't a virgin anymore, then it'd…"
"...lose interest?" Dante finishes your sentence for you with a rather thoughtful look on his face. "Why don't you just like. Call somebody? I mean, your circumstances are a bit uh, strange, but there are services for this sort of thing, aren't there? It doesn't have to be me--"
"It has to be you!" The words leave your mouth before you realise the weight of the potential behind them. In fact, you only realise it when Dante's eyes immediately dart back to you, and then that high-pitched shrill comes back for an encore. "I mean--! I didn't--! Y-you're one of my best friends! And we've been through a lot together! And I don't trust anybody else with this! So." Your voice drops in both pitch and volume, shoulders slumping. "Please…"
From where you're sitting, it looks like Dante wants to say something, like there's something gnawing at his heart, but that's because for once, there is - there's an alternative solution to your problem, one that makes things far simpler for everybody in the room, and one that doesn't carry the potential of ruining the friendship he has with you.
Because he could just go out and kill that demon himself. It wouldn't be hard for him. Tracking it when it's constantly shrouded in that cloak of darkness would be such a simple affair. And then killing it would be even more so.
And yet he can't bring himself to tell you this, his heart telling,
begging
him to for once, just for once in his life, to please be selfish. To put his own wants on the forefront
just this one goddamn time
. Because he won't get another chance like this.
It's not like he's forcing you. You suggested this yourself.
And maybe… just maybe, you want this as badly as he does.
After a brief moment's contemplation (that felt much longer for the
both
of you), Dante exhales a lungful of air in one swoop, cards his hand back through his hair to muss it up and scratch at the back of his head at the same time. And then he's pushing off of his desk and closing the distance between you, grabbing the mug with one hand and tugging you to your feet by the hand with the other. You're only vaguely aware that he sets your mug down on the countertop as he leads you to the living area in the back of the office, because you're more focused on the way your fingers so naturally, and so perfectly intertwine with his.
"You're still sure?" He's standing at the foot of his bed, an uncertain hand over his mouth. You're directly in front of him, acutely aware of the fact that once your back hits that mattress, there's no going back… and that this will either make or break the friendship you have with this man. Hell, you can see why Dante's so nervous. You can't say you've ever really seen him like this before - Dante is always so confident in his words, his gestures… everything, that seeing him so unsure is equal parts nerve wracking and… well, kind of sweet.
"Dante, I'm already about to freak out. If you keep talking, I'm gonna lose my nerve and end up as demon chow. Can we please just--"
"Get it over with?" Again, Dante finishes your sentence for you with a crooked smile, tilting his head to try to catch your eyes. "Would if I could, but if we're gonna do this, I wanna make sure I do it right." He catches himself there, realising that perhaps he's said too much, and so he immediately amends his statement. "It's part of the job."
Something in your stomach falls at that, and you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes. It's just business to him. Of course it is. But if you close your eyes and drown out all those intrusive thoughts, if you focus only on the present and the way his hands lift from your shoulders to ghost up the side of your neck, maybe you can fool yourself into thinking that the reason his fingers are so gentle under your chin as they tilt your head up to meet with his lips is because he feels the same way you do. For this one night, you can let yourself get lost in the smell of old leather, gunpowder, and… cinnamon? You've never been close enough to notice that last one before this.
But you deserve at least this much, don't you?
It's just one night.
It isn't just because Dante is naturally warm that you can feel your cheeks heat up, it's because he's so tender in the way he's handling you. One of his large hands cups the side of your face, gently guiding and angling your head to give him better access to your mouth. His other hand skims down your side, slipping around you to rest it on your waist, high up enough for it to still be innocent, but pulling you into him in a way that suggests insistence and impatience. With every second that his lips move against yours, every subtle press of his fingers into your skin, fooling yourself becomes just that much easier because he's
so
convincing, so skilled at sweeping you off your feet. So it's only natural that your body is responding to his gentle affections, isn't it? It's okay to play your part too, right?
Boldly, you wind your arms around his neck, fingers threading into his scruffy hair you always joke about needing to be trimmed. But finally being able to feel the softness of his locks between your fingers somehow changes your mind, and you can't help but think that at this length, it's so easy for you to pull on. The thought of it alone has you whining into his kiss, and Dante takes that as his cue to press onward, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and curling under the fabric to tease it upward. Silently understanding what he means to do, you pull back from his kiss to find him staring down at you with an expression you can't read. One that's almost entirely foreign on the man you've come to know as Dante, and completely separate from the way he usually conducts himself. It's serious, but not grim, as if he's fighting a battle you know nothing about in some faraway place.
"Dante?" Your voice comes out so small, but just that is enough for him to blink out of whatever thought he was so caught up in.
He gently hushes you. "It's okay. Trust me."
I do
, you want to tell him, but he's already pulling your shirt over your head, your own hands busying themselves with trying to do the same for him. He stops you when you go for his belt though, one of his hands closing over yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. You think you've maybe done something wrong, but the look on his face would indicate otherwise - it's somehow soft and laid-back at the same time.
"Much as I'm flattered, this is still your first time at the rodeo." His smile wanes, but is still somehow so
genuine
. "Just let me take care of you. Okay?"
You give an affirming hum as your shoulders go slack, suddenly finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him when his hands smooth down your sides to settle onto your hips. He hooks his thumbs into the hem of your pants and drags them down, and it's only because you're worried about tripping over them that you shyly kick them away. And just like that, you're practically bared to him. The distant look in his eyes comes back when he looks over you, but whatever plagues him doesn't take root because he blinks it away and dismisses it with a shake of his head, choosing to simply enjoy the moment and worry about whatever comes after… well, after.
Kind of like what you're doing.
He's a little more insistent when he kisses you for the second time, and although you're certain that your feet are planted firmly on the ground, your head is spinning because his lips are so
smooth
, and his hands are so
warm
when they roam the skin at your lower back, gently squeezing and massaging. It forces a sound from you, giving Dante just the opportunity he's been waiting for to slip his tongue, equally smooth and warm, into your mouth. To hide the heat that flares up in your face when you realise that yes, indeed, he tastes like strawberries (and a touch of whiskey), you press yourself further into him, arms winding around his neck to urge him closer, ever closer. His hands skim lower, caressing the backs of your thighs and then you feel him lifting you. It's instinct, the fear of falling, or, god forbid, being dropped that you wrap your legs around him, and you swear you can feel his breath hitch in his throat when you lock your ankles behind him.
Your back collides with the cool sheets of his bed, but his lips never leave yours, and if they do, they always find another patch of skin to settle on, to skim and lave over. He has to know how nervous you are, he has to be able to feel your pulse directly under your skin for how tightly he's pressed against you, covering your body with his. But even though the feel of his bare skin flush against you sparks a fire within you that you've never felt before, threatening to consume you entirely, there's a tenderness in the way his thumbs rub small circles wherever he can reach. The side of your neck, down your sides, your thighs - the rush of it engulfs you as much as it grounds you, and you're no longer sure whether the frantic buck of your hips up towards him is a result of your overwhelmed state of mind or, more bluntly, the overwhelmed state of your panties. And you know he isn't unaffected, because you can
feel
the evidence to the contrary beginning to tent the crotch of his pants. You can hear it in his voice too, when he groans into your skin, and the sound alone, so deep and so pleasing in a way you've never really understood has you biting down on your lower lip to suppress another weak cry.
He isn't tired by any means, but when he pulls back from you, his breathing is uneven, and though it's thin, he manages quiet, breathy laugh. "Seems like you're easing into things. But you let me know if I'm moving too fast for you, okay?" With a tilt of his head, his hair falls to one side just enough for you to catch both of his eyes, and under his gaze, the most you can handle is a nod. It's like a pressure is being lifted off you when his eyes travel downward, skimming down the throat that he would like nothing more than to sink his teeth into, to the collarbones he wants to explore with the tip of his tongue, to your breasts, still clothed. Dante's eyes flit back up to you for a brief moment, watching, studying, observing, then you feel one large hand close over your breast, kneading it tentatively with his palm. You can't bear to look at him while he does this, finding solace in staring off to the side and across the room, even though you're enjoying the attention, even though through the cup of your bra, Dante can feel your pebbled nipple under his hand. He leans down again lips skimming the skin at your throat, and you feel surprise at yourself when you instinctively angle your head to give him better access to you, wrenching your eyes shut at the prickly, but not unpleasant feel of his stubble against your skin. It contrasts incredibly well with the smooth wetness of his tongue when he laves it against your pulse.
You stifle another whimper and shift under him, your hips already beginning to gyrate impatiently. "Dante…"
The sound of your voice, saying his name with that pleasured lilt makes his cock throb in his pants. "Jesus…" He says that so quietly that it's by the sheer virtue of being so close to him that you make it out at all, and just as you go to question him on what's wrong, the vague scraping sensation continues downward. He sweeps the cup of your bra aside in one motion, following up immediately by sealing his lips around your exposed nipple, his tongue working it in circles, and only ever applying the barest scrape of his teeth. But all the same, you nearly jolt right off the bed at the raw electricity that shoots through you from the warm, wet contact. Your hands immediately go to his shoulders, your fingers pressing into the muscles that shift under your touch, and though you're not sure how, you can tell the action made him smile based on the way his stubble grazes the bare skin of your breast. So caught up in the fact that Dante...
Dante
, has one of your nipples in his mouth, you don't notice one of his hands sliding down your body to settle between your legs until he applies pressure with his palm, and here, this time, you actually
do
cry out. You've touched yourself before
to the thought of him
, of course you have, but there's something so overwhelmingly intimate about having somebody else's hand there, something that makes the pleasure so much more
real
…
...but also so much more embarrassing.
Because did you really just make that sound?
You?
Did he hear it?
God, that's stupid,
of course
he heard it!
Though he gives it one final lick, one more gentle suck, he pulls off your nipple completely to once more look for your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?" Dante's gone completely still. The pressure he applied to the apex of your thighs lifts away, though his hand still hovers over your mound, waiting for your approval. The most you can manage is a shake of your head, because for all of your inexperience, you're determined to see this through, not only for your survival, but because… this might be the only chance you'll ever get. For some reason, the thought brings tears to your eyes, and Dante visibly panics, using his free hand to brace himself on his bed to lift himself off you. "Whoa, hey-- we can stop! It's fine, seriously! Just don't--" his own words end up getting caught in his throat, and he realises that it isn't quite the prospect of your tears themselves that have him so worried. It's the idea that he's the cause of them that makes his stomach flip. Fuck, he's so pathetic… and in an attempt to physically hide this, his head lowers to the safety of your shoulder where he presses his forehead. "--please don't cry."
"N-no, I…" You're well aware that your fingers are trembling where they're touching his heated skin, but still, you continue to voice your statement to the contrary, finding strength in the need to reassure him. "I don't want to stop."
"And those tears?"
Your arms snake a little further around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him back towards you while you try to rearrange your thoughts, try to scrape together some sort of cohesive answer in spite of the heated simmer that pumps through your veins. "...this is the furthest that I've ever gotten with anybody." Maybe it's the fact that you've basically already bared all of yourself to him physically, that you feel you can also bear yourself to him emotionally too. Whatever it is, you want to ride this wave of courage out before it crashes and leaves you stranded. Within your own body, you can hear your own heart thudding in your chest. Is it the adrenaline that's doing that? It feels so light… "Can't I be happy that it's with you?"
It's then that Dante lifts his head to look at you, his expression one of genuine surprise that, despite the circumstances - the both of you half naked on his bed, his hand now resting on your thigh just so it isn't still ghosting your crotch - nearly has you laughing.
The look on your face is somehow mournful, rueful and relieved all at once. "You really didn't know?"
"Well, I mean I'd guessed. Hoped. Whatever. Just didn't think I'd get that lucky." His smile turns a little wry. "We both know I don't usually get this lucky. Shit babe, now you're making
me
nervous!"
"You?!" You can't help but balk at that prospect, lightly slapping at his back in a minor frenzy. "You're supposed to be guiding
me
through this. How're you gonna make up for this, Dante?"
His eyes, that playful ashen blue, drift off to one side. "I think I have an idea. But if all else fails… lunch tomorrow?"
All things considered - you under him, his hands on you, the sheer intimacy of the proximity,
the very fact you're currently supposed to be in the middle of sex
- it's the prospect of a casual lunch together that quickens your pulse and gives rise to the particular sort of giddiness that comes with joy. When you try to pull him towards you to bundle him into your arms, Dante actually lets you this time, noting that the trembling he can feel from you isn't something borne of anxiety, but of the laughter you're only just able to contain.
"It's a date." You confirm. It's so easy to forget even simple things when you're with Dante, tensions simply melting away with a casual ease, making you foolishly wonder why you were so worried to begin with. It's something he has a special talent for you realise, at least until he kisses you again, this time with a little more of the confidence and nonchalance he so freely radiates. You daresay it's a little more needy too - it's something in the way his hands, his fingertips especially, squeeze at you, and the way his tongue so readily seeks out yours. And the sound of his
voice
, that deep timbre that rises from the very bottom of his throat… You've always enjoyed the sound of his voice regardless of whether he's just talking or laughing, but this? That faint touch of desperation? You could get used to this.
The hand that had settled on your thigh slides back around until he's palming at you through your panties, his fingers probing and rubbing slowly, and then it's you moaning into his mouth and shifting your hips, boldly grinding into his hand. Dante breaks the kiss, skims his lips down the side of your throat again to gently bite at the soft flesh there - he wants your mouth to be free while he's touching you.
"Has anybody ever…" His fingers press down a little harder against your clothed slit, letting the rest of that sentence hang and leaving it up to you to fill in the blanks yourself with as much or as little as you feel comfortable divulging.
"I-
I
have," the words come a bit easier with the cleared air between the two of you, the only real obstacle now being your very inexperience with this sort of intimacy, "and I have toys, but. Not anybody else."
Toys, huh? Dante files that piece of information away. Much as he'd like to pursue that avenue right now, he understands this isn't really the time. "Alrighty." He adjusts the angle of his hand, giving the entirety of your cunt one final long stroke (and absolutely relishing in the drawn out sigh it pulls from you) before he deftly slips the damp seat of your panties to one side, revealing puffy lips to open air. He lifts his head again, searching for your eyes and approval, and it's only when he has both does he tentatively touch a finger to you, twisting it vaguely to settle right against your entrance. He doesn't go any further than that, but he does draw small, light circles, and if you thought you'd jolted off the bed when he'd pulled one of your nipples into his mouth earlier, that has nothing on the way you buck your hips into his hand with a surprised whine, inadvertently sheathing half his finger inside you.
"Fuck, sweetheart, don't do that--" Dante's voice is only lightly chiding, sounding more amused than anything else. Your shy disposition in bed is appealing in its own right, but the knowledge that you're so sensitive… so
eager
… He swallows, and you can't help but watch the pleasing way the lump in his throat bobs, sending pleasant tingles straight between your legs.
"I can't help it," you quietly, timidly reply, "it... felt good, so I…"
"Don't say things like that either or I'm seriously gonna need a break." Whether Dante's being serious about that or not, you're not given the chance to respond because he's already beginning to pump his finger in and out of you slowly. His eyes never leave your face the entire time he's feeling your walls shift and squeeze him, and you never thought that you'd derive pleasure from the simple fact that he seems so entranced by your quiet moans and the way your eyes slide closed, but you can feel how wet you are based on how smoothly his finger slips in and out of you. It gives him the assurance he needs to begin pumping you a little faster, a little deeper, sucking in a breath when you bite down on your lip again. You can hear yourself, your rapid breaths, your rising heart rate, but above all else, somehow more poignant than everything else, the sound of your own wetness, his finger coated in your slick as he continues to pump you. It's wet, and it's lewd, and it's oh so arousing to your ears that you have to snake a hand between your bodies to close your fingers over his hand, shyly guiding his thumb to the hood of your clit, because just one finger alone isn't enough anymore.
"I like it here too… please."
The sound he makes is equal parts strained and impatient, obviously pleased by your brazen pursuit of pleasure despite the generous dusting of pink that tints your cheeks. "That's bold of you." Dante leans down to give the corner of your lips another kiss. "I like it." He doesn't waste any more time after that, pressing down lightly with the pad of his thumb to illicit a short cry from you that you immediately hide behind the back of your other hand, quietly moaning his name into it. He doesn't comment on it, doesn't tell you to remove your hand so he can listen to you, but only because he figures he'll get you to a point where you can't help but writhe and scream and squirm for him. The thought of it has him subtly grinding into your thigh, and you can tell he's well and truly hard by now.
And judging by the thickness of the ridge in his pants he's rutting into you with, he's sizeable too, good god. It's brief, fleeting, but the fear of whether or not you he'll fit flickers through your mind.
Dante's thumb rubs small, tight circles against your clit and he can't help but wonder what you'd sound like if he was using his mouth instead. Maybe he can find out tomorrow after lunch. In the meantime, he withdraws his finger from you with a wet squelch, earning him a faint noise of complaint at which he can only chuckle. "You good for two?"
You hum an affirmation into your hand and nod, biting down on your own knuckle when you feel yourself stretch around two of his fingers in a slow, pleasant burn. He pushes in as far as he's able, feeling you pulse once around the intrusion, and fuck if that doesn't actually make his mouth water a little in anticipation of what that will feel like around his cock. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about it, but he has to get you to a point where you can comfortably take him first, and so to that end, he begins to scissor his fingers. It's a subtle motion at first, to ease you into the feeling of being stretched, increasing his fervour only when he hears your pleasured sighs and feels the desperate press of your fingers around his wrist as you try to coax his fingers deeper inside you. All the while, his thumb never stills, pressing and stroking and teasing, building you up to the first orgasm you'll ever have had in the presence of another person.
But suddenly the pressure is gone and Dante's hand lifts away, breaking free of the weak grasp you had around his wrist. You only realise why when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, and the pop of the buttons of his pants, rising onto your elbows just in time to see him pull his leaking cock out, grasping it at the base to give himself a teasing pump. Your heart nearly stops at the sight of it, because just as you'd surmised, Dante is
big
. Veiny, thick, throbbing, and already dripping with precum. He hadn't let on about his state, didn't let it show just how impatient he was getting, and he still doesn't even when he drags you towards him, slinging your legs over each of his thighs. He's still as slow and gentle as he's always been when he rubs the thick head of his cock against your folds, gathering your slick on it. He doesn't stop at just the head though, angling it upwards slightly to saw it through your labia, coating his entire shaft in a mixture of both your essences making the both of you simultaneously shudder.
"Dante…" It's a half moan, half timid call for his attention, and though the movement of his cock does slow, it doesn't stop when he gives you an acknowledging hum. "Is this going to hurt?"
At that question, he really does stop, lifting his gaze from your soaked cunt to look at you with an apologetic smile marring his features. "Most likely, sunshine. So if it gets to a point you where you can't deal with it, you tell me, and we'll figure something out." Dante watches you nod tentatively, but he isn't satisfied with the lack of a verbal answer. So with a tilt of his head, he tries to prompt one out of you. "Promise?"
His adamance in your approval, your consent, fills you with a kind of warmth you've long since associated with Dante, and it's only now that you understand beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's love. This is love. You love him. And god, it's almost overwhelming. "I promise."
"Good." He leans forward, balancing his weight on one hand to press his lips to your forehead. "Take deep breaths, sweetheart."
Your hands slide up his torso, fingers nervously pressing divots into his pecs before you suck in a breath. And then he's pushing into you. It's only his fat cock head at first, the glans already a step up from both of his fingers, but just that alone has you arching, and him groaning, the pleasure of being stretched by him near consuming you. It's when he urges further that the real burning begins, pushing deeper bit by bit, letting your walls adjust to each inch of him before he even thinks about moving again. Frankly, it's almost torturous. He'd already thought you were tight around his fingers, and even his most lewd, his most perverse and debauched thoughts of you couldn't have prepared him for the way you're currently squeezing his cock, stretched so perfectly taut that his head starts to spin, and the only way he can ground himself is to bury his face into the crook of your neck, rumble your name, and breathe in the scent of you to remind himself that
this is not about him
. No matter how good he feels. No matter how badly he wants to fuck into you until you cum again and again and again and again--
He feels both of your hands move into his hair, already grabbing fistfuls of it, and even that minor pull on his scalp has his hips stuttering and his teeth grazing, only ever
teasing
the skin at your throat.
And he's still only half sheathed.
Gulping, you press your face into the damp skin of Dante's shoulder. Every muscle in your body is tense, and the burn, the biting sting of your cunt being stuffed so full is almost unbearable. But you refuse to give in to it, not only because of the demon that still haunts your footsteps, but because this is what you
want
. You want him. You want all of him. On you, around you, in you, closer and closer until you're both reduced to a haggard, sweaty pile of arms and legs and satisfaction. When you feel his hips stutter against you, you go to wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to keep him where he's supposed to be, your heels gently pressing him into you until at last, he's inside you all the way to the hilt.
"Fuck--" Dante half chokes, half laughs that curse, finally lifting his head to press another frantic open-mouthed kiss to your lips. You return it rather hazily, sloppily, cautiously rolling your hips into him and being met with a mixture of pain and pleasure when his hips graze the hood of your clit. That seemingly gives him an idea, because Dante lifts off of you, leaving just enough space between your heated bodies for him to slip his hand between, finding the peak of your slit with probing fingers. The moment he comes into contact with your swollen clit, he feels you convulse around him, making him jerk into you with a strangled gasp.
"Keep going…"
Dante almost doesn't hear you over the sound of the inferno in his blood, pounding on his eardrums, but he wordlessly complies to your request, lightly teasing at your clit with unsteady fingers. Part of him is genuinely worried that if he feels you pulse around his cock again, he might honest to god lose it, but a larger part of him is spurred on by the quiet sounds you're making; your staggered, uneven breathing; and your hips gently rolling into his, so slowly and delicately at first as the pain begins to mix with the sensation, the
idea
that Dante is buried to the hilt inside your cunt and barely holding himself together above you.
Until eventually, it fades altogether.
"Dante… Dante--" there's a whiny, needy quality to your tone of voice, and in his current state - only another minute or two
at best
from blowing his load - he swears that if you keep moaning his name like that, all of that will immediately fly out the window. "Shit--" You buck your hips into him again, and now Dante isn't sure his previous assertion is true anymore - he might cum right
now
. "...Please. Fuck me, Dante."
He sucks a breath in through his teeth, steels himself, because good lord if that isn't the sexiest thing that's come out of your mouth so far tonight. He can barely manage to wheeze out a "yes, ma'am." before he slowly withdraws, savouring the drag of his cock from within you, pulling nearly all the way out before his journey begins anew. But it's smoother this time, slicker, and by the third thrust, he can't feel any resistance anymore. You've begun to mewl, hands scrabbling for purchase wherever you can find it, whether it's your nails scratching at his arms or his back, breaths wild and erratic, because you've never felt this sensation before. Never been this filled. It's a mind numbing sort of pleasure, one that has you babbling strings of broken words, arching and keening at every thrust of his hips into you.
"Please tell me--" Dante has to take a second to make a strained noise when he feels you tighten around him, "--that I can pick up the pace. A guy is gettin' kinda desperate, ya know?"
It's amazing to you that he can still be so casual in a situation like this when you're hardly able to keep your eyes from rolling back into your skull. Maybe if you were any less far gone, you'd probably feel that fuzzy warmth in your chest again, but as it stands, you're barely able to manage a nod to accompany a series of fevered moans mixed with mumbled "
yes
"es and variants of his name. But in all honesty, you had Dante at that first nod.
His hands find your hips, fingers curling around you for better grip, pulling you onto his cock with every snap of his hips. It only takes a few short seconds for his pace (and grip) to become bruising, and over the sound of the bed frame creaking, the wet squelches of his cock drilling into you, you can swear that you hear him snarl - a low, guttural noise that originates from within his chest - but the memory of it is stolen from you in the same way that your breaths are with each of Dante's powerful thrusts. His cock is so thick, so perfect, reaching so deep inside you and hitting points within you that you didn't even know existed that push you higher and higher towards the peak of pleasure.
It must be the way your cunt is gripping him, bearing down on him so fervidly, indicating to him that you're so close, or maybe it's that you're babbling it too, you really can't be sure, but whichever one it is, it has him leaning back over you, one hand by your head to support his weight. The altered position wedges his cock ever further within you, his thrusts becoming short and rapid. Your legs tighten around him, thighs tensing, breath hitching, and suddenly you're arching right off the bed as you cum, lips parting in a silent scream as every muscle in your body contracts and spasms, resulting in full bodied pulses that match the rhythm of your cunt twitching around him. It's at that point that Dante finally allows himself the release he's been forcibly holding back by sheer will - the reason for his raspy, guttural growls - driving his length through your fervent contractions until he wrenches your body towards him and spears you onto his throbbing cock as he finally,
finally
reaches his peak with a harsh hiss of your name. And then he goes slack, face falling into his pillow right by your head.
He continues to thrust shallowly into you, softly, gently, as you milk him for every drop of his cum, mumbling half-hearted curses and moaning into your ear. Though your arms feel heavy (or just numb?), you slowly lift them to sling them over his shoulders, not minding the growing unpleasantness in the heat that the proximity brings because you've never felt so… sated before. And not just sexually. Dante really
does
have the ability to put you at ease just by being himself. Just by being there.
Maybe it's the post-coital bliss talking, but you angle your head and murmur quietly into his hair. "I love you."
And in response, Dante's arms slip around you, tugging you to him. He doesn't say it back in as many words, but he does slide his head across the pillow, nuzzling at you vaguely. "I know, champ. Me too."
The two of you are walking back to the office after your lunch date the next day - it wasn't anything fancy, just a little visit to the diner two blocks away since it's all Dante can viably afford - when you hear an anguished screech behind you. It's a sound you'd recognise anywhere, and instinctively, you reach for Dante's hand, your fingers squeezing at his wrist in an automatic knee-jerk response to the demon that's been hounding you for the past several weeks. You feel Dante's opposite hand close over yours momentarily before he gently pries your (surprisingly strong) grip off of him, offering you a reassuring smile.
"It's okay, sweetheart, I got this."
Dante reaches behind him for Ivory, but when the two of you turn around, instead of the looming, ominous cloak of darkness that you remember, standing there on the sidewalk is… well. You don't really know
what
it is. It's a demon to be sure, but it's a tiny, stout little thing, with wide, beady little eyes. It's more mouth and maw than anything else, and though its teeth are still intimidating, it's safe to say that nothing else about it is. It just looks like a head with stumpy legs. Is this what's been after you all this time?!
In fact, Dante asks you exactly that, but you're cut off before you can properly answer him.
"You FOOL!! Her blood is ruined!!" Even its voice, now comically high pitched, is completely different to the booming roar you'd heard at your back. Why do you feel so insulted by this?? "What have you done?!?!"
"More like
who
has she done, amirite?" With a sideways glance at you, Dante lifts his empty hand for a high five, but it goes largely ignored, and for all of a second, he thinks it's because you didn't hear him. But judging by the way you're actively avoiding his gaze with that familiar red glow in your cheeks, he knows you absolutely did. You're just choosing not to dignify his quip with a response. Now
he
feels insulted. "Aww c'mon, throw me a bone, that was a good one."
It's with a tired groan that you half-heartedly indulge him, and with a notable bounce in his step, Dante springs forward. The demon leaps upward into the air in a panic, screeching now in fear as it turns on its heel and begins to run away. For something with such tiny stubby legs, it sure can run, bolting down the street at an impressive pace. Of course, it's all rather relative, because even at a tepid jog, Dante is easily able to keep up, and you watch as he winds up a kick and boots it straight into the air, hard enough that it shrinks into the distance long before it even begins its downward arc to the ground. Wherever it lands, you get the feeling it won't bother you anymore.
...and yet for some reason, you still feel so exhausted.