Archive of Our Own

At some point he'd gotten so used to fighting it, the sickening itch in his gums and under his nails, that Dante had almost stopped noticing it.

Almost, of course, wasn't completely. 

It was always there. It came and went, sometimes, but it was never entirely gone. It got better when he was alone, but then his bones felt like they were grinding together, the pull of his demon blood stronger when no one else was around to make him feel normal. Except then when there was someone around, that itch came back, the urge to hunt and fight and taste blood on his tongue blazing like a wildfire in the presence of prey. He could fight it with Lady, but it was still there. He couldn’t even rely on it to go away with Trish, markedly not a weak little human that his brain did his best to convince him was food, because the intrusion of another demon into his territory just set his teeth on edge. It was the best with Nero, the only other one like him, the shadow of his past. Nero wasn't strong enough to be a threat, though he was getting closer every day, and anyway he was theirs, not that he knew it, and the hum of his own blood made Dante protective, not defensive. Nero could stay. Dante wanted him to stay. But he couldn't ask that, not when he'd spent years hiding from it. 

If Nero noticed a pattern in the times he checked up on him, he didn’t mention it. Not like he would have known, anyway. The most he probably figured was his own birthday, and if he had any idea how Dante knew that without having asked, it never came up. Beyond that it was sporadic, but there were always particular dates. Their birthday. The fire. Every time Dante had found his brother and then lost him again. Nero was all he had left, and when the call of the underworld got too strong, he was all that could bring him back.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't.

It was… simpler, somehow, than he expected. For the last twenty-five years, every time Vergil had come careening back into Dante’s life — which, admittedly, wasn't that many times — Dante had been shot at, stabbed, blown up, or otherwise left choking back blood because it was easier than tears. Their little jaunt in Hell hadn't actually lasted that long, all things considered, and anyway they'd been too busy fighting everything else to do anything more than throw each other around for a laugh. But they'd talked like they hadn't even as children, and some part of Dante, jagged and singed around the edges, began to smooth out and knit together in his chest. They cut down Vergil's little gardening experiment, they ransacked a few hundred demon nests, and then a great big tear had opened back up in the sky and Nero had crashed in front of them, eyes sunken and mouth twisted in a pout Dante couldn't help but knuckle off him, and back to the real world it had been.

And, look, it wasn't like things were easy. Vergil, despite having spent the majority of the last two decades dead or near it, was very particular about how he liked his space, and since he didn't have space, he took over Dante's. And then Nero decided he didn't trust them not to take another sabbatical and moved himself right in too, and he and Vergil butted heads at least twice a day, which would have been more worrying if they didn't always end up back-to-back tuning up their weapons or reading together. Vergil kind of sucked at talking in general, though not as much as Nero liked to claim, and Nero often got so frustrated he just started yelling, but then Vergil got Nico to teach him how to fix Nero's arms and Nero brought home thrifted books and started drinking fancy tea because Vergil liked it, and it wasn't exactly the father-son relationship of the ages, but it was something.

Unexpectedly, it was Dante that was the problem.

Dante was used to a very specific lifestyle here, thank you, and that did not involve being yelled at every other day because he left a cup on the desk instead of taking it to the kitchen or kicked a dropped sock aside instead of throwing it in the laundry. The fantasy of having Vergil back had never really gotten this far, and reality had a funny way of kicking you in the teeth as much as it did patting you on the back, and some days Dante wanted to claw his eyes out, and others he wouldn't let him out of bed.

Nero was an entirely different story. Being dead — and also not knowing you existed at all — turned out to be a pretty nice excuse for being a deadbeat, so the worst Vergil got was some general growly annoyance. But Nero couldn’t seem to decide if he was glad to finally know his family or un-fucking-bearably furious at Dante for having hid it for years, and more often than not he ended up snapping pointed teeth and storming off to pout at Vergil to keep Dante busy and away from him. And then that just pissed Dante off, because he knew he deserved it, but that didn’t make it any less painful to be the odd man out.

Twenty-five years he'd spent mourning Vergil. Five he'd spent orbiting Nero as closely as he could bring himself to, unwilling to let him go and even more unwilling to taste the salt of admitting who they were to each other. He should have and he knew it, Lady and Trish had beaten him over the head for it enough, and it wasn't fair to Nero when Dante could see how confused and conflicted and untethered he was, but every time he thought he could say it the words died on his tongue as the kid pulled a face so like Vergil it hurt. 

He started thinking what life would have been like he'd never given him up. If he'd walked it back when he'd handed him over to Lady and told her to take him somewhere no one would ever find him, and never tell him where. If he'd asked her, begged and bribed and pleaded until he could bring him home. If he'd told him the truth at their first meeting or any day after. If he'd said you're mine, you're ours, don't hate me, stay with me.

Would Vergil have found his way back, then? Would he have come sooner? Would Dante have been able to stop him, to know who he was, to not fall to Urizen, to protect their son like he should have?

Maybe it was for the best this was how it had gone. Dante could take this. This was more than he'd ever thought he'd get, even if Nero could barely stand to be in a room with him some days, and with them both around the itch settled into something easy to ignore instead of something he had to claw back. 

But simple didn't stay that way for long.

In hindsight, it was his own fault. Not that he'd ever admit that, of course. Vergil was much easier to blame.

He was the one that picked the fight, used to overworking himself on various gigs and not sure what to do with the free time having two other live-in hunters provided. He left a cup out knowing Vergil would chastise him, and when he did he just turned his back and ignored him.

And when that didn’t work, he threw a sock at him.

They went crashing to the floor, knocking over a chair so violently Dante swore he heard it splinter. Dante laughed against the wind being knocked out of him, the ache in his back healing immediately. He threw Vergil off of him and rolled to his feet, hunched low.

They circled each other slowly. Dante lashed out first, giddy at getting what he wanted. Vergil blocked the swipe at his arm and met it with one of his own. Claws scored Dante's flesh, the smell of his own blood almost intoxicating. This time when he lunged Vergil merely caught him by the waist, allowing himself to be knocked back a few steps. Teeth snapped just centimeters away from vulnerable body parts.

Again Dante struck, and again Vergil met him. The itch turned to fire, singing up his spine and sparking along his nerves. He managed to land a hit on Vergil's knee that knocked him down, and another that sent him rolling, and Vergil grabbed him by the leg and yanked him down so hard Dante saw stars as his head collided with the floor. Vergil dragged him in and bracketed him, teeth sinking into his shoulder and then his bicep. Dante elbowed him in the face and felt lips split against his fangs.

They hit the desk. Something fell and probably broke, but that was a problem for later. They rolled back across the floor and hit the couch, a trail of blood in their wake as they gouged holes in each other. Vergil grabbed him by the hair and bashed his head into the floor again, and Dante kneed him in the stomach and got on top of him, claws digging into his wrists until they scratched bone.

And then he stopped.

Vergil was smirking, a dark little look that didn’t match the heaving of his chest. He seemed wholly content for a man technically at a loss, but somehow Dante got the feeling he was the one who had the upper hand. He shifted, still holding him down, and then his core rubbed against the bulge in Vergil's pants and oh.

Yeah, the asshole was right where he wanted to be, wasn't he?

“I could get up and leave,” Dante said, voice labored.

“You won't,” Vergil told him.

Of course he wouldn't. The point was that he could.

He let go of Vergil's arms.

He was on his back in a second. Vergil didn't even bother to get his pants off all the way, just shoved them halfway down his thighs to wedge a hand between them. Dante crooned and wiggled as his fingers circled his clit lightly, then a little harder, until the embers their brawling had left burning in his stomach turned to flame. Vergil rubbed his palm against the whole of him until he was dripping, and only then did he drag a fingertip over his hole. He petted him for a moment, an idle, contented motion, a gentle sort of thing that felt more a gesture of appreciation for their closeness, for Dante's openness, his willingness to give himself up to Vergil's exploration, than any real chasing of pleasure. 

But Vergil would never deprive him for long without cause, and soon enough that finger was pushing in, down to the furthest knuckle. Dante shuddered as his hand met his core, dragging Vergil in by the neck to kiss him open-mouthed.

“Come on,” he said. “I can take it.”

“You'll take,” Vergil said, savoring the words, “what I give you, when I give it to you.”

Dante bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and licked it out of his mouth.

Vergil fucked him with just that finger for what felt like ages. The second finger was a slightly wider stretch, but nothing that Dante wasn't used to; Vergil could have gone straight for two if he wanted, maybe even three. Hell, Vergil probably could have just put his cock straight in for how used to taking him Dante was. Vergil could bend him over any time of day and he'd be ready, no need to play first.

But playtime was half the fun, which was probably why Vergil stopped with his fingers fully sheathed and didn't move until Dante scowled and started pushing himself down against him. Even then, all he really did was spread them, making Dante do all the work to fuck himself on them, up to the tip and down until his knuckles rubbed against his lips. When the third finger was added Vergil actually started to move again, twisting and scissoring and thrusting into him, shifting to hold him down with an arm over his chest and his weight on his legs. He lifted himself up when Dante scrambled at his waistband, removing his hand to push first his pants off and then Dante's. Dante grabbed his wrist and dragged him back in, sighing a little as he was filled again.

He noticed, almost in a daze, that Vergil was hard and neglected. His hips bucked into Dante's touch as he took him in hand, stroking him a few times before he was batted away. Expecting, you know, the reasonable progression of the matter, Dante lifted his hips, ready for Vergil to fit himself against him and slide in deep, right where he wanted him. 

Instead, the fingers left his cunt and slipped down further, and claws splintered the floor as they dipped between his cheeks and circled his hole.

“Oh, you fucking bastard.”

“No?” Vergil said, all smug amusement. He withdrew. “My apologies.”

Dante kicked him. 

“Don’t even pretend,” he said, gritting his teeth. His fangs were pushing through his gums. “You know damn well -”

“Nero says we should practice communicating,” Vergil told him innocently, eyes owlish. “I'm simply taking his advice to heart.”

“You just want to hear me beg.”

“It is an incentive, yes.”

Dante took a deep breath, chest shuddering. He let it out slowly, and with it went boneless. 

“Please,” he said, spreading his legs a little wider. The air was cool against his burning skin, goosebumps rising everywhere, and his cunt clenched around nothing as it chilled the wetness soaking him. “Come on, Verge. Give it to me.”

For once in his life, Vergil took pity on him. He ducked down and rubbed their noses together, breathing in as Dante exhaled, and his fingers found their target again. There was the barest hint of a claw on one as it traced Dante's rim delicately, pressing in harder and harder with each go. 

And then he steadied himself and pushed in.

Dante, admittedly, had never been touched here. He'd thought about it. He'd thought about it quite a bit, actually. Mostly when he was drunk, it was late, and he was missing Vergil so much he felt like he couldn't breathe, and the only thing he could do was torture himself. He'd lay on his back, naked in his bed, and refuse to touch himself as he thought up increasingly humiliating fantasies, things Vergil could do to him, were he still there, that felt both like and indulgence and a punishment. There was the recurring idea that he'd be put on his stomach and fucked like this because he didn't deserve it any other way after having abandoned Nero, the greatest gift Vergil could ever give him. And then that spread to just being used whenever and however Vergil liked with no regard to Dante's own pleasure. You know. Normal things.

The point was, Dante had absolutely no experience here, and it definitely showed.

“Relax,” Vergil chided as Dante instinctively tightened around the intrusion.

“Shut up,” Dante huffed, but made himself do it anyway.

It was an unfamiliar sensation, and one he wasn't sure how he felt about at first. It wasn’t bad, just kind of weird. Even when Vergil was in to the knuckle it was different. He squeezed experimentally.

“Relax,” Vergil said again.

“I am.”

Just like before, Vergil worked him with just one finger for what felt like forever, but unlike before, Dante wasn't about to bite his head off if he didn’t pick up the pace. The finger inside him swirled, rubbing against his walls, and yeah, it definitely wasn't bad, but there really wasn't much to it yet. Vergil was just… in his ass, where no one had ever touched him before, not even Dante himself, and maybe Dante wouldn't get anything out of this but he would, would get to fuck himself in instead of the place Dante was meant to be taken and so desperately wanted to, denied his pleasure and used just for Vergil’s and oh.

His thighs clamped around Vergil's wrist as his cunt stirred. Fuck, he was going to soak the floor.

“Dante,” Vergil said.

“Put me on my stomach,” Dante said, voice unrecognizable to his own ears.

“I'll do what I want with you,” Vergil said, and Dante whined.

Another finger joined the first. The stretch was greater, just like in his cunt, but this time it kind of burned. Not painful, not by a long shot, just… hot. Open. Vergil spread his fingers and Dante's blood sang, forced open in a way unlike anything he'd ever known. He was barely given time to adjust before a third was added, a slow thrust in and out that had Dante shaking. It felt good, now, so good he was dizzy with it, moaning into Vergil's jaw.

It was the same as when he fingered his cunt, and nothing like it at all. The angle was harder. There was no stimulation to his clit, no extra pleasure of pressure on his lips. When Vergil pulled out to his fingertips he felt both like he was gaping and like his body had never been touched at all. The stretch felt greater, somehow, Vergil's fingers reaching in deeper. When he twisted them, Dante clenched around his knuckles. When he thrust back in, he felt rocked to his core.

“No,” he said when Vergil removed his fingers entirely. “No, no, wait -”

“Now, now,” Vergil scolded. “Would you not be more satisfied with my cock?”

Yes, fuck, God, he would, but the emptiness was unbearable. Both holes tightened around nothing, the wetness from his cunt drooling down to his ass. Vergil caught him at the hips and flipped him over finally, except now Dante didn't even want it anymore, he wanted to be on his back, Vergil's forehead on his, seeing him as much as he felt him. But again Vergil just hushed his protest, pulling him up to his hands and knees.

Because he was an asshole, and apparently just determined to do the exact opposite of what Dante asked or predicted at every turn, he rubbed his cockhead between the lips of his cunt, spreading them open around his shaft as he rubbed from his hole to his clit. Dante thrust back against him, chasing friction he couldn’t find as Vergil slicked himself using him. He drew back enough to tease his hole and push in until it gave just enough to sink in to the crown, and when Dante tried to push down and take him inside, he moved away. Dante banged his fist against the floor and dropped his head.

“Fuck you,” he said succinctly.

Vergil didn't dignify that with a response. He simply guided himself to circle Dante's rim with the head of his cock, and this time he didn’t bother to make him beg.

“Oh, shit.” Dante's cunt pulsed. He shivered, tense in every limb.

Vergil paused, not even an inch inside him. He trailed a claw down Dante's spine and waited silently for him to relax. And then with one quick, hard motion, he pushed all the way in.

Dante shouted. His thighs shook as he dropped to his elbows, his forehead nearly touching the ground. Vergil gave him barely a second of reprieve before pulling out. His whole body bounced with the force of his thrust back in.

It was all he could do to just take it. He moaned desperately, shoving against Vergil with each motion. His cunt throbbed, untouched and empty. He could have come like this, just from the way Vergil held him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Dante's blood went cold. His head snapped up, blurry vision clearing. Nero stood in the doorway, face twisted. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He turned.

Dante's voice tore from his chest. “Wait, wait.” He threw a hand behind him, pushing at Vergil's stomach and trying to stop him, but Vergil took his wrist and kept going.

“Wait?” Nero sounded furious. “You want me to fucking — what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nero.” Vergil’s voice was hard.

“No, fuck you, what the fuck?” Nero slammed his bag down, his face fractured. Disgust or horror or devastation, Dante couldn't bear to look. “Could you - can you fucking stop, at least?”

Don't, Dante wanted to say. Leave, please. Everything he had felt like it was crashing down around him. Years spent hiding this, hiding that Nero was as much his as Vergil’s, that there was no mystery mother out there waiting to be found. Knowing Nero would never understand. Knowing he'd never forgive him, forgive them.

The itch grew. His skin felt like it was cracking, his body turning to ash. Vergil put a hand to the back of his neck, claws digging in, and the scales that had started to spot receded. He felt cold all over, the continued rock of Vergil into him pleasureless and sickening.

“Come here,” Vergil said.

Nero recoiled. “What?”

“Come. Here.”

Nero took a step forward, as if pulled in, and faltered. He shook his head. “I - no.”

“Then leave,” Vergil told him. “Come back when you've calmed down.”

No, Dante thought desperately, sinking his claws into the floor like he could ground himself, pull himself out of this nightmare. If Nero left, he'd never come back.

“I don't -” Nero looked so lost.

“Then come here,” Vergil said, one more time, far more gentle than before. Nero stepped closer again. “It's alright. It is, I promise.” 

He stopped thrusting and sat back on his haunches, pulling Dante with him and settling him in his lap, holding open his legs when he tried to shut them as Nero's gaze fell to his cunt and his face slackened as he realized Vergil was lower.

And then -

“I left his cunt for you.”

Nero's eyes snapped up, face going white. Dante's stomach dropped.

“What?”

“Take him,” Vergil coaxed, all softness and paternal guidance. “He's open, he won't fight you. You want to know your mother? Come and know him.”

Dante keened, a sound unlike anything he'd ever made before. Nero looked from Vergil to his face, flicking down as the hands on his legs moved inward and spread the lips of his cunt. Dante's thighs trembled with the exertion of fighting the instinct to close them.

Nero stepped in.

Just a few more and he'd be close enough to touch. Was that - did Dante want that? How many times had he thought of telling Nero the truth? How many ways had he pictured him reacting? None had ever been like this. He expected disgust; he'd gotten it. He expected revulsion; they were halfway there. But he’d never expected the way Nero's mouth hung open and his chest jumped, the pleading confusion in his eyes as he looked at Dante's face, waiting to be told what to do, to be given some sign.

Heat pulsed in Dante's stomach. He clenched around Vergil, his cunt slickening again.

He held out his hand.

“Come here, kid,” he whispered.

Nero stumbled forwards and fell to his knees, a heartbroken sound tearing from his throat. Dante clutched at him and pulled him to his chest, feeling him shudder.

“Dante?” There was a question in his voice. He needed that last bit of confirmation, the admittance that this wasn't just Vergil being an ass, that Dante was exactly who he said he was.

“I know,” Dante soothed, unable to say anything else. “I've got you. I'm sorry, Nero.”

Nero shook his head where it was buried in his neck. “I don't - why?”

“I didn't want you to hate me. I didn’t - I didn't want you to leave.”

He held Nero tighter for a moment when he felt him move back. When he let him go, Vergil nuzzled into the back of his neck, coming to squeeze his hip. Dante put a hand over his and tangled their fingers together, reassured at the sturdiness of him.

Nero chewed on his lip. He nodded slowly. “I don't know how to do this,” he admitted, looking over Dante's shoulder. “I never… not with Kyrie…”

“Let him do it for you,” Vergil said. “He's quite good at it.”

“Right,” Nero said, eyes tracing from Dante's face to his cunt. “Um, can I…?”

“Whatever you like.”

It probably should have offended Dante that they were talking about him like he wasn't even there, like he was nothing more than a book they were sharing, but he was dripping all over Vergil's legs, shifting and squeezing around him. He gasped when Vergil lifted him up and off his cock, nearly falling onto Nero, who caught him by the sides and stared up at him with wide, dark eyes.

Nero waited until Vergil steadied Dante, then laid back. Vergil pushed Dante forward until he was on all fours over him, and then Nero tugged at his thighs and wiggled down, and then Dante was being guided to lower himself over his face. His breath punched from his chest as he felt Nero's ghost over his folds, Vergil's hand on his back pushing him further. The first touch of Nero's tongue had him shaking. The second had him rocking down. The third had his hand falling to Nero's hair as arms came around his legs and dragged him to put his full weight on his face. There was no finesse to it, none of the assured experience Vergil had, nor the cleverness. Nero lapped at him sloppily, sucking at one lip and then the other, nose bumping his clit before he realized that was something he could put his mouth on too. Vergil held Dante through it, his fingers dipping between Nero's mouth and his cunt, sliding back into his hole and spreading him open for Nero to lick into him.

Dante cracked his eyes open, not even sure when he'd shut them, and got one good look at Nero's face between his thighs, awash in naked pleasure, and he was gone. His walls fluttered and clenched around Vergil's fingers as he soaked Nero's chin.

Claws dug into his legs when Vergil lifted him up. Nero tried to pull him back down, but Vergil just shushed him. Dante was absolutely useless as he was guided off of Nero to collapse into Vergil's lap, still shaking. He heard voices. He had no idea what they were saying.

He was moved again. Nero’s arms came around him, nose under his jaw. Dante slumped into him, breathing him in. He smelled like spice and blood and rot and Nero, their perfect boy, their baby. This time Dante understood him when he spoke, voice fragile and nervous and aching.

“Mama.”

The head of a cock slid between his lips. Maybe Dante was just fooling himself, but he knew Vergil’s body like he knew his own, and that - that wasn’t him. He shuddered at the feeling of Nero against him, both of them slick, and then the head notched against his hole and hands came to his shoulders. Vergil pushed down as Nero thrust up, and in one quick movement, Dante's hips met Nero’s as his thick cock spread him so wide it burned.

Nero whined at the same time he did, their foreheads coming together. Dante shook, oversensitive and near-pained.

“Nero.”

“Am I good?” Nero sounded as shattered as he felt. “Do I - do I feel good, mama?”

“Oh, baby,” Dante said, barely able to claw the words together through the smoke clouding his mind. “Baby, please.”

A hand came to his clit, his or Nero's or Vergil's, he had no idea. It was too much too soon, shocks crackling up his spine, but the touch didn't relent, just rubbed firmer and crueler as Dante cried out and squirmed and tried to get away, only to be held fast. His vision was blurry as he tried to look down. He didn't know who was touching him where, and frankly, it was beyond him to care.

Weight fell on his back. He was pushed down into Nero, the hand leaving his clit to let it grind against his stomach instead. Two hands spread him open, another on his back, and then Vergil's cock traced his rim and sank back into his ass, and Dante sobbed, split open and stuffed so full he thought he would break.

“Is he always like this?” That was - Nero?

“If I work him right.” Vergil. He knew Vergil. He would know Vergil anywhere.

He moved. Or was moved, more like. The hands on his body shoved him up and pulled him down, again and again, until muscle memory took over and Dante followed the pattern, dragging himself until only the heads of their cocks were inside him, dropping down until their hips met him at once. He could feel Nero shaking under him, making little whimpering noises, and he clung to him, stripped down to his basic instinct to soothe his baby. Fingers tipped with claws pinched at his chest and twisted his nipples. More parted his lips and scrapped over his tongue and teeth and the inside of his cheeks. Someone had his clit between their knuckles, tugging at it like a cock. The onslaught never stopped, just got stronger, fangs parting the skin of his neck and shoulders and chest and scales grazing him.

Someone maybe started to move too, thrusting into Dante enough to bounce him hard, until his bones rattled and his brain felt jelly-like. There were tongues everywhere, licking up the blood spilled by teeth and nails, lapping up his neck and collarbone and over his nipples. At some point he was moved to sit upright, the arms around his waist moving him up and down like he was just a toy. He came once, tightening around the cocks inside him, and then again, this time so weak all he could do was shake. 

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. The cock in his cunt stiffened and pulsed, come pumping deep into him. Dante was held still as the one in his ass continued to thrust. He tightened around it,  inadvertently squeezing the one in his cunt too.

He wanted it. He needed it.

He got it. It wasn't like he was used to, the spread of warmth in his cunt, deep enough to fill him and still enough to trickle back out. Hips met his ass and stayed, and he could feel the jump and twitch of the cock in him as it spilled itself into his guts. He milked it as much as he could, but anything past instinct was too much for him right now. All he knew was he wanted it deep. He wanted it to stain every part of him, wanted both of them to, to fill him up and make him ache.

His arms gave out from underneath him. He was caught and lowered slowly. That was Nero under him, wasn't it? He was sturdy and warm and familiar. Dante relaxed against him.

“He likes to stay like this,” Vergil said, his voice distant but comforting, a blanket and a balm. 

Dante curled his fingers into a fist against Nero's chest, body weak.

“How long?” Nero asked.

“Until he leaves.”

“And that’s…?”

“Somewhere to be?”

“No, I just - uh -” Nero shifted. “I kind of have to piss?”

“That's alright,” Vergil said indulgently. He put a hand to Dante's nape. “He won't mind.”

“He won't - you mean -”

“I'll do it first, if it makes you feel better?”

“Um,” Nero said, shifting again. Dante frowned, unsure what all the talking was about and why Nero kept moving. “Yeah, I guess.”

There was silence for a moment, just enough that Dante began to drift, eyes heavy. And then something warm began to trickle into his ass, growing stronger and hotter, and he squirmed in confusion, only to be shushed by two voices at once.

“It's alright,” Vergil said into his ear. “You like this.”

Right. He liked this, whatever this was. If Vergil said he did, he was sure he agreed.

It kept coming, seemingly endlessly. His cunt clenched as that same warmth spread inside it. It felt so good, now that Vergil had pointed it out. It was hot and filling, even more so than their come had been. It burned him from the inside out, draining the last bit of tension from his bones. More of it spread, this time on the outside.

“Is he -”

Vergil laughed. “I told you he wouldn't mind.”

“I didn't think that meant he'd piss himself. Hey, what are you doing?”

“It'd be a shame to leave him empty, don't you think?”

“Is that really what you use that thing for?”

The feeling in his ass tapered off, then the one in his cunt. After a few moments, so did the one outside him. The cock in his ass withdrew, but before Dante could protest, something hard and cold was sliding inside.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The hands lifted Dante off the cock in his cunt. He clenched instinctively, trying to keep as much of the fullness inside him as possible. Something like the thing in his ass, longer and a little bumpier, pressed in.

“Now what?”

“Just lay with him. I'll clean up.” 

“Can I play with him?”

“You can do whatever you like.”

“Cool.”

Dante couldn't even twitch as his clit was fondled again, the touch curious as it toyed with his folds and tugged at the thing inside him. There was a body at his side, warm and lax, and a face in his neck. His eyelids felt so heavy. He was so tired.

“‘S alright,” Nero said into his ear. “Let it go. We have you.”

Dante fell asleep under his gentle hands. He woke up on his cock, tucked into his side.

“Hi, mama,” his baby said. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Nah, kid,” Dante said. “I don't mind at all.”