Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You see something you like?”

Vergil knows Dante’s comment was most likely supposed to be taken as a joke. Well, in hindsight, maybe it was also supposed to be a jab. But it keeps echoing in his mind.

Ever since Dante started bringing his lover home, something had begun digging a hole in Vergil’s chest. The sweet smiles you threw at Dante were… charming, in a sense. But whenever you extended that kindness to Vergil, it always left him a little breathless. A little tight in the chest and dry in the mouth (okay, fine, a little tight in his jeans, too, but he'd spend a lifetime in Hell sooner than admitting it).

He had definitely been on a ‘good’ track recently. Reuniting with his brother, turning to the life Dante lives simply because he has nowhere else to go, slotting himself into Nero’s life (as hard as it was). Being ‘normal’ — as some people would call it.

Vergil sometimes wonders if he’s just a bit lonely when he looks at you. Him and humans never did get along, and he still struggles with Nero whenever Dante forces him to visit. Socialisation will never be his strongest point, sure, but a part of him can't help but consider a side of life where he was as chatty and overzealous as his brother.

Though he'd rather take a fatal blow to the head by a weakling before he changes himself. He’d rather not go through the trouble, and you seem to like him, anyway, so that counts for something.

Talking to him about William Blake was the first instance his interest had grown.

You were snooping over his shoulder as he took his tea in the pseudo-patio Dante had set up in his garden. Just your voice had been enough to scratch the itch in his brain that Blake wasn’t working through. Hearing you talk about poetry, even in passing, was a breath of fresh air — he started considering you more tolerable than Dante (as long as he ignores the burning in his chest, it’s probably just heartburn with all the tea he’s drank).

You were well put together, nodding and listening to his quiet ramblings about the anthology in his hands. You look over his handwriting with genuine care. Intent on learning at least something from him without any judgment.

Originally, he thought you were gone the moment you stood out of your seat, but you had come back with your own cup of tea, laughing about some disagreement you had with Dante and muttering about wanting to sit with a man with a brain. You weren't just considering his company, you were preferring it, at that moment.

Shared your own thoughts, even if you hadn’t had too much time to digest the poems and weave a clear image together. No matter what, he liked hearing your point of view, and that was rare for a closed off man like himself.

Maybe he really did see something he liked that day. But Vergil doesn't want to consider Dante ever being right.

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On a rather particular night, you come crying to the DMC over some mystery thing — asking for Dante, but Vergil delivers the news that he was still out late on a mission.

Vergil stands awkwardly nearby as you blow your nose. Does he really want to be here right now? No. He’d rather be reading in his room.

But it was you who was in distress. Looking for Dante yet missing the comfort. He couldn’t exactly just leave you to it and pop away until you magically solve your problem yourself.

You had come to the DMC for a reason, after all.

It was a little useless— no, he was little useless. Humans were far too emotional for him to really figure out, even through your teary rambling about your situation, he hadn’t really stopped staring at the way you wipe your eyes and search for anything to distract yourself with.

He almost gets lost with his eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand what you’re on about and what’s got you like this. Considers this the first time he’s genuinely felt an inkling of worry from how many tissues you were going through.

When you stop talking, it reminds Vergil he should, Y’know, do something. But how do you comfort someone if you’ve never received it before? What do humans like to hear? It’s not like he knows how to handle his own emotions, and anything he says will come out clinical and probably cynical, too. (Vergil doubts he could even get a word out with how heavy his tongue feels, a pit forming in his stomach that’s feeding on his anxiety. Would you want to be alone or are you really searching for comfort?)

The best he could manage is digging up one of Dante’s hoodies for you to snuggle up with. Leaves a cup of his nicest tea silently on the table as he sits on the couch tensely, as if worried about startling you into tears. Playing with the sleeves of the oversized hoodie, Vergil thinks you’re over it. Or at least over the worst of it.

He keeps studying your face and your posture, though, trying to find the nuance between the lines like he does with his poems.

The deep breathing brings your shoulders down, and you close your eyes whenever you bring the hoodie up to your nose. The small fidget you make when your anxiety spikes and the gentle tug at the drawstrings to pull the anxiety back down.

You notice, obviously. It’s clear when he tilts his head at you that he means well, not really embarrassed to have been ‘caught’ (he was never being subtle in the first place).

“Thanks.” You mutter, taking a sip of the rose tea, the rich flavour bursting on your tongue as the warmth helps soothe you.

Vergil doesn’t respond, simply humming and opening his book.

He shouldn’t respond when you lean on his shoulder, either. You belong to Dante. He has to remind himself. You’re wearing Dante’s hoodie and probably upset you couldn’t see Dante right now.

But reciting poetry to you until you doze off into a comfortable slumber makes Vergil feel better, too.

He did it! Comforted you. Made you feel safe. All on his own without an annoying parrot in his ear making fun of him. He starting to get why someone would do this, he can’t help but notice how peaceful you look now.

And he makes sure you’re comfortable until Dante comes home to see you snuggled up in a thick blanket and a fluffy cushion under your head. 

(Notices how you’re cuddled into Dante’s shoulder the next morning, too, just as affectionate as you were with him last night. Vergil doesn’t feel as guilty as he should. Feels even more smug when you greet him in the morning with that pretty smile.)

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Seeing you soon becomes a common occurrence. Of course, he could expect you around often — dating his brother and all — but you’ve started doing more household tasks usually left to the twins.

You come home after work with your own groceries, determinedly saying you’re going to ‘show them what real cooking is’.

At first, he didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t really inclined to eat, only filling himself with whatever he liked for energy and leaving it at that. That’s what food was for, right?

Until he’s taking a bite out of the homemade pizza you’ve made. The warmth’s settling in his stomach this time as he watches you eagerly lean on the counter (could just be a stomachache, he hasn’t had good food in a long while). It’s exemplary. Mind-blowing. It’s got Dante exclaiming a comment that has Vergil blushing.

There was nothing like it, honestly. He couldn’t just disrespect your hard work, either — so he eats as many slices as he can manage, and of course Dante has to whine.

“That was my last slice!”

“Didn’t see your name on it.” Vergil cocks an eyebrow at Dante, who looked particularly disgruntled. But by Vergil’s logic, he was annoyingly correct.

“Didn’t know you were still so childish. Kept that old habit, huh?” Dante crosses his arms, you sitting at the sidelines as if watching a tennis match. The way your eyes go wide, waiting for Vergil’s comeback, staring at his face, almost had the demon stuttering.

“It’s not childish,” he scoffs, mimicking Dante’s stance, “if you didn’t want me to touch it, how was I supposed to know?” Well, he would’ve done it anyway, with or without Dante’s claim. But it might’ve been respected with an initial on it. Might’ve.

“You could’ve been a good big brother.” Dante snickers, flinching playfully when Vergil huffs and steps forward.

Before it goes any further, you step in, patting Dante’s chest lightly, “I’ll make more next time, okay? Stop with the bickering, you sound like children.”

For the first time in a while, Vergil actually backs down. Not because he couldn’t fight back — he was more than capable for that — but out of respect for you. And of course, so that you keep cooking for them.

He leaves Dante with a glare before he stalks off back to his own room, wondering if you would share your recipe with him one day. Maybe he should take up cooking.

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Still, it’s very rare the twins share anything.

While Dante had mocked Vergil’s continued habit of putting his initials on everything, a prominent ‘D’ sits on the inside of your right thigh. Clear and easy to notice amongst the other marks and bruises. The scar doesn’t look fresh after Vergil’s keen eyes had honed in on it. It’s embedded in your skin, as if it was meant to be there. Locking you to a beast like Dante whether the relationship lasts or not.

Wrists bound over your head to Dante’s headboard in a neat, red rope. The scent of Dante covering not just the sheets, but masking your skin. At least you’re not wearing red, pretty white lace covering all of the sensitive parts that are waiting to be unwrapped, all for him to enjoy.

It sets a low growl in the back of Vergil’s throat.

He’s unsure why he accepted Dante’s offer in the first place. Something must’ve possessed him when he let his heart speak before his mind caught up. His lingering stares were just that. Vergil wasn’t usually a man who would indulge in these types of feelings. It wasn’t jealousy, it couldn’t be — he has nothing to be jealous over.

Maybe it’s seeing Dante enjoying himself in a way that Vergil hasn’t seen in years.

And now he’s sipping whiskey on the rocks like nothing. Smiling like a fox when he sees the subtle glimmer of interest in his brother’s eyes.

“Didn’t have blue rope.” He gestures to your body. Getting out of his chair, Dante’s purposeful with his slow steps. It’s clear from how you squeeze your legs shut, hands tugging on the thick ropes, you’re anticipating something. Vergil just can’t make out if it’s good or bad.

The way you whine when his hand brushes over your thigh has Vergil pausing. He watches Dante’s hand, squeezing the spot that he had left his initial, forcing your legs open. Reminding you of his claim. Your hips rise to try and meet his hand but he pushes your thigh down to the mattress instead, keeping your legs spread.

“Dante?”

Though Dante shushes you (as sweet as the begging was), “none of that, now, behave.”

Vergil raises his eyebrows at the groan you let out realising Dante wasn’t going to be touching you anywhere further. It’s unbelievable how beautiful you sound when denied. Yet he’s almost scornful. Someone like you shouldn’t be treated so roughly. Hands tied, blindfolded, held open like an animal. And definitely not offered to someone like him, when you clearly loved Dante.

“It’s not an issue.” Vergil has to at least be thankful for this, right? This can’t just be random chance, Dante’s not pigheaded enough to do this without your permission, even if you squirm with insecurity. You would want this too, right? He can comfort himself with that thought.

The air is thick with tension, Vergil still unsure of what to do. His sensible side tells him to leave the room, whatever you do with Dante is none of his business, after all, but the inkling of being wanted lingers in his chest.

You shiver when a hand comes into contact with your other leg, whining as a hand touches your unmarked thigh. Fingers are thinner, delicate, still slightly rough but obviously well kept, a knot forms in his stomach at the way you flinch and whine at the unfamiliar touch guiding itself up your ankle.

Vergil had grown used to his items being ripped away — he keeps from anything that can disappear. But there’s a difference here. You’re not his in the first place. And Dante isn’t so cruel to laugh and take back his offer.

The hand keeps going, runs over your left thigh, dances up your hip and brushes past your ribs. You can’t help but squirm again, Vergil’s hands are somewhat softer, still big, but his touch is much more experimental compared to Dante’s. As if he’s checking to make sure you’re there.

When you move your hips for him, just like you did Dante, Vergil has to hold his breath.

How long has it been for him? As his hand runs up to brush across your cheek, the smallest ‘please’ escapes when you open your mouth.

How long has he forced himself to hold back from the things he wanted, scared that he’ll lose them the same way he lost everything else?

Dante’s already caught onto the look in his brother’s eyes, sitting back down in his chair and waiting for the moment to unfold. He himself isn’t sure what to expect. The uncertainty was bubbling up his chest but he wasn’t about to stop. He’s seen the looks Vergil throws at you, and the man has known his brother long enough to dissect him.

“You’re serious about this?” Vergil presses another hand to your stomach, leaning over your body, taking in the sound of your gasp sounding like a zipper with how fast it comes out.

It’s not like he’s asking you for permission, and it sets you off, staying quiet so the twins can communicate. The last thing you need is Dante on your case for not playing along like a good pet.

Not being able to tell the next move adds to the growing feeling of powerlessness. Stuck and forced to show off to these two men, even if they’re both people you know well. You can feel your face burning. Trying to fight off that helpless stirring in your abdomen.

“You want to stop?”

The very clear ‘no’ lingers in the air. Vergil doesn’t even look over at Dante, and yet the man can tell that comment bothered his brother.

Dante simply leans back, eyes carefully tracing the way Vergil lingers on your unscarred thigh, squeezing the soft flesh into his palm. Like always, analysing your movements, the peek of your brows when you furrow them under the blindfold, the way your legs freely squirm against the soft sheets. Hands tugging at the ropes and digging your nails in, like that’ll help free you.

It has Vergil biting his tongue to stop a smile appearing on his face. The white lace does nothing to hide you, yet he’s thankful for it. Pauses his ministrations to wonder if it was your idea or Dante’s. The white fits you snugly, over your curves, dipping in the right places. Something innocent despite knowing you were anything but.

(As perverted as it is, you're quite loud. And sometimes it would be impossible to just tune you out. With the way Vergil's standing here right now, he's starting to bet Dante would let you moan so loud on purpose.)

He uses his thumb first — pulling the gusset of your panties to the side, staring with a light flush on his cheeks at the way your cunt twitches. Rubs the digit through your slit, touching with a grace that Dante wouldn’t give you, circles your clit before dipping lower and pushing against your labia to get a better look lower.

The movement is painfully slow when he sinks his thumb into you, just the tip of a neatly manicured finger, curling at the first knuckle to test before sinking it all inside. You’re almost greedy with the way Vergil’s welcomed in — a well trained pussy all for him to enjoy, and he didn’t even have to do anything for it.

You expect a comment, yet Vergil treats your body with a sort of… gentleness.

Rubbing his hand over your jaw, pumping his thumb in and out slowly, a small groan leaving his mouth at the sight of you all wet and needy already.

Eventually swaps his thumb with his middle finger. Reaching deeper and rubbing against your walls like he’d always dream of.

Vergil starts leaning over, pumping his finger slowly before letting it sit there. He’s never been a man known for lewdness, he has a cleaner reputation than Dante in that category, but nonetheless, some of your shirts were always cut a little too low. It always stirred some curious thoughts that had been long buried, as much as he wants to respect you.

Seeing your cleavage is one thing, but now Vergil has the perfect access.

Runs his tongue over your collarbone, your hands twitching around the rope at the wet feeling appearing on your skin. Spit dribbling and collecting there as his tongue runs lower. Right against one of your breasts, right next to the strap.

Vergil slides that strap off with his teeth, sliding a second finger inside you before he bites down on the supple skin of your tit. Teeth sharp and begging to mark you, though they don’t sink in enough to leave a deep blemish.

When you throttle, he doesn’t seem too bothered, pinning you down so he can continue his work. Using your body was about to become his lifetime mission (if Dante even lets him).

His teeth graze over your nipple, still covered by a thin layer of lace. And he teases it with his tongue, pushing the fabric down before lapping over the gentle skin like a dehydrated dog.

It has your back arching, hips pressing annoyingly so into his fingers. A wet sound echoing in the room before Vergil coaxes a whine from you. Sucking on your nipple, causing a shiver, legs desperately trying to find a way to close as the pleasure rises with an ache in your stomach.

Yet there’s footsteps again.

And before you know it, those fingers are gone, leaving you with a fleeting feeling between your legs as you’re able to close them.

Usually, you’d be able to tell who’s who. Have spent enough time to differentiate between Vergil’s steps to Dante’s. But right now they were purposefully putting you on edge. Those scheming bastards.

They give you nothing but the tip of their finger, dragging it up and down your navel. Tugs your bra lower, the other strap slipping off and exposing you.

Of course, it’s on purpose. Dante had this planned out pretty well and, as annoyed as he might pretend to be, Vergil loved to taunt as much as his brother.

Now it’s hard to tell who it is when they step back between your legs. Keeping you whining and unsure. Flinching hard when a hand grips your left thigh and lifts that leg up to tease you. Squealing when you’re pulled further down the bed, arms tugging a little higher as the rope stretches to its fullest.

By now, that orgasm had long drifted away, pussy weeping for it as you clench around nothing. Dante hadn’t stopped before, he always lets you finish, could it be Vergil’s planning all along?

Or maybe Dante was playing a cruel joke. Maybe teasing something new as that hand continues to stroke the soft skin on your leg. Trying a different approach to spice things up was one thing but wasn’t this already enough?!

The frustration has you trying to slip your wrists from the rope, attempting to turn your body away, but that’s shut down pretty quickly with another hand on your shoulder. “Please,” you whine, trying to clutch at anything but that godforsaken binding, “don’t just leave me…” You try a sweeter tone, attempting to beg, hoping it has one of them winding you back up.

But when you get nothing, it adds to the building suspense, “a little bit?” Regrettably, your voice shakes, especially as a hand returns to stroke over your panties roughly.

Then, there’s a touch you recognise. The way the hand drags up to your neck. Squeezing like Dante always loved to — reminding you to behave.

Finding the placement of the twins has you melting, especially when you’re rewarded with a kiss for relaxing back down. Dante’s hand goes from your neck to your tit again, squeezing the flesh to soothe you. All while Vergil pulls on his waistband.

“Good girl, lay back for me.” Dante’s trying to distract you by licking over your lips, petting your head, his hand travelling between both breasts to give them equal attention.

With Vergil’s hands back on you, he paws at your thighs. Guides that (unmarked) leg over his shoulder to hold you open as he works on getting his boxers down

He’s teasing himself as much as Dante teases you. Moments like this are far too fickle for his taste. Who can tell when he’ll be able to touch and take you like this again, even if he devotes himself to keeping you satisfied. So he wants to drag this moment out — wants you sweet and pliable so he can memorise everything possible.

“You trust him, don’t you?” Dante whispers, biting at your earlobe as he stays close.

And you nod so hard the blindfold slips slightly.

Your boyfriend huffs at the sight, this was the agreement, after all. He fixes the fabric, squeezing your jaw in his big hand all before Vergil’s groaning over you.

Just pressing his leaking tip to your entrance has him bright red, smearing his precum all over your cunt before he slowly presses inside. Like it’s a game to him, wanting to watch your pretty body twitch and adjust. Wants you to feel every inch of him so you remember what he does to you.

Dante lets you whine. Gives you some time to adjust. Not even bothered by your squirming and the way the rope scratches at your wrists now. He has to reach out and grab the rope to make sure you don’t get a bad burn.

But Vergil doesn’t treat you to any more. He sits proudly with just his tip wrapped around you. Teasing and waiting. Knowing you’re probably needy from your lost orgasm.

You feel Dante trailing his hand down your body again, this time stopping at your clit to give you a gentle stroke. Thick finger prodding and forcing your hips to move around his brother, fucking yourself on him. And somehow, Vergil manages to keep still. Stays sat and lets Dante do the work for you.

That pretty little mouth falling open and panting from the stimulation, already rambling half-baked begging.

Vergil gives in eventually. Of course he does.

You give him that sweet pussy on a platter and you expect him to be able to hold himself? Really?

Sometimes Vergil wants to curse himself for becoming as brainless as Dante, but as he sinks further inside, he considers it worth the similarity.

Because you massage his cock at just the right pace. Fluttering and leaking for him, leaving a wet patch under your ass on the sheets. Welcoming him into your body like you were supposed to and moaning for it like a whore, nonetheless.

Dante can’t help but laugh at the sight, “such a good girl,” he coos, shoving his slick covered fingers into your mouth to keep your from responding prematurely, “he looks like he’s loving it. You’re a good little cock sleeve, aren’t you?” Pulls his fingers out, kisses your cheek, and lets you feel things out before you respond.

“Yes…” your breathing shaky, words barely falling out as you cry out again. Even the bed’s whimpering under the pressure of all three bodies on it, with each little thrust Vergil makes, no matter how slow, that squeak rings loud.

“I’m sure your arms are tired by now, sweetheart,” Dante, once again, teases you, that lilt in his voice that belies any form of concern he may be trying to play, “you keep him nice and warm, and I’ll undo your hands.”

Vergil hisses when you clench around him from hearing Dante’s offer, and it’s his turn to let out a heated chuckle. “Giving in so soon?” His hips start to pick up, grip tightening around your thigh hard enough to leave small dents in your skin.

“That’s up to you.” Dante quips back before he nips at your jaw next. Roughly gropes your chest when he leans back. Observing how you start moving, digging your foot into the curve of Vergils shoulder and trying to match the pace.

So eager to get your hands free and touching anyone.

It’s the perfect entertainment, to him at least. Glad to have someone he trusts keeping you busy — and he starts considering the possibility of leaving you with Vergil when something comes up. Be it mission or just a bad day, having someone to keep you safe while Dante’s away settles the growing protectiveness he feels.

“Atta girl.” And Dante whistles at the sight of you. As always, trying to make you feel even smaller. Especially when his hand comes down to pat your rear like a good dog.

Vergil hisses again, leaning over your body, every other noise melding into one as he gets lost in you. Every leg twitch, every touch of your skin on his, every breath you release has him growing on edge.

God, he can’t even begin describe it. It’s definitely a blessing, more than he realises, and he’s unable to hold back. Hands move to your hips, one of his knees settling on the bed for more stability, fucking into you like an animal, as much as he wanted to keep things slow. He’s lost all of the grace he started with, needing to know what it feels like when you cum on him. Doesn’t help that the position has him reaching a little deeper, your leg stretching and almost slipping from his shoulder.

Practically analysing the way his hips move, your hips rising with his thrusts, breasts bouncing from the harsh jerking. Finds he especially likes when you throw your head back and twitch — helps him find the right spot to bully and milk so he can feel you squeezing on him again.

He’s never made this much noise in his life. Feeling his throat going raw, saliva building up, considers spitting onto you but decides against it. That would be too sacrilegious, too far in his eyes. And you’re wet enough without it, anyway.

None of his movements slow, forcing your body into taking it even when you start to struggle against the bindings again, your loud moans filling the air and every space between you.

And when he notices Dante’s holding your head still, rubbing his cock over your lips, seeing your mouth open with your tongue flicking out — he’s stuttering through his motions. Pounding into you, making sure his cum makes itself feel at home before reaching down to fondle your clit.

Still rolling his hips despite the electricity running up his back, buzzing in his abdomen. He needs you done, doesn’t bother waiting for Dante to finish as he pulls down that godforsaken blindfold.

The moment you’re done adjusting, all you can see is Dante’s fat dick slapping against your cheek. Vergil spent on top of you and still helping build that warmth. Rutting against you like he can go on forever.

The sight itself has you keening — seeing Vergil so disheveled, even biting his lip as your sloppy hole clenches on him again, pinching and rolling his fingers against your clit. Dante’s overlooking your body, too. A proud smile on his face, rubbing himself over your lips and forcing you to inhale against him. No leeway given, you’re still theirs to play with.

“Don’t disappoint me, now.” Vergil warns, grunting to hide the way his voice almost broke

Your body starts twitching in his hand. Gripping Vergil tighter. The fullness helping you build, egging you on as your own hips pick up with a wet noise.

The feeling of both of them on top of you has you arching off the bed, wrists begging for relief from all of the friction. Gasping and tilting your head up to receive Dante as he unceremoniously cums on your face.

The last thing you know, he shoving a finger slathered in his cum into your mouth before you’re finally letting go. Allowed to feel through that pleasure and cry out when Vergil helps you ride it out, the fire burning painfully delicious over your skin before slowly simmering down once the pulse is gone.

When your hands come free, Vergil’s almost shocked to see you tugging on Dante. Pulling at his shirt and frowning when he rejects your kiss.

“You’re dirty, sweetheart, can’t kiss you like that.”

And without him needing to ask twice, you’re using your own fingers to clean your face and drink down what he gave you. All teeth when he smiles and sends Vergil a look as if proud of training you like that. Having you so well-behaved.

Getting a kiss from Dante soothes you further into the bed, ignoring the sting on your wrists from how raw your skin is, flinching when Vergil brings your arm up to kiss from your palm to that rope burn.

It’s the most gentle he’s ever been with anything.

Petting your head, Dante pulls back. He looks over at Vergil again. Eyes stuck on that spot on your unscarred thigh, dragging a finger over it, leaving soft kisses on your arms as if he was your lover.

He can’t deny that it stirs something in him. Happy to see his brother letting go, something sick twisting in his head. Causes him to pause when Vergil moves up to kiss you, too.

And you accept him.

Didn’t think he’d ever be okay with watching you kiss another man so blatantly. But then again, he just watched his brother finish in his partner, so that line had been long washed from the sand by the sea.

At the very least, you look satisfied. Laughing breathlessly when he makes a comment that doesn’t quite reach Dante’s ears. Even with damp eyes, raw wrists and a hoarse throat, you’re chasing after his kisses, taking in the affection like it’s the only thing you need to breathe.

Almost doesn’t clock when he’s reaching into his bedside drawer to retrieve his pocket knife. Once used in the past and then forgotten — only brought back, cleaned, sharpened, for you. To brand you as his.

But he’s dragging the tip across your side, startling you when the cold metal presses against boiling skin.

“You’re alright? He coos, leaning down to push his brother’s face away, corralling you into his embrace instead. Arm under your head and placing more kisses over your forehead.

Vergil’s about to complain before he feels the hilt being pressed into his palm, staring at the knife with wide eyes.

“‘m okay. Doesn’t hurt too bad.” You’re whispering with him. All starstruck and still panting, trying to calm your heart after realising you’ve got two men taking care of you and offering their affection. Even silently fighting over it, though they’re being quite civil for now.

“Good,” there’s a small pause, Dante looking a little hesitant as he squeezes your inner thigh, “do you want him to?”

Vergil stands back, pulling out with a distinct ‘pop’. Lowering your leg to let it rest, careful with the knife so he doesn’t accidentally nick you.

(Has to stop himself from leaning down and tasting the way his own cum mixes with your slick and dribbled back out. Desperately wondering if you’d ride his face the same way you did with his dick.)

That grace ebbs back. Straightens him out and instinctively guides his free hand to push his hair back. The sweat keeps it mostly in place, but it’s a caricature of the usual put-together look he has. Still flushed in the face and shirt soaked around his chest. It’s the type of look you’d be lucky to see after hours of training with Dante.

And for the first time in a while, he doesn’t itch to sink his teeth in his own arm to feel something.

He stares down at the knife, raising an eyebrow as he waits for your answer. A surge of energy runs up his spine as he sees your legs adjusting.

That energy wrapping around his heart at the way you look to Dante for confirmation, all sweet and checking with him, holding on for guidance like a lost child.

“Yeah.”

Vergil would kiss you right now but Dante beats him to it. Though, for whatever reason, Vergil doesn’t argue over it. Considers your attachment to Dante stronger than your attachment to him.

But that’s going to change now.

As the tip of the knife sinks onto your inner thigh, deep enough so that it’ll definitely scar over but being careful not to damage your skin, Vergil can hear Dante shushing you to give you comfort.

Drags the blade in a neat ‘V’, as clear as day, claiming the side Dante hadn’t (technically) touched.

He’d never believe that this was happening, that Dante’s so willing to share his partner. And yet he’s a part of this now. He gets a piece of you to tuck into his bed like a real lover. Gets to experience this type of situation over and over again. With or without Dante’s planning.

Doubts he’ll ever get sick of it, too. Even if his brainless brother tries to intervene or act superior. Vergil’ll just have to take him down a peg and show Dante just how better he is for you. The twins never were good at sharing without competition.