Disclaimer: Hello everyone! This chapter is rated M for good, hooray! I really spent some brain matter (and much, much coffee and two sundaes) in trying to stay in character and make this all believable… I hope it was not for naught and that you won't hate me after reading it :P (or organize an angry mob… brr).

Thanks to you all wonderful readers! (Obviously there are cyber cookies and ice cream for the ones who left reviews and brightened up my day :).

Chapter 17

It feels so warm when you are near

You are all I want to feel

Tell me now, is this for real?

It's hard to breath

We're all lost in travelled time, cannot find my peace of mind

When the sun will rise again, we'll fly away

Linger, Epica

One month later:

How did it come to this?

D had never wasted time contemplating the many tragedies that darkened his soul. After all, to cry was futile, so useless... After so many horrors, he could not give them a second thought or they would tear him apart and left just madness behind.

But then... Why the image of Dante lying there, with a dagger piercing his heart, kept him paralyzed? It was as if the world had to end in that moment, but it insisted on keep going, and it was ridiculous.

He is dying... –thought D, remembering the instant in the middle of that terrible battle when he had felt Dante getting closer to his left flank, with such a speed that he couldn't have stopped him. For a moment, seeing him falling, D had not understood. Dante surely wasn't covering his back, who did that? But then, the Demon Hunter fell...

D grabbed the golden hilt of the dammed weapon and took it out, immediately pressing down on the wound and the sea of red that followed. The dagger had to be poisoned with something lethal, or Valcua wouldn't have wasted the movement in such a hard battle. The blood just did not stop, and the greedy earth kept taking it like and offer, insatiable, as if it had not just a minute ago taken the life of a Noble.

D felt empty. It didn't matter that he had tore Valcua apart, his own half brother, just a minute ago. He had been consumed by a white hot fury that he haven't thought himself capable of feeling, not anymore... Not since his mother's death; not since that dark place where he had understood that he would always be alone.

Giving Valcua a thousand gory deaths would not be near enough to satisfy him.

Dante was dying, it was a certainty, but D felt incapable of turn his back on him and continue as always... It seemed impossible, even when his rational mind insisted in telling him that he could not do otherwise, even showing him the cause and consequence of the actions that had leaded them to that horrid moment. The trap had been good, excessively good. Valcua was obviously mad, to have used that against three men. If left alone, the device would turn to nothing that part of the Frontier.

In the beginning of the battle, Vergil had found and opening and went to destroy the anti matter generator while they fend off the little army of artificial soldiers, clearly part of the Sacred Ancestor's technology, all in the middle of those lethal storms that even now ravaged the land.

It mattered not, just the results.

A pained moan escaped Dante and, although it seemed impossible, more blood followed it, suffocating him. Without thinking, D raised the other Hunter's head and let it rest on his tight. He searched for those icy and brilliant eyes, and founded them clouded by pain; his silver hair was humid and stuck to his deadly pale skin. The dhampir touched Dante's cheek, just barely... He was so cold, and that seemed to go right to his own heart, leaving him numb and lost.

What could he do? He knew he was just a weapon; death and destruction were his shadow...

Origin and legacy...

Valcua's obsession, Demons and vampires... A blood stained history... Could it be...?

He didn't have any other options, and never succumbed to doubt once he had decided on a course of action. D raised his hand over the mouth of Dante and then rolled back his coat and shirt sleeves, exposing his left forearm. He brought his right index finger to bear just above the wrist, right at the artery. By merely running the finger across the white flesh, it left a thick vermillion line, and bright blood gushed from the wound, pouring down on the Demon Hunter's mouth.

D waited what seemed a cruel eternity. Mere seconds later Dante's throat moved slowly. Seeing this, D's mind froze in a tiny spark of something so weird to him that he didn't recognize it: hope.

The dhampir's countenance grew paler and paler, but he didn't close the wound.

Movement, so quick that, for a second, D didn't know what had happened, just that suddenly he was tasting the well known flavor of his own blood, mixed with what had to be ambrosia… The rush of power that followed it made him shudder to the last centimeter of his body.

The sensation of the half demon's lips over his own brought him back. The kiss was savage, and demanded for the absolute dominion and submission of his mouth, but D cared not: it meant Dante was alive and would continue like that… The intense relief scared him, but he didn´t have time to think about it, because a moment later he was on his back.

Strong hands tore away his clothing, and neither the fabric nor the armor were worthy adversaries for that fervor. It seemed to him that his right hand had moved without his consent to Dante's nape; his fingers submerged in those thin and soft silver strands, as he had never dared to touch anyone, and he loved the simple caress.

He searched for Dante's face.

Equally vermillion eyes looked back at him, shining with a dark power, but, in a sense, it was perfect. Much passed between then in that silence, but no words, and this time it was D who crossed the distance that separated their mouths. He felt as if the power flow that formed between them would set him aflame from the inside out, destroying everything he was in its implacable path. It was an inhuman desire but, since they were monsters, did it matter?

The dhampir's hands explored and tore apart with equal passion, and he didn´t contain a choked gasp when, at last, he felt the firm softness of that skin against his, heard the roar of that powerful heart calling him and promising the end of any pain he might have felt in the past. Against the smooth and chiseled expand of his chest, D felt and heard the tickle of a deep satisfied purr; Dante's hands leaved burning skin anyway they adventured, and in that moment D knew the truth: It would be loneliness his road to madness, not blood. The marvelous heat of that body told him so, such as the memory of the cold away from it. He was starved of touch, of the simplest of affections, drifting away into just the shadow of Vengeance… Into nothingness and insanity…


He had let go of so many people, digging them graves in his heart long before they were truly dead. Even so, he felt incapable of letting go of Dante: the idea was logical but absurd… It was a weakness if he wanted to destroy his father, he knew it, but…

Dante noticed the instant of doubt, even when the dhampir was clinging to him with an expression that broke his heart more effectively than a thousand blades. He decided not to waste words, and his inner demon purred its approval. He hooked his arm under the dark prince's waist and parted one creamy thigh with his free hand, holding his breath as one that is about to reveal a great treasure.

D barely noticed the instant in which Dante held him up with delicious ease and then something hot and wet pressed against the only virgin place in his so many times maimed flesh. What followed was not entirely pain, and D arched his back at the same time his mouth let go of an equally ambiguous lament. The sound the other Hunter let out caused the dhampir to shiver violently: it had been possessive, mighty.

For his part, Dante could have come undone just by seeing that divine face loosing his hard maintained composure like that, and knowing himself responsible. D looked vulnerable in his obvious innocence and surprise, but predatory at the same time. The Demon Hunter licked their mixed blood still smeared over his lips, and trembled, barely containing his metamorphosis. He closed his eyes for a moment, and at opening them, he found that D, with those seductively red eyes, was looking at him directly. The dhampir was breathing elaborately, his half open mouth let him see clearly the sharp and fine fangs, so close to his throat, but in that moment he couldn't care less; not when the only thing he could think of was about his manhood being surrounded by that tight heat of silk, and the power filling him in an almost painful way, intensifying every minuscule sensation and turning them into maelstroms.

Mine… Any pleasure he had thought to felt before became nothing against that moment. Holding such a creature like that, looking himself in his lust filled eyes, Dante felt complete and content.

-You are so beautiful…

D had listened that all of his long life, but this time he didn't feel the familiar displeasure that usually accompanied those words. Dante saw him, really saw him, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time…

The Demon Hunter raised him with a single arm, until he was almost out. D could not help to cry out, and his hands moved to Dante's shoulders for support. The feeling of that ardent hardness filling him was weird, but not unwelcome; his keen senses were captive of an avalanche of new sensations, and he could barely do anything more than take it. His hands traveled along the unbending arms that held him, and his sight got distracted in the exquisite tension of the muscles under that skin; the way in which their colors contrasted, its smell, the few sweat drops that slid along it and how all of this became a fever spreading throughout his entire being: It was almost too much.

D knew all that there was to know about pain, but this pleasure…

Again, he felt the earth under his back, and Dante's torso followed him down, as if he could not bear to be separated from him. His legs spread without a thought, and watching D offering himself like this, with the long raven hair spread around, framing his snow-white glory, Dante was sure that he would never see something so perfect… He wanted, needed, to devour him, to posses him, adore him.

Emitting a grunt, the Demon Hunter charged forward with force, getting himself all the way in to the hilt in one swift movement between those alabaster legs.

The sound that escaped from D's mouth was of total abandonment. The wave of pleasure had been so sudden and unexpected that it made him dizzy, and for a moment he didn't see nor hear anything; his hands tried to hold on to something, but they found just the hard ground. His elegant fingers went through it as if it had been sand.

So much heat… During an instant of lucidity, D marveled at the fact of not being in flames. The pressure grew along that ardor, making him desperate, tearing him apart, and his legs tightened with inhuman might around Dante's waist, trying to get closer, deeper. He let out a whimper, something between begging and demanding.

Dante gave up: higher brain function was a stupid dream in that moment, and something akin to a growl echoed in his throat. He didn't contemplate for a second to contain his immense strength; with D's knees over his shoulders, he rested both palms on each side of the dhampir, and slammed once, and then again and again until he found a satisfying rhythm. In that position he could saw himself sliding in and out of the dhampir, along with the irrefutable proof of just how exited he was. The Demon Hunter sought that feral mouth and laid claim to it as if he wanted to devour him, cutting himself without a flinch. D received him with equal hunger and, tasting the vital liquid smeared in that implacable tongue, his body seemed to move by himself; he reached out for Dante, pressing his dripping manhood between their bodies, and a growl escaped his lips.

- Fas…ter…

D didn't recognized his own voice, hoarse and panting, but the pumping that followed fulfilled his wish and put to test the resistance of his preternatural flesh. That long and broad tower of hot flesh advanced fiercely inside him, hitting perfectly that pleasure spot he had not knew he had, and retreating as quickly just to repeat its merciless attack.

It was delicious. To be dominated like that made him felt free, whether it made sense or not… Something in Dante called to him, and in that moment D just needed more of the half demon, in any possible way.

Dante bit the reddened lower lip of the dhampir, and grabbed his waist with both hands. He leaded the swinging of their joined bodies as the best orchestra director would, and for every assault he got the more sublime and sinful sounds from that creature, creating his own aria. Long minutes later, the frenzy reached its highest point, and their movements became erratic. After an instant of tension, Dante reached a blinding climax, filling with his essence the insides of that living sculpture.

He collapsed over D, breathing heavily, so relaxed that for a moment he thought he had no bones. He was so perfectly content, at least until he recovered enough brain function to realize that the dhampir had not followed him in his euphoria.

D felt that this time he really would go mad. That ecstasy was a crescendo that didn't end, and it was inexorably taking him to the abyss from which he had fled all his life… It was not pain; it was not pleasure: it was something beyond despair.

He needed it… and it was right there, so close…

- Do it –whispered Dante, his slow and indolent voice caressed his earlobe, inflaming even more that accursed desire. D also heard in that voice a perfect calm and… affection? It tore a lament from him: fear had him frozen, but he had also reached the point of no return.

His mouth touched Dante's neck; his pulse beat against his lips, and D felt himself drowning in his smell, his strength… He saw the Abyss, and fell in it. His fangs penetrated flesh and the blood fill his mouth, hot and perfect, flowing directly to his hearth through his fangs.

The world turned red.

Glory. Peace. Liberation. To finally let go… It was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. "Climax" was such a poor word for that onslaught on his being, as if he have been recreated in its crimson explosion. Something broke, something mended itself; for an eternal moment, nothing was capable of disturbing him, not the shadows of his past nor the inevitability of his future.

He was simply there, and for the first time in more than 6 thousand years, he was not alone… D let go of that blood, and the vermillion abandoned his eyes too. Without thinking about it, he cuddled in the curve of Dante's strong neck and embraced him with the strength of 50 men.

The Demon Hunter smiled ratter foolishly at the gesture, and returned it with equal vigor. There, in that destroyed corner of a decadent world, with that forbidden beauty resting against him, he felt perfectly happy for the first time in his hard life. It was almost a pity to close his eyes, but he did, hoping not to discover when he awoke that all had been a dream.


Yaaay! At last, lemon! I did it! T^T . It was hard to translate this, so please review and give me energy to recharge :D