All That Remains

Author: LumCheng (jan.'13)

Beta: none

Part: 1/?

Fandom: DmC: Devil May Cry

Disclaimer: I dun own anything, yadda yadda.

Pairing: Dante/Kat

Rating: M

Warnings: drama, violence, non-con, some sort of PTSD

Note: This takes place about 3 months after the end of the game. Rated M for violence, language and sex.

Summary: He steps on it. Combat boots crushing the little pieces into smaller chunks, forcing them into the dirty ground. Similar in the way he nearly crushes her into the wall with his mere body.


Prologue

The air is filled with noise and heavy smoke.

TV lights flickering, loud music, hard panting, stumbling footsteps on cluttered ground.

Whispering, only interrupted by a glass of water, shattering to pieces, leaving behind a razorsharp mess.

He steps on it. Combat boots crushing the little pieces into smaller chunks, forcing them into the dirty ground. Similar in the way he nearly crushes her into the wall with his mere body. His crotch pressing heavily against her loins.

With Kat he can hardly hold back. He tried to. God knows, he really tried. But it was to no avail.

Every once in a while he loses control, allows himself to let go. Feeling guilty, but going on nonetheless. Because it's so damn hard to resist.

Always the same. Until her voice stops him.

Today is no different. He's about to unzip those way too short jeans of hers, biting her lower lip - hard enough to draw blood - before giving it a lick.

Gasping, she withdraws her hands from his back, sliding them over his shoulders, starting to press against his collarbones, trying to push him away.

"Kat", he whispers hoarsely, his right hand wandering upwards, cupping one of her nice, firm breasts, squeezing lightly. Letting go of her pants usually calms her down easily, but today she's on edge. Much like him. He feels like his head's about to explode. It's been- how long? Three months? Way too long. And he's never been a saint before.

Eyes closed, turning her face away, she applies more pressure with the palms of her hands.

"Dante... don't", she pleads, her whole body tensing up.

It takes one, two heartbeats and there's silence. And even that has an odd ringing to their ears. Then a new song starts on TV, the sound of drums blasting through the small apartment.

Dante stands very still. His face against her neck, hot breath ghosting over her skin. He loosens his grip, taking a small step back.

Kat lets go of his shoulders, hands sliding down languidly. Her gaze low, she says, "I'm sorry", barely audible, not daring to look him in the eye.

So it happened again.

He doesn't respond, merely turns around, eyes wandering aimlessly through their messy living room. Papers, snacks, garbage, clothes, books, weapons, occult stuff.

He's thinking.

She's not moving.

A small, huffy sound leaving his throat, he takes two long steps to the couch, grabs his coat and puts it on in one fluid motion.

Finally, Kat looks up.

"Where are you going?"

He turns around again, looking her over, "I'm going out" and simply opens a window; jumps.


Fuck stairs. Fuck elevators. And fuck all this!, he thinks wildly, landing on his feet and rising up smoothly.

Angrily he takes the short route to the club, encountering only a small group of Stygians on his way. Slaying them hardly giving him any satisfaction.

He knows that he's mostly angry with himself for simply being what he is. Violent, impatient, fearless, reckless, short-tempered, promiscuous - nothing like her. At all.

Thinking of all this only makes him more and more mad, and, by the time entering the new nightclub, he already made up his mind. About tonight. He'll get drunk. Very drunk.

And then he'll fuck someones brains out. No apologies, no regrets. Just like before all this freaking mess started to evolve around him.


Not being able to find the remote control, Kat pulls the plug.

The silence spreading around her is more than welcome. She sighs in relief, tugging her sleeves down until they cover her entire arms and part of her hands, hiding most of the tattoos.

Closing the window, switching on the lights, getting a glass of water. Simple tasks, quickly done.

She stares at the shards on the ground where Dante had crushed them by accident.

Her gaze wanders to the window and she knows he won't be coming home tonight.

~tbc

Thanks for reading :D

Feedback is appreciated, since I'm unsure if anyone out there even likes stuff like this. It's been ages since I wrote fic in English. Sorry for weird grammar and stuff :/

Lum~