Chapter Text
Of all the weird revelations and developments caused by the Saviour incident in Fortuna, the one Nero least expected, and still can't quite get his head around, is that he has a father. A half-devil called Vergil, who is Dante's older twin. Except he looks more like Nero's slightly older brother than his father. Sometimes it still feels like total bullshit that they're father and son, but Vergil isn't the type to lie about something this important. And at the beginning he hadn't believed it either—Yamato and Dante had to be the voices of reason, confirming their blood ties.
Back at the height of the chaos in Fortuna, Vergil had slipped through a demon gate into the city. Searching for his repaired devil-arm, Yamato, he'd found Nero. And they had fought. Only Dante had stopped them from killing each other.
Many months after the incident, Nero is coming to terms with the grief of what happened to his adoptive family, and is growing to love his new-found blood-family. Though he almost wishes he weren't. Because he might just be falling in love with his father. And Nero can hardly avoid Vergil when the man has decided to stay in Fortuna and even help with the city's rebuilding.
Vergil seems to have a nostalgic fondness for the castle-town where Sparda ruled; or maybe he just can't stand the thought of sharing Dante's dingy office home. And with no-one able or willing to contradict him, Vergil now lives in the castle as Sparda's successor.
Of course Nero is keeping his crush on Vergil quiet. He already feels like a freak in town with his demonic arm; and it's difficult enough having feelings for his father without anyone else finding out. Especially Vergil. They've only just started to get along like a kind of normal family. Some nights they eat dinner together, and talk about all sorts of 'safe' topics: their busy days, work, the plans for Fortuna's future, the weather. It's nice to have that extra family support. As much as he loves Kyrie, this is something Nero needed without realizing, ever since his foster father and Credo died.
Now that he's got this tentative relationship with the new half of his family, he really doesn't want to fuck it up. But no amount of shame and self-deprecation are stopping his horny lizard brain. Nero has a wet dream about Vergil at least once a week. And it doesn't help that the wrongness feels so good—whenever he lets his thoughts drift to Vergil while he masturbates, Nero comes harder than ever. He used to feel so guilty. Even just thinking about a simple kiss, little touches, or how Vergil would look naked had Nero feeling vaguely sick at his forbidden desires. But he couldn't stop thinking about more. What Vergil would do, what he wants to do to Vergil. Nero's imagination just goes wild with lust and need.
Even putting aside the fact that they're related, Nero can hardly believe the change in his feelings. Before now, romance was always bullshit to him—like most things in life. Things that weren't meant for him. The background hum of his life had been anger; and he'd been angry at Vergil too. Nero's temper might still be quick to boil, but he's mellowed out. Otherwise he would've never gone from grudgingly forgiving Vergil, to feeling like a love-sick idiot.
It's not even fair that Vergil can make him feel like that. With his rare and genuine smiles, his elegance and grace, and the incredible strange beauty of his demon form. Nero looks forward to the days when they can spar until they're breathless and sweaty, or when they hunt together and Vergil tells him he's done a good job. Or when Vergil tests and teaches Nero in the intricacies of sword and magic techniques. When Vergil's calloused fingers touch the bare skin of Nero's hands or neck during a lesson. When they're close enough that Nero can smell his scent. Even the silver hair and blue eyes, which Nero always hated about himself, are now fascinating and beautiful to him. Something they share.
Speaking of sharing, Nero's still sharing a tiny apartment with Kyrie. He crashes on the fold-out couch, because there's only one bedroom. And it's not even a proper separate room—just that a sliding screen can be pulled across the middle of the main room, dividing the bed and couch spaces. It's uncomfortable, but it's the best they can do in the housing shortage. Eventually Kyrie's family home will be repaired. And although Nero grew up there, he's not sure he wants to move back in. Maybe Vergil will let him live in the castle. As long as no-one ever finds out about his messed up feelings for his father.
Nero's afraid that he'll let something slip, that he'll sleep-talk during one of his wet dreams. Not letting anything slip while he's awake is difficult enough. When he masturbates in the apartment, and Kyrie's asleep a few metres away behind the screen, Nero tries his best to make no noise at all. But it's so hard to stay silent when he thinks about Vergil. It feels so good, and he wants to drown in that pleasure for as long as he can. This kind of intensity is new to him. Nero used to be perfunctory about getting himself off; it was just a way to quickly relieve tension when training and fighting weren't enough.
As Nero's lying in bed that night, it's impossible to ignore the need pooling between his legs. He's been low-key horny since sparring with Vergil in the afternoon. Nero bites his lip, and squeezes his thighs together as he remembers Vergil's graceful combat. It's a favourite scenario to imagine one of their typical matches turning heated and dirty. It's easy to turn those moments when their bodies clash in battle into fantasies. Their grunts and groans of exertion, a thigh between his legs, hands in his hair, hands on his hips, pushing under his clothes, lips and teeth at his neck.
Nero takes a shuddering breath. In the dark with only his fantasies, he doesn't want to rush himself. He pushes down his sweatpants, and his whole body flushes with anticipation. Slowly, he runs his hands over his thighs, his sides, his chest, neglecting his groin for now.
Vergil appears in front of his eyes the moment he closes them. With one hand, Nero pushes up his t-shirt, before massaging and tweaking his nipples. He gives free rein to his fantasies, wondering what Vergil would feel like, naked and pulling him closer under the covers; what Vergil's hands would feel like on his skin, spreading his legs open slowly.
He needs to touch himself, he just needs to, so he edges his fingers slowly between his legs. Nero feels the wet spot on the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs, as one finger lightly starts to tease over his clit. Vergil's long, slender fingers stroke over him, giving him a little taste of the pleasure he craves.
Nero lets his legs fall open wider, and manoeuvres his hands until one is resting on his swollen clit and the other is lower, drifting around his opening through his boxers. The rough texture of his Devil Bringer used to jolt him out of his fantasies a bit, until he considered that Vergil's devil form is like this too: scaled and clawed, and buzzing with power. Even the white-blue glow is something he inherited. Now it just adds another layer to his material.
Vergil strokes firmly, but slowly. A hand slides under the waistband, jolting through Nero's belly as Vergil puts pressure on his throbbing clit. The other hand travels lower, and lower, slipping inside his boxers, until he's able to drag a finger through his wetness.
Vergil strokes his finger along his slit. The afternoon sure left Nero wound up, he's so slick that Vergil's movements are effortless. A second finger joins the first, spreading Nero's pussy.
Nero shivers and licks his lips. It's hard to focus on a coherent scene. He wants to rush ahead and think of nothing but Vergil desperately fucking him into the dirt of the sparring grounds, where anyone could see them. Vergil's cock filling him up so much, and coming and coming while Nero writhes in his own climax. His stomach does a little excited flip just at the hint of that fantasy.
Nero stills his hands just to cool off a moment. Although his current favourite fantasy features Vergil with a beautiful big cock, to be honest Nero's still not sure how he should imagine Vergil's groin. Maybe he'll be like Nero, maybe not. In Nero's fantasies it's all been good. More than once he's come thinking about Vergil sliding against him with a thigh between his, their wet pussies grinding together.
His teeth press into his bottom lip, like he wants Vergil to. Vergil surging forward and claiming Nero's mouth, letting his hunger fuel the kiss. Using his tongue and fingers, and drinking in every moan he coaxes from Nero.
Eyes squeezed shut, Nero feels Vergil's lips on his neck, Vergil's fingers grabbing his thighs hard, leaving kisses and bites down his body. Then the thought of Vergil's lips on his clit makes Nero's breath stutter, and he almost moans into the silent night-time room. He can't forget that he's not alone in the apartment.
But his cunt is throbbing, begging for more. Nero huffs out a shaky breath. All he wants to think about is Vergil. Vergil as he dips his tongue, and then two rough fingers, between Nero's folds.
Nero uses the Devil Bringer, loving the ridged texture, the heat, and the spectral swell that can fill him deeper, and more fully, than just his fingers. It's taken him a bit to trust himself to do this, what with claws and all, but he doesn't hesitate anymore. He can feel exactly the angle he needs, when to shift or stop.
His entire body shivers, and he moves his hand faster, pumping his fingers deeper into his body. Vergil eats him out against the trunk of a tree at the edge of the sparring grounds: quick and rough, both of them giving in to the feral desire of their devils. Nero bites his lip, stifling a moan.
His hips buck, pushing into his hand. Nero tries not to whimper as he rubs small, hard circles into his clit, pumping his fingers as roughly as he can without letting the wet noises escape.
He grits his teeth, on the edge of reaching sweet release. He's so fucking close. In his mind he moans loudly with every one of Vergil's thrusts, and Vergil slams in one final time before his cum starts to spill inside him. Nero comes in the same moment, his back arching as his mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure.
He continues to fuck himself languidly, eager to keep the pleasure flowing. Vergil is still on his mind. His lightly panting lips tingle for a kiss. He'd like to nibble at Vergil's mouth, and lick the sweat from his throat while lying pressed together. He wants gentle touches, and to feel Vergil grow soft inside him while their hips still shift with the promise of more.
The second wave of orgasm is softer, more like aftershocks. Afterwards, Nero sags fully into the mattress, gasping for air, his heart pounding. He feels like he needs a cold shower. He stares at the ceiling for a while, just letting the high course through him.
He fumbles with the tissue box on the coffee table next to his sofa-bed, and cleans up his mess.
"Fuck," he whispers to himself.
Getting off never used to be this sweaty and sticky either. He can only imagine how filthy actual sex would be. Though with Vergil he probably wouldn't care. Eventually, he stumbles to his feet, and heads for the bathroom. He makes do without that cold shower, and changes his underwear and t-shirt. On the way back to bed, he stops at the kitchen sink for a glass of water.
Standing in the darkness, Nero can't help grinning. He should probably feel like shit for thinking about his father this way, but right now the exhilaration and bone-deep satisfaction are winning out. His thoughts again turn to the way Vergil had moved as they fought: solid and forceful when he struck, yet making every move look effortless and elegant. Nero can only hope to ever match his father's skills and power.
He sighs, a little subdued now. He has no idea what he's doing nursing this hopeless crush, but he sees no end in sight.