Chapter Text
You are in the shower, soaking in the warmth that falls from the water head. It’s times like these that you allow your mind to go completely blank and allow your body to relax for once, eyes closed with the constant beating of the water filling your ears.
Tap tap tap.
The noise from outside the bathroom snaps you out of your tranquility. It was so faint you almost missed it. You wait for a moment, to see if it would come again, but it doesn’t. Was someone at your front door? At this time of night? Suddenly, you feel very vulnerable in your naked state. You curse whoever it was for interrupting your peaceful moment.
You could ignore it, but then you remember your landlord had texted you earlier saying they would drop off a misplaced package at your door. It would probably be best to get it now, before it somehow disappears. You don’t think that any of your neighbors would take it, but you are a paranoid person. You groan once you turn the water off, already missing the heat. After quickly slipping into your bathrobe, you head to your front door.
You open the door to find the floor outside to be empty, no package in site. You step out and look around. Did someone steal it already? Movement catches your eye, and when you look up you see a figure heading farther down the hallway. No way are you losing this damned package again.
You make way towards the person, walking more quickly than they are so you can catch up. As you approach you notice this man has familiar white hair and a long black jacket. His towering height and the taut way he carries himself reminds you of a certain someone you know. Surely he wouldn’t have been at your door, right?
“Vergil?” You call out, still walking towards him. The man’s pace slows to a stop and he turns. That’s Vergil alright. You’d recognize that piercing gaze anywhere. You continue, “did you knock on my door?”
“Yes,” He says. You wait for him to continue. Instead of an explanation you’re met with a stare. You suddenly remember you’re in a bathrobe with soaked hair, standing in the middle of a hallway in your apartment complex.
You look back to your door. “Do you want to come in?” You ask. You still can’t think of any reason why he would show up. If it was something urgent surely he would have explained it already instead of having a staring contest. Plus, he was clearly leaving already.
You see an internal debate happen in his head in the way he looks away with furrowed brows, like he’s unsure whether he wants to or not. Part of you is confused, you’ve never known him to be indecisive.
He looks back to you and nods, but the conflicted look remains on his face. So, you lead him back to your apartment, let him in, and shut the door behind you.
“Sorry my place is a bit messy,” you say as you move the bag of chips off the couch and onto the side table. You hadn’t expected company, much less Vergil . “Have a seat if you want.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. You want to laugh, but stop yourself, at how uncomfortable he looks. He is still standing by your door, rigid and tense. It reminds you of an alien who got lost on a foreign planet. Demon… alien… close enough.
You walk up to him, but keep a safe distance between the two of you. You cross your arms and speak, “Okay, so what did you need?”
“I’ve been experiencing…” He takes a moment to think of his next words, “…a complication.”
What could you possibly help him with? Not once has he ever asked you for anything. Perhaps, it’s about Nero? Over the months you’ve learned just how complicated their relationship truly is. A man who didn’t even know he had a son meets a guy who didn’t know he had a father. You’ve had the unfortunate experience of witnessing their interactions firsthand, strained and awkward would be an understatement. You suppose it makes sense, you are friends with Nero after all.
“And Dante can’t help you?” You ask. If you’re right, surely this is a family matter. You’re not sure how you would help to mend this situation. Nero has never been one to be open about his feelings with you. You never took it personally though, you are a closed off person too.
Vergil’s face strains, like you just said something outlandish. “I would prefer this matter to not be known by him, if you don’t mind.”
Him showing up at your door with some sort of internal conflict? This has got to be interesting. You slowly nod, “Sure. But to make sure someone doesn’t know about something, I would have to know what that thing is…”
He purses his lips, once again considering his words. Honestly, seeing him like this is so strange. He looks back to you, “I assume you partake in self pleasure.”
…
Your eyes widen. You did not know what he was going to finally say, but it certainly wasn’t that.
“You mean masturbation?” You ask.
“Correct.” He says.
You have no idea where he’s going with this, but this topic combined with his hard stare on you is an uneasy mix. Normally you’d expect someone to awkwardly look away as they ask about a sexual topic with someone they don’t know well, but instead, Vergil being Vergil, asks you with a piercing stare, like he’s studying your reaction.
It’s something everyone does, but talking about it with others is not exactly something you’re used to. Especially a 40 something year old uptight man. “Uhh… yes I do. Just like everyone else on the planet who has genitalia.” You say almost defensively. You’re not sure if he would be one to judge you for this. Some men genuinely don’t believe women masturbate, and you’re hoping this is not why he’s asking you.
Vergil doesn’t respond, but you can see he’s thinking. “Do you?” You ask. Suddenly the image of him touching himself pops in your mind. You push it down, now isn’t the time.
“It is not an activity I had time for. Self pleasure was merely a distraction in my pursuits of power,” he says. You squint at him. He literally has a son, so pleasure was on his mind at some point, but Nero is 25 now. Surely he hasn’t gone 25 years without that kind of thing, right? His voice interrupts your thoughts, “but…” now is the time he breaks his stare and looks towards the ground, “recently I’ve made attempts.”
You can not believe where this conversation is heading. This apprehensive man who has hardly spoken to you over the course of 8 months has suddenly come to your apartment to talk to you about his… masturbation habits? You could almost laugh, but you don’t.
He continues, “but I can’t seem to…” he trails off, looking for the words the explain.
You think you know what he’s getting at, so you finish for the poor man. “Finish?” You speak. “Orgasm?”
He looks to you and nods.
Him asking you about Nero was already topic you thought better suited to be discussed with a certain man in his life, but masturbating? That’s definitely something a man should ask another man about, but you suppose no one wants to talk to their brother about that. Does he even know any men that are not his relatives?
“Do you know what google is?” You ask.
He sighs, “my research has been unsuccessful.”
“Are you sure? Erectile dysfunctions are treatable you know,” you say.
His eyebrows furrow once more, “It’s not that.” You raise your own eyebrows in confusion. He continues, “I have no problem sustaining an erection.”
You finally let out a soft laugh but quickly cover your mouth with your hand. Your reaction is not missed by him though. “If you are uncomfortable with this matter I can make my leave,” he says as he turns for the door.
“Wait!” You call out before you think. You have no idea why you’re stopping him from leaving, how could you even help him with this? Though, you don’t want him to think you were laughing at him eventhoughyoukindofwere . But come on, a man who has been responsible for mass destruction’s biggest problem is touching himself? It’s a little bit funny.
You move to stand between him and the door. “I wasn’t laughing at you I promise,” you say still trying to hide your smile. He gives you a suspicious look as he peers down at you. “It’s just the way you phrase things that makes me laugh.”
His suspicious look turns to an inquisitive one. “What about my words makes you laugh?”
“Well first, ‘sustaining an erection’,” you say with air quotes, “people just say ‘staying hard’.”
“Was my word choice inaccurate?” He questions.
“Well, no…” you begin.
But he cuts you off, “then I don’t see the problem.” He says, annoyance now laced in his voice.
You sigh. Your last intention was to offend him somehow. You look back up at him thinking about what to say next. His brows are as furrowed as ever, and you’re sure they will cause wrinkles soon enough. His posture is still rigid and tense, you don’t think he’s looked relaxed for a single moment that he’s been in your apartment. Though, you’re not sure you have ever seen him looked relax. You have seen him smile of course, but it always looked sort of menacing. After many months of this uptight demeanor, you have come to not question it, it is simply just the way he is, but his current issue makes you wonder if being pent up for decades may have something to do with it.
An image of him struggling to finish pops in your head, but you don’t push it away. The conversation has progressed too far to avoid the thoughts. You can imagine him pants down, hand around his cock, and hunched over pumping to no avail. The frustrated look on his face would probably be close to the one he’s wearing now. You wonder what his face would look like blissed out, once he finally gets the release he has been craving.
“Show me,” you blurt out. You can’t believe you’re actually suggesting this, but the fiend part of your brain is talking for you. There’s no way he will agree. Stop now before you embarrass yourself more than he already has to you. “Show me how you do it…” you continue, because fuck it, you can’t say you have never wondered what he was packing under there. You are a woman of opportunity after all. You finish your pitch, “…and maybe I can help.”
You half expect him to insult you and walk out the door, but he doesn’t. After a moment of consideration he fucking nods.
You both once again stand there, staring at each other. You realize he is waiting for you. Right, you think. You gesture towards the couch that sits only feet away from you. “Right there is fine.” You say.
No way is this happening, you think as he actually takes a seat. “Normally I do it standing.” He says.
Of course he does. The image that popped in your mind earlier returns, but now you imagine him hunched over, resting his weight with his hand on the wall, his free hand gripping his length. He probably sees it as something to get over with quickly, no point in finding a comfortable position. Maybe you can show him a different way.
You remember again that you have been in a bath robe this whole time. He’s the one supposed to be revealing himself, not the other way around. “Let me change really quick”, you say. You move past him to the direction of your bedroom door, “I was in the shower when you knocked so-“
You’re cut off by a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You turn to see Vergil gripping you, and unreadable expression on his face. “You don’t need to do that,” He says.
You stare at him for a moment. Oh. Your brain malfunctions, but you brush it off.
You are not sure where to place yourself, but you opt to just take a seat next to him, leaving about 2 feet between you. “Sitting is better,” you say continuing the previous conversation. You also just want to see what he looks like with his back arching as his head is pressed back into the cushions… not that you would say it out loud.
You stare at him expectantly as he removes his gloves in an efficient manner. After placing them on the couch beside him, he starts unbuckling his pants. Never in a million years did you think Vergil fucking Sparda would be about to whip his dick out on your couch. He seems to hesitate before he pulls his length out, but when he does, you’re in awe. You notice how it looks semi hard, and there are faint veins protruding from the shaft. Had he been conversing with you with a semi this entire time? The thought makes you tingle, something about him being so pent up that he was hard while talking to you sends excitement through you. You’re just now realizing how attractive you find this man. Even though he’s not full on hard, he’s bigger than any guy you have been with. Perhaps him being half demon has something to do with it.
You watch with interest as he licks a stripe up his palm, wetting the skin with his saliva. He proceeds to grip his cock and pump his length. His hand slides down from his head, all the way to the base, and back up his length in quick and rough strokes. His cock hardens fully, the full size presented in front of you. Damn, it’s big. His large palms have no problem with it, but yours? Well, you’d have to test it out.
Chill. This is not what you’re here for. You’re just an observer.
Vergil’s nostrils flare as his pumps get faster. His eyes are closed, brows set in concentration. He lets out an occasional breath, sounding more strained than pleasured. You watch him do this for a short time, before you have had enough. This honestly just looks painful.
“Stop,” You grip the arm pumping himself so that it comes to a halt.
His eyes snap open and he looks over to you. You pull on his arm, gesturing for him to release his length, and he does. He watches as you bring his hand close to your mouth. You gather up all the possible saliva in your mouth.
Then, you spit. Gross, you know, but necessary. You meet his gaze, confusion apparent on his face. “Your pathetic palm lick is not enough,” you say as you carefully bring his palm back to his cock, as to not let any of the saliva fall onto your couch. He doesn’t respond, and instead follows your lead and spreads the wetness along his shaft, running his hand once more from the tip to the base. You watch as he does this with and you don’t know how to feel about your saliva being on him like this. It’s kind of hot, you think.
Once the length is covered, you grip his arm again. In a slow motion you guide his hand from the tip and to the bottom. “Slowly,” you tell him, “let yourself enjoy the feeling.” You guide him with his arm through a few long and slow strokes. You don’t know what’s come over you, but what you do know is you want him to moan rather than sigh in frustration. If this is what it takes then so be it. “And try different movements,” you continue as you demonstrate with a twisting motion in the air with your own hand.
“See what you like,” you say, and then look over to him. You almost jump when you immediately meet his stare, his gaze fixed on you intensely. You don’t say anything as you hold eye contact while he follows your directions. His mouth options slightly as he moves his hand in the slow strokes you showed him, all the while his eyes are on yours. You feel a wave of nervousness flow through you, feeling small under his gaze, as if he’s not the one with his cock out in someone else’s apartment.
You break the stare, and instead scoot back to watch him. Though, you still feel his eyes on you. You observe his strokes, he occasionally twists his hand like you showed him. His breathing gets faster, the breaths coming out in tiny sighs, sounding much more relaxed than before.
Eventually, you look back over to him, and his eyes are closed, but his face looks much less strained. Were you seriously teaching a grown man to masturbate?
He’s not exactly like most men, you think. Most men aren’t half demons who have spent most of their life chasing after demonic power while neglecting their human needs. You could definitely describe most men as demons, but Vergil actually lives up to it. Not just in the size in front of you, but also his genuine strength. Men usually just pretend they’re strong, but you could argue no one could beat Vergil. The fact that a man like this was currently falling apart in front of you makes you feel… excited. You want to see more.
He steadily increases his speed. After a twist of his hand over his head and shaft, his mouth falls open and he pushes his head back against your crouch cushion, letting out a whimper. His whimper is whiny and quiet. You can tell he is holding back.
The sound causes butterflies in your stomach. Damn , you think. That was hot. Cute even.
The site of him with his head thrown back, mouth open in pleasure, and cock in hand with his legs spread makes you want to pounce on him. You’re sure your pupils are dilated right now. Part of you wants to take over, watch as he falls apart due to your own hand, but at the same time you are really enjoying his one-man show.
You bite your lip, watching him. You’re not even focused on his strokes anymore, you are observing the way his face contorts with each pump. You’ve never seen him wearing anything other than a constipated looking expression. You feel a tingle again when a gasp escapes him, his mouth remaining open. He sinks further into the couch.
This was really turning you on, and you want to see him finish, to help him like you said you would. His pumping is getting faster now, and you can tell his expression is reverting back to the frustrated and concentrated expression he wore at the start.
With his eyes still closed, you take the opportunity to scoot closer to him. You bring your hand up to his head and run it through his hair. You’ve always wondered what that slicked back white hair would feel like to the touch. It is smooth. He looks up at you hovering beside him. His pupils are blown out, and you’re unsure if he has a problem with your touch. You do it again, this time running your fingers through the strands. In response he closes his eyes and sighs. You take that as a positive sign.
“You’re doing so well,” you whisper to him, trying to wipe that strained look off his face. Your words cause him to shutter, his stroking pace suddenly becoming uneven. Did he like that? You continue, running your hand in his hair again, “just like that.”
His brows lift. “ Mmmh, ” he lets out, pursing his lip to hold it back.
No. You want to hear him. Your hand slides from his hair to his cheek. You rub your thumb along his skin, practically cradling his face. “just let go,” you whisper.
He presses his face into your hand. You continue to caress, making soothing motions with your thumb. His mouth falls open, and he lets out a sigh, resting the weight of his head into your hand. You’re surprised how respondent he is to this affection.
You let him press into your hand, his skin feels softer than it looks. The strained expression is replaced by one approaching bliss. He slightly turns his head and lets out a a moan into the side of your hand. You feel his hot breath on your skin. You caress his cheek once more, and you don’t miss how his pumps become more erratic as a response. His breaths are starting to come out short and quick. You can tell he’s close.
You move your free hand to his other cheek, completely cupping his face. You bring your face up close to his, only a few inches apart. His eyes open when he feels your breath on his skin. He meets your stare with half lidded eyes, looking dazed. You speak, “cum for me.”
And he does. His eyes snap shut as the overwhelming feeling overtakes him. He lets out a loud and whiny moan, not bothering to hold back anymore. White liquid that’s been built up for what you assume is a long time spurts out from his tip. It splatters all over his chest and your couch. A few drops fly on your bathrobe. You stroke his face through his orgasm while he lets out a long relieved groan. The site makes you press your thighs together, you can imagine his pleasure as if you feel it yourself.
You know it’s done when the cum stops and his hand halts. The only thing that can be heard is his breathless pants. His face looks utterly euphoric. You allow him to stay like that, eyes closed, for a time as you admire this new expression.
Then, his eyes meet yours, and you freeze. Now that it’s all over, you’re unsure of what to do. You didn’t exactly think this far ahead, telling him to demonstrate for you was a spur in the moment decision. Though, you were successful, he finally got the release he was so desperate for. You remove your hands from his face, and avoid his eyes by observing the new mess. You’re gonna need a towel.
You get up to get paper towels from your kitchen, leaving him there to regain his composure. When you return, he has already zipped up his black pants. You both don’t say anything as you hand him a few towels to help clean up his mess. You wipe your bathrobe as he wipes off his vest and jacket.
The silence is deafening. The awkwardness that was covered by lust has now returned. You didn’t exactly get sexual relief like he did, and you wonder if he will have the well known ‘post nut clarity’ and bolt out the door.
After he cleans his clothing, he sets the dirtied paper towels on the coffee table. Then, he stands and moves for the door. Ah, bolting it is. You’re sort of disappointed, but it’s understandable. You’d make a run for it too if you just nutted all over your the couch of your… work acquaintance? You’re not sure how to describe your relationship as you’re not exactly friends and you don’t directly work with each other. The father of your coworker? The father of your friend? Okay, this is getting weird.
You begin to wipe the mess off the couch as he turns the door knob. After a few moments you notice he hasn’t opened the door, so you look up. He turns back toward you, his face more relaxed than usual.
“Thank you for that,” he says genuinely. Then, he leaves.