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The main cathedral in Fortuna had been wrecked during the disaster, but with the discovery of just how much money the church had stashed away and some good old-fashioned community spirit — coupled with the entire island needing something to distract themselves from the fact that their former priest had, weirdly, been just as fanatical and psychopathic as he had seemed — meant that it had been patched up pretty well in the following years and was once more a functioning place of worship. Thankfully with less militant and brain-washing sermons, and no plans to purify anyone.
The new priest is actually pretty nice, but Nero is keeping an eye on things all the same. While attendance isn’t as high (or mandatory) anymore, there’s still a large portion of the population that continue to worship Sparda. Nero certainly isn’t one of them due to both the fact that he never really had been in the first place and the fact that he now knows he’s related to the old geezer. It’s still strange to push open the heavy double doors of the church and be faced with regal statues of a demon that, had things taken a different path forty-odd years ago, would have bounced Nero on his lap and read him bedtime stories. He’s been here a few times since that particular discovery last year, and it never feels any less weird.
Dante crosses the threshold at his side and falters in his steps slightly, looking up at the colossal statue nestled within the apse with something unreadable in his face. The statue’s sword is upright once more and held by stone hands carved from a slightly cheaper replacement material than the rest of the piece, and the various bullet holes and sword strikes have been filled in.
“Hey, pops,” he mutters quietly, then glances around the rest of the room, eyes lingering on each depiction of the holy knight.
Nero continues into the building as the doors close behind them with a resounding boom, glancing over his shoulder at his uncle. “You have been here before, you know. Your memory starting to go or somethin’, old man?”
“Gimme a break, I was a little too busy murdering a priest and fighting a double of my dead brother to have a proper look the first time ‘round,” Dante responds, tilting his head to look up at the stained glass dome. The shattered sections of it have been replaced with clear glass, due to a lack of local glass blowers skilled in the required art and that, really, no one spends much time looking up there anyway. “Oh, hey, that’s where I dropped in.”
“Wow, you work that out yourself?”
Dante offers a lazy grin and follows him through the pews. “I know, I know, I impress myself sometimes. So, where’s this supposed Holiest Of Holy Spard-efacts that Verge wants?”
“There’s a sliding panel on the front of the altar that holds a holy relic of some kind. If it’s not in there, it’s in the statue somewhere. That thing.” Nero points to a rectangular slab or darker stone protruding from the marble altar, just visible beneath the cloth that covers the front half of the mensa and hangs in carefully arranged waves of fabric, then rolls his eyes when he realises that Dante is not paying the slightest bit of attention to him. He snaps his fingers by Dante’s ear. “Hey, you going deaf too?”
“Hmm? Oh, right. Altar.” Dante gives a perfunctory glance in the direction that Nero is still pointing before nodding to a structure in the corner and saying, “That the confession box?”
Nero follows his uncle’s gaze to the object of his uncharacteristic fascination; It most certainly is the confession box, tucked in the corner and relatively neglected by the remaining congregation seeing as the very concept of ‘sin’ was tossed to the wolves a few years back by the man they had all been confessing to. He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.”
“The one you gave a handy in?” Right, no wonder the old creep was enraptured by the dark latticed wood. Nero had mentioned that story a few months ago. Why had he done that again?
He sighs, feeling a touch of heat in his cheeks, and rubs absently at the bottom of his nose. “That’s the one. Now get your mind outta the gutter and help me look for this thing.”
“Who was the lucky guy?” Dante asks as he trails over to the altar, electing to ignore the former of the two instructions. Nero rolls his eyes and offers an exasperated mental prayer to the statue in front of him, a subconscious habit that he hasn’t quite managed to break yet. If Dante is intent on getting some details, he may as well give them. (Hell, it might even impress him, but Nero would die before admitting to himself that he had any desire to impress the other devil hunter.)
“Altar boy,” he replies with a shrug. Satisfied with the look of mild surprise on Dante’s face, he crouches down in front of the altar and lifts the fabric to get a good look at the panel. No obvious handles or grooves to facilitate movement, but he knows it’s possible somehow. He absently passes his hold on the fabric to a pair of spectral clawed wings and begins running his hands carefully over the stone, pressing against the embossments in search of a button or latch.
“God, I love it when you use those things,” Dante muses quietly from his right, perching against the altar. “So. Altar boy. You gonna tell the class?”
“I was pissed about something Sanctus had said, the altar boy had the hots for me, and covering the confessional in cum felt like killing two birds with one stone to a vindictive teenager,” Nero says. He pauses in his search to shoot Dante a triumphant grin. “It was real satisfying.”
“I can imagine,” Dante snorts, then trails off with a dreamy look. “Oh, I can certainly imagine...”
Nero pulls a face and smacks Dante’s leg, ignoring the snigger he gets in response and returning to his search. He ducks his head to hide the red flush creeping up his neck and tries very hard to shove the thought of giving Dante a step-by-step demonstration to the side. “Have I ever told you that you’re fucking gross?”
“Frequently.” He can hear the grin in Dante’s voice as a hand settles on his head, fingers absently massaging his scalp. Nero lets out a long huff through his nose and fights the urge to lean into the touch.
“You actually gonna help at any point or just sit there getting a hard-on?” He snaps as Dante’s ever-present demonic scent does in fact get decidedly muskier — hot, spiced, advertising itself as open for business. Nero hates the little twist in his gut that it causes, the way his senses spike as his demon side seeks out the potential partner. His claws grip the cloth tighter, heightened hearing picking up each and every ping of the snapping threads beneath their razored, ethereal edges.
Dante makes a show of humming thoughtfully. His fingers curl tightly into the short strands of Nero’s hair, drawing a sharp hiss from him. Fuck. “Think I like the latter, honestly.”
“We. Are in. A church,” Nero grits out through his teeth.
“Didn’t stop you before,” Dante says, which… okay, fair, but—
“I was eighteen!” He argues then clamps his mouth shut because oh man, there’s a pretty substantial echo here in the centre of the apse, the sound bouncing off the pillars and vaulted ceiling in the exact way the architecture was designed for. Funny, that. There’s no one here right now, but they’ll have to keep quiet if they don’t want to be found— No, no one’s going to be heard, because no one’s going to be doing anything.
“Yeah, just think how much better it’ll be this time.” Dante resumes drawing small, gentle circles on Nero’s head with his fingers, adding the slightest scratch of nails. Nero can’t help it; He pushes into the touch on his scalp with a barely stifled sigh while Dante continues, “C’mon, Nero. Let’s have some fun.”
He already sounds assured of his victory beneath the petulant plea, and as much as Nero would love to deny Dante the satisfaction, the idea does appeal to him. It appeals very, very much, because he still harbours a deep distaste for the Order of the Sword, and this seems like a fantastic way to give them the middle finger. Sensing his acquiescence before it’s voiced, Dante lets out a low demonic growl that works its way through Nero in a hot shiver, and he allows himself to be dragged up by the hair, dispersing his wings in a soft blue flash as he’s repositioned to slot between Dante’s thighs. His uncle is already half hard in his pants and wastes no time in tugging Nero’s crotch against his own with a shit-eating grin of I win that makes Nero want to slap him, but he decides to kiss the bastard instead.
There’s no light touch or gentle build-up; Nero tangles has hands in Dante’s hair and devours his mouth, half part eager and half part fucking pissed at how easily the other hunter can make his resolve crumble, but maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for him to do so if Nero wasn’t so painfully attracted to him, always down to fuck and get fucked by a man so infuriatingly handsome that he couldn’t be anything but a devil.
Growing increasingly annoyed at himself now, his own total lack of self control when this scruffy old idiot is involved, Nero continues to take out his frustration on Dante, fucking his mouth open with his tongue and grinding against the swell in his leathers, swallowing every obscene moan that Dante offers in response. He reaches between their bodies to undo Dante’s belt with deft, far too well-practiced movements, roughly yanks at the buttons and zipper of those stupid-sexy biker pants and pulls Dante’s cock free, thumbing over his head and twisting his wrist in the way that he knows drives Dante wild.
Dante responds as expected, hips rising into Nero’s fist with a pleased moan. “Yeah, baby, show me how you did it.” The image he makes is absolutely blasphemous, legs spread and eyes half lidded as he rests back on his elbows, watching Nero pump his cock with interest. Nero leans over him, bracing one hand on the mensa.
“You’re getting a much better experience than he ever did,” he smirks, jerking his head in the vague direction of the confessional over his shoulder. He pushes himself against Dante’s thigh, bites down on his lip to hold back a moan.
Dante grins, wide and shameless. “I guess you had a good teacher, huh?”
Nero tightens his fingers, dragging a curse from Dante’s lips. “Kinda sub-par, if you ask me,” he replies nonchalantly.
Dante’s grin quickly becomes a scowl. “Hey, I’m a great fuck and you know it,” he protests, jabbing an accusing finger into Nero’s chest. Nero snorts and leans down to kiss him to shut him up (if only because he loves him, and the greatest way to show it is with teeth and tongue and hot breath and the spark of demonic energy it causes between them).
Insults forgotten more quickly than they were inflicted, Dante pulls him closer by the front of his shirt and Nero relaxes into the familiar wet heat of his mouth, the push of his tongue as he allows Dante to take over the kiss. He realises his mistake a half-second too late and by that time Dante has already taken advantage of his momentary weakness, surging upwards and spinning them to shove Nero against the altar with a hungry growl, his invisible demonic presence smothering in its strength. Nero’s spine arches against the pain of being slammed against solid marble; there was definitely a crack, and he isn’t sure if it was him or the stone.
“Shit!” he hisses, digging his fingers into Dante’s biceps as the older hunter bites down on the solid muscle of his shoulder. Nero’s demonic side shrieks within his skull in agonised pleasure and he bares his throat further, his cock twitching in the confines of his pants as he instinctively jerks up in search of something from the dominant creature that’s defeated him and claimed him as its own. Except it’s not a creature, and no one has been defeated — the momentary red haze clears and his very human-looking lover is nuzzling into him with a not-very-human purr, peppering kisses to the already healed wound.
“Don’t— do that— without warning,” Nero pants. It’s his turn to glower as he drags Dante up by his hair and is met with the sight of a smug and only slightly apologetic grin, hints of Nero’s blood still on his lips. Dante’s tongue darts out to clean it off, baring even more teeth when he sees Nero suppressing a shudder. Not for the first time, Nero is suddenly acutely aware of Dante’s true predatory nature, hidden behind warm eyes and stupid jokes and comforting embraces; he recognises it because he holds aspects of it within himself, too, an inescapable part of his heritage, but Dante… he’s glad they’re on the same side. That being said, Nero doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the lance of fear that shot through him in this very building the first time he laid eyes on the man in red.
Dante seems to sense his momentary disquiet, a mixture of demonic submission and the natural human response to infernal power; holding Nero’s chin between a finger and thumb he leans in for a soft kiss, reassuring in the press of his lips and swipe of his tongue. “Sorry, kid,” he murmurs, breath hot in the space between them.
“You gonna make it up to me, old man?” Nero smirks, eyebrow raised. He raises his hips, his still clothed crotch brushing against Dante’s cock.
Dante lets out a short laugh and pets Nero’s hair, dropping one last quick kiss to his lips. “Where’s the holy oil kept?” he asks, voice deliciously low, and Nero can’t help the devilish smile that tugs on his lips at the thought of that. Oh, hell yes. He tilts his head back and to the left.
“Ambry’s over there. Cupboard thing on the wall.”
Dante pats his cheek and steps around the altar, striding over to the unobtrusive set of cupboards set into the nearby wall in search of their makeshift lubricant while Nero repositions himself, tugging his pants down over his ass and leaning forward over the altar they’re about to desecrate, legs spread invitingly. A long, low whistle leaves Dante’s lips when he turns around with a small bottle in hand, almost skipping in his eagerness to get back to the other side of the table and get a good look at him.
Yeah, Nero’s got it.
“We don’t have all day, Dante,” he says over his shoulder. His heart hammers at the risk of it all, his eyes snapping briefly to the double doors behind them.
“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants off. It’s not every day I get a view like this.” Dante smirks. He steps forward when he’s had his fill of the impious display, wasting no time before pushing slick fingers into Nero’s hole, and it’s far too much at once. Nero jerks with a broken moan at the rough, abusive curl of Dante’s touch that’s painful and perfect with each wet plunge, making him squirm against the table — And he’s nowhere near stretched enough when Dante’s fingers pull out, a familiar blunt head pressing against his entrance as his cheeks are spread.
“Are you serious?” Nero sputters, gives him an incredulous stare over his shoulder. Dante just grins and kneads Nero’s ass in his hands, then enters him with a languorous thrust and an obscene, horrifyingly loud moan that Nero can’t even berate him for, too busy muffling a scream of pure masochistic pleasure into his knuckles as he’s split on his uncle’s stupid, stupid cock.
“Shit, you’re tight,” Dante curses, breathless, gripping Nero’s hips to hold him steady while he fucks into him further until they’re flush.
“Jeez, wonder whose fault that is,” Nero spits, earning himself a short, sharp thrust in response that presses right into his sweet spot while the stretch burns him to the core. It takes every ounce of his self control to hold back a howl as he arches into the pressure, searching for it once more.
“You’re the one that gets off on it, not me.” Dante gives him a wink, then begins fucking him in earnest before Nero can muster a response.
He scrabbles for purchase, gripping the far edge of the altar with enough force to crack the marble while his other hand tugs on the cloth, sending candelabras and offerings clattering to the floor. Dante’s thrusts are unforgiving in their pace — deep, steady, and far too much, just the way Nero loves it. He bites back a groan and drops his forehead to the mensa, breath condensing on the cold stone. Anyone could walk in here and find them, find a former knight and well-known local protector getting fucked stupid on their holy altar. The thought sends an all too familiar thrill racing through his veins; the one that, since its discovery by Dante, has put them in a never-ending list of compromising public positions.
Nero shivers and presses his cheek to the stone, allows his eyes to flutter closed as he focuses on the drag of Dante’s cock in his ass and hands on his hips, the uncomfortable and not-quite-enough friction of his own length between his stomach and the finely stitched altar cloth.
Oh, right. That thing’s gonna be ruined. Oops.
Dante fists a hand in his hair without warning, and Nero’s eyes fly open as his head is jerked up. He’s angled to look upon the towering likeness of Sparda that gazes lifelessly over the pews behind, regal and powerful even in stone. The statue that he had sat in front of so often as a child, less often as a teenager, of a demon held in reverence above any human alternative, never knowing that he held this God’s blood in his veins. Dante’s muscular chest presses against Nero’s back as he leans over him, the momentum of his hips never faltering.
“Say hi to your Gramps, kid,” Dante mutters in his ear and Nero makes a strangled noise, his hand flying up to grip at the back of Dante’s neck with bruising force. What the fuck.
“You — fuck—!” Dante’s pace breaks as he pulls out further and slams into him with a filthily wet sound, groaning deeply. “You’re fucking sick, you know that?” Nero snarls, twisting his head to free himself from Dante’s grip and glare daggers at his uncle.
“You gonna pretend you didn’t just clench up on my dick, then?” Dante asks, looking far too self-satisfied by current events, and Nero doesn’t really have an argument for that.
“Screw you,” he manages pathetically, not quite enough venom there to deter Dante from leaning in closer to kiss him over his shoulder with a low, rumbling chuckle.
“Maybe later,” Dante says against his lips, and Nero can’t tell if his groan is in response to the terrible joke, or the promise of getting to return the favour by fucking his uncle six ways from Sunday later. Dante shifts to stand upright again and pull Nero up with him, shucking his shirt up with the unspoken suggestion that it should be removed. Nero complies and strips it off, dropping it to the altar within easy reach, just in case. Just in case anyone walks in.
He moans at the thought and leans back against Dante’s chest with a shiver as his sweat-slicked torso is exposed to the cool air. To have someone walk in and see him like this, dick out and half naked and split on Dante’s cock, panting and moaning — he almost wants it, wants to be seen getting thoroughly ruined by this absolute asshole of a man. Rough hands slide across his skin, reverential as they smooth over his muscled abdomen, trail back up his flanks. Every touch makes his devil purr, and he arches into it indulgently.
“That’s right baby, show grandpa how big and strong you are.” Dante’s hand cups one of Nero’s pecs while the other takes hold of Nero’s neglected cock, pumping in time with each increasingly rough thrust. It takes a moment for the words to register in Nero’s addled mind and he chokes, something horrifying pooling in his gut as shame rips through him.
“Dante.” It’s supposed to be a disgusted protest — at least that’s what Nero tells himself, but it leaves him as a desperate groan instead as he bucks into the coarse fingers around his cock and fucks himself on Dante’s in the process.
“He’d be so proud of you, Nero,” Dante says, and Nero swears his voice cracks slightly with the words. Lips travel up Nero’s neck in a gentle caress and teeth tug on his earlobe, whispered words tickling his ear. “He’d love you so much. You’re the best damn one of us, you know that?”
“Of course I do. You seen yourself lately?” Nero snarks, and Dante laughs; the sensation makes him see stars. He drops forward to the altar once more with a rapturous moan and Dante presses between his shoulder blades, forcing his chest against the cold stone and tracing his fingers over the muscles of Nero’s back.
“You gonna leave an offering, big boy?” he asks. Nero swallows thickly before allowing himself to speak.
“You’ll need to fuck me better first,” he retorts, earning another sinfully electrifying laugh that sets his nerves alight and has him jerking back on Dante’s cock because he needs it, he needs to be so full of that cock and his hole so thoroughly abused by it that he can’t walk straight. Dante growls eagerly and takes the instruction to heart more readily than he would any other, anchoring himself with a harsh grip on Nero’s hair and pounding into him without mercy. Nero quickly forgets the need for quiet, crying out as Dante’s hips slam into him and his body presses into the stone in all the worst ways, his entire vocabulary devolving into a repeated mess of yeah baby, give it to me, fuck me as he attempts to find purchase on the sweat-slicked surface.
Hot pleasure builds in his core with each thrust and soon he’s reaching between himself and the table to jerk his cock desperately in chase of his release, until Dante pulls him upright once more and takes hold of his cock instead. Nero swears loudly, reaches over his shoulder to clutch at Dante’s hair and drag him into a sloppy, desperate kiss.
“Wanna say a prayer for him?” Dante says with an insufferable grin, gripping his hip with his free hand and driving into him again and again, hitting Nero’s prostate with every drag and thrust of his thick cock. Nero growls breathlessly with it, claws at Dante’s forearm with blunt nails, bucks into his tight fist.
“Oh holy Sparda— hallowed be thy name—” he chokes out, and Dante’s fingers actually tighten on his hip; he hears a sharp intake of breath, and Nero realises then that Dante wasn’t actually expecting him to comply. Nero allows himself a shit-eating smile at that, dropping his head back against Dante’s shoulder and staring up at the statue as he continues, “D-Defend us— from the devil’s spawn, guide our swords to smite the un—” A particularly filthy kind of heat twists in Nero’s gut as he looks up in depraved reverence at the statue of his grandfather, impaled on his uncle’s cock and fucking roughly into his hand. “Unholy in your name, deliver us from— the wicked snare of your enemies and f-forgive— us— our— sins—”
He comes with a strangled shout as pleasure and shame and desire take him, shooting over the crimson cloth in thick rivulets, teeth bared and snarling through each spill. Dante lets out a low, growling groan with each thrust and grips him tighter, curls an arm around his waist as he fucks Nero with reckless abandon until Nero flexes around him and sends Dante tumbling headfirst into his own orgasm.
Nero’s knees buckle when Dante bites down on his shoulder once more but he manages to catch himself on the altar through the haze with shaking arms, supporting his own weight and Dante’s while the old hunter’s hips slam forward with one last, unbearably deep thrust. They stay there panting with adrenaline, small growls escaping from Dante’s throat with each exhale until he comes back to himself, tentatively releasing Nero from his jaws and placing kisses to the wound, both arms now holding him in a gross, sweaty, tender hug.
“Fuck,” Nero croaks eventually.
Dante chuckles against his skin. “Damn, that was hot,” he says, giving Nero’s thigh a congratulatory pat.
Nero moans at the loss when Dante leaves him, grimaces at the feeling of cum making a lazy trail down the inside of his thigh, makes an absolutely disgusted sound as Dante swipes at it with his fingers but sucks those stupid fingers into his mouth when they’re offered anyway, curling his tongue around them with an eager sound as he holds Dante’s heated gaze. The corner of Dante’s mouth quirks with the unspoken promise as he pulls them out with an obscene pop to tuck himself back into his leathers.
Nero pulls up his own pants and grabs his shirt, finding himself greeted by Dante’s mouth on his own the moment he manages to tug it over his head; he meets the kiss with languid enthusiasm and a soft hum.
“Damn, kid. You made a mess,” Dante says when they break apart, examining their addition to the beautifully embroidered cloth and carved stone. Shit, he really did make a mess. The floor around the altar is littered with fallen adornments, the cloth crumpled and torn and cum-stained. Nero feels a deep sense of vindictive satisfaction. “By the by, was that a real prayer?”
“Yeah. Remind me to teach you the whole thing some day. God knows, you need it.” Nero wanders around the altar and spots a slightly discoloured patch of stone near the base on one side. He follows the scientific method of deduction and kicks at it; It slides in with a thunk, followed by the grind of stone sliding on stone as the panel on the front of the altar slides up, revealing a gleaming shortsword. He whistles appreciatively at the intricate ornamentation swirling from the crossguard. “Sweet. You think this is the artefact Vergil was after?” He brandishes the sword and gives it a few experimental swings; there’s definitely something demonic in its essence, a slight singing as it carves through the air.
Dante gapes at it in utter astonishment. “Ho-lee shit, there actually is one,” he says in absent wonder. “I just made the whole thing up for a chance to bend your ass over an altar and one-up the confessional thing.”
Nero stares, a dangerous calm falling over him. “You what.”
Dante grins sheepishly and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well? Was it an improvement on previous church experiences or not?”
Oh, Nero is going to fucking kill him.