Work Text:
Nero squirmed, making yet another valiant effort to escape his predicament. But it was of no use – the hard edge of the pillory (because of course Fortuna would have such a barbaric device stashed in their fancy castle) dug into his back uncomfortably. Dante hadn't made him stick his head through the head hole at the very least. Instead, he had stripped Nero naked and forced him to stand in front of the device with his arms fed through each of the arm holes from the back.
Its wooden frame shouldn't have been a match for Nero's Bringer. He had broken out of stronger restraints without so much as breaking a sweat before. Yet no matter what he did, the wood didn't even splinter, forcing him to stand upright. His position had him completely exposed, allowing Dante easy access to his entire front.
The whip cracked as it snapped against his skin, leaving an angry welt across his stomach.
Nero bit his lip, trying his damnedest to stay quiet. He would not give Dante the satisfaction of hurting him. But the harder Nero tried, the more vicious each lash of the whip became.
It had all started off simple enough – their job had brought the devil hunters back to Fortuna. Despite them taking care of all hell gates a year prior, some demons had evidently gotten away and bred. The call had originally been about a pack of Assaults that had gotten out of control and were terrorizing Mitis Forest. After the hunters had taken care of them and followed the trail of carnage, they had quickly found its true source: a serpentine demon, suspiciously similar to Echidna. It had been more feral in comparison and put up a challenging fight but Nero hadn't been deterred. Using Red Queen's momentum, he had propelled himself into the air to slash away at the demon's face while Dante had taken care of its lower half.
Once they had beaten it, the demon left behind a devil arm. Its shimmering scales, dark and multi-coloured like an oil slick, had transformed into the cord of a whip. The crown of spikes of the demon's tail had manifested as a singular blade at its tip, shaped like a leaf.
When they made their way back, Dante had idly wondered if The Order had kept any records of both him and Nero prior to the Saviour incident and suggested that they should probably destroy them. Recalling the Fortuna Castle library, Nero had started leading the older man through the hallways when they had stumbled across another torture chamber. It was far smaller than its counterpart with its spiked ceiling, and had probably been used for interrogations.
A shuffling sound jerked Nero back to reality. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact. The details on how he had ended up in this very position were still murky.
No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Nero's instincts would always take over. And those demanded he'd let Dante subdue him. The worst thing about it though? Nero liked it. And he suspected that Dante knew it too.
In fact, the older man seemed to take delight in unravelling Nero, pushing and prodding at him until Nero was all but a whimpering mess. The fact that his heart would practically beat in his throat whenever he ended up at Dante's mercy ought to make Nero feel ashamed. He didn't understand his own urges, why they all screamed to please the older hunter, whatever that would entail.
But hell if Nero was going down without a fight.
Dante tutted gently. “You still with me?” he muttered. “You look like you're gonna pass out, kid.”
Nero bared his teeth at him. “Like I could in this position,” he retorted, head jerking backwards towards the pillory.
His hands drew into fists as Nero cast a look at his stomach. Angry red welts covered it in a criss-crossing pattern. His skin had torn where the lashes intersected, blood beading to the surface. Even though the wounds were shallow, they burned unpleasantly. Nero theorised that the whip must be laced with poison as the marks didn't heal as quickly as they should.
“You waiting for an invitation?” Nero mocked and was promptly punished with a lash across his flank. He wheezed at the sudden assault, the crack of the whip ringing in his ears like thunder. The movement had been so quick – he hadn't even seen Dante unravel the weapon.
Nero tried catching his breath, teeth digging into his lower lip as the muscles on his abdomen worked frantically.
Dante's gaze was smouldering, his eyes gleaming hungrily as they slid over Nero's body, a predator watching his prey.
“What a pretty picture you make, Nero,” he practically purred. The cord of the whip curled around Dante's body in a tantalizing wave before coming to rest at his side. The new devil arm fit in all too well with the chaps the old man wore. Contrary to Nero, Dante was still mostly clothed, though he had taken off his coat at some point.
Nero had been so mesmerised by the motion of Dante's hands that he nearly missed what he said.
“You love being put in your place, don't you?” Dante continued with a knowing smirk.
At that, Nero unclenched his fists just enough to show him the finger on both hands.
He should've known better. Two sharp cracks resounded and Nero struggled to breathe for a moment as the new lashes formed a bright X across his belly.
The older man inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. His eyes tracked a drop of blood that ran over the defined muscles on Nero's stomach. “Maybe it'd be better if you couldn't use your hands either,” Dante then decided.
He was across the room in a second, opening the lock on the medieval torture device.
Nero sighed in relief, mentally reading himself to slam Dante into the ground but the older man was way ahead of him, wrenching Nero's right arm tightly against his back to prevent him from moving.
“Get down,” Dante commanded.
Nero's legs were surprisingly shaky, refusing to hold his body's weight as he nearly collided onto the marble floor. Dante caught him, guiding Nero onto his knees.
The fact that the other hunter could easily force Nero into whatever position he wanted made his arousal stir. It was endlessly confusing to him: how they were always balancing on a knife's edge, how he'd always anticipated the tipping point when their violence turned into ravenous desire. Nero yearned for it as much as he feared it.
A metallic clink forced Nero out of his own head. He thought that the older man was done playing his little games but Dante had used Nero's distraction to wrench his arms above his head so he could fit a pair of iron shackles on his wrists.
The restraints were surprisingly heavy, throwing Nero off-balance. Dante gave his shoulder a hard shove, and the younger man fell back clumsily. His entire body seized as his bare back touched the shockingly cold floor, trying to get away from the sensation.
“Where'd you get those?” he hissed.
Dante smiled but didn't respond, leaning over Nero and running his thumb over his lower lip instead.
The look in his eyes was surprisingly soft, given what they had just been up to. With his free hand, he traced the welts raised on Nero's skin, fingertips feather-light and careful.
“Keep your hands above your head,” Dante husked, his voice rough, and Nero found himself obeying instinctively.
A satisfied hum rumbled deeply in Dante's chest. The touch then changed as Dante's nails got noticeably sharper. A singular claw traced a welt at Nero's hip.
Nero gasped, shaking as he felt the blood start to flow when Dante deepened the wound.
In the next moment, Dante followed the crimson trail with his tongue. One of his brows furrowed, even as he chuckled against the heated skin.
“Now that won't do.”
Nero strained his neck to glance downwards, realizing that the cut Dante had licked was already closing.
The older man brought the whip closer, unwrapping it and holding the sharpened tip towards Nero's stomach.
Expecting pain, Nero tried pushing himself away but Dante pinned him down effortlessly. In the next moment, the spike sliced into his skin, as Dante continued to deepen the pattern he had laid down earlier.
Nero's back curved against the floor in vain as he let out a small sound between pain and pleasure.
Something sparked in Dante's eyes, and Nero couldn't place it, but he didn't even have an opportunity to ponder it. It hurt, by the heavens did it hurt, but even then, the pain only served to make Nero even harder, his cock fully erect against his belly.
Nero's skin flushed a deep scarlet, the fresh blood shimmering like a vein of rubies in the faint light.
Dante ran his thumb across the cut he had just inflicted, spreading the blood and watching it saturate the firm muscles of Nero's abdomen.
“Gorgeous...” he mumbled so quietly as if he didn't mean to say it aloud, and then leaned down to lap at the blood.
Nero's breath hitched, his hips bucking up. Dante groaned against his skin, and with it, the air shifted just slightly. There was a flare of demonic power before Dante snuffed it out, sitting back on his haunches.
Slowly and deliberately, Dante licked Nero's blood from his lips. He inhaled a shuddering breath as if to ground himself and then, the look in his eyes was as sharp as the blade he resumed running over Nero's skin.
Dante carried on with his task as if he had all time in the world, causing tiny rivulets of blood to trickle all over Nero's stomach and sides. If there was a logic to his pattern, it wasn't evident to Nero. The pain was all-consuming, igniting a fire deep within him, and he was barely able to contain his sounds.
The older man watched intently as Nero's breathing picked up, ruthlessly continuing to brutalise him. Whenever a noise escaped Nero's lips, Dante would dig the blade in deeper, intent on breaking the younger hunter apart.
Absent-mindedly, Nero wondered how far Dante would take it. He was starting to feel oddly floaty, and was no longer sure if it was due to the blood loss or the lust clouding his senses.
The sudden pressure of Dante's palm over the wounds made Nero jump. It would have been a soothing gesture, had it not been for how Dante's nostrils flared as he coated his fingers in Nero's blood.
He trailed them over Nero's body, lower, and lower...
Nero yelped as one of his legs was hitched over Dante's shoulders, the older hunter lifting his hips so that they were in the older man's lap. Then, Dante's fingers circled his entrance and when they finally breached him, Nero threw his head back, hissing in pain when he hit the stone floor.
Dante started thrusting his fingers in and out, giving Nero a cursory stretch. Nero had no leverage at all, and half a mind to even do much besides letting Dante have his way, experimentally dragging his trapped hands across the floor.
At the scraping sound, Dante looked up.
Nero swallowed as his legs were lowered, allowing the older hunter to bend them back and move closer. The metallic clink of Dante's belt buckle unlatching was the only sound in the eerie quiet of the castle walls.
“Do it,” Nero whispered as Dante leaned over him. He wriggled his hips impatiently, as if he could force Dante to enter him faster.
Dante growled, his teeth snapping at Nero's neck. He wanted to bite, Nero could feel it, not understanding why Dante didn't just do it.
Nero bared his throat more, yearning to feel claimed and ached at being denied.
Dante panted against his neck, making a strained sound. His erection brushed Nero's entrance and Nero drew his chin up, almost desperately.
“Come on, do it,” he all but begged.
Dante let out another inhuman growl. The sound was drowned out by Nero's scream that turned into a shaky moan once Dante was fully sheathed within him.
Nero couldn't wrap his head around it; this twisted longing that bordered on torture and yet never failed to set his blood alight. Every time he ended up under Dante, every time they did this, it would send his heart racing. Dante wasn't one for any explanations, so Nero had chalked it up to their shared demonic nature. Even then though, he still couldn't make sense of this urge to be submissive, to go with whatever Dante demanded of him, despite rationally knowing it was completely fucked up.
Dante moved his arm under Nero's neck to prop up his head, forcing their eyes to meet. Nero had expected to see demonic scarlet but instead, he was met with icy blue. Not human – never human enough – but far more soft and tender than Dante had ever looked at him.
Nero couldn't look away, helplessly melting in Dante's arms, only tethered to reality by the older hunter's touch.
It wasn't a smooth slide but the pain had long subsided, only leaving mind-numbing pleasure in its wake. When Dante leaned in, Nero didn't resist, kissing back with the same fervour.
Dante moaned into his mouth, the sound so unexpected that it almost jostled Nero out of his stupor. But then Dante took Nero's erection in hand and any thought the other hunter may have had was forgotten as he surrendered to his desires.
Dante built up a punishing pace, eventually sitting back and bouncing Nero in his lap like he weighed nothing, clutching him close and burying his face in Nero's neck.
The shackles rattled as Nero braced his hands against Dante's broad chest, clinging to the fabric helplessly.
He could barely make a sound, the edge approaching so quickly and relentlessly that it took Nero's breath away completely.
Nero barely managed to voice his pleasure as he came, feeling Dante's answering groan more than he heard it as he was fucked through the aftershocks of his orgasm.
When Nero came to, Dante was licking at his stomach again. Nero's arms were resting at his sides, the shackles nowhere to be seen. He knew he should push Dante away, but somehow, Nero didn't have it in him to do it just yet.
Just a little longer, he told himself, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed and ignoring how uncomfortable the icy floor was.
Dante was a puzzle Nero just couldn't figure out, and not for a lack of trying. There was always something the older man hid from him. Their kiss had thrown Nero for a loop – it was rare they'd do that. All of their encounters had been more focused on release rather than intimacy and Nero didn't want to allow himself to think about it more than that.
When Dante gave a quiet sigh, Nero finally looked down. The frown on the older hunter's face made him bristle.
“What's that look for?” Nero asked dryly.
Dante's brows drew together but he didn't stop, lapping up the last of Nero's blood. Nero suppressed a shiver as Dante pressed his lips to the point of his hip.
“Your blood tastes better without the poison,” Dante responded as he sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
What was Nero supposed to say to that? Not to mention the other burning questions at the forefront of his mind. Obviously, Dante would never answer them, such as why he wouldn't bite Nero, even when he very clearly wanted to.
“Right...” Nero said brusquely, willing his limbs to start working again.
Whatever spell had come over them was broken when Dante reached for Nero's discarded clothes, and threw them in the younger man's general direction. “Alright then, kid. Shall we finish up here and get paid?”
All lassitude left Nero at the dismissal. As if on autopilot, he started tugging on his shirt, the rest of his clothes following in quick succession. Why did the room suddenly feel much colder?
Dante picked up the whip from where it was lying on the floor, securing it on one of his belt loops. When he turned back towards Nero, his usual signature smirk was on his face. “So, the records?” he prompted as if he hadn't just fucked Nero within an inch of his life.
“Yeah,” Nero said, beating down his disappointment. “I have a hunch where they might be. Let's go.”