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“Hey kiddo, me and your old man here have a tie to break.”
Dante slung an easy arm around Nero’s shoulder with excessive weight, enough to buckle his knees and slouch his back. “Wanna referee?”
“And watch from the sidelines? Psh, sounds boring to me.” Nero shrugged Dante off with a scowl. Watching idly by wasn’t his thing. Whatever they had planned, though, he wanted in.
He had dropped by, visiting his father and uncle for a customary family visit, just to say hello and make sure they weren’t tearing any new ones into each other. And maybe — alright, most definitely — to try his hand at some wholesome family bonding. He had come with some really low expectations on that, considering how fucking weird his whole family was, but damn had he some hope of even a miniscule piece of conciliation and mending of lost, lost time.
“So Nero says,” Vergil said from above, rounding the stairs and climbing down, steelblue eyes sizing Nero up, almost surgical. “Though I will not refuse a… warm-up.”
Father or not, Nero bristled at that, already raising his hackles. He knew he was falling for the bait, knew the provocation for what it was, but while he understood the brashness of his own temper, he couldn't help it. Again with the patronizing —
But Vergil continued, interrupting effortlessly before Nero could pounce. “But I am curious to see how strong you’ve gotten, and as to how much power you hold over your devil.”
“Power? I’ll show you old farts a thing or two about power." Nero squared his shoulders, crossing his arms, and didn't back down when Vergil stepped into his space. This… Felt sort of dangerous, like playing with fire, an underdog challenging a wolf. But hey, danger was his thing. He hadn't shied away from Dante when they first met, basically greeting each other with drawn swords and clashing fists, and he sure as hell wasn't going to back down from Vergil. "Last time I remember, I kicked both your asses at that dumb tree.”
“Trivial,” Vergil said, far too easy and far too flippant, in a detached way that differed from Dante's method of hand-waving things away. “As I recall —”
“Pfft, well yeah, I softened up ol’ Verge here for you.” Dante shoved his shoulder against Vergil’s own, a mocking sort of smile playing on his lips.
Vergil threw a side-long glare at Dante, curling his lip back in aggression.
Yeah, Nero totally understood where his dad was coming from, even if he's only known him for a few months now; that shit-eating grin got on his own nerves too many damn times. He also understood where both of them were coming from too. Dante and Vergil had been hacking and wearing away at each other, with such a ferocity that had given Nero the desperation and terror to tap into his demon, that he fully knew had given him an advantage. Enough of an edge to have given his father a run for his money. To have given both of them a run to hell, actually, leaving him behind to fend the world while they had gone underworld lumberjacking.
“If you two are done dallying, shall we be on our way? I’d like to have dinner on time for once.”
And to return with a fully-reformed V, in the flesh, wholly in the flesh and not like some dried plaster flaking off with each little breeze. And walking out of the hall wheeling a small cooler behind him. V tipped his head to him in greeting with a cool “Nero” before giving the handle to Dante.
Nero's still not sure how that worked out, how Vergil's still here without half of him missing and how V even came back but he's grateful all the same to have his old bud back. (Did that mean he had two dads? Or would V be his brother? He's definitely got a weird ass family. [It's better than no family at all.])
"Uh, where we going?" Nero asked, to which Vergil wordlessly replied by drawing the Yamato and splitting a portal open in the middle of the damn shop like it's nobody's business. He's seen some weird shit, but it still psyched him out a little to see an ominous glowing void tear itself into the fabric of reality like that. The vibes he got from just standing near it gave him the heebie jeebies, and he's sure he's still recovering from the trauma of having had his arm torn off by his own dad followed by watching him limp off into the very same portal he's seeing right now.
"Well, we can't very well have you three tear the store down, let alone this very city, now can we?" V offered his obscure answer, not really telling him anything. “Did you think they simply cleared the lobby out and wrestled on the floor everytime cabin fever striked?”
Apparently their destination was some old abandoned city, probably once infested by demons judging by the wreckage, but it’s hard to pinpoint the time on when it was still alive with how broken and crumbling everything was.
Nero flopped onto his ass with a solid thunk, the hard soil and withered grass underneath not as soft as he had expected, but his pained groan came from the bone-bruising ache in all his limbs. He was hurting in places he didn’t realize could be hurt, and he felt like an old man well into his seventies or something. He sort of hated himself for that. For all the times he called Dante an old grandpa, Nero certainly felt like one while Dante… Dante and Vergil were still going at it.
Well, he got what he wanted: family bonding. Only in Sparda style, that he really should have expected.
Vergil had gone easy on him. He had known that as they sparred, in the ways Vergil left so many openings and not as many glowing ghost swords as their first clash at the Qliphoth. Nero had to tap into his trigger first, and his pride was still stinging from it. Sure, he had expected a tough fight, knowing Vergil was at the top of his game now and fully recovered, and there had been the lack of do-or-die adrenaline fueling their friendly fight. His father had more experience, more time, more battles under his belt, while Nero was still figuring the in's and out's of his demon form and capabilities. But c'mon, he didn't even win one round. Not even a tie.
He stewed in his frustrations for a quiet moment, scrunching his face and hanging his head low, until something wet and cold pressed itself into the bare skin of his cheek. Nero jumped like a cat thrown into a tub, even hissing out a surprised "Fuck!" as he flinched away, hand holding his face as if he was slapped.
V only smiled, a pair of lips locking away secrets and mysteries, holding the cold can of beer where Nero's head had been.
Nero hadn't paid much attention to where V had gone when they stepped into this abandoned town, mostly because Vergil had lunged at him the second he had his bearings. He didn’t even realize he flopped himself right beside V when he had sucked up his pride and surrendered.
At least he found out where V was hiding the whole time, but going by his cozy set-up, V looked like he belonged in a movie theater rather than a bomb shelter. He's lacking the lean-back cinema seats, but the way he's lounging on his camping chaise, topped off with an umbrella stabbed into the ground, made him look too damn comfortable to be within the danger zone of two very strong, very fight-y demons.
V tipped his sunglasses down his nose when Nero still didn't take the offered drink, scrutinizing him with a quirked eyebrow.
"At least warn a guy, sheesh." Nero took the can, enjoying how refreshing it felt against his raw palms now that he's actually prepared for the cold. Vergil and V really were the same, attacking him without warning and not an ounce of care. After a crack and a swig, "Enjoyed watching my ass get beat, huh?"
V's smile grew wider, and that's all the answer Nero needed.
"Valiant effort, however. One day you'll best Vergil," V said, sliding his sunglasses off and onto his lap. He sipped his drink, a tall cocktail of some fruity blend, Nero thought probably. It even had a damn little toothpick umbrella poking out of the ice.
Actually, scratch that, he didn’t belong in a movie theater. V looked like he was practicing for a day at the beach instead; all he was missing was a hawaiian T-shirt and a wide brim hat, maybe a slathering of sunscreen because V’s skin might not be coming off in flakes anymore but it sure as hell was pale.
A resounding boom cracked in the air, and Nero barely registered the flying shrapnel — some old brickwork broken off one of the dilapidated buildings — that narrowly whizzed past his head, impaling itself into the dead tree behind him. He’s pretty sure it shaved off at least a centimeter of his hair off, judging by the residual heat he can feel against his scalp.
“Hey, assholes, watch it!” Nero yelled, even though he knew neither Dante nor Vergil would hear him, considering how wrapped up they were in their little world. “I don’t know how you deal with them — hell, live with them.”
V only offered a noncommittal hum, and Nero’s pretty sure he wasn’t even listening. Actually, he looked rather invested in the fight, eyes staring and darting after each flicker of power, chasing after their inhuman speed and sparks of blue and red.
… He looked a little too invested, to be honest.
Nero squinted his eyes at V. Yeah, he could get it. Watching two powerhouses go at it was better than any MMA tourney the world could offer, but this was something different. This was beyond simple entertainment.
V’s eyes were half-lidded, and he seemed unable to figure out what to do with his mouth. One second his teeth were biting down on his lower lip, the next they’re lightly toying with the plastic straw. Or he'd have his lips slightly parted to suck in a slow breath, like he’s trying to savor the tang of power on his tongue.
Nero had a gut feeling V wasn’t trying to lick off the lingering sweetness of his cocktail when his tongue swiped over his lips. He tried to push off the encroaching thought by following V’s line of sight, back to the sparring match that he didn’t notice had gotten louder.
They’re close, too close for comfort actually, when he saw them. Dante and Vergil had been off decimating what was left of the ruins just a moment before, from fighting at ground zero to taking off into the skies in their devil triggers. They had both been switching in and out of their demons, conserving their strengths when they needed to let it build back up into an explosion that sent shockwaves throughout the atmosphere. Now, though, they’re only some meters away, albeit in human skin. It didn’t change the fact they were still living, breathing nuclear missiles that could easily kill V, and Nero wanted to tell them to knock it off and go away before they could drag the poor guy into their fight.
But they kept themselves surprisingly… tame. They both looked sort of battered, but none the worse for wear; Nero’s seen both of them marathon through far worse anyway. Both Dante and Vergil left their coats to V for safekeeping, but Dante’s lost his raggedy shirt in their matches and pretty much going at it shirtless while Vergil’s vest is shredded here and there with some buttons missing. Nero always knew Dante was pretty shredded, but he still wondered how when the guy liked to eat his body weight in pizzas whenever he could. It might be why he’s just a bit bulkier than Vergil, who Nero noticed packed quite a bit of lean muscle now that the coat’s been shed.
And if just looking at them wasn’t telling enough, Dante’s strength showed well enough when he postured to barrel himself into Vergil after distracting him with a dirty trick, tackling them to the hard ground. They tumbled for a bit, muscles flexing and savage teeth snapping, until Dante had him pinned face-down, one hand digging Vergil’s head into the dirt by his hair, the other twisting an arm behind his back. When Dante dipped his head down to whisper something in Vergil's ear, Nero was sure the red dusting Vergil's cheeks wasn't from the sunburn.
Vergil briefly snapped his eyes to Nero and V, and Nero wasn’t sure what that meant though. Whatever the hell it was, it was enough for Vergil to kick his legs out from under Dante, enough to falter him and allow a brief window of time for payback. He twisted, grabbed a hold of Dante, and essentially chucked him against an old building that collapsed into a cloud of dust and chips from the impact.
Nero winced. That was kind of savage.
Vergil evidently didn’t think so, with the way he merely straightened as he stood and brushed his hair back into its usual style. He spared another look back at them — wait, no, Nero wasn’t part of the equation. He was looking at V.
Nero would feel some sort of indignation at that, but there’s a puzzle he’s not getting here; and that curiosity kept his temper from rising. He looked to V too, while sipping on his drink, trying not to be obvious and hoping that he’d get some sort of clue on what this weird, uh, tension was all about.
He kinda got his answer, but he’s not sure whether to regret it or not. V’s eyes are smoldering, and not in the angry “Fuck you” kinda way but more like the “Fuck you” in bed kinda way.
Nero choked on his beer, nostrils burning and eyes watering, and he just might die from suffocation but V’s right beside him not giving a single fuck because apparently all of that’s honed in on Vergil. They’re not just sparring and V’s not just admiring.
They’re putting on a show for V.
There’s a boom from where Dante was bodily thrown over, and a blur of red that zooms in on Vergil, forcing him to bring his attention back to the fight lest he get tackled down again. Vergil’s braced himself for it this time, however, and they met each other both hand-in-hand, arms pushing and straining for whatever leverage they could get over the other, foreheads so close to touching.
Both Dante and Vergil looked a little gross, covered in dirt and dust and whatever else they’ve been rolling in, but that thin sheet of sweat shining off their taut arms and adding even more definition to those straining muscles probably just turned V on even more.
And now that Nero’s actually looking for the signs, knows what to look for, Dante and Vergil might be enjoying it just as much as V was. They kept flicking glances over at V, sometimes decorated with a smirk or a look, and V responded in kind with a salacious smile or hooded eyes. There’s this funky powerplay going on; Vergil and Dante were trying to one-up each other, yeah, but they’re also playing at another game. Maybe three.
Their attention might flick to V each time one got an upperhand, yet Nero was pretty sure they didn’t have to get that handsy with each other. Sometimes, Dante brushed his fingers a little too sensually against Vergil’s neck or ears, and Vergil was no better when his legs got tangled up in between Dante’s, knee brushing against an inner thigh or worse.
Nero splayed both his hands against his face, pressing his fingers into his eyelids, and groaned. He had an inkling that Dante and Vergil had this… thing going on between each other, but he had shrugged it off as this whole ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ sort of thing. Their history was a complicated and sensitive topic, and he wasn’t that stupid to go around poking old wounds and fresh scars. As long as they were happy and not trying to crack open the veil between the Underworld and the human world, he was cool with whatever they did. But actually seeing it in action? And with V? Yeah, he just didn’t expect to find things out like this .
“This family is so fucking weird,” he mumbled into his palms.
“Be grateful you haven’t caught us in the bedroom then.”
Oh, so now V heard him. Typical.
“Okay. First of all, TMI" — Nero scowled, pointing his finger accusingly at V — "Second of all, what the fuck, V.”
"Oh, so you'd like the details after all? On the 'what' that we fu—"
" Holyshitstopno!" Nero screeched, hands flying to cover his ears that were probably going red from the absurd embarrassment of it all. He did not need to know about their sex life and all the kinky shit they did.
Sure, when they first met — when V broke into his home through his window and loomed over a sleeping Nero (real creepy, V) — he had suspected that V wasn’t exactly a vanilla type o’ guy, especially with that black leather get-up with that corset thing sewn into his coat. But they never spoke of it, mostly because Nero had other important world-saving priorities and V was just downright mysterious, skirting questions with enigmatic riddles and half truths. To realize it and come close to just the hint of V’s preferences, kinda rattled something inside Nero; it was mostly an inside, personal joke he kept shelved away that he thought had no truth to it. Except it did, apparently.
Which begged another question, after the realization of what Dante and Vergil were doing.
“Wait a minute,” he said, slowly, unsure if he should even be asking what he’s about to ask. “Were you checking me out when I was fighting dad?”
V stared at him, eyes telling nothing and his neutral expression a guarded mask. Then, after a few heartbeats and more distant booms of buildings crumbling, a creeping languid smile.
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
The words came out in that deep, rumbling voice of his, in that specific tone that could make a phone book sound like an erotica. V’s used that against Nero a few times in the past, either as some self-pleasing joke or a way to grab his attention, and Nero was still weak to it, still struck him to the very core like the reverberations of his thick honeyed voice could reach that deep inside.
Nero really did not need to question his sexuality like this. This wasn’t even romantic, but he’s being effortlessly beguiled by this stupid skinny goth guy that’s technically his dad-slash-brother. Plus, he had Kyrie! He’s already taken and far too loyal to the saint of a woman, though with whatever dynamic’s going on with his dad and uncle, V most likely wouldn’t mind and —
Aw shit, why was he even thinking about this?!
Nero’s brain felt like a rusty hamster wheel with a screw loose, except the hamster’s jacked up on crack or something and running a hundred miles an hour on it. He’s too caught up in his blind panic to notice that V’s leaned back into his chaise, sipping on his cocktail, enjoying the view of two shirtless, slicked up men duking it out in front of him.
This family was so fucking weird.