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Summary
Normally by now, Dante would have been begging, pleading and whining for Vergil to take him, fuck him, break his goddamn mind, make him feel so full and used that he forgets what it's like to be empty, and Dante does beg so sweetly, But right now, at this moment, Dante is quiet.
He's gasping yes, but he's quiet, he's not begging Vergil to speed up, or demanding that Vergil pounds his ass into oblivion, no, instead, He's luxuriating in the feel of Vergil following each mark he's ever left on him, following the marks and blemishes on his skin with his lips and a quiet hummed noise.
