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Dante's day starts wonderful. Yes, it does. He's woken up by the morning sun at a decent hour (not the usual strict sunrise regimen that he's upheld all his life, but still a very respectable 9am if the sun's position doesn't lie.) and he's toasty and comfy, the comfortable weight of his - very naked - boyfriend pressing down on him.
His fantastic mood is no doubt also caused by the good night that preceded it. Alto had deigned to drop his usual pillow princess act, and ravished Dante to the point of tears and begging. And very loud screams. It was liberating in a way Dante can't put to words, and will fortunately never have to because there's no one on this Earth he would ever confess that to. The only person who needs to know of it is already aware, after all.
Dante is immensely grateful for their little house in the middle of the woods. Having neighbor complaints would be a bitch.
So, to reiterate, Dante has a wonderful morning waking up next to his boyfriend, and will likely continue to have a good morning once he wakes.
(....possibly something do with his morning wood, who knows.)
Of course, that's when the universe decides that Dante doesn't get to be warm and soft and naked for the next few hours, and he hears the loud knocking of the front door. Which he resents with a groan. Because really? 9 in the fucking morning??
Dante is of half a mind to just ignore it, but he'd rather not have his house broken in (because god knows anyone who shows up for a visit before noon clearly doesn't fear death enough) and he carefully extricates himself from under his wonderful boyfriend, who groans unhappily at having his human heater slip away.
Alto's eyes slip open gradually as Dante hurries to put on some clothes - his, or maybe they're Alto's? He doesn't give a shit and never has since they moved in together. He makes a sign that's clearly meant to indicate visitors (somehow) and mutters to hurry up and join him downstairs.
He hesitates a second at the door before turning back, bending down to peck at Alto's forehead and earning a sleepy little moan of appreciation. What a fucking cutie, it's going to make Dante aggressive if he doesn't reign it in.
When he finally makes it downstairs, he finds out that his visitors did, in fact, let themselves in while he was busy being a lovesick disaster.
"Stop picking my lock you ass," Dante grumbles moodily, taking in the sight of his annoyance in-law fiddling with his kettle. Rusty turns with a jovial smile, lacking in both remorse and survival instinct.
"So you ARE at home! I was thinking maybe you'd already left for work or something!"
Dante hasn't been awake long enough for the cheer, fake or true though it might be. He waves a hand at Rusty's face as if to scare it away, and Rusty chuckles like the bastard he is.
"You know we're not on a normal work schedule. Just send a letter if you want to meet, so you don't wake us up when we sleep in for once."
Rusty has the decency to look sheepish at that. He remembers very well what a sleep-deprived Alto and Dante look like, and neither is a sight he wants to see again.
"I'll make you some coffe to make up for it?"
Dante relents, content with being shown the required amount of repentance, and plops down on a chair.
For a while, they talk about the new fledgling Knights' training. Rusty would like for Dante and Alto to come and toss around the recruits a bit, which Dante wouldn't mind. He'll have to do something about his allergies though.
Rusty would also like to figure out this fucking kettle, but Dante is happy to watch him suffer.
"Or you could make them run drills through the forest?"
Dante looks up at the voice, and his eyes catch a dash of blue, fixating in place.
'There you are' he wants to say, but that gaze pins him down. Alto descends properly clothed, and Dante becomes keenly aware of his own unkempt appearence. His disheveled hair, his pants without a belt, the shirt he rushedly put on just barely hiding last night's gifts.
Or maybe not exactly hiding all of them, because Alto's gaze lingers on his collarbone and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, plump and-
"Oh Alto! Decided to rejoin the world of the living, have ya?"
Right. Rusty. Not going to pursue that line of thought.
The hooded look Alto was giving him disappears in a blink, replaced by his usual bright eyes. (Does no one notice that? Is Dante the only person with eyes??) And he walks down the stairs greeting them with a yawn, pushing out drill ideas in a disorderly manner that they're used to enough to sift through.
Dante has to make a conscious effort to not shiver when Alto's hand brushes along his bicep, completely intentional if the way his fingers linger is anything to go by, and then another effort to look as unaffected as the perpetrator does when he leans against the counter, back bent at a sinful angle.
Fucker.
"I'm brewing coffee. Your kettle was a bitch to figure out, but you want some?" Rusty's voice cuts through the sexually charged silence like a spear, hand poised to grab another mug from the shelf.
Well, at least he had no trouble making himself at home, kettle or no kettle.
"Sure, thanks," Alto grabs a steaming mug with one hand, rubbing his eye with the other, and places it in front of Dante before retrieving the next. Dante glances at him, oddly warmed at the feeling of being put first.
And Alto sticks out his tongue at him, e blend of sultry and criminally adorable.
Dante ducks his head down and flings some coffee in his mouth, promptly burning the roof of his mouth.
............Fucker.