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Dante wouldn’t really call Zeno his mate. Especially knowing that Hellhounds, even semi-Hellhounds like Dante, can only mate once, and that’s for life. Labeling Zeno his mate would be putting a lot of responsibility onto an ash wizard who lives life based solely on what’s to come the next moment.
Zeno is too busy testing hypotheses and rewriting experiment protocol. Testing every fact of nature, every physics of push and pull observable within the chemical world, and only taking the data should it satisfy a later need—a later want. Living not to eat or to live, but from one moment onto the next.
Dante follows his own walk in life; he is constantly at war with his own nature as a part Hellhound, and, put simply, it’s just something that shouldn’t involve Zeno. Though he is a nice outlet. Zeno is a criminal who can’t be caught, and that’s perfect if the only high that Dante is chasing is the hunt. Dante’s human half finds it odd to liken himself to the habits of literal dogs, but if that is part of what he is, he’s stupid to keep sugar-coating it.
Zeno just satisfies a need for Dante—to hunt. Then on a different night he can look for someone else to satisfy his need to fight. Then a different night he can grab a beer after a shitty case to satisfy his human need to drown out his sorrow and self-pity.
That’s just how Dante’s little world spins, not to mention Zeno isn’t a fan of commitment (or close proximity)—they just like to play cat-and-mouse. For whatever bizarre personal reasons they attributed to themselves.
However, for once, Dante would actually get to catch Zeno in one of their little chases, though before anything could get serious—before Dante could play the cop to Zeno’s robber in the less kinky roleplay of opposing personalities—they had slipped into more of an embrace than a capture.
–
Zeno had meant to initiate an act of wizardry, to hop midair and use a sort of flying magic to get away within the nick of time, but this time the spell didn’t work. Dante took the opportunity and grabbed hold of one of Zeno’s wrists as he lost pace in his stumble, pulling Zeno back in and closer to him. The motion forced Zeno around and facing him, Dante almost forgetting his supernatural strength until Zeno came crashing into him from the pull. Instinctively, Dante caught him in his fall, one arm wrapped around Zeno’s back and the other arm connected to the hand still gripping Zeno’s wrist.
There’s powder. Everywhere. Unknown powders from past drug clients are still diffusing into the space around them, the aftermath of the broken drug vials in Zeno’s lab coat pockets from the crash.
Immediately, Zeno reacts to the sudden embrace and hold by turning on his heel and trying to get away. However, Dante doesn’t let go, and since Dante never let go, the same effect happens—Zeno is forced around again, now facing Dante, but the shorter distance meant that this time only their noses bumped as opposed to entire bodies.
Zeno gasped.
And on Zeno’s gasp, his cool breath just centimeters away from Dante’s face, Dante could feel the tiny, indiscernible particles of past experiments catch on his breath. Colorful powder shared the air between them, the two breathing in the mixture completely unaware that it was damning them to a feverish night together once the drug finally hit.
Neither Zeno nor Dante knows what they are breathing in, but they can certainly feel the effects.
The onset of action is immediate.
Especially to Dante, who’s now fighting an exceptional urge to not submit to his animalistic tendencies again. Heat is rising to his head and travelling downwards, then dispersing all over. His heart is racing, but he isn’t scared and he doesn’t want to run away. The dim natural light that can breach the darkness of this secluded alley is suddenly too bright. He wants more privacy, but not to be alone. Dante wants to be with Zeno. All alone and with Zeno. What an odd feeling. Dante loosens his grip on Zeno’s wrist. Zeno doesn’t run away.
Is this the beginning of depravity?
His stomach twists at the way he can see how Zeno feels it too, how Zeno’s fearful look contorts into a blissful countenance once he realizes that Dante can feel it too—how he wants it.
It’s disgusting.
The way Zeno’s lips feel against Dante’s own is disgusting. So disgusting, so gross... So good. It’s electric. Zeno is moaning softly after each break of their kiss, his voice a melodic whine. So pretty. Zeno’s so pretty. He’s moaning in place of breathing, and it’s arousing. Dante wants to suck out the rest of his breath. Every last bit of air in his chest until there is nothing left except their wanting flesh pressed close against each other. Until there is nothing left but to do more, to get more, and to feel more.
Each pretty sound Zeno makes is Dante’s confirmation to do more, to help him chase the feeling they are both wanting—that is, sweet release.
Dante gently draws his lips away, and with that, another soft moan from Zeno’s lips. He runs a thumb over the bottom of the smaller man’s pink lips, and the backlight of North Haven’s many neon signs saturates Zeno’s pale skin with color. Though the rising flush to his face remains the lasting tint.
It’s so obvious what this is now. This is lust.
There is a decent motel opposite Mirage, a few traces back from the alleyway they stand together in. Dante figures neither person is particularly interested in exhibitionism, so they should wave down a cab and finish business. But how long does the drug last? Not long enough, Dante thinks.
"Dante?" Zeno whispers his name. It's too romantic. They aren't mates. He feels that they have reached an acceptable stopping point, a place where they can say they crossed the line but do not have to take the fall for it.
Especially Dante, who, despite his unconventional look, is still a cop and isn't in the mood to tarnish his relationship with his superior back at the station.
Dante doesn't have to do anything about this…
But leave.
“I—Zeno, We—"
“It's okay."
“No, I—I have to go now.”
Zeno's shark-tooth smile fades into a frown. Then he perks back up again, cupping Dante's face in his hands before Dante can pull away.
“You didn't do anything wrong; I liked it. We wanted to do it. It's okay! Really! Why would I lie? I promise you, Dante. I wanted to.”
Dante pulls his hands away. Zeno looks confused.
“No, Zeno, it's… it's over now.”
“Hm.”
Zeno’s face falls almost flat, expressionless. But the drug’s half-life isn’t over yet, so Zeno still looks as disappointed as he would if he were not fronting a poker face. Dante wastes no time fixing his collar and internally redirecting his mindset. Home, I have to get home.
Zeno runs his hands over his arms, rubbing the chill off his skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
However, to Dante, there’s nothing left to say.