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Vergil may have been covered in ink from head to toe but when it came to piercings, the elder Sparda twin was surprisingly conservative, given his status as prime tattooist at their parlour.
Nero leaned back into the cushions, mindful of Vergil's head in his lap as they laid in front of the fireplace. It was Nero's favourite place in their lair and he loved whiling away the evenings together with his family here. The lounge area was recessed into the ground, a nest of plush sofas and soft cushions, allowing them all to bundle up in luxurious furs, warmed by the perpetual flames of Hell's fire.
The structure had been designed by the twins, toeing the line between man-made and hellish: it featured large, arched windows and wood-panelling, tall ceilings, supported by fancy ironwork, framed by dark stone walls that had been left in their rough natural state. The head of a colossal demon was mounted above the obsidian fireplace, its glowing red horns casting a gentle wash of light, intermingling with the amber glow of the setting sun.
Despite Nero's best efforts to not move too much, Vergil did stir, his eyelids fluttering open. The book he had been reading before drifting off rested on his stomach. It was a small, inconspicuous thing, some demonic glyphs visible on its spine. With how low the midnight blue robe Vergil was wearing dipped, Nero got a view of the intricate tattoos on his father's throat and upper chest.
His attention however was fixed on the most prominent, and newest, ornaments on his father's face: small, flat-backed disks placed in the crease of his nostrils, connected by a fine-linked silver chain across the bridge of his nose.
Vergil preferred symmetry, and he was very particular about it. Three more studs graced his face in a perfect line: one at the centre of his cupid's bow, the jewellery exiting underneath his upper lip, and a mirroring singular stud just below his lower one. Through the thin material of this robe, the outlines of the twin bumps decorating both of his nipples were just visible. They were the only body jewellery Vergil had.
His penchant for strict symmetry extended to his tattoos, his bodysuit.
Nero traced the outline of the blood red flowers decorating his father's clavicles with the very tip of his talons, and Vergil's eyes slid shut again at his touch. The deep colour of the petals popped against the paleness of Vergil's skin.
The elder twin's preferred colourway was blue, and despite knowing this, as well as the fact that Dante had been the one who had done the tattoos on Vergil's entire torso, the colour choice had always confused Nero a little.
Rather than adding pigments, the vast majority of his father's tattoos had been created with the use of clever shading and negative space. They followed the themes of life and death, prosperity and rot, as Vergil had explained to Nero numerous times over the years. Many of the motifs were familiar to the younger man, depicting Hell's abundant flora and fauna. There were also roses, a nod to both Dante and Eva's favourite flower from the human realm.
Nero palm stretched wide over the flowing patterns on Vergil's pectorals. It was a masterful transition: harsh, fully blacked-out geometric shapes seamlessly morphing into delicate marbled swirls. However, simply calling them 'swirls' was a descriptor that didn't do the pattern justice, in Nero's opinion; not with how alive they seemed to be on Vergil's skin. They flowed with the contours of his body like liquid magic.
Dante had once off-handedly mentioned how Vergil had experimented with demonic magic and tattoo inks. According to his uncle, the end result had never made it onto their store shelves. Nero wouldn't be surprised if that very same alchemical ink was embedded in these tattoos instead.
There was little work on Vergil's body that Nero had seen done, the majority of the bodysuit had been completed before he had been born. Vergil had tattooed every part of his body he could reach himself, even if it meant contorting himself for hours or figuring out how to use his left hand rather than his dominant one. Dante was the only one he had trusted enough to cover the parts that he himself couldn't reach.
“Didn't think Dante could tattoo,” Nero had said in wonder. His uncle had retired from tattooing before Nero had been initiated into the family business, so he had never actually seen Dante practice the craft.
“He doesn't these days,” Vergil had responded. “Always has been too impatient. But he knows how to, you just need to know how to entice him.”
A lifetime of growing up with them, and yet it felt like Nero always learned something new about the twins when he least expected it.
Tonight wasn't any different. “I don't think I've ever seen these in the wild,” Nero mumbled into the stillness of the room, more to himself, as he traced the little teeth in the centre of the flowers on Vergil's clavicles.
Vergil didn't even open his eyes. “And hopefully you'll never have to. They are Qliphoth flowers.”
Nero raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.
“I see that you haven't paid attention during our history lessons,” Vergil pointed out dryly.
Nero's brows drew together. “History? Wouldn't it be botany?”
“Dante's behaviour is rubbing off on you,” Vergil sighed, choosing not to elaborate.
Nero refrained from complaining about his crypticness, knowing it would only result in him getting chastised. If Vergil felt like giving a lecture, he no doubt would do so without prompting.
The older man shifted, and Nero caught a glimmer of the jewellery decorating his father's chest. Plain Adamantine, of course.
Nero himself liked his jewellery spiky, its metal in different hues, bent and twisted into interesting shapes, with all kinds of colourful gemstones embedded in it. He just couldn't understand why Vergil didn't, given his father's ostentatious and deeply intricate ornaments, or his love for rare and exotic crystals. It didn't make sense that the twins were so different in that regard. Hell, Dante came up with cool stuff all the time but rarely strayed from the basics, but Vergil took minimalism to a new extreme.
“Your jewellery is so plain”, Nero blurted.
Vergil stiffened, the corner of his mouth downturned. “You're saying it like that's a bad thing,” he drawled with a warning edge to his voice. “There is beauty in simplicity.”
To Nero however, it was a negative thing. “Well yeah, I guess,” he responded. “But it's just so... boring.”
At that, Vergil made to sit up on his knees, moving so they were sitting opposite of each other. “Nero, Nero, Nero,” he tutted in a voice that meant that the young man was in trouble. “A bit more appreciation would look good on you, wouldn't it?”
“Appreciation for a basic bitch barbell?” Nero scoffed.
With a graceful motion, Vergil straightened out his back. “Without this basic bitch jewellery, as you call it, we wouldn't have our nice little business,” he pointed out. “Dante figured out that wounds inflicted with Adamantine keep demonic skin open long enough to inject ink. And from there, we both eventually managed to forge the material into the appropriate tools of trade. These boring barbells, as you call them?”
The sash holding the robe in place slipped down and Vergil shrugged the material off his shoulders. “These bars are the very first ones Dante crafted that he deemed worthy to put in my skin, permanently. This is why I still wear them, even near two decades later.”
Leave it to Vergil to make these two little bars all about deep devotion. Maybe Nero shouldn't have expected any less because this was so typical for the two of them. Now, he nearly felt ashamed for how he had put Dante's craft down, intentional or not.
“I, uh... I didn't mean to...” Nero stammered, trailing off nervously.
Vergil made a soothing sound in his throat. “I know you didn't. Come here.”
He beckoned Nero closer who went into his arms willingly, letting Vergil arrange them so they were nestled in the cushions once more.
“Your sharp tongue is a double-sided sword,” Vergil told him. “You may be comfortable speaking up but you should consider opening your mind before you open your mouth.”
Nero blinked, twisting around to glare at Vergil. “Did you just call me stupid?”
“I called you young and hasty,” Vergil clarified, his breathing slowing down as he relaxed. “Think before you talk, Nero.”
That was the end of that conversation. Nero mulled it over for a little while as he stared into the fire, slowly lulled to sleep by the warmth and Vergil's gentle embrace.