Fan Fiction ❯ COLD ❯ COLD ( Chapter 1 )

COLD

 

Author's Note: A quasi-sequel to “Atomic Aftermath”. MUCH better quality, I assure you…WARNINGS: PWP, lemon, M/M, and a rare DantexVergil. Slightly minor, here, keep your noses clean! (well, okay. We're 16. But still…) TEENAGED!DANTE POV. Not giving out any waivers.. No, I don't own anything Capcomish. Bugger off. On with the show!

 

Summary: Dante and Vergil work part-time at a Dairy Queen during the summer. Not that they really need the money…

Descript: “”-quotes //-direct thoughts.

 

 

“Verge?”

“Hn.”

“Why do we have a red neon sign if we're never open at night and you can't see it during the day?”

 

He didn't look at me, didn't even bat an eyelash. So, if he couldn't see me, then he couldn't see me holding this. Which is good, because I'm too young and beautiful to die. Now, before anybody accuses me of being a filthy little vandal, it was an ACCIDENT. I mean, what'r you s'possed to do when the big red “D” falls on you? Just go right out and TELL your brother he now works for the “Airy Queen” franchise? No. Living peacefully just doesn't work that way.

 

So, I carried the slightly dented letter back in, and, under some serious contemplation, shoved it behind the freezer. Heh heh. Nobody will find it there. Ok, so then Vergil came sauntering back inside from his “I'm gonna sit here and enjoy NOT serving three year olds who want everything on the menu” break. And I was all: / Dark Knight cologne is good. Must inhale deeply. / So when nobody was up at the counter, I buried my nose in his collar and sniffed. He shivered. Oh, he likes. I kept running my hands up and under his shirt and nuzzling him and kissing him, and he was at a constant tremble. But we had to quit `fooling around' when our tight-assed manager walked by. He was just about to round the corner, when Verge was all about:

 

“Hey. It is supremely hot in here. Is it against protocol to take off our shirts?”

 

And the guy stopped and glared at Verge, who glared straight back. Verge is evil when it comes to glaring, so he won and the guy was all:

 

“Yea, yea…Take off yer fuckin shirts then.”

 

And this kid's eyes got really big behind the counter. I watched Verge go in the back for a second, so I took the shrimp's order. Then I went back, and Vergil delivered it bare backed. Oh did he deliver! If there's one thing that gets me hot and bothered, it's that curvy, too-sweet back. Shirtless or otherwise. I shivered, and this girl was like:

 

“Hey. I said I wanted dah dah dah, dah dah.”

 

And I wasn't listening. Too busy watching Verge's ass. We passed each other, switching places, and I whispered, real low and sexy:

 

“Cocktease.”

 

And he shot it straight back at me.

 

“Beast.”

 

But it was a bit loud and this mom and her four, count `em, FOUR brats gave me the snootiest sniff I have EVER been on the receiving end of. Well, I never!

 

“Okay, Mrs. Monopoly. Whaddaya want?”

 

Vergil made this sound that was a rough cross between laughing and zipping himself. And, as predicted, the sickeningly fat bitch left without ordering. I love my job.

 

Then, it happened. The very embodiment of Ice Queen jingled through the door. SAUNTERED. She SAUNTERED through the door. Followed by her three lackeys. She came right up to the counter and frowned, as if expecting ME to Bow Down and Serve. She cleared her throat loudly. Her cronies did the same. I blinked.

 

“Ahm, Mellisa? Order?”

 

The shorter, dog-like one woofed and stepped up. Their voices were EXACTLY the same.

 

“Ahm, okay. We, like, want, ahm…”

 

I wasn't really listening. High pitched squeaky voices tend to give ma a whomping headache. So, once again, my pastime was Vergil-ass-watching. He, mind you all, was flaunting it. Wildly. I THINK I may have been drooling on my left nipple, but who really cares?

 

“-and a Dilly bar, and a McFlurry…”

 

Whoa. McFlurry? How STUPID are they? Is it not true that anything with “Mc” in front of it is either Irish or from McDonalds? Right.

 

“Uh, we don't serve that here.” I swallowed back the following `bitch' like hot bile.

 

“Huh?” Moron, moron, moron, moron, moron.

 

“We don't serve McFlurries here.”

 

The three shared an “oh, poor stupid boy” look. Repent! The Major Domo spoke like she was God with tits.

 

“Uhm, what's the, ya know, uhm, same thing?”

 

Same thing? Uhm, a McFlury would be, like, the same thing. Uhm, moron.

 

“A Blizzard.” Deadpan. Flat. Inside, I'm laughin so hard I practically pee.

“Huh?”

“Blizzard. A-“

“What?” Oh. My. Lord.

“Bliz-zard”

“I don't-“

“IT'S A GODDAMN MCFLURRY!”

 

By this point, my brain was playing, `I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so!'. Behind the counter, Verge was on the floor laughing. Without much too much rational thought I lobbed a minty fresh scooper fulla ice cream at him. It hit home with a wet splat, and I was like / Wet towel between the legs! / But Verge wasn't. Verge had that glare, the one that makes a lotta people pee themsleves, shooting straight through a scoop of vanilla-mint. Queeny was on the other side of the counter, blowing hot, rabid air on her cronies. I smelled anger. Of course, they didn't know/ care that I had a life consisting of more than hairgel and shoes, so naturally they cranked up the pissy meters to full maximum when I abandoned post to go after Verge.

 

“Hey! What about MY ice cream!!”

 

Seriously, this is when I realize how very, very immature this whole thing is. I mean, what are these people? Eleven? Twelve?

 

“Okay. First, I dun give a rat's furry little ass about you and your damn fat rolls. Second, no matter how much makeup you slather yourselves with, you will always be losers.”

 

Didn't even wait for the mind-numbingly annoying little gasp. They were already wasting good air. Escape was so close-

 

“Hey keed. Help yer brudder carry that out back.”

 

-yet so far! The boxes will join me in my grand departure from the lower bowels of Hell. THAT brought disturbing images of makeup-wearing horse shit. Lucky for me and my fragged mind, the 97 degree humidity outside surpressed shudders as WELL as brought torrents of human sweat. Like Niagra. Speaking of which, Vergil was out there, streaming hose-water over his face. And I was stopping, dropping, and begging. Yassah! I would GLADLY lick the ice cream off your- where do these thoughts come from? Verge couldn't see me, but I could see every dripping wet, hot as fire, inch of him. True fact: It was melting the ice cream. Right down to the huge splatter down his front. Double take. Where in the name of christ did THAT come from? Last I checked, I only fucked up by hitting his face. (Somewhere, in the back of my head, that tiny voice is telling me I need target practice.) Out of it, with Verge's deceptively calm voice.

 

“Dante, this is a skill all mankind has had, ever since opposable thumbs. CARRYING. Shouldn't. Be. That. Hard.”

 

Ahh. Seem I always thought the `dropping' bit had to do with being bodily on the floor, but apparently, it means `to drop whatever you are holding upon seeing a half-naked man'. My bad.

Scenario: what do you do if the box of melted ice cream that was meant for the dumpster lands on your brother? Option 1- help him clean it. Option 2- steal the hose and run for your life. Option 3- Forgo said dangerous maneuver and just run. I was about to opt for number three, when that-voice-I-know-I-shouldn't-listen-to-but-I-do spoke up. Option 4? Lick. It. Off.

Perfectly reasonable. Not wasting, tasty, being resourceful. See, it's okay. (So why was I denying it earlier? Because Vergil didn't have ice cream on him earlier.) Shh. Be very, very quiet. I'm hunting Vergil. And he knows it. One step forward, he takes one back. One step, one step. One step, one step. One step, lunge, tackle into boxes, laugh.

 

“Dante? What do you think you're doing?”

 

Why, all the better to eat you with! But, keeping it under NC-17 for now.

 

“Cleaning you, because you are very, very dirty.”

 

Verge? Take double? But of course! His sidelong glance was my cue. (Vergil needs an instruction manual. A slight glance in my general direction means roughly: “Suck me, now, or I will kill you”.) Point taken. In one efficient little flick, and his pants were down. A move I am personally proud of.

 

“Not cold at all, are we?”

 

Did I mention I run my mouth a lot?

 

“No. Now shut it and put that mouth to better use.”

 

Hm. It's almost 100 degrees out, Verge is covered in ice cream, and his cock is three seconds away from exploding in my face. Whatever shall I do.

 

“Well, Vergil. I think I'll start up here. No sense in getting my hair all sticky, is there?”

 

Tsk tsk. Talking out loud again, Dante. Then suddenly, I'm staring at Verge's nipple. Right one, I think.

 

“Well, then do it, and do it fast. Either way, you're gonna have a sore ass tomorrow.”

 

Aw, isn't he sweet? And so nice, too…Where was I? Oh yes. Licking a clean path between his nipples, but not really touching either one. It's like pinball, only instead of scoring points, you just get to score. Period. I really don't understand why Boss Dood is having us throw out all this good lube! (Ice cream. Same thing.) Okay, now Verge's death-hold on my hair is beginning to hurt. Business as usual.

Another quick move I am VERY proud of, and his cock was in my mouth. Hard and sweet, silk over steel. I sent my tongue out to do proper tongue business, running from base to head, and Verge was all shuddering. Then I was swallowing him whole, needy, greedy. He moaned my name, and I didn't hear him; I was in euphoria. All forms of control were lost. Somehow, teasing the hell outta him didn't seem that important, anymore. I was sucking hard, lightly nipping, swirling my tongue and dipping it into the slit. He was tangy, leaking into my throat and writhing. I didn't know what I was doing. He knew what he wanted. I reached under and cupped his balls, rubbing and squeezing. He was at my mercy. And suddenly, I felt his whole body clench, the precum tasted tarter, and I didn't know what was coming. He spilled his searing hot cum down my throat and cried out softly, body jerking with every wave of seed until I had done him in. I pulled away, cleaning him as promised. His fingers coyly tugged me up, so he could suck face. His tongue darted into my mouth, like a snake, and he stayed and rolled it around. He was tasting himself. When he finally, and regretfully, pushed me away, he said softly:

 

“Mmm. Strawberry.”

 

FIN!