Fan Fiction ❯ Molten ❯ Main ( Chapter 1 )

Title - Molten
Author - trowacko
Rating - NC17
Archive - http://trowacko.decayedcottoncandy.com
Warnings - um. I dunno... semi-masturbation? Dante/Ifrit.
Disclaimers - I do not own Devil May Cry in any way, nor do I make a
claim to. No profit, no harm done.






It wasn't for a lack of work that Dante found himself despondently roaming through towns and cities endlessly. He had grudgingly accepted the company of mortals long ago, yet he still harbored a sense of dislocation, or perhaps it was jealousy that he kept contact to an absolute minimum. Neither his mind nor his heart suffered from the lack of human contact. Nonetheless, something within him suffered enough that he found himself drawn time and time again to the taverns and filthy clubs where he'd sit and brood over his drinks until he became too weary of being among so many or so few and leave. He wasn't sure why he sought such desolate company. He had never wanted anyone else in his life beyond his weapons.

Jealousy. The word sprang to mind unbidden once more and he tasted it. He half-smiled into his drink before swallowing both in one quick gulp. As a child he'd always been jealous of mortals. They of smooth skin and untainted blood who paraded both to the half-demonic boy. He knew it wasn't his fault what blood ran through his veins. And he was ashamed that he would find any shame in being his father's son. The strong presence alone seemed to saturate every room that Sparda entered before he breached the threshold. He'd watched his father's grace and elegance reign over his human form when his demonic form was more regal and unforgiving. His mother was graceful in her feminine way and that too had eluded Dante.

The memories of his parents and brother were dim in his mind, yet sharp in their presence and attachment. He wanted to be like his father, yet he wanted to be like his mother. Sometimes it seemed that either endeavor would be a failure. He had demonic strength and power that made his father proud despite the lack of equal strength the elder Sparda harbored. He had the features of a mortal that made his mother smile, although he, too, had a demon form much like his father's. He was neither. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.

Dante looked at the glass in his hand, deprived of the amber fluid that sluggishly permeated his body. It'd take a helluva lot more than the few drinks he'd had to make him feel the drunkenness that he saw in a number of patrons. He didn't feel like bothering with trying; he'd come here to brood and that he'd already done. It was time to leave. He tossed the glass over his shoulder as he stood up, hearing it shatter just behind him. The tinkling was loud in his quiet corner and he obstinately ignored the few narrowed glares he received from those closest to him.

Beneath his coat, he felt Ifrit stir restlessly once outside, the heat from the gauntlets warmed his sides and Dante smiled. The air had grown cold and the wind bitter in the failing season. The cold normally didn't bother Dante; perhaps he felt more human today that the chill had affected him.

"Easy, Ifrit, we're not going too far this time." The pulsing warmth subsided to a warm glow. Alastor's energy fluctuated for a moment in response, sending spikes of electricity up Dante's back. He shifted the sword to a more comfortable position and threw his leg over the back of his bike. It started with a roar, cutting through the dank night under the masterful touch of Dante's movements.

Away from the city, it was easier to view the stars' patterns that had so intrigued his mother. He often found solace after brooding in examining the stars above him, studying patterns and how they twinkled endlessly. Like eating a tough meal followed by sweet desserts, the stars never failed to make him feel more at ease after brooding. He lay in the tall grasses, shivering again as the cold seeped its way into his flesh through his clothes. He felt the cold touch Ifrit and the gauntlets shifted in time with its mate, flaring briefly beneath Dante's jacket.

"Whoa, calm down there, buddy, you're gonna scorch my coat."

The gauntlet at his left side resignedly subsided, but the right one dug into Dante's side, refusing to be ignored. He recognized the way it twitched when danger was near and they itched to be on his hands to fight. Yet he sensed no danger and saw none evident in the lush grasses. Except, perhaps, the cold itself.

"Come on then," Dante grinned in resignation, "you can help keep me warm." He slid his hands against his sides, letting Ifrit guide them home and gripped the well-worn holds firmly. Immediately he felt the flare of its power mingling with his own, melding with it to better augment both their natural strengths. He imagined the way it traveled through his body, each side seeking its mate while it used his essence to link them together. Flame erupted over Dante's chest and he breathed in the otherworld scent of the fire. It warmed the immediate area around his chest while the heat dug itself deeper, seeking his core and from there, it would encompass his entire body. Dante waited patiently; he used to get uncomfortable while Ifrit's essence invaded his body, but it was something that he'd quickly become accustomed to. Much the same way Alastor or Force Edge's energy melded with his hands when he held the great swords.

The heat made him catch his breath. A mortal would have been writhing and screaming by that time, he thought detachedly. The flames consumed his skin, sending hot flashes that seemed to culminate in his belly while Ifrit used their combined essences to spare Dante's precious clothes.

"Ifrit, what are you doing?" he asked between gasps. He tried to move his hands, but they refused to move, locking together above his chest, it suddenly felt as if they'd taken over gravity just over his body, not allowing him to move. A tickle of a thought vied for his attention, but his concentration was on the rapidly pulse of hot blood through his veins, working lower and lower on his body. The sensations were almost like hands, rough and callous from long years of battles, yet gentle in their ministrations to his skin. Almost... metallic in its deliverance.

Dante writhed under their touch. He moaned when he felt the first finger of heat touch the base of his length, twirling gently over his flesh as if testing his reaction. His hips bucked slowly into it and his head fell to the side. He wanted, he desired, he had no idea why. His hands balled into fists beneath the gauntlets, hanging on for dear life as he waited for the pain he knew was coming. His knees bent in anticipation, working his hips in short snaps into the caress that slid up the length of his rapidly rising erection. He felt the hum of Ifrit's presence, always a phantom whisper he could never understand in the back of his mind grow louder. He yielded to it, offered himself to it, and accepted what it would do to him. Dante wanted more, so much more.

White-hot heat lanced throughout his flesh and Dante cried out at the overwhelming sensation. His body writhed, it burned and begged for more. His hands finally loosed the deathgrip they had together and he frantically pushed the leather pants down quickly, freeing him and the heat from his body. He laid back and simply let Ifrit take him however the gauntlets wanted him. The tantalizing whisper pressed itself deeper into his mind, its moan as soft as silk to mingle with his own. He felt the pressure of the flames work over his body, pulling on his length with slow torturous movements that threatened to burn him alive had he not the strength to withstand it. Licks of flame against his flesh felt as though a multitude of hands buried his body beneath their touch, kissing and caressing his entire body. All the while, the whisper grew until images blended with the stars above him.

"Ifrit," he whispered and sank into the vision. His eyes widened at the erratic images and still he moaned and squirmed under the sensations that rode up his length and body.

Dante saw the two mates, separated by the stone divider that didn't allow the two to touch, only to feel the presence of the other. He felt the desolation and yearning for the two to be together once more as they were forged as mates, but something in the stone refused it. How long had the two been thus trapped? Waiting vainly to be freed until Dante had become their champion, uniting them once more in his possession. Mates at last re-united.

Ifrit was not one, but two.

Sweet pulses of heat rode him mercilessly and Dante let them. His hips bucked upwards, nearly toppling him to his side before he fell back to earth. Muscles tightened and sang in the mind numbing agony that throbbed wildly over and in him. His heart beat too fast and his breath too short. Sweat layered on his forehead, dripping in thin lines down his face where they sizzled away beneath the fire that created more. He felt every nuance of temperature change, every change in pressure against his body and how they sparked nerves alight to fire again and again. He might have melted, but he knew Ifrit wouldn't have allowed him to fall too hard when he found his release.

Ifrit joined above him again and his elbows became the steadying presence he needed to keep from thrashing wildly in the grasses. He heard his own voice ripped from him, unable to contain the ecstatic cry at being so lovingly jerked off. The pain and pleasure mingled back and forth, pulsing like his blood; like the wind that taunted him further with its icy touch. Lovingly, yes, like only mates could offer. He'd shared their power, their gratitude, and their affection.

He bent nearly double again and almost wept at the power of the orgasm that tore through his body and what might have remained of his soul. He fell to earth with a heavy thump, his hands digging desperately into the gauntlets, searching for purchase to the ground. His body burned in wet embers and passion the likes of which he thought he'd never attain again. Power and energy exuded from his body and he clenched his teeth against the intensity, riding out the fury.

Ifrit held him steady, not letting him fall away from his position. The heat that tormented him with agonized pleasure subsided slowly, letting his body recover bit by bit. He felt tears scorched from his cheeks and smiled at the gesture. Ifrit nudged him sideways, curling his legs to alleviate the pressure that came from his release. Dante felt his cheek pressed against the cold grass and chuckled; Ifrit hadn't allowed any heat to be wasted. A groan of misery parted his lips, but there was no strength behind it.

"Ifr," he murmured quietly against his clutched hands. The left gauntlet gurgled a burst flame for a moment before subsiding. Dante smiled. "Frit," he tried again, and the right gauntlet bubbled happily before dimming its heat. Dante rolled on his back and laughed, clutching Ifrit against his chest. Missing, yes, he thought. He'd missed the idea that he'd have a mate in the world. He'd never have found one in the demon world; he knew this without thought. A mortal would have been more likely, but subjecting a child to the torment that had been his life before his family was robbed from him seemed too cruel a life. In his hands, above his heart and in it, he held a love of two mates who shared the heat of their union with him. He had everything he would need for now and it was enough. Except, perhaps, for clean trousers.



*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko doesn't necessarily mean it's insane*