cw: smut with vaginal penetration. love as violence a little bc yk. minors dni.
Sometimes Vergil just can’t help it.
There’s something about the sensation of his teeth grazing along the surface of your skin - a bare shoulder, the curve of your neck, the mound of your breast that incites something primal in him, an augmented form of desire that beckons to the part of his self that isn’t human, the one he both venerates and abhors if it really comes down to it. There’s something that tells him to grow fangs and bite, to sink deep into your flesh, and let your voice cry out in the erotic nature of pain that is indulged, not unexpected.
But, pent up as he is today, the fear of devouring you outstrips the desire to bite, because of how your eyes look, pupils dilated and dark, lips gently parted and wanting.
How could he ever harm you?
He means to sigh, but it sounds staggered, like drawing in a deep breath that’s more like a gasp.
You don’t fight him this time, not because you’ve already been pinned down to the bed, hopeless and helpless but because you’re needy. An index finger transformed into a claw has already torn down the midline of your nightdress and the open piece slips off effortlessly as you turn, presenting yourself to him. Rump angled upwards, pussy in full view, lips glistening and wet, docile. Human.
At some point in his younger years, he may have purported that he’d never kneel for anyone, no less a weak human of your ilk, but he’s on his knees as his tongue explores that precious space, sucking and slurping as if it were a sort of ambrosia that dripped from between your thighs. His teeth gently raze the surface of your labia and the desire comes back - to nibble, to bite.
He can’t harm you, he thinks, as his tongue circles your clit from behind, as he inhales your scent and massages your thighs and draws out your first tremors with his treacherous mouth alone.
Breathy, soft, you call his name, as you collapse forward, and once your knees have folded under you, he’s ready to slip his aching cock in and you gasp at the fullness, just as he shudders at the precious clamp of your body around him.
Such a weak, petulant thing, and yet you might as well hold him physically and emotionally in a vice grip. Recovering himself, he lets his hand slide down the arch of your back to take a fistful of your hair. And then it loosens.
How could he ever harm you?
“Breathe,” he whispers, gentler this time as you whine, adjusting. It’s an order to both you and him, and his eyes close as he slots himself in firmer, more flush with your ass. You exhale, and he moves.
Slow first, gentle, taking advantage of long arms to cradle the front of your delicate neck, tilting your head upwards, a finger creeping into your mouth. Then fast, hungry, both hands squeezing at your waist, grabbing at skin and flesh. Then needy, again, pressing weight atop you as he presses his chest close to your back.
Your hand creeps backwards, bold, to caress a cheek.
“You can look at me, you know,” you offer softly between sighs. “I won’t run.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, but he allows himself the indulgence of nipping at your earlobe.
It’s true and yet said, tentatively, begging for you to say otherwise.
“Nor would it ever cross my mind.”
Your waves flow to a stop, which only seems to accentuate how thick he is inside you, how heavy and warm his body is despite the ice he surrounds himself with, the beat of his long-neglected heart. Suspended together for a moment, without movement, you inhale the moment.
“I do want you. Terribly. You don’t have to take anything from me... you don’t have to worry about hurting me - you never can.”
His hand finds yours spread against the mattress, his fingers intertwining with yours.
“Love and logic don’t necessarily mix,” you murmur, a smile on your face.
Another bite at your shoulder, sharp enough to draw blood. You wince, but you endure.
Another stroke, harder, faster this time, and you cry out, but hold his hand tighter.
“Want you,” you eke out in soft reassurance.
A few kisses scatter against your neck and a muffled, “want you,” imprints itself into your skin.