https://archiveofourown.org/works/81381976
Why do I get into rarepairs why why why ()()()()()()
The sun feels like jewels in Vergil’s pores. The warm body resting on him is a rarer commodity.
Leon had not woken when Vergil and Dante returned from a two-week hunt, nor when the brothers showered and Dante stomped around. His nose twitched when Vergil lifted him to slip underneath, but still he slept. Even eight hours later, he still hasn’t woken, moving only to hug Vergil’s torso with a small sigh three hours ago.
Dante has settled at his desk, infuriating smirk on his face. Vergil steadfastly ignores him, turning the page of a book Leon had brought him. It’s another in a slew of titles about human history, this one about the United States’ founding. Apparently, Nero had bought it but could not bring himself to give it to Vergil directly.
In all of Vergil’s studies so far, there are only a handful of humans worthy of regard. But he persists, because Leon and Nero wish it.
(Because if Dante thinks Vergil has no reason to stay among humans, he will do something terrible. And Vergil can no longer abide that.)
Leon languidly nuzzles Vergil’s chest. For his comfort, Vergil has chosen a faded green cotton shirt. To Dante’s endless delight, he has also draped his coat over Leon, occasionally setting a hand on it to keep it warm with magic. Leon is always so cold, even in this summer beam.
Vergil surreptitiously takes in his scent. Clean soap, leather and gunmetal. Healthy human, Vergil’s hindbrain growls. He’d put on cologne as well: sandalwood and bergamot, deep and rich. Vergil’s favorite. Implying that Leon had prepared for his return, made an effort to look and smell nice. His blue shirt is holding on by a thread, and his jeans, though they must be uncomfortable by now, squeeze his ass and thighs.
But he must have fallen asleep. Vergil wonders what tired him so. Leon is stubborn, usually to his detriment. He will have to ask, he thinks, stroking the dark circles under Leon’s left eye. Perhaps while making him tea.
Vergil pauses, replaying the thought. Watches it take shape in his mind’s eye: Leon at the kitchen island, still waking up, muttering about his cat and mulling over which tea he wants before inevitably telling Vergil, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Vergil can’t identify the knot in his chest as he pictures Leon’s quirked mouth and soft eyes, just that it is securely tied and burns like a fire in winter.
He doesn’t know how to care for someone. He has, admittedly, never particularly wished to. Even Nero’s mother, blurry as she has become in his corrupted memory, had taken initiative, and he mimicked her because he thought it was what he ought to do, and she was kind to him. He had wanted to have sex with her, to kiss her, to be with her in her small flat near Fortuna’s archives. But, in the end, he could find the strength to leave her.
He doesn’t think he can leave Leon Kennedy.
Vergil hears Dante’s feet hit the floor. “Why am I craving tea?”
Vergil feels a smaller knot in his lungs even as he scowls over his shoulder. “Perhaps you are finally refining your tastes, little brother.”
Dante lumbers toward the kitchen, mumbling about freaky twin things, what the hell. But Vergil knows Dante revels in the “freaky twin things.” They developed disconcertingly fast, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise. They are unique to all the realms: identical twins born to a human mother and the Dark Knight. Vergil himself doesn’t know how to feel about this either, deciding to simply wait until a sensory memory or stray thought that does not belong to him passes. But he catalogues each one.
Right now, for example, Vergil’s right knee is twinging. Dante’s hiding a limp today.
A quiet “Damn it” has Vergil setting his book aside.
Leon blinks blearily at him. “How long’ve I been out?”
“Since Dante and I returned, about nine hours,” Vergil replies, “I don’t know how long beforehand.”
Leon blinks again, more wide-eyed. “Nine hours? Haven’t slept that much since before joining the RPD.”
The kettle clicks on, Dante’s voice following: “Vergil’s in sweatpants for you!”
Vergil opens his mouth, but it goes dry when Leon reflexively palms his thighs.
“Damn,” Leon says, “All for me?”
Vergil swallows. “Nero has told me that reading in—”
“Nope!” Dante chirps, “It was definitely for your boyfriend.”
A mirage blade stabs him in the gut. Vergil’s nuisance of a brother merely laughs through the blood.
“Seriously?” Leon asks flatly.
“He never is,” Vergil replies.
“I’m a delight,” Dante rasps, rubbing his healed stomach. “You cats want some tea?”
The thought of Dante making Leon tea instead makes Vergil irrationally annoyed. Leon has made him a stranger to himself.
(The kind of stranger you fall in love with.)
But Leon plops his head back on Vergil’s chest. “I’m good, thanks.” His jaw distends on a yawn. “Shit. How am I still tired?”
“You never sleep?” Dante suggests.
“Look who’s talkin’,” Leon mutters.
Vergil sends another wave of warmth through his coat. “We are not fully human. You are.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome.”
Leon snorts. After a beat, he looks up again. “If you wanna get up, I can go upstairs.”
Vergil kisses him, soft and easy. Leon cups his cheek, pulse licking Vergil’s sensitive ears, sweetly alive. Leon starts to say something in the breath between. Vergil doesn’t give him time. Again. Again.
A foreign happiness wells in Vergil’s throat. Not his.
Dante pours his tea in silence.
Leon sighs when Vergil finally releases him, humming into the kiss on his forehead. “’S a nice day.”
The sunlight kisses radiance in Leon’s hair and casts his eyes in honeyed shade. Vergil’s very own Apollo.
“Yes,” Vergil murmurs, “it is.”
