Full-time Z0mbie, part-time simp

You hesitated. Not because you feared the truth. Only because the truth felt far too small for what you wanted to say. Slowly and carefully, you lifted your hand. Vergil watched the movement. He didn't stop you. He didn't lean away. Your fingertips rested lightly against his cheek, barely touching. As though you were afraid the moment might shatter if you used anything more than the weight of a feather.

His skin was cool. Something you certainly didn't expect from a half demon whose blood you assumed ran incredibly hot. Your thumb settled just beneath his eye.

"So that's what this was about," he murmured.

You smiled faintly. "I like your eyes."

Silence stretched across the room.

"So much," you whispered. "They're..."

Your words failed. You laughed softly at yourself. "I don't know how to explain them."

Vergil said nothing. You searched his gaze again.

"I think..." You swallowed. "I think they're incredible. They're the most handsome part about you."

The confession settled gently between you.

"I remember meeting you for the first time." Your thumb traced no farther than the edge of his cheekbone. "I don't remember what anyone said, I don't remember where Dante was. I don't even remember why I was there. I only remember looking at you..and thinking I'd never seen eyes like yours."

His face remained natural. Like he didn't know what to say for once. "They're beautiful."

Vergil remained impossibly still. You wondered if perhaps you'd finally said too much. Then, very quietly, "You speak strangely."

A laugh escaped you. "I know."

"They're just eyes." he spoke.

"No." Your shook your head, your answer coming before he finished speaking. "They're yours."

Something shifted. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but you felt it beneath your fingertips. Like the smallest fracture spreading through ancient ice. Vergil's gaze did not leave yours.

"You are overly sentimental."

"I've been told." you smiled.

"It is an impractical thing to admire."

"Maybe," You smiled. "I still do."

The room settled into silence again, the afternoon sunlight drifting lower, painting gold across the floorboards, dust floating lazily through the air between you. Vergil studied your face as though searching for embellishment. For exaggeration. He found none. Your hand remained against his cheek, gentle enough that he could have moved away at any moment. He didn't.

"...No one," he said after a long while, his voice quieter than before, "has ever spoken of my eyes with such conviction."

"I can't imagine why," Your heart ached. "They're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

For a moment, the distance he'd always kept between himself and the world seemed to loosen by the smallest measure. Like winter considering spring.

"There it is." You smiled because you couldn't help it.

Vergil's brow furrowed. "What?"

You withdrew your hand. "You almost smiled."

"I did not."

"You almost did."

"I assure you-"

"You almost smiled, and your eyes are still beautiful." you argued.

He exhaled through his nose, sounding faintly exasperated. "...foolish woman."

Vergil looked away first, his gaze settled on the window instead. Outside, the afternoon breeze stirred the trees into quiet motion. Inside, his reflection lingered faintly in the glass. You caught it only for a moment. Just long enough to see the barest upward curve at the corner of his mouth. So slight it might have been imagined, but real enough that your heart carried it home like a secret. You never mentioned it again. Some things were too precious to survive being spoken aloud.

Vergil often detested booking hotels during or after jobs, finding the need for human commodities as a frivolous expense. However, a year of adjusting to civilian life and the last two weeks on the road for this pesky mission, he didn't object this time when you proposed the idea of a night in, already imagining a hot shower and room service. Despite the sideways looks you two got from reception, the keycards were secured and your filthy forms made it up to your designated floor. The room was beige and simple, but it was clean, safe, and quiet—which is all either of you could ask for after such a demanding job. 

You stepped in first, coat slinking off to be hung up in the wooden closet by the door. As Vergil bolted the chains, he attempted to follow suit, a wince of pain making my scrunch his features.

“Here, let me,” you mumbled as you turned to help. Stubborn as ever, he stepped back and scowled, the sting of pain revoking his manners.

“I am more than capable of—”

“Let me do it.”

Vergil’s features wilted at your tone, losing his bite and dropping his arms to let you have your way. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but more than he had gotten so comfortable in your presence that he often tried to find ways of still establishing his individuality. He refused to be seen as anything less, but it was hard to uphold his stuffy values when you doted on him with the utmost sincerity. As you pulled his coat off, Vergil watched you over his shoulder, ocean eyes wordlessly conveying gratitude despite the wrinkle in his brow. With the leather jacket off and away, you could see the slits in his vest where the demon you two had vanquished struck a few good blows in. Led to the edge of bed, he sits down and waits til you’re sat behind him before he starts at the vest’s fastenings. 

“It’ll all heal, you know,” he grunts between words, the lining of the vest slowly peeling away from bloodied skin. “I can’t imagine why you feel the need to fret over surface cuts.”

Even so, you watch his back muscles ripple as the vest is shed, reopening the wounds as it peels away healing skin. The inside of the vest was, well, disgusting. Bloodied, with pieces of his flesh stickered onto it, due to the duration of having it on working against his regenerative abilities. You make a face at the nasty sight, sighing as you toss the vest away to the floor.

“Any longer, and we would’ve had to cut you out of it. Again.”

Only a hum of acknowledgement—or dismissal—rumbles back to you. Sliding off the bed, you pad to the adjoined bathroom and wet a rag. You study your own battered appearance in the mirror as the water runs. Dirt darkened your skin, caking into some of the cuts. You looked rough, but never as bad as he usually did; he would never allow you to fight harder than him, to be in harm’s way when he could stand as a shield for you. That wasn’t to say he doubted your fighting abilities. In fact, the only reason you two had partnered up was because of the respect he had for you. But, as emotions and attachments grew, Vergil found it harder to watch you limp and writhe in pain after jobs, much preferring to take the brunt of the damage. 

You find your way back to him, seeing him already tending to his wounds himself. He expunges saliva onto his fingers to rub into the cuts, the skin already rebuilding itself as the saliva encourages the swelling to fade—an old trick he learned from a demon many moons ago. Passing the damp towel over his back, he makes a sound in the back of his throat, tense as he goes still for you. Vergil watches silently as you rub away grime from his skin, eyes following the patterned route your hand made with the rag. The rhythmic motions lull your own thoughts away from the present, mind drifting to planning out the next courses of actions after returning from the job. A touch to your face summons you back, eyes focusing to find his already trained on you. Vergil’s thumb swiped over the bone that cradled your eye, gently smearing away a streak of blood.

“Where’d you go?” His voice came out tentative, as if worried his disturbance would upset you. His eyes searched yours to attempt to steal a peek behind them, wishing he could read your thoughts.

You shake your head gently, lowering the rag. “I’m here.”

His stare remained courteous, yet you could tell he wanted to pry, ever the attentive partner. Instead, though, the half-demon sighs from his nose and lets his features soften.

“You fought bravely tonight. I’m beside myself, with how well you’re beginning to carry yourself in battle. I often must force my reflexes to heed and allow you to take point, as you have earned that right,” Vergil’s throat bobs with a faint swallow, finger tips still tracing the side of your face. “Thank you, for being by my side.”

Praise from Vergil is always genuine, and it never fails to make you feel singular. Your eyes crinkle slightly as a smile warms up your tired face. “The blood loss is making you sentimental. But, it’s nothing, really. I love you, and I love fighting with you.”

“And I love you, very much,” He lets his hand slip down to your shoulder briefly before sitting himself up and facing you properly. “Enough to feel compelled to take care of you, now that I am no longer bleeding to death.”

A huff of a chuckle leaves him as he stands, hand pulling you along.

“Up. A shower would do us good.”

—

Between the food in his stomach and the robe warming his aching body, Vergil felt like he could melt through the mattress. He watched the back of your head while you ate, preferring to observe the way you chewed french fries over whatever nonsense you had put on the hotel TV. As much as he enjoyed the rush of endorphins he got from demon hunting with you, he found the quieter part of himself started to crave this kind of intimacy more. There were no expectations or watchful eyes—just the certainty of company and the solace it brought him. 

As you licked salt from your fingers, a calloused hand yanked you back towards the headboard. Giggles filled the room as Vergil pulled you to him, his own mouth latching onto the greased fingers with a shake of laughter. Despite weak protests of faux disgust, you didn’t try very hard to stave off the attack, practically letting his coil around you. Long, lean legs cage you in as he releases your fingers, only to bite at your wrist. 

“Nuh-uh—you can’t leave now.”

“Get off of me, you freak,” you snort and squirm against him, lamely trying to wriggle free amidst the play-fight. He cares little for your insult, mouthing his way up your arm instead. Laughter mingles between you two until a moan makes you still, hips lips suctioning to a spot on your neck. Blood rushes to the area as he sucks on the tender skin, staccato breaths from his nose puffing over you as he laughs at your complicity.

“That’s all you got? No more verbal abuse or grabbing?” He unlatches from your neck to peer down at your face, flashing imperfect teeth in an exultant smile. 

You start to give quick excuses, only to be shut up by a desirous kiss. Your limbs betray you, turning to jelly as he shifts against you, tongue knocking for entry. You greet it with enthusiasm, only to fail at returning the kiss once a hand parts your legs. Eager fingers pet at the growing heat of your sex, gentle despite the obvious intent. When you've proven too pliant to kiss back, he trails his lips back down to your throat, teeth threatening to break the skin. 

Vergil pushes off your robe enough to grant him skin-to-skin contact, his own slipping open and exposing an already hardening cock. Deep inhales against your skin fill his senses with your scent, only encouraging him to keep going and feed the need for connection. The hand between your legs alternates between familiar circles and strokes, knowing exactly what rhythm gets you worked up enough without pushing. As you arch into his hand in response, he grinds into from behind, the head of his length rubbing against your ass for much needed friction. Your breathing hitches as your gut twists with approaching, lazy pleasure, head lulled back into him as you welcome the onslaught. Compared to the grit of demon-hunting, this was easy bliss, and you had no problem giving into the temporary gluttony. 

Just as your body was about to fall over the peak, his hand withdraws to rest on your hip. A mewl of denial slips out from you as you rut against nothing, painfully close to coming. “God—, Vergil, wait—”

“Patience,” Vergil’s body vibrates with a laugh, low and taunting in your ear as he sucks on the lobe. His hand slides up your front, fragrant with your sex, and holds your chin taut. “I will not deprive you, sweet girl. I merely wish to be selfish, just for a moment.”

With one more nip to your ear, he releases your jaw to guide his cock behind you to your warmth. His breath ghosts over your shoulder as he pushes himself in, silver strands of hair tickling your cheek. Vergil hides in the privacy of your neck, thankful you’re unable to see the look of relief on his face as he bottoms out. Your hips urge him to move with little syncopated rolls, walls throbbing around him from the previously stunted release. If you two were home, and the day hadn’t been so long, he might’ve prolonged the moment, dragged out the denial til you were sputtering tears for him to kiss away. But, god, you were so tight, and so very warm—he couldn’t fight it.

“Oh, I missed you, missed this,” the words come out muffled against your skin, his hands returning to your hips to grind into you. Calloused hands flex against the supple flesh of your hips, adjusting his grip as he works up to a steady pace behind you. The hotel bed moans with you as you stretch back towards him, jaw slacked as the coils of an orgasm curl back up. Vergil pokes his head out to accommodate your head leaning back, opting to watch your lashes flutter. 

As his fervor increases, he snakes a hand under your thigh and lifts your leg, allowing for more room to accommodate his size. The kisses pressed into the side of your face draw you back to the world of the living, foggy eyes opening to find him. You’re greeted by a blissful smile, Vergil planting a kiss under a dopey eye. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You can come, it’s okay; I won’t stop you.”