Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4453955.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Devil_May_Cry
  Relationship:
      Dante/Nero_(Devil_May_Cry)
  Character:
      Dante_(Devil_May_Cry), Nero_(Devil_May_Cry), Rodin_(Bayonetta)
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse, Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Underage_Sex, Underage_Drinking,
      Consensual_Underage_Sex, Self-Harm, Suicide, Drug_Abuse, Hitchhiking,
      Rape/Non-con_Elements
  Series:
      Part 3 of Roleplays_with_Harley
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-29 Completed: 2015-08-13 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 34235
****** Riding Shotgun Underneath the Purple Skies ******
by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello
Summary
     Title is a reference to the Fallout Boy song Favorite Record
     A roleplay that Harley and I wrote. They wrote Dante, I Nero.
     "The ignition turns off and Dante pushes the bandana away from his
     mouth and leans back "You need a lift?""
Notes
     Ok, I implore you to please check the tags if you have triggers. This
     is full of them. And there is one fairly detailed scene in which
     someone underage is sexually abused by a father figure. That part is
     skippable but please please don't put yourself in a situation you
     can't handle by reading this if that's gonna get to you.
     Among other things, there are plenty of other triggery things
     scattered throughout this. I just care about you all, I'd much rather
     you stay safe than read this if you're going to be affected.
     But I swear it's a cute ending.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Nero is pretty sure by now that he hates Nevada.
He’s been walking along the dusty pavement along some freeway in the middle of
fucking nowhere for hours. There isn’t much traffic and what few cars do pass
by don’t even slow down when he holds his thumb up. And more often than not he
gets a choice finger out a window for his efforts.
It’s fucking hot.
He thinks back to his last ride. The guy was a greasy, disgusting prick who
thought it was a better idea to take what he wanted than listen to Nero’s
vehement ‘No.’ He kicked Nero out when he fought back. Bit his dick when the
asshole forced him down and wouldn’t let him back up.
But it earned him his new status of wandering vagabond in the Nevada desert.
He’s lucky he had half a bottle of water stashed in his backpack. He’d probably
be dead by now if he hadn’t. The desert isn’t very forgiving.
And it is fucking hot.
That’s what he gets for wearing a black shirt and dark jeans, torn up as it all
may be. The sun beating down on him, even in the late morning, is hell on his
light skin. He’s pretty sure his scalp is burning. Stupid light hair.
Not for the first time, he considers going back. Tossing it all in and trying
to call home. But it’s not like he could go back even if he wanted to. No one
would come get him. No one cares. He thinks back to his mom, the bitch. She
probably wouldn’t even be coherent enough to drive, much less find him out
here. He supposed he’d be able to call Credo but…
No, it’s better this way. He doesn’t want to go home. There’s nothing left for
him there.
And a speck on the horizon coming closer gives him one more shot at moving on,
getting somewhere that doesn’t put dust on everything he owns. Not that that’s
all that much.
Motorcycles aren’t usually a good bet for someone willing to give a ride, but
he’s willing to try anything. So he stops, sticks out his thumb, and hopes.
--
Dante loves the desert.
Sure, it's hot and sure, you might sweat to death in your leathers, but that
open feeling of freedom doesn't come from anywhere else. The dust his Harley
Davidson - her name is Rebellion, by the way - kicks up is repelled by matte
aviators and a bandana around Dante's nose and mouth, keeping breathing easy
and micro-road-rash away. Chaps comfortably rest over his jeans and a red
jacket keeps him protected from the sun, and right now, he's just cruising.
Another losing game of poker in Vegas awaits.
Before Vegas, though, comes the interesting sights. Cow, cow, more cows,
armadillo carcass, and sometimes maybe some trinket left on the side of the
road. Today, though, there was no trinket-- But rather a walking, breathing
adventure.
This adventure came in the form of what looked like a five-nine-- No, five-
eleven boy with fair skin and fair hair, much like Dante's own. He wore all
black - big mistake - and carried with him a bag. Hitchhiker.
Well, he might as well put the back seat to use.
Dante shifts gears and sets on the brake of his Harley, drifting off into this
pedestrian's general direction and stopping a few feet in front of him. The
ignition turns off and Dante pushes the bandana away from his mouth and leans
back "You need a lift?"
--
He expects the sound of the approaching bike to speed up and pass by just like
every other car or bike he’s seen in the last couple hours. He doesn’t expect
the sound of a slowing engine or the extra heat off of it close enough to feel.
Doesn’t expect the loud engine to cut off suddenly.
He doesn’t expect the gruff voice asking if he needs a ride.
Nero looks over the man. He’s older, but not disgusting like some of the people
he’s gotten rides from. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but his stubbled
jaw juts impressively over a dusty bandana he’s pulled off his face. He has an
easy, cocky grin and something about him seems… exciting… to Nero.
All in all, the man looks like any other guy on a motorcycle, dressed up in red
leathers and chaps. Nero doesn’t know where he’s headed, who he is, or what
he’s capable of. But he’s desperate and he’s probably been in worse situations.
Plus, the motorcycle actually has room for two.
“Yeah. Doesn’t matter where, just… away from here.” Nero shifts his bag higher
up on one shoulder and flicks his eyes around, unable to keep them looking at
the dark surface of the sunglasses.
And then, so quiet he isn’t sure if the man will hear, “I can make it worth
your while.”
--
Worth his while, huh?
Dante's wolfish grin widens, and his eyes glint behind his sunglasses. Oh yes,
this would be some kind of adventure.
"Not necessary," he says, kicking one leg over the side of his bike to
dismount, walking over to his new (temporary) bike decoration. He is cute-
- Feisty eyes, strong jaw, muscular. Looks legal enough, and also looks like a
really good f--
"Vegas sound good?" Dante says, walking back to his bike and motioning for the
boy to follow. "Depends on how full that bag is, but it should be able to go in
one of my saddlebags. Hopefully."
"So, kid," the elder begins, "where ya from? What's your name? The hell are you
doing out here in buttfuck nowhere?"
--
Nero follows when the man motions for it, surprised by his apparent lack of
interest in any sort of payment for the ride. Even if the only payment Nero can
really offer is that of the sexual variety.
“Vegas... ‘s good, yeah.” He lets his bag fall down into the crook of his elbow
as the older man explains the saddlebags. It shouldn’t have any trouble
fitting, there’s little more than a few shirts, another pair of jeans, and a
toothbrush in the bag. Nothing fragile and nothing that takes up too much
space.
But his questions are what give Nero pause.
“None of your fucking business, old man. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude
to ask personal questions like that? And I don’t see you tellin’ me your name.
Not about to spill my whole life story to some suave stranger. Even if he is
giving me a ride.”
--
"Good deal," Dante says, securing his newfound companion's bag within the
safety of his bike, wiping his mouth with a gloved hand, "prayin' it won't be
so damn hot up there."
He stops, though, laughing low in his throat when this punk little shit sasses
him. Dante leans on his bike, crossing his arms. And back comes that grin as he
cocks his head at the smaller, "If your fingers are gonna be hooked on my
beltloops for a few hours, I'd think a proper introduction would be more than
just polite," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Might keep that awkward morning-
after feeling away."
This kid is a whole 'nother ballgame, and Dante can already tell it'll be one
he just might lose.
"Besides," he shrugs, "I really don't feel like getting arrested for harboring
a runaway. Makes for lotsa paperwork and hassle, yeah?"
--
Nero makes a dismissive grunt at the man’s rebuttal, but still opens his mouth,
“Name’s Nero.” He pauses, not really willing to go on. Nero can’t really
guarantee the biker’s safety from that very thing. He is technically still
underage. And technically he is a runaway. But it’s not like anyone is going to
come looking for him. Not like anyone cares.
“No one is gonna come looking for me. You don’t need to worry about that.”
And that’s the truth. As far as Nero knows anyway. His mom is probably glad
he’s gone. His stepdad doubly so. Kyrie and Credo would forget about him soon
enough. And there’s no one else left to care. No one else left to come find
him. Plus, when they get to Vegas, he can get lost. Melt into the crowd of
vagabonds and runaways. He’s not above using his body to make a quick buck,
he’ll be fine.
Grumpily, he shoots his leather clad companion a glare, “Why don’t we quit the
small talk and get a move on.”
--
"Nero, ah?" Dante confirms, nodding and turning to swing a leg back over his
bike, "Not a bad name. Mine's Dante."
"Only trying to be friendly," the elder says, getting comfortable. It's a bit
of a drive to Vegas, and I figure I should know just who the fuck's on the back
of my bike."
He motions for Nero to hop on behind him, shifting himself slightly farther up
than he'd normally sit. The key's in the ignition and then Rebellion shakes to
life, rumbling and kicking out exhaust.
"Hold on to my belt loops," Dante calls over the engine once Nero climbs on,
fixing his bandana back over nose, "and keep your arms and legs inside the
vehicle at all times, yadda yadda yadda."
And then just as quick as he came, they're off, from zero to sixty in just
under four seconds.
--
The heat of the desert is much kinder to Nero as he feels the warm air whip
passed him on the back of Dante’s motorcycle. It’s no less boring, no less
dusty. But the heat doesn’t bother him quite so much.
The sand flying into his arms and scraping them open like living sandpaper sure
does, though.
It starts cooling down around dusk, and not for the first time, Nero wishes he
had some kind of jacket. Something to cover his arms, protect them, and maybe
warm him up just a bit. He finds himself pressing more and more into Dante as
evening grows darker and colder.
He’s practically hugging the man when they stop at some lonely looking motel
somewhere outside of Vegas.
He’s stiff as he peels himself away so he can dismount and his arms feel raw
and painful. When he’s finished cracking his joints and remembering what it
feels like to walk again, he turns to Dante, “I can’t afford a room. Even in a
shithole like this.”
--
'This kid talks a big game,' Dante thinks as he hauls ass down the road, 'but
if he clings to me any harder, I'm gonna get my circulation cut off.'
And once even he's got his fill of riding for the day, he makes sure to pull
off on the next available exit. Motel Six it is. Dante makes sure to let Nero
off first before he parks, shifting and settling back in his seat as the engine
dies.
Off come his bandana and his sunglasses, and then Dante's looking to Nero.
Who, by the way, is much more attractive without a polarized filter.
"Eh," Dante shrugs, "we're not in Vegas and I'm fuckin' falling out, so don't
worry about it." he says, dismounting. The boy that stands before him looks
beat-up and wind-battered, and Dante looks him up and down before smiling,
"Sorry. Should've warned you about a sweater."
--
Nero doesn’t like accepting charity like this, not even from attractive older
men with piercing icy blue eyes just offering it up. But he also knows he has
absolutely no way of surviving the night in the desert without a roof over his
head. He would freeze, probably dehydrate, and definitely die.
Doesn’t mean he has to appreciate the comment at his expense.
“Thanks, asshole. I feel like I’ve had several layers of skin ground off from
my arms. Could’ve at least offered me a jacket.” He doesn’t mention that he
doesn’t have one of his own. It’s probably plenty obvious.
He shivers and rubs at his arms (Ow, fuck, big mistake). It’s getting chilly
and Nero doesn’t like standing around, doesn’t like being out in the open like
this. “We just gonna stand out here and freeze to death, or do you plan on
getting us a room?”
--
"Nah, I was thinking we'd sleep out here on the fucking concrete." Dante
deadpans, deciding to throw this little brat's sass back in his face. As funny
and as unintimidating as it was - talk about little dog syndrome - it was
beginning to press Dante's nerves. "And stop killing my vibe."
Regardless of Nero trying his patience, he shrugs off his leathers and holds it
out to the boy before him. "I'll check us in. Toss this on in the meantime." he
says, turning tail and heading inside.
The inside of the lobby is less than spectacular-- It's a shitty re-made living
room with a desk plopped in it. But hey, Dante's not here for aesthetic.
He asks for a single twin bed and an overnighter, early check out. It's cheap-
- And besides, he wants to see Nero's punk ass squirm for a minute or two.
Little shit.
With a room key obtained, Dante walks back out to fetch said little shit. Who,
much to the elder's dismay, looks very attractive in that leather jacket of
Dante's. Kinda makes him wonder what he'd look like with nothing else o--
"Scored a room," he calls, walking back over to his bike, "get your shit, I'm
not gonna carry it for ya."
--
He scoffs, but takes the jacket held out to him. As he watches Dante walk
toward the building, he throws it over his shoulders and is immediately
inundated with the scent of leather, lighter fluid, and just a hint of the
sweetness of whiskey.
He decides he really likes the smell.
Nero shakes his head, trying not to think about the scent and the man he’ll be
sharing a room with tonight. He’s not sure what to think of Dante. They haven’t
really gotten to talk a lot, being on the road with all the wind noise and all.
But he’s intrigued by him.
Dante comes back fairly quickly, griping for him to grab his bag. Nero does as
he’s instructed and follows after to the room.
When the door opens he freezes for a moment. The room is like any other shitty
motel room, a little desk, crappy TV from probably fifteen years ago, dingy
little bathroom with hardly enough room for one person.
And one bed.
One very small bed.
After the initial shock wears off, Nero turns to Dante with a suggestive brow
raised, “Thought you weren’t looking for my kind of payment?”
--
"I'm not," Dante assures, patting Nero on the back as he passes the smaller up
into the room. He tosses his keys on the desk and swipes the remote from beside
the TV, "that's why you get that bed. I know when I'll get my next, but I don't
think you do."
He falls into the chair beside the desk, kicking his feet up and keeping the
remote in hand. "So, you gonna stop being a creepy stranger hellbent on keeping
your identity from me, or are you gonna make actual conversation?"
Dante laughs. "I'm not gonna start, but I'll show you mine if you show me
yours," he grins, his eyes still drawn toward the TV. "besides, maybe you'll
even make a new friend."
--
Nero can feel a blush start to bloom on his cheeks both from frustration and
from how transparent he apparently is. It’s true that he doesn’t know when
he’ll get another chance to sleep in an actual bed. Hasn’t since he left home,
probably won’t for a good long while again.
So instead of trying to come up with another flippant retort, he just toes off
his dusty shoes and sits on the bed. It’s hard, like a shitty motel bed is
expected to be. But when Nero thinks about the places he’s had to sleep the
last couple days, it feels like a fucking fluffy cloud.
Dante’s continued speaking keeps him from thinking on the comfort of the bed
for too long. Nero looks over to the man, sitting like he’s right at home at
the desk chair. His aloof nature holds a certain intrigue for Nero, almost like
looking at what he could be. If he got his shit together a little, found a way
to afford transportation. He could see himself living on the road like that.
“I’m not exciting. Home life was shit, so I left. Don’t have a destination,
just as long as it’s away from there.” He’s tempted to snap at him that he
doesn’t need a friend. But something stops him. Maybe it’s how tired he is from
all that time with the Nevada sun beating down on him. Maybe it’s something
else. Either way, Dante gets a little of what he wants and Nero doesn’t make an
ass of himself yet again. Mostly.
--
"Neither am I, but I just think I should have a little background on my
passenger." Dante shrugs, grinning. He listens to Nero speak, though, and nods
along. "Ah, the shitty childhood," he hums, flipping channels, "I know where
you're coming from."
"Well," the biker begins, "I'm Dante. Jack of all trades, master of none - but
better than a master of one," he winks, keeping his grin steady. "I like
Cognac, I like weed, and I like guns that match my bike. Your turn."
Dante decides to settle on a channel. Said channel was nothing special-- Cops
in 240p. He leans back and waits for Nero to answer with his hardass 'none of
your business' bullshit, but then turns to the TV. "Tomorrow is gonna be a bit
of an adventure before Vegas. You in?"
--
“I…” Nero isn’t very good at talking about himself. Never has been, probably
never will be. Even to people he does know and trust.
The channel flipping finally settles on some cop show. The sound of radio
scanners and optimistic law enforcement officers plays from the little
television. It reminds him of Credo.
“My best friend watches these shows all the time.” Nero picks at a loose thread
in the comforter. It’s probably not what Dante was going for when he gave him
room to speak, but it’s better than Nero’s usual complete dismissal when it
comes to facts about himself.
And when Dante brings up the mention of adventure, Nero has no idea what he
could possibly mean by it. But he’s intrigued, caught hook, line, and sinker.
Adventure is what he wants, he wants adrenaline and new experiences and a life.
So Nero hardly gives himself time to quirk his lips into a smirk-turned-grin
before he’s opening his mouth, “Definitely.”
--
And that grin of Nero's is easily the most fantastic sight Dante's tired eyes
have ever seen.
"Great. You been to a bar before, kid?" Dante asks, watching Nero's face as he
begins to talk. "The one we're going to's pretty off-road. It's kinda hidden,
but it's got some pretty good atmosphere and some even better booze. For damn
cheap, I might add."
"It's off some little dirt road," the older continues, trying to set the scene.
"Pretty small, little wood building and a dirt lot. Bikes all outside of it."
Dante knows he probably looks like a babbling, wanderlust idiot, but he can't
bring himself to care.
"Just need to find a pretty girl - or guy, if he's a real little brat - to
decorate the back of my bike and give me fantastic head whenever I feel like,"
Dante scoffs, smiling lightly. "Yeah. When pigs fly, I guess."
--
Nero hesitates, considering lying, but finally shakes his head, “No.”
And then Dante launches into his description.
Nothing about this place sounds particularly special. By Dante’s telling, it’s
a watering hole in the middle of nowhere where the bikers like to hang out. But
this little sparkle of adventure tugs at Nero’s chest and makes him hang onto
every word. He watches the way Dante speaks, like his whole life centers on the
little things like this bar. Like finding a gem off the beaten track is his
passion.
(Though, Nero suspects the drinking probably has a lot to do with it).
He’s so enraptured in the scene setting, that he nearly misses the turn it
takes, Dante’s dismissal of a ‘bike decoration’ by his phrasing. Nero cocks a
brow, “Do I need to leave you alone with your fantasies?” Then he flicks his
eyes away as unease washes over him. His finger traces the tacky pattern on the
comforter, “I’m… not exactly old enough to get into a bar…”
--
"Nah," Dante chuckles, "Half the time, I think I just like hearing myself talk
about weird shit in the middle of nowhere," he says almost absently, sighing
and leaning back in his chair. "We'll save the rest of that little history
lesson for tomorrow when we get there, yeah?"
But the 'not old enough for a bar' statement makes Dante pause, and then laugh
once more. "Fuck it, they won't card you. I'll just order your booze for you.
Don't trip, chicken strip."
Eventually, Dante rises and throws himself onto the concrete-like couch in the
corner of the room. He's slept on worse and fucked on worse, so it does
tolerable. His channel-flipping eventually ends, and Dante settles on something
he knows Nero could probably pass out to. Something boring, mindless. Wasn't
like he'd be catching a lick of sleep anyway. Insomnia is a cruel mistress
without mercy.
Meh, whatever. Might as well suck it up.
--
Nero had been concerned about admitting to how young he is. Well, at least
admitting that he was too young to drink. But Dante seems to have taken it
quite well. Still, he can’t help the way his stomach curls a bit at just hoping
Dante is right- trusting him.
The older man had begun flipping channels again at some point, maybe out of
boredom, maybe out of something else. But finally it settles on something
simple and boring. And easy to sleep to. Dante flops onto the couch in the
corner and even from here, Nero can tell it’s not very comfortable. Not that
the bed is really all that much better, but anything has to be better than
that.
Nero pulls the comforter and top sheets back so he can slide under them,
reveling in the warmth and the feeling of actually getting to stretch out for
once. But he knows he’ll just curl up into an instinctive ball before long.
He makes it maybe ten minutes before he rolls over and stares at the couch, lit
by the flickering light of the television. Dante is laying with a certain ease,
but it’s clear that he isn’t sleeping. And Nero still thinks that couch has to
be miserable to sit on, especially after driving all day.
After much deliberation and several mind changes, he finally blurts out, “You
know, I don’t mind if you want to share the bed. You might throw out your back
trying to sleep on that thing.”
--
Dante was starting to space out. He was starting to drift, starting to let his
mind wander. As his dull eyes unfocus on the TV, he began to think about his
last few weeks-- Covered in dust and dirt. Thank god there is a goddamn shower,
he is gonna be the first one in it tomorrow.
This particular poker run has been lasting a little under two weeks now-- Dante
is sure he's hit every strip club and watering hole from Washington to Oregon.
Nevada is his current tour, with Vegas obviously being his first stop. He
didn't expect to have company, but...
He looks over at Nero, who's rolled over on his side. This kid is a real
character-- Pretty shy on giving information, but not necessarily in a shady
way. He's got some issues, that much Dante can promise, but hell.
So does he.
His head turns back to the TV, and he hears the younger shuffling. But his
voice is what startles Dante-- Makes him look over once more.
"I'm good, I swear," Dante laughs lowly, "Just don't sleep much."
--
“Whatever you say. Don’t say I didn’t offer,” Nero returns. He sighs, rolling a
bit so he’s flat on his back.
He spreads out as much as the small bed will let him, enjoying the feeling of
stretching his limbs and laying down. Not worrying about someone stealing his
shit. Not curling in on himself in an awkward seat for warmth because the AC is
blasting in some trucker’s cab.
It’s nice.
But it doesn’t last long. He can’t help the way he feels uneasy. Too open, too
exposed. It happens slowly. First his arms and legs come back close to his
body. Then he rolls to his side, back facing the inner part of the room, with
the door in front of him. Eventually his legs curl up and his arms hug the
blankets close to his body until he’s little more than a ball. Curled up like a
frightened child.
It’s this and the white noise of some show on the television that lets him
finally pass out.
--
Dante doesn't sleep.
He stays up for hours, doing mundane things. Making coffee (and spiking it-
- Ayy, it's five o'clock somewhere), flipping channels, showering, stepping
outside for cigarettes. Nothing could put him to sleep, so he decides to bear
with it.
Nero, though.
Dante's thoughts have continually shifted to him, and he can't figure out why.
The kid's a fucking enigma; A puzzle Dante is determined to solve. He's
unreadable, even now, asleep in some shitty motel bed. If Dante didn't know any
better, he'd almost say Nero really was a kid, the way he slept so balled up-
- Scared.
Been there, done that, bought the fucking t-shirt and hated the encore. But,
whatever.
Four am rolls around. Then five, then six. Dante decides to wake Nero up around
sixish, styrofoam cup with steaming coffee in hand. "Hey," Dante grunts,
setting it down on the nightstand, "Wakey wakey eggs and bakey, kiddo. It's a
brand new day, the sun's almost shining, and Jesus is wishing you a lovely
morning."
Dante's eyes feel heavy-- He's awake, but his body, not so much. Regardless, he
grins, "Let's go grab food, 'm starving and if I'm gonna keep riding, I need
sustenance."
"You can keep the jacket for the ride, too," the taller calls, wandering back
to the sink to brush his teeth, "I can roll down my button-up, I'll be fine."
--
One time during the night, something rouses Nero. The sound of water coming
through too thin walls and the lack of a body on the couch indicates Dante is
in the shower. Nero doesn’t pay it much mind and falls back asleep soon after.
The next time he wakes, it’s to a voice spouting every wake up cliche in the
book.
It doesn’t stop him from flinching. His limbs automatically tense, drawn even
closer into his body. After a few moment of blinking and no follow up pain, he
remembers where he is. Not home with a mother who beat him or a stepfather who-
He’s in the middle of nowhere Nevada with a stranger on a motorcycle.
He wishes he could say that was the scariest thing he’s ever done.
He barely registers what Dante is telling him, but he does hear the word ‘food’
and that sounds pretty fucking great to him. Pretty fucking great to his
stomach as well, by the way it, very loudly, decides to announce its emptiness.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, a bit surprised when Dante offers to let him wear the
jacket. His eyes dart to where it had been left hanging over a chair and he
remembers the way it smelled, how it felt. He’ll like wearing it again. And
he’ll definitely appreciate not sustaining anymore sand buffeting.
--
"Up, up, up and at 'em!" Dante calls as a last-ditch effort to get Nero up,
trying to collect anything and everything he might've left. "There's like to be
a Denny's or some shit around here. We can hit that."
And then Nero's stomach growls. Loudly.
Which, naturally, causes Dante to laugh. "Hungry? Yeah, me too," he chuckles,
grabbing the room key and shoving it into his pocket for the time being. He
sits back down to toe on his boots and replace them, looking up at Nero. "Bet
you slept like a dream. Gotta love the motel concrete they call beds."
--
Joint fluid popping can be clearly heard as Nero stretches and sits up. He
practically shoves his feet in his worn combat boots, a gift from Kyrie. But
for all the grumbling his joints do, he feels… fantastic. Sleeping in a bed has
done wonders for him. He feels refreshed, revitalised, ready for a new
adventure. Ready to get his blood pumping and almost ready to face the Nevada
heat.
Nero doesn’t mention his lack of funds. If anything, Dante’s probably figured
out that he’s broker than fuck. No need to draw attention to it.
It takes a few moments, but once he’s standing and his clothes resemble
something put together, he feels considerably more awake. And considerably
hungrier. He reaches out and tosses on Dante’s jacket, big on him, especially
at the shoulders. “Come on, ‘m starving.”
--
"Well alright," Dante grins, "Let's hit it."
Dante snatches his keys from the corner of the desk and turns to Nero, "Make
sure you get your bag, I'm gonna check us out. We'll head out after that." he
informs, nodding towards the door. "Go ahead and get on Rebellion, I'll be
there in a sec."
He heads back to the lobby and makes sure the room's taken care of. As he steps
out, he pats himself for his sunglasses and snatches his bandana from its place
in his back pocket, only slowing to look at Nero.
Aw, fuck.
It's easily one of the sexiest things he's ever seen, Nero on the back of his
bike. Dante really tries not to think about it-- And by 'it', he means the way
his coat hangs off Nero's shoulders like one of those morning-after shirts. The
way he looks comfortable, like he'd look so good smack in the middle of one of
Dante's fantas--
Nope.
"Alright! Let's go get some fuckin' pancakes and then win more money,
hopefully," Dante says, stepping forward and securing his gear. "Should be one
just off the next exit. If not, well, adventure!"
--
Nero does as he's told, grabs his bag, shoves anything that had migrated out of
it back in, and shoulders it as he pushes out of the room.
Outside, the sun is already up but the heart hasn't set in yet. Dante's bike is
sitting right where they left it, of course. It's really quite beautiful, now
that Nero really looks at it. All dark and intimidating and kind of sexy.
Rebellion, eh? It fits.
He shoves his bag in where Dante had had it the day before and climbs on. It's
easy, this time. Sitting on the back of the bike feels good. Feels familiar.
Definitely something he wouldn't mind getting used to. Maybe that would be his
goal: get money enough to buy a bike. Maybe Dante could even show him how to
drive...
Dante's voice cuts his thoughts. Pancakes sound perfect. But money? "What is it
we're doing today, exactly?"
--
“Gambling in seedy bars, of course. Hope you know how to play poker," Dante
answers simply, getting comfortable on Rebellion before starting her up.
That's truthfully one of Dante's favorite sounds; Rebellion shaking as she
fires up, ready to keep up with the day's travels. Truly, she's been with Dante
longer than he can remember-- His father had her before him, and it's his only
keepsake. And even now, she still runs like a fucking dream, pushing ninety
without breaking a sweat. If Dante had to pick a lifelong companion, he likes
to think it'd definitely be that bike.
And with the wind in their faces and the heat of the desert just a few hours
away, they take off.
The Denny's was a little farther than Dante expected, but they manage. And as
they enter, the (very pretty) front of house greets them warmly, and seats them
accordingly. But as she grabs menus, Dante interrupts her, "Lemme get one of
the kid's menus for this one here. Dunno if he can handle the grown up stuff
yet."
It's probably his shit-eating grin that makes her mostly ignore his request.
--
Poker. Nero hasn't played in years. Not since he cleaned out his classmates of
all the good shit from their lunches in school. He apparently wasn't much fun
to play with.
He goes over the rules in his head as they drive. Tries to remember the hands
and betting. He's never played with actual money before, but the concept is the
same.
When they stop, Nero realises just how much he appreciates having the jacket
this time. His arms aren't raw and there's the added benefit of no sunburn.
He's about to thank Dante again when he tries to order a kid's menu, but the
comment earns him a deep scowl decorated with a flush of embarrassment instead.
He has a hard time looking at the hostess after that.
"You're an ass."
--
Dante only laughs when they sit, reaching over to ruffle Nero's windswept white
hair. "Get used to it," he shrugs, resting both elbows forward on the table.
"You're gonna be stuck with it. I'm just fucking with you anyway."
Truthfully, Dante knows Nero isn't a child. It's only the way he holds himself
that makes the older tease so relentlessly-- He's hotheaded with one hell of a
potty mouth, and he's fidgety. Moves a lot. Just like a kid.
"When's Happy Hour?" Dante only half-jokes, looking through the menu. "Don't
worry about paying me back for all this, either. I'm thinking we'll just split
poker winnings fifty-fifty when we get to Vegas, call it even and then go our
separate ways, yeah?"
--
Nero pouts, crossing his arms and acting every bit the child he was just
accused of being. But it’s mostly a front, a way to not look surprised at
Dante’s words. Stuck with it? What does that mean?
But then Dante continues, explains the plan, and that they’d part soon, and
Nero forgets all about the comment. He does feel uneasy about Dante paying for
him, but it’s not like he’s in a position to deny it. He can either accept this
man’s generosity or go hungry. And with the way his stomach is continually
reminding him of just how hungry he is, he’s more inclined to go with the
former. “Yeah, sounds good. Poker, Vegas, goodbye.” It’s bittersweet, saying it
like that. Nero’s not sure he really wants to part ways, but he’s not one to
overstay his welcome either.
When the waitress comes by, she takes their orders. Nero orders the meal that
looks like it has the most food for the cheapest, eggs, sausage, potatoes,
pancakes. If the two are going to be parting ways, even with poker winnings,
he’s not sure how future meals will play out.
--
Dante settles on pancakes, hashbrowns and a chocolate shake. He's hungry and he
has been for awhile, but not really so much because he's broke - he's just six-
three and weighs in at about a solid two-twenty. Makes for one hell of an
appetite.
And when he glances up from his own food, he notices that Nero's scarfing his
own breakfast down. Which is good, Dante thinks, because it's not exactly a
secret that he's broke.
"If you want more after this, lemme know," Dante mumbles as he takes in a
mouthful of shake, "I don't want you complaining about being hungry on the way
to the bar."
--
Nero looks down at his several plates of food and considers it. Really
considers it. But he’s taken so much and this is more food that he’s eaten in
probably a day since he left home. Probably since before that, honestly. He
shakes his head, “Nah, I’m good.” He takes several more bites before looking up
into Dante’s eyes, “Thank you, though.”
He stays pretty quiet after that, focused on eating as much as he can as fast
as possible. He momentarily wonders if his voracity is off-putting. But then he
decides he doesn’t give a flying fuck and continues eating with renewed vigour
until all of his food is gone.
Dante pays after they finish and they go back out to the bike. Rebellion. The
desert has certainly warmed up considerably by now and Nero just hopes the bar
isn’t too far away just to get off the road and out of the sun.
--
The ride after breakfast is a pretty long one.
It's definitely on the way to Vegas, but it's still one hell of a ride. It's
hot, there's dust everywhere, and Dante is sure he's ridden around about six
dead coyotes. The scenery, though, is what makes this drive so damn good.
It's all one color, mostly-- Brown and tan, with the dusty grey of the road.
But the cactus, the birds and the occasional road sign make it seem... Much
more open. Free.
And they take several stops. Pull off for piss breaks, pull off for water
breaks. Hell, sometimes pull off just to stretch their legs and talk, but the
real conversation comes when they get closer to the bar.
Dante taps Nero's knee without looking away from the road, "Look alive, kiddo,
we're coming up on our stop."
--
The ride is long and boring.
Nero doesn’t really have much to focus on. Just dirt and cactus as far as the
eye can see. And the temperature climbs, making Nero almost wish he was in some
truckers cab rather than out on the open road on a motorcycle. Almost.
Still, all things considered. He’d rather be with Dante.
Nero hardly hears Dante when he tells him they’re almost there, but he manages
to make out the words and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. When they see it,
it’s pretty much exactly as Dante described. Small wooden building on a dirt
lot with bikes. Looks like a shitty hole in the wall off the beaten track.
Perfect.
As they dismount, Nero comments, “Just like you said. Let’s get inside where
it’s cool, quick.” Even as he says it he wraps the leather jacket he’s wearing
tighter around him. Like some kind of protective shield, some kind of comfort.
Despite the heat.
--
The bar's fucking beautiful, and it pulls a grin from Dante's lips the second
they pull in.
Yeah, it's a hole in the wall-- A complete dive, including the few bikers and
their girls standing right outside with cigarettes between their fingers, just
talking. Dante parks and returns his bandana to its resting place in his back
pocket, and his sunglasses to the front of his shirt.
"Alright. Hope you can keep up, kid. People here take their gambling very
seriously," Dante informs, nudging Nero lightly with his elbow as he shoulders
the door of the pub open.
The inside's pretty okay. Bar chock full of booze, as it should be, and there's
stools and wooden tables scattered about. There's music coming from some stereo
system likely hidden out of view, and there's a dull buzz about the building
from the small crowd. Waitresses come in and out of the back carrying drinks,
and Dante smiles once again.
"I don't know why I expected this bar to smell like anything other than cheap
hooker, but I did," he mumbles, leading Nero back to the bar. "Now we wait, get
lightly buzzed, and see which poker game looks the least like they're playing
with their lives."
--
“I’m sure I can handle it,” Nero grumbles. He follows Dante into the dark room.
Dark enough that it takes a moment for Nero’s eyes to adjust after being out in
the bright sun. Once he can start to make out the shapes, he sees what is
probably a fairly typical bar. Not that Nero would really know, having less
than no experience in the matter.
There’s booze. There’s music. There’s seating. And there are seedy people all
about. Waitresses wearing a lot less than what Nero would deem appropriate in
any setting, and girls hanging around tables wearing even less. He can feel the
heat rising in his cheeks and only hopes the dark of the room hides it.
And Dante is right about the smell. Sweat and cheap perfume. It’s not pleasant,
but Nero thinks it’ll be something he’s capable of getting used to after a few
minutes.
“These people bet with their lives?” Nero asks with a raised brow as they sit
at the bar. “Seems… excessive. Money not enough?” He says it like a joke, but
it’s less a joke and more nerves. This just suddenly got a lot more dangerous.
--
Dante orders himself straight Absinthe nearly right off the bat, and it comes
in a small, white glass with a rough frost to it. But as he goes to take his
shot, he erupts into a hearty laughter at Nero's adorable question.
He actually has to set his shot down for this-- He bought that? Fuck, as cute
as it is, Dante decides he'd rather not have the smaller sweating bullets in
the middle of a poker game. "Kiddo," he wheezes, clapping a hand on the boy's
shoulder, "I'm just fucking with you."
After he lets his laughter subside, he ruffles Nero's hair for the second time
today. "I just mean we'll wait until some less seedy people show up. Because
people do bet with drugs. But, if you wanna win yourself an eight-ball, we can
do that, too."
Dante's shot goes down easy, and he tosses his head back as he takes it to
speed the process. "Did you want anything? You look like a vodka person. Unless
I'm wrong."
--
For the second time, Nero pouts. “Don’t want drugs. I haven’t hit that low
yet.” Dante is infuriating, always ready to make a joke at his expense. But
then, maybe that’s what draws Nero to him.
He watches the way Dante tosses back his shot. Like this is so normal for him.
Probably is, to be fair. The man has clearly been around. He’s just got that
travel worn look about him. Looks like he’s been places, seen things.
As for his drink. Vodka is a double edged sword for him. Reminds him of his
mother. But it’s also the only alcohol he really has any experience with.
“Yeah… Vodka is good.”
Dante orders the drink and Nero tries to shoot it as smoothly as Dante. It
burns, tastes like rubbing alcohol, and he’s pretty sure he fails at keeping
from grimacing. But it warms his stomach and settles alright. He guesses he can
see why his mom likes it. Not horrible going down and gets you buzzed pretty
quickly.
--
For once, Dante decides to hold off on his liquor. Usually, he'd sit for hours
and blow every last dime on booze; But considering he has a passenger, he
figures he can't get too wasted before driving.
Had he been alone, though, he's sure he would've stayed here for hours. This
was a popular place among Dante's kind-- The biking, functioning alcoholics.
The older can already tell that he likes this place (and their alcohol) and
almost wishes that he could just--
'I think I'm a little too old for that, now.'
The biker glances over to Nero, who has the most sour look on his face after
knocking back his drink. He laughs lowly, and shifts on his stool. "Don't
choke, that shit burns coming back up."
It goes on like this for awhile. The drinking, the talking. Dante eventually
finds them a table to play at, and he's definitely blindsided-- But not by
someone he was playing against.
By fucking Nero.
This kid had to be fucking counting cards or some shit, because he hardly lost.
Dante decides to back out early on, because obviously, this little shit knew
what he was fucking doing.
What a shiesty little bastard.
--
They drink for some time, and the Vodka starts to stop tasting like fire and
starts tasting like not much of anything. Nero definitely gets a healthy buzz
or more before Dante picks them a table, where they join in for some
interesting poker.
Dante is shit at poker.
It’s a wonder he’s ever won anything. He drops out of the game pretty quickly,
which is honestly probably for the best. Nero, though. The moment he starts
playing, it all comes back. He settles in and plays the people around him. And
with a little extra luck, he makes out pretty fucking alright.
And the look of utter shock on Dante’s face might be a little extra reward.
When they step away from the table, Nero smirks, “Surprised, old man? Getting
shown up by some kid?”
--
"I wouldn't say shocked is the right word," Dante sighs, "but I will admit, I'm
impressed. You handled yourself pretty fucking well in there," he says with a
smile as they exit the bar. He holds the door open for Nero with a, "After you,
winner winner."
The short walk back to the bike is pretty much silent, save for in Dante's
mind. Their next stop was Vegas, right? Which is where they're supposed to
split. But as the elder thinks on it, he's not exactly sure that's what he
wants anymore.
Nero's a good kid, Dante can tell. Genuine. Loyal as all hell and fiery, with a
dash of passion and spunk. He's strong and he's obviously pretty fucking smart,
and usually that would be enough for Dante to let someone go out on their own-
- Someone like that would normally be perfectly capable of handling themselves.
Not that Nero isn't.
Dante just doesn't wanna see this kid, this obviously brilliant kid, end up on
the fuckin' five o'clock news with a rape and murder crime headline under his
picture.
So he shakes it off. Shakes it off, stands beside his bike. "Well? Bust it out,
let's see whatcha got," he grins, motioning to Nero's jacket pocket. "That was
at least two hundred."
--
Nero is pretty surprised himself that Dante is willing to admit that Nero had
impressed him. Although, it would’ve been pretty silly for him to have denied
it. It’s written all over his face. He mutters a thanks, of double meaning that
Dante may or may not get, as Dante holds the door open for him.
The heat of the desert hits him at the same time as the meaning of all of this
does.
This is more or less it. Dante had already said they’d play poker, split the
winnings, and then split up when they get to Vegas. And Nero’s just starting to
realise that he really doesn’t want that to happen.
Dante is a lot of things. He’s pushy and brash and likes to poke fun. He’s a
downright asshole when he wants to be. He seems to have the kind of attitude
that he answers to no one and the world just needs to deal with him doing as he
pleases.
But he’s also kind, compassionate. He picked Nero off the side of the road,
gave him a bed to sleep in, a ride, food, even found a way to get him some
money so he’s not entirely broke. In fact, he’s pretty well off considering.
Dante’s just got this feeling to him, it draws Nero in and makes him want to
stick around.
Makes him not want to say goodbye.
He shakes his head a bit to clear the thoughts when Dante starts talking. He
shoves his hand into the pocket of Dante’s jacket and pulls out a bunch of
crumpled bills. And for a moment, he thinks of taking more than his share. See
if it’ll make Dante come back for it. Just to see him again. But the thought is
gone as soon as it came. “I think it’s closer to three. I did pretty well.”
He holds out the handful of cash to let Dante count it and he won’t ever admit
the way his heart rate picks up when their hands brush.
--
As Nero holds out the cash, Dante takes it in his right to count with his left,
flicking bills back as he counts. "Fucking hell," he breathes, grinning. "Solid
three-sixteen. You did damn good, kid. Not bad, not bad."
Dante splits it as evenly as he can, handing Nero his share and pocketing his.
"I can drop you outside a motel when we get to Vegas. It might be getting dark
by that point, so," he says, leaning against his bike. "Might as well get you
settled in 'fore I dip." For a minute, Dante looks at Nero, and he swears to
god he sees disappointment.
But he figures it's just the alcohol.
The ride to Vegas is almost sad. The ride is spent in silence, and the
occasional daring maneuver to impress Nero. Other than that, though, they don't
talk, and glances aren't exchanged. Not from Dante, anyways.
The city is nice. It's busy, pretty girls on every block, loud noises and
bright lights. It actually reminds Dante a little of Nero-- Vegas is the city
of bad decisions and rebellion. So both he and Nero fit in just right.
The motel they stop in front of is pretty alright. It's on the strip, near a
couple bars and smooshed against a restaurant. Dante pays for parking and helps
Nero off the bike, before standing in front of him. "...Think I'm gonna need my
jacket back, kid," he says, pausing after. "Nero."
--
Three hundred sixteen dollars.
That’s better than not bad. That’s fucking rich from where Nero’s standing.
Even his share of that is more than he’d hoped to have for a long time without
stealing. When Dante hands him back the bills, he folds them carefully and
shoves them deep into his jeans pocket. It’s like solid gold heavy in his
pocket.
When Dante starts talking again, Nero focuses in on him. Watches the way his
hip leans into his bike as he talks about Vegas.
Oh yeah. Vegas.
Nero can’t keep the disappointment from flashing across his face, but he’s
quick to shake it off and hide behind impassivity.
He spends the the ride staring hard into Dante’s back and trying not to grip
too tight. Not even Dante’s daring maneuvers can shake him from the storm in
his head. All he can think about is the impending farewell at some flashy cheap
ass motel in Vegas. And as they start seeing more traffic, as buildings start
cropping up on the side of the road, bright neon lights and people walking
around start becoming the norm, Nero’s stomach drops further and further.
By the time they stop, Nero can hardly look at Dante anymore. He just shifts
his weight after retrieving his bag and stares at the ground while Dante stands
in front of him. It’s his name that forces his head up to actually look at the
man there. Rough around the edges with something shining in his eyes Nero can’t
hope to place, but it looks a little like… sadness? Disappointment? Something.
He should ask Dante to stay, tell him he doesn’t want to go. But the man
probably has more important things to do than cart around a kid on the back of
his bike.
Nero drops his bag on the pavement so he can shrug off the jacket and hold it
out. “Uh, thanks. For everything.” He wants to add a ‘see you around’ or
something, but it’s a lie and he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s a false
hope.
He can’t even bring himself to say goodbye.
--
Dante takes his jacket from Nero and tosses it on, stopping to shove his hands
in the pockets afterwards. "No problem," he mumbles, eyes focused on the bridge
of Nero's nose. "Uh," he starts, "Stay safe, yeah? Got some real fucking creeps
out there. Buy a knife with that cash and treat it like your best friend."
With that, Dante's hand comes up to ruffle Nero's hair again-- But not roughly,
like he usually would. It comes out like more of a pet, and Dante's hand
immediately retreats back to his jacket pocket. "Be good. Catch ya on the
flipside, kiddo."
The older hesitates before finally brushing past Nero to start up Rebellion
once again. The more he thinks about it, the less he wants to leave, which is
exactly why he takes off like a bat out of fucking hell the second traffic
clears just enough.
But even as he hauls ass down the road, lane splitting and generally just
pushing his limits, he realizes just how much he misses Nero on the back of his
bike. It's weird, how much that fuckin' kid's affected him-- Makes his stomach
do that weird flippy shit when a smile graces that usually grumpy face.
And he thinks about it. He really does. Dante tries so hard not to make any
stupid decisions, tries so hard just to forget about Nero. He's just a
hitchhiker, nothing new to Dante. He'd picked them up before, let them go no
problem; So why was Nero different?
Fuck it.
Might as well go find out, right?
Dante switches lanes and flips a bitch at the next stoplight, eyes scanning for
the side lot of that motel. And when he finds it, he parks, hopping off his
bike so quick he nearly stumbles over himself.
Please, please be in the fucking lobby.
Dante shoulders the door open, eyes doing a quick flicker around before--
Oh, thank god.
"Hey kiddo, still got room for one more?"
--
Dante’s hand in his hair feels good, but it’s gone too fast. And he follows,
getting back on his bike, starting it up, and speeding off. Nero watches him go
for a bit, shivering despite the heat. He feels… weird.
Doesn’t matter. Dante’s gone and he’ll probably never see him again. He’ll
follow the older man’s advice and buy a knife after he gets checked in and
takes a shower. The smell of the road (and of Dante) is still clinging to his
skin and it’s just making him feel stuck.
He turns and steps into the lobby. It’s air conditioned, fortunately. But
everything else about it speaks to how cheap it is. Advertisements for local
strip clubs and bars litter the room. Shitty neon lights are everywhere, but
the most obnoxious highlight is the front desk where a tired, greasy kid
probably around Nero’s age is flipping through a magazine.
He has to clear his throat and hit the stupid little service bell before the
kid looks up. “You got a free room for the night? Cheapest thing you’ve got.”
The kid eyes him up and down and Nero hugs himself, wishing he had Dante’s
jacket on still. He looks suspicious of Nero, but keeps his comments to himself
and doesn’t ask too many questions. Several minutes later, he’s being handed a
key card and Nero goes to turn around.
And the voice stops him.
“Dante? You-” Nero can’t think of what he wants to say to the man. Can’t
believe he’s back in front of him again. Can’t believe he came back.
He holds up his key card, “Got a room, no reason I can’t have company.”
And then he smiles.
Dante came back.
--
Dante flashes a signature toothy grin, and shoves his hands in his pockets,
shifting his weight as he steps forward. "Well alright then. Let's party," he
laughs, eyes fixated on Nero.
God, that smile is so fuckin' b--
"Don't look so surprised," Dante teases, stepping up to Nero's left side and
following his lead, "Feels weird not having a smart-mouthed little punk on the
back of my bike. And," Dante pauses, "All the cheap motels are closed."
It's a blatant lie, and he figures Nero knows that. He figures he won't get the
third degree for it, so he just keeps on. "You can have the bed again, that way
it'll be just like old times!"
The room's cheap, much like the previous one they'd shared. Couch, desk, and a
slightly nicer TV. "Well it's not a complete shithole, so," Dante shrugs.
"Could be worse."
--
Nero scowls at Dante’s description of him, but there’s nothing behind it. And
his claim of cheap motels is a dirty fucking lie. He could have at least tried
to make it believable and say they were full. Nothing is ever closed in Vegas,
the city never sleeps.
But Nero is just glad for the company. Glad he doesn’t have to spend the night
alone trying not to think about Dante and worrying over what he would do with
himself after this. And fucking ecstatic that he’s going to get a chance to
clean himself thoroughly of all of this fucking dust.
Dante keeps talking, and Nero lets him. He just listens as they walk to the
room and he opens the door. His voice is a nice filler for the atmosphere. It’s
comfortable and it fits. And he’s right about the room. Bed’s bigger, so Dante
really doesn’t need to sacrifice it. TV is better, desk looks a bit sturdier.
Decor is still awful, but that’s cheap motels for ya.
“I’m gonna catch a shower, get rid of all this road dust.” Nero announces,
tossing his bag in a corner and toeing off his boots. He leaves Dante to do
whatever he’s going to do and ducks into the bathroom, immediately throwing the
water on while he peels off his clothes.
The shower feels good and he stays under the spray until the water runs clear
and his hair no longer feels grimy from dirt and grease. He doesn’t think about
anything, just revels in how it feels to have the road dust run down the drain.
He steps out, wraps a towel around his waist, and ruffles his hair a bit. Then
he gathers up the dirty clothes and goes back out into the room to grab
something new to wear.
--
Dante's not sure what surprises him most-- The fact that Nero is literally
Adonis without a shirt or the fact that he's not a goddamn islander. His hair
is white, and his skin even more pale, and his eyes are suddenly so much more
piercing than they'd been before.
All he knows is that he really, really wants to nail this kid.
Yeah, he's thought about nailing him now and again for not more than a few
seconds, but this... This is different. His desire is carnal and it burns in
his stomach, so much so that he refuses to look at Nero when he gathers his
clean clothes. There are no smart remarks about being scrawny, no clips about
him looking like dirt's been his sunscreen so far. Dante just wants him.
The problem starts and ends with Nero.
Dante would definitely fuck the younger if he asked. Without a doubt. But
Dante's concern is that Nero has used sex as a payment before, and the older
doesn't really like making some poor kid feel used. He doesn't want Nero to
feel like he only came back for sex, because that is definitely not why he came
back.
So he lays on the couch with an arm behind his head praying he doesn't end up
sporting a hard-on.
Even when Nero has his change of clothes on, the only thing Dante can think of
is tearing them right off. Or maybe teasing him, he considers, letting his
fingers brush up those smooth sides as he takes his shirt up with it. His belt
would go next, but--
"Goddamnit," Dante hisses lowly, flipping channels to try to disguise his
sexual frustration as nothing more than annoyance at the TV.
He's so fucked.
--
Dante is astonishingly quiet when Nero comes out. He would have expected some
smartass comments about how white he is, or about how dirty he had been. Or
anything really. But the room is quiet as he rummages through his meager
possessions and retreats back into the bathroom.
Once changed, he flops onto one side of the bed and lets himself melt. Never in
a million years would he have expected to get /two/ nights in a row in an
actual bed after leaving home. Not this soon anyway. At least, not without some
serious dick sucking. Or worse.
After several moments, he hears Dante swear and then the TV starts flipping
channels. Nero props himself up on his elbows and looks over at where the older
man is laying on the couch looking a bit strained. Nero cocks his head.
“Hey. This bed is actually big enough for two people, don’t try to sleep on the
couch again. And I swear I won’t try and jump you or anything. Unless that’s
what you want…” he jokes. Well, half jokes. He really wouldn’t mind sleeping
with him. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it. Enjoy it a lot.
The heat he feels rising slightly on his cheeks and the slow burn down low
confirms this.
--
Oh god, there it is. There it is, the 'unless that's what you want'. This coy
little shit has to know what he's doing, there's no way he can't. There's no
way he doesn't know that he basically just signed himself up for sex, there's
no way--
"Hypothetically," Dante begins, "Let's say I do sleep with you. Let's say we
are the best fucks we've ever had, okay. Now," he pauses, shutting off the TV
so he can look Nero in the eye, "I'm gonna level with you. I feel like I'm a
starving man looking at a fucking five course meal. The only problem is..."
Why is this so hard to spit out? It's just words, and Dante's never had an
issue with being blunt. "Shit," he breathes, trying to find the words. Or at
least get them ready to be said. "I just don't-- You obviously had a pretty
shitty time before I came and got you. My concern is that you're gonna feel--"
Dante can't find the word. Used? Violated? Yes, but that's not the only thing
that bothers him about this. "Because believe you me, kiddo, I would tear you
apart if you let me."
--
Wow. How… sweet.
Nero stares wide eyed through Dante’s entire stumbling speech. It’s so unlike
the man to be so… unsure of himself. In the short time Nero’s known him, he can
tell Dante doesn’t have a self confidence problem. In fact, he might even have
the opposite. Over confidence.
And yet here he is, struggling to find words as he makes a very obvious pass at
Nero. An obvious pass filled with concern and caring. Something Nero has never
had from a sexual partner. Because usually sex is an exchange of goods-I’ll
make you feel good if you feed me and get me to the next truck stop.
But Dante is different. He gave Nero a place to sleep, money, food, and a new
destination and never once asked for anything in return. Never tried to exploit
what Nero offered more than once. And now he wants it, but not as payment. Not
as an exchange. But just because he wants Nero. And he’s asking. Not taking.
Nero’s pretty sure something flutters in his chest.
He doesn’t know exactly how to answer Dante. Doesn’t know how to express that
he isn’t offended or going to feel used or manipulated or anything. That he
wants this, too.
So he swings his legs over the side of the bed, walks over to where Dante is
sitting, and plops right down in his lap and kisses him. Hard and messy and
beautiful.
--
For the half second Nero stares at him, Dante nearly throws in the towel. He
nearly says 'you know what, this was a bad idea let's pretend we never had this
talk and let's pretend we're not already knee deep in lust for each other.'
But when he finds Nero in his lap, he's very glad he kept his mouth shut.
Kissing Nero is wonderful in and of itself. His kisses are harsh and
inexperienced, but there's a fire in them nonetheless. It's all teeth and
tongue, mixed with Dante's growls and hums as he teases at Nero's hips, letting
his thumb nails drag across them lightly.
Dante's hands find the smaller's knees and slide under them, lifting him up to
lay him on his back on the bed. It creaks, as most motel beds do, and Dante
laughs against Nero's lips. "This is gonna be fun," he breathes, "Guess we're
gonna have to either stay horribly quiet or just full-ass it and scream at the
top of our lungs."
Dante's lips are quick to attach to Nero's neck, sucking and biting as his
hands linger near the hem of his shirt. "You just put these on. Sure you want
'em on the floor already?”
--
 
Dante clearly knows what he’s doing. Not that Nero really expected any less,
but it’s still nice. He matches Nero in whatever he gives, making little sounds
and teasing his skin with the lightest brush of his nails and it’s got Nero
going.
Then, suddenly, the world moves as Dante picks him up to lay him back down on
the bed. “I’m not very quiet. I guess we’ll have to go with the latter.” He
proves this the moment Dante starts attack his neck with perfect bites and
sucks. Nero shivers and moans for it. He’s barely able to manage a nod at
Dante’s flippant remark about his clothes.
“Just- ah-” instead of trying to make a sentence, Nero grabs one of Dante’s
wrists and pushes his hand up under his shirt. He’s desperate and needy and he
knows this will be good. He craves it. Lets out a long whine, just begging for
more.
--
Dante laughs again at just how eager Nero is, and growls harshly into his neck,
sinking his teeth into his skin. "Hey," he murmurs, "Easy. I'm gonna take my
time with you."
And take his time he does.
Dante starts with Nero's belt, taking it off and tossing it to the floor. His
hands travel up Nero's sides just as slowly as he fantasized, hands feeling his
smooth sk--
Hold on. Are those...?
Dante slowly pulls Nero's tee off over his head, tossing it and connecting
their lips once again. It's fierce, fiery, and the older pulls away to kiss
down his chest and he tries hard not to pause at what he sees - he really does.
But the sheer quantity of the scars that lace Nero's ribs is... Horrifying.
But he doesn't ask.
Instead, he kisses at Nero's ribs before coming back up to lick at one of his
nipples, eyes connecting with the younger's icy blues. "So," he breathes,
"You're gonna have to tell me how you want this. I can take you bloody, if you
like."
--
The sound of Nero’s belt hitting the floor is loud in his ears. It’s like one
of those moments when everything comes together. Then Dante’s hands start
running up his ribs and there is the barest stutter. Nero tries to ignore it,
not even sure if it was actually a stutter or just a natural pause in his
movements.
When Dante gets Nero’s shirt off and actually stares for a moment, though, Nero
can’t ignore it. His skin is pale, so from a distance, the scars are almost
invisible, almost unnoticeable. Which is why he didn’t care about walking out
in just a towel. But this close, they’re impossible to miss. Usually, partners
either say he’s disgusting, call him names, or ask what the hell happened to
him. Either way, it’s always a scene and it’s always uncomfortable. So he tries
not to sigh as he waits for Dante to ask.
He doesn’t.
He just kisses up his ribs briefly before continuing on like nothing is
different, makes Nero gasp when he licks at a nipple. This time, Nero can’t
help the sigh he breathes, but this time in relief. He’s sure it’ll come up
later, but he’s glad that he’ll have some time to prepare for it, and that it
won’t ruin the moment they’re having now.
“Bloody, black and blue, make it hurt. I like it rough.” Nero says, poking his
tongue between his teeth in a cheeky grin. “Think you can keep up, old man?
Don’t want you to throw a hip or anything.” He hopes he gets hit for that
comment. He’d love to see how Dante reacts to how he moans for it.
--
"Make it hurt, eh?" Dante growls, "I can do that."
Nero's smartass little remark about throwing a hip earns him a pretty light-
handed smack, and Dante grabs him by the throat. His fingers dig into the sides
of his pale neck. "If you don't mind your fucking manners," he murmurs, "I
might have to hit you a little harder."
Dante's hands deftly undo Nero's jeans, helping him kick them off as best he
can. "'M gonna eat you alive, I swear to god, Nero--" The elder's hand drifts
between Nero's legs and he grins, grinding his palm against him. "You gotten
properly laid yet, kiddo? Had anyone fuck you like you deserve?"
His hand squeezes Nero's throat just for a moment, and he almost laughs. "Is
this the only way you can come? One hand around your throat and the other
between your legs."
--
The resulting slap is hardly anything to get excited over, just a light little
smack. But Nero still moans, still shows how much he likes it. Moans until he’s
cut off by fingers around his neck and words that make him want to come right
there.
“Dante-” His voice is soft and raspy, hard to speak passed the grip Dante’s got
on his throat. When the older man starts grinding his palm against Nero, his
hips thrust to meet it. The friction is fucking amazing. He feels a little
light headed from choking and it just makes it better. He’s mindless. Still, he
manages to be a smartass, “You trying to say… you think you… you’re gonna fuck
me properly?” It’s hard to talk but Nero thinks it’ll be worth it.
And the way Dante’s hand squeezes tighter makes him melt. He’s impossibly hard
and his eyes close at the feeling. And his partner has it just right. It is the
only way he’s really been able to come. And usually he has to do it himself.
It’s not the same.
This is so much better.
Nero squirms a bit, trying simultaneously to put up a struggle while trying to
find more friction for his aching cock. He draws in a shallow breath, “Dant-
please…”
--
What a little shit.
Dante cocks an eyebrow before cracking another slap across Nero's cheekbone -
this time, much harder. Dante lets up lightly on his hold around the smaller's
throat and stop his hand down south with a, "Hey. What the hell did I just say,
you little shit? Mind. Your manners."
Begging already, huh? Dante grins hungrily down at Nero, holding back a
chuckle. Nero's a hardass, sarcastic and a little rough around the edges,
aaaaall until you get him in bed. Then he's a little masochist and, from what
Dante can gather, nearly a damn slut.
"Please what?" he asks, continuing his teasing, "'Please fuck me', 'please let
me suck you off', 'please finger me'. Come on, kiddo, use your words."
--
The slap hits and it’s like an instant reaction when Nero moans. He likes the
way Dante commands him, likes the way it makes him feel. He likes the way Dante
looks at him like he is a meal to be devoured.
“Please. Fuck. Me.” He says slowly, wrapping his legs around Dante and pulling
him close for emphasis. “Fuck me so hard I can’t sit on that pretty bike of
yours. So hard I forget my own name.” He’d remember Dante’s though. Say it like
a prayer. A litany to the heavens. That’s what he wants.
His hands travel under Dante’s shirt and up, pushing it off until his arms get
in the way. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
--
Dante assists Nero in getting his own shirt off, tossing it down to join with
the rest of the younger's clothes. "You'd be correct on that." he mumbles,
crashing their lips together in a mess of teeth and tongue.
Dante curses himself internally in the middle of this, though-- He realizes
that whatever lube and condoms he has left are in his bag. Across the room.
Smooth move.
"Gimme one sec," he groans, standing with a wince as he realizes just how hard
he's gotten. Walking with a stiffy is no fun, but Dante manages, and gets what
he needs before haphazardly tossing them on the nearby nightstand for quick
reach in about, eh, maybe ten minutes. "Okay, where was I?"
Dante grins and straddles Nero once again, this time higher up. "Think my
belt's stuck. Wanna give me a hand?"
--
Nero hates the way he mourns the loss of body heat when Dante pushes himself
off of him. While he’s up though, Nero watches him. Watches the way he walks
across the room stiff with his hardon to go digging around in his bag. He can’t
help but crack a stifled giggle at how fucking ridiculous he looks.
But when he comes back, any thoughts of him looking ridiculous vacate Nero’s
head and he practically shoves his crotch into Nero’s chest. Instead, Nero’s
lips stretch into a grin, “Sure thing, pops. Wouldn’t want you injure yourself,
what with the way you’re popping out of those jeans.”
His hands work at the belt buckle easily. This part he knows too well. Everyone
always wants a blowjob, so Nero always gets to undo pants and swallow some
guy’s gross dick. But he doesn’t think Dante’s dick will be gross. In fact, he
has high hopes that it’ll be quite nice. Impressive, too, judging by the
outline in his jeans.
When the belt finally comes loose, Nero doesn’t even bother pulling it free,
rather starts opening the catch of Dante’s jeans so he can push all of it down
together.
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
--
"I have never seen someone look so happy looking at a cock," Dante confesses,
grinning down at Nero from his position. He really does almost seem impressed-
- And it's almost fucking hilarious.
"Tell you what," he starts, "Blow me like you mean it, and I'll fuck you until
you cry. Sound good?" Dante asks, cocking an eyebrow. Honestly, he really is
curious to see just how else Nero can use that smartass little mouth of his, as
well as eager to see said smartass suck dick like it was his only purpose in
life.
--
Nero grins.
This he can do.
He doesn’t even waste time vocalising an answer, just grabs Dante’s hips and
pulls them closer. Closer so he can mouth from base to tip while weaving
patterns with his tongue until he can circle it around the tip with a gentle
suck. Cocksucking he can do. Cocksucking he’s good at.
And he proves this when his next move is to plunge all the way down and swallow
around Dante’s cock. It’s big, it’s thick, it’s more of a challenge than he’s
had to face yet. But Nero isn’t one to back down from a challenge. Especially
not when he glances up and sees just how he’s affecting Dante. He makes a poor
attempt at grinning around his mouthful of cock before backing off and starting
a bit of a rhythm. More shallow this time, but definitely no less eager and no
less messy.
The bitter taste of precome is seeping down his throat and he lives for it.
Loves the soreness spreading in his jaw. Loves the way Dante’s hips buck,
occasionally surprising him with how deep he goes. One time catches him
particularly off guard and it makes him moan like a fucking whore.
Eventually, he leans back, pops off with a lewd, wet sound. He swipes half
heartedly at his mouth with the back of his hand before staring up at the man
kneeling over him, “Fuck my mouth like you mean it.”
--
Nero's mouth is probably easily the best thing ever.
His tongue is soft and so are those lips, and even the first contact rips a
small groan from his throat. It's almost like they've done this before, the way
he's working Dante's dick, and it's certainly appreciated.
"Look at you," he whispers, chuckling darkly, "God you-- Hah, you look so good.
Really wanna fuck you, make you beg, make you scream," he pants, gripping
Nero's hair and tugging back lightly. "And by that look on your face, that's
what you want, too."
His hips keep twitching, and Dante feels himself hit the back of Nero's throat
once or twice. And when the younger asks for his mouth to get fucked, well.
It'd be rude to say no.
So Dante grips at Nero's hair and slowly begins to fuck into his mouth, rolling
his hips and letting his cock slide across his tongue. He's certain a "Fuck,
Nero--" slips out, and he's also certain a 'baby' comes out somewhere. But he
can't tell because the velvet heat of Nero's mouth is all he can focus on.
Dante gets himself close, but he doesn't come. He sighs when he pulls out,
scooting back down to kiss Nero as deeply as he can muster - and when he pulls
back, he reaches to the nightstand to grab a condom and the lube.
"Almost there, almost there," Dante's words are breathy, and his tone is
almost... Comforting, even as he's trying to get Nero out of his boxers. He
slicks his fingers up after, spreading Nero's legs gently and pressing against
him. "Almost there."
--
Dante’s hands in his hair and his cock moving down his throat feels so good,
Nero hums and moans at it. And he won’t admit to how much he likes when Dante
slip a ‘baby’ or two out. But he whines when Dante pulls back. Whimpers at the
loss and can feel how raw and scratchy his throat is. He does appreciate the
kiss, though. Returns it with just as much fervency.
After Dante reaches for the lube and condom (thank god), his voice takes on
this breathy quality, muttering over and over. It’s nice, hearing the sound.
The words stop being words after the first time he says them, but Nero still
finds grounding in the sound of it, the gentle way he speaks as he finishes
undressing him and slicking up his fingers.
Those fingers are what bring Nero’s voice back. Moans and cries and whimpers
spill freely from his lips while Dante fingers him. It’s a touch rough, but
Nero wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s barely two finger down when Nero
can’t take it anymore.
“C’mon. I’m good, please. Want more, want you.” His eyes are glassy with lust
and he’s probably got the most desperate look on his face. His fingers dig into
Dante’s shoulders as he implores him to get on with it.
--
There is something so beautiful about the way Nero looks at him.
Dante almost feels his heart stop under that needy stare-- Nero's messy hair,
his glossy eyes and flushed skin. He looks so goddamn /desperate/ in the most
gorgeous way, and Dante can't help but to kiss him again.
But he pulls back and slips his fingers out of Nero, whose whine is nearly
pathetic. So Dante silences him by lining up against the smaller as quickly as
he can before slowly pushing inside. Which nearly makes Dante choke because--
"You're tight as hell," he gasps, bridging himself over Nero with both arms on
either side of him. "Tell me if y-- Fuck-- You want me to stop."
--
“Don’t stop!” he practically shouts. Dante’s pushing into him and it burns but
it’s so good. He doesn’t want to adjust, doesn’t want the euphoric burning to
go away. He wants it to hurt. Wants the rush it gives him.
His hands wander over Dante, sliding in the slick sweat over hard muscles.
Palms brush over nipples, then run over shoulders, down arms. He settles with
scratching his nails hard down Dante’s back when his angle changes. He keens
and arches and squirms as Dante hits his prostate.
“Fuck, Dante. Harder.” He knows he’s hoarse, probably hard to understand. But
he needs more. His hips snap upward, trying to drive the pace, trying to beg
with his body for more, faster, harder. “Please…”
If he closes his eyes, he almost thinks he’s back home, begging for it all to
end. But this is different. Better. It doesn’t hurt in a bad way, but in the
best way. It doesn’t make him feel dirty or sick, but alive and wanted. So he
keeps his eyes open, drinks in the way Dante looks looming over him. Commits it
to memory. Tries not to think that he could stand getting used to the sight.
--
"'M not gonna," Dante grits out, letting out a heavy sigh when he bottoms out
inside Nero. "Fuck," he laughs breathily, "You really do want this, don't you?"
So Dante gives it to him. He gives Nero what he wants, starting with a slow
roll of his hips, eyes focused on the ones below him. "Shhh, I'm gonna get
there, just give me a second. Slow down, patience is a virtue," he mumbles,
pushing back into the smaller slowly. "Take it easy."
But eventually, Nero's begs and pleas get to him, and he picks up the pace,
snapping his hips forward with a groan. He knows when he's done something
right, because suddenly, Nero is begging him for more like he's never wanted
anything else in his life.
"Right here?" Dante murmurs hoarsely, pressing his forehead to Nero's as one
hand wraps around the boy's throat. His hips snap forward again, brushing his
prostate again for emphasis-- And the noise Nero makes is beautiful.
"I figured," he grunts, "You get real squirmy when I touch right there." Dante
laughs, squeezing the sides of his throat a little harder and thrusting a
little more desperately. "Can't wait to see you come."
--
He likes the way Dante talks to him, likes the way he draws attention even when
Nero’s head is foggy with pleasure from the hand around his neck and the cock
slamming into his prostate. If Dante can’t wait, well, he won’t have to for
much longer with the way they’re going.
His head feels light from the way Dante’s fingers squeeze coupled with near all
his blood rushing to his weeping cock, begging for attention. But his fingers
are locked in place buried in Dante’s back and he’s trapped by the intimate
stare they’re giving one another in this position.
And he realises he doesn’t need to be touched.
It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had. He shudder with a long drawn out moan as
the built up pressure finally releases and it’s heavenly. His mind goes blank
and he just feels warm and sated. Like he’s floating and safe. He forgets for a
while where he is, why he’s there, what he’s running from. And he simply rides
the waves of euphoria as Dante fucks him into oblivion.
--
Watching Nero come was an experience.
Dante watches as he gets closer-- Getting louder with each thrust of his hips,
getting more desperate and digging those claws of his into his back hard enough
to almost draw blood. Not that the older's complaining-- Oh no.
The sting of Nero's nails feels good against his back, and the tight heat of
Nero himself even better. And when the younger below him comes, that good
feeling is only intensified.
With a strangled "Nero-" Dante comes, hips stuttering as he buries himself as
deep as he can in Nero, releasing. He thanks god for condoms- Because he's
pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to pull out even if said god himself
commanded it.
Afterwards, though, it's silent. Save for mixed pants and groans, it's quiet.
It's nice. "Hey. Look at me, kiddo. You good down there?"
--
Nero comes to awareness in the quiet afterglow. The air is hot and Nero’s skin
feels sticky. He sits in quiet stillness as his breathing comes down.
Usually, after sex, Nero would slip away to the bathroom or off to some new
adventure. He’s not one to stick around and cuddle. No point in forming
attachment, no one ever cares enough anyway.
Dante’s voice startles him slightly and makes him crack his eyes open to look
up, “Yeah, ‘m good. Great.” Seeing Dante sparks something somewhere in Nero’s
chest completely unfamiliar to him. It makes his heart pound uncomfortably and
his body feel oddly warm.
He’s not sure he likes it.
So he does the only thing he knows to do, he tries to escape. Without another
word he tries to roll away, maybe lock himself in the bathroom, or put some
pants on and take a walk.
--
Dante usually isn't much of a cuddler, honestly. Usually, it's 'let's have
another drink and see about round two', not 'let's snuggle up like we're
freezing to death'. But this time, after Nero's affirmative, Dante feels...
Conflicted, he supposes.
Dante moves away from Nero to stretch and clean himself up so he can go the
fuck to sleep, but as he looks back, the younger seems almost unsettled. "Woah,
ditching already? Wasn't that bad, was it? I usually get rave reviews over my
bedroom skills."
His words are humorous, but his face doesn't show anything close to a smile. He
doesn't want to be concerned, he doesn't want to fucking care--
But the fact is that he does. Shit happens.
"Slow down, Speedy Gonzales. At least chill out for a second."
--
Of course Dante stops him. Of course he listens. There’s something solid
between them that Nero can’t explain and it’s scaring him but he’s hopeless
against it. Nero falls back into the mattress with a heavy sigh and a lazy head
roll toward Dante. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s sure his eyes say plenty.
He’s tired and broken and his situation is catching up with him. He’s alone,
with about a hundred bucks left from the poker money, and no where to go. No
one to go to and no destination. No goal. Just a burning need to be away. Away
from the hurt and the torture of being in a house with his mother and her
shitty as fuck husband.
And maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s this crippling loneliness and lack of direction
that is pushing Nero headfirst into Dante. The first person since he left to
actually be a decent human being. The first person to offer a real step
forward. A chance with this stupid runaway dream he barreled headfirst into.
Yeah, maybe it’s just that.
--
Dante isn't sure what he sees in Nero's eyes, but he knows it's not good.
Nero is hiding in his own head. That much, Dante can tell. He's done it before-
- He's seen hundreds of others do it, too. Swim in their minds, pick themselves
apart to try to find answers they know they don't have, hurting themselves
worse in the process.
Oh yeah, Dante's been there.
He lays beside Nero, studying him-- He knows it's likely unnerving. But he
can't help it. There's something about the way Nero disappears sometimes that
almost makes him want to open up that pretty head and see the wiring within.
But he doesn't. He just talks.
"Y'know," Dante begins, "When I was a teenager, I had a friend. As you do when
you're nineteen, I guess. Her name was Mary-- But shit, don't call her that,
she'd have beheaded you. Everyone called her Lady. Now Lady," he pauses, trying
to find the words. "She... Her childhood was like ours. Fucked up. I'm not
gonna disrespect her by spilling her life story to you, but she and PTSD were
the best of friends."
"Miss Lady had a lot of problems. And no one knew how bad it was until someone
found her propped up against a bathtub with blood all over the floor. Cracked
open wrists, hips, ribs, you name it. Needless to say, she didn't make it.
Killed herself." Dante lets out a sigh and some sort of tired smile, shutting
his eyes.
"And everyone was ruined. More people came than expected. Tears all around," he
mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "And if you're wondering what the point of this is,"
Dante says, this time even lower. He reaches a hand out to trace over Nero's
ribs with a, "If I ever catch you doing this again, I'm gonna snatch you up so
fast it'll make your head spin. Okay?"
--
Nero’s not ready for Dante to lay down next to him. Not ready for the warm heat
and the comfort it brings.
He’s certainly not ready for the words spilling from Dante’s mouth.
He knows pretty much where it’s going the moment Dante starts with ‘had.’
Doesn’t stop his eyes from getting wet and tear tracks forming on his cheeks as
he stares at Dante through the telling. Nero’s been there. He’s come so fucking
close to doing exactly the same thing. Truly trying to die. He wanted to die,
when he was younger. When his dad left, when his mom met the asshole she’s with
now, when he started getting closer to Nero. He really did want to die. Wanted
to cut deeper, make a mess of the floor, somewhere his mother would find him.
But then he’d think about Kyrie and Credo and how he still needed to be there
for them. And he’d realise that dying meant that the evil people in his life
would win. Didn’t make him want to die any less, just gave him a reason not to.
And then Dante goes and ends it with that. Brings it back to Nero. It’s a good
thing he’s already crying, because otherwise the care Dante touches him with
would do it. Even still, Nero scoots in closer, buries his face in Dante’s
neck. “I’m sorry. About your friend.”
--
Dante smiles at Nero's apology, pulling him closer and burying his nose in
Nero's hair. "Hey, shhhshsh, I didn't mean to make you cry, yeesh," he
chuckles, closing his eyes again. "I'm just saying. Moral of the story, kid,
people are gonna miss you."
Dante doesn't say anything more, and instead just lays with Nero in a... Wet
silence. He can feel the younger's tears on his skin but he hardly minds-
- Hell, he almost feels bad for making him bust out the waterworks. But it was
something Dante's sure needed saying.
But he breaks the silence with a sly grin, accompanied by a, "Told you I could
fuck you like you deserve, you mouthy brat."
--
After a long silence, leave it to someone like Dante to completely ignore the
heavy mood and shift it back to sex. Though, the shift is definitely not
unwelcome. It brings levity back between them and sets Nero at ease. He scoffs
in reply.
Yet he still doesn’t pull away. Just stays where he is, breathing Dante in.
It’s a while before he feels like his eyes aren’t red anymore and he’s ready to
face to room again. He pulls back a bit and looks up to Dante, “So what’s in
the plans? What are your intentions for the city that never sleeps?”
Speaking of sleep, Nero is exhausted. After the fucking of a lifetime and way
more emotions than Nero was ready to deal with pretty much ever, he’s feeling
the draw of sleep.
--
It's a long time before they exchange words again, but Dante doesn't mind. He
likes the smell of Nero's hair, likes the feel of his skin. It's all good.
But it's not unlike Nero to start asking questions, but again, Dante doesn't
mind. In fact, it's almost more welcome than silence. So when the younger asks
about his plans, he smiles and says, "Honestly? No idea."
"I'm mostly here - or was, I guess - for the ladies and the gambling. But now,
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be up to."
--
There’s something about the way Dante holds him that just feels good. How he
smells, how he feels. It’s just… comfortable.
“Was? Now? What’s changed?” Nero asks alongside a sleepy yawn. He’s pretty sure
he already knows the answer. He also isn’t sure if he wants to hear it. But he
asks anyway.
Before he can hear the answer though, he passes out. It’s not often he feels
comfortable enough to sleep so soundly and dreamlessly. No nightmares of home
plague him as he naps. No memories of his stepfather coming into his room or
his mother throwing an empty bottle of vodka in his direction. Just peacefully
blank sleep.
--
Dante goes to answer, and when he looks down, he realizes Nero's eyes are
closed. He smiles, burying his nose back into the smaller's hair and entangling
his fingers in it as well.
And in the morning, they realized just how fun their first adventure together
would be.
Months pass between Vegas and assfuck nowhere, Colorado. It's getting colder,
and both Dante and Nero have begun to pack on the layers in order to stay warm
on Rebellion. Dante hasn't asked for his jacket back-- And instead rewears an
old one.
They have a lot of sex. A lot. There is not one moment alone spent without
sweat and moans, gasps and sometimes, yelps. Dante loves to fuck him and Nero
seems like he loves getting fucked, so they have a helluva lot of fun.
Until, that is, one late Friday.
Dante goes by the corner store for - laugh all you want - condoms and another
bottle of Jack. It's cold, his hands are shoved in his pockets, arms close by
his sides. His boots make the light snow beneath crunch, and it's satisfying
even as he walks up to the curb it's sat on.
Dante's eyes scan the doors. Ads for smokes - which will also be purchased -
ads for booze. Camera warnings, the same old missing kids.
Amber alerts. Huh.
There's only a few of them. A younger boy, an older girl. Beside her is one
that looks familiar, almost like--
Nero.
That's even the name under the poster. Dante pulls the door open with his brows
furrowed, snatching his specific poster down to look at it. It was Nero, it was
his picture and his description. Sixteen. A fucking minor.
Dante steps back outside, folding up the paper and shoving it into his jacket
pocket. Burying his face in his hands, he paces slowly, thinking.
He's a minor. A child. Dante was buying condoms and alcohol so he could go back
to his harbored runaway to fuck him. He's been fucking him. A literal, actual
kid.
So he goes back to the motel, forgetting about whatever had been on his list.
His first words upon entering the motel were nothing but "You're a goddamn
liar, you know that?"
--
Nero spends months with Dante. Several long wonderful months of sex and
gambling and living from one hotel to the next. Once or twice even just laying
out in the middle of nowhere and sleeping under the stars. Those were the best
nights for Nero. He always felt freer, wrapped up in Dante with no ceiling to
make him feel trapped.
Months pass like this, and it’s the best time Nero has had in his life. There’s
no one to answer to and Nero gets them plenty of spending cash. Which he can
use to acquire the necessities. Clothes, condoms, food. And the occasional
surprise.
This would be a good surprise.
Some weeks ago, they’d happened across a little town with not much in it. But
Nero went out exploring a bit and found a nice little clothing store. That sold
thigh highs. He knew Dante would enjoy the way it hugs his calves and
emphasises his thighs. So he bought them and waited. And now was perfect. Dante
went out to restock their condoms and alcohol, so Nero takes the chance and
dons the thigh highs, tosses the jacket over his naked shoulders to complete
the look.
And he waits.
Never could he have anticipated the angry way Dante storms in with accusations
on his lips. Nero immediately goes into defensive mode. He gets angry. He wraps
the jacket closer around himself, forming a shield while covering himself up.
“What the fuck, Dante? What’s wrong with you?”
Nero does a mental list for anything he’s said in the last couple days that
could have possibly been a lie, but he comes up empty. He can’t remember ever
actually lying to the man. Which is… unusual for him. He never lied.
But he didn’t tell the whole truth either.
Shit.
--
"Well," Dante begins, fishing into his pocket and tossing the folded up poster
at Nero. "Let's start with that. That's what's fucking wrong with me."
Dante runs both hands through his hair once more, letting them fall to his
sides with a clap. "So when were you gonna tell me you were fucking sixteen?
When were you gonna tell me I've been fucking a kid? When were you gonna tell
me you have school to go to and parents and shit? Huh?"
Dante scans Nero once before speaking again. "You're gonna get my ass tossed in
fucking prison! I already am neck deep in fucking warrants, kid, you know that!
And you know what this is gonna get me charged for? A sex offense!"
--
Nero catches the wrinkled paper and unfolds it.
And freezes.
An older school picture of him, looking entirely perturbed, is blown up almost
to the point of unrecognition in the center of the page, with his name and a
short description underneath. White hair, 5’ 7”, sixteen.
Someone is looking for him.
He never thought anyone would look for him, report him missing. It’s not like
his mom gives a shit. And his stepdad only wants one thing from him. Kyrie and
Credo are the only ones that care and they know at least some of why he ran. He
can’t imagine they’d try to get him back. So it has to be his parents.
Fuck.
“‘M not sixteen.” Nero mutters. Then looks up at Dante, wide eyed and scared,
“The poster is wrong, I’m not sixteen. Don’t get your hopes up, though.
Seventeen. Still a minor. Still jailbait.” He pauses and takes a deep
shuddering breath. “I never thought anyone would come looking for me.” His eyes
burn and his vision is going misty and he doesn’t want to cry but he’s so angry
and scared. The last thing he wants is to go home. Or to get Dante in trouble.
Or be separated from Dante. Because as much as he doesn’t really want to admit
it, to himself or otherwise, he cares about him.
He might even love him.
--
"Big fucking difference!" Dante yells, growling in frustration. "I can still
get locked up for a long ass time, especially if your fucking parents press
kidnapping charges!"
He's angry. Dante has only been this pissed once before, and it was...
Nevermind. But he continues to pace the room back and forth slowly. If Nero's
parents found out and pressed charges or - god forbid - filed a restraining
order, then he'd be without--
"Obviously you weren't thinking at all! Nero, what the fuck? You ran from your
parents, they're probably worried fucking sick!"
--
As Dante yells, and paces, and yells some more, Nero’s anger builds. He’s hurt,
he’s scared, and he doesn’t know what to do. But it’s the last things Dante
says, that his parents would be worried about him, that really pisses him off.
“You don’t know anything!” Nero shouts, eyes brimming wet with tears. “You
think my parents will be worried? Ha! Not fucking likely. I don’t even have a
father. Walked out before I could form memories. No idea who he is or where he
is. And mom. She doesn’t care about me. She’s constantly drunk, high, or both
and if I’m in the way I get hit. Hard. Over and over and fucking over again. I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pretend my ribs weren’t broken. And
then her fucking ass of a husband-”
Nero chokes on his words. The tears flow freely now. He thinks about the rest
of his story, how much he doesn’t want to go there. But judging by the way
Dante still looks livid, what he’s said so far isn’t enough. Isn’t enough to
justify putting the man in danger of being arrested for sex crimes, among other
things.
He takes a deep breath, still shaky with tears, and sits on the edge of the
bed, arms wrapped around himself. His eyes are fixed on the floor, just in
front of Dante’s feet. He can’t face looking at the man with what he’s about to
say.
“My stepdad. He… Mom started dating him when I was probably around eight,
married him a year or so later. The next fucking night he came into my room.
He’s so much worse than mom. Mom I can avoid, stay out of her way and keep her
happy with vodka. He never stops, I can’t get away from him.” He sighs and
waves the poster a bit, “Still can’t, apparently.”
There’s a long silence filled only with Nero’s pathetic sniffles. Then, so
quietly it’s almost inaudible, “I can’t go back there.”
--
Dante doesn't bat an eyelash when Nero starts to yell back-- In fact, he
expected it. Saw it coming from a mile away. But what he didn't see coming was
Nero's explanation, his reasons for getting the fuck out of dodge. Dante makes
a point even still to keep mad dogging Nero, though - drunks for parents or no,
it wasn't worth serving time.
However.
Nero starts to choke, and Dante feels his gut wrench hard enough to nearly make
him puke. "Easy," he mumbles, "You'll make yourself sick if you keep choking
like that."
Eight years old, huh? Seventeen now. That's... A lot for a kid to deal with. To
be fair, he can see why Nero didn't just tell him off the bat why he was
running. It's... Humiliating. Degrading. Dante gets that.
Dante also doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't know how to say he's sorry
for being a dick, sorry for making assumptions.
So instead, he checks his keys for his pockets, and heads right back out the
door.
--
He doesn’t look up again until he hears the door slam. And when he does, he
stares at that door in disbelief. Stares at the spot where Dante once stood.
Where the only person he’s been able to truly connect to had just walked away.
Left him alone in a hotel room in Colorado without anything.
Sure, he’s got his shit, clothes some money, whatever. But none of that
matters. Not really. He’s alone. He has no one.
It’s back to hitchhiking on the freeway and paying with sex.
But right now, he just wants to change. Put on something to cover himself up.
So he does. Moves mechanically to pull on jeans and an old shirt. Tosses the
jacket in the corner, can’t take the smell. Can’t handle that it just slams
reality back down, reminds him how alone he is.
It’ll be harder to get around now. There’s no telling how far out those posters
are, but he’s a minor, good chance they’re all over the country by now. People
will recognise him, even from a shitty old picture. Maybe he should dye his
hair. Either way, he should get the fuck out of dodge sooner rather than later.
But traveling will be hard. Anyone could recognise him, call the cops, send him
home.
He doesn’t want to go home.
--
Dante has no idea where he's going, he just knows he's gonna need a drink.
So he storms outside, unsure if he's pissed at Nero or his parents. He's not
sure if he's pissed at himself for not asking, not sure if he's pissed at
himself for not immediately getting it upon seeing his self-inflicted scars. He
just knows that he's pissed.
Dante fires up Rebellion, and he rides. He rides until he's almost frozen to
his bike-- Rides until he finds a bar. Which isn't hard. The Cognac is nice,
and so is the Absinthe, and it helps him to think properly.
And upon thinking properly, he realizes he owes Nero a big fat fucking apology.
Dante regrets yelling. Mostly-- He doesn't regret telling Nero off about being
a minor. What he does regret is assuming his home life was just fine.
Because honestly, it's hypocritical as fuck.
So he goes back. Dante goes back, wants to make sure Nero's still kicking.
Because in complete truth, Dante has no idea what he'd do if he found Nero like
he and Trish found--
It's one am when Dante enters their room again.
--
The room is paid for already, so Nero doesn’t leave. He wants to. He wants to
take off so he doesn’t have to wake up alone in this room. He wants to run far
away so that maybe he can escape the constant thought of the knife Dante bought
him after Vegas. It’s right there, in his bag. Easy to get to. Sharp. It’d be
so easy-
No.
He can’t go down that road again. It’s not worth it. He’s been so good. It’s
been so long. But he hasn’t had urges like this in a while. So he does his best
to ignore it. Throws his bag in the bathroom, out of his sight, away from him.
Then he curls up in the bed and tries to sleep. Doesn’t. But he tries.
He never expects the door to open. Nearly throws something at what he thinks is
an intruder. But his eyes take in the dark, blurry outline of a familiar man.
Nero sits bolt upright immediately and stares straight at him. Doesn’t speak.
Just stares. He can’t think of what to say, how to react. All he can begin to
process is Dante is here. He came back. For the second time since he met him,
Dante came back.
But for all Nero knows, he just forgot something and came back in the middle of
the night hoping Nero would be gone or asleep. So he doesn’t speak. Just stares
at the man he’s afraid is about to walk out on him again. Walk out and never
come back.
--
Dante looks over when Nero sits up, and he sighs. Baby, baby, baby.
"Hey," Dante whispers, shrugging his iced jacket off. "Don't pass back out, I
gotta talk to you." he says quietly, stripping down to just his boxers so he
could settle in next to him. His clothes are tossed on a chair, and he pets
Nero's hair before flopping down.
He feels so bad.
Dante doesn't force Nero to come close. Only pets his hair, runs his thumb
along his cheekbone, under his eye. "So I figure," Dante breathes, "That for
once, I should be a fucking man and apologize. You didn't deserve that shit. I
don't know your home life."
Dante has to ask.
"Lemme see your arms. You better be clean."
--
Nero freezes on instinct when Dante sits down. Follows stiffly when he lays
down. Lets him touch him, but doesn’t move closer. Listens to him apologise.
Should have expected the question.
So he stands, peels off his clothes down to his boxers. He’s still quiet, still
tense, still convinced this isn’t going to last. He holds his arms out, turns a
slow circle. It’s dark, but he’s sure Dante can see there aren’t any fresh
wounds. Doesn’t bother mentioning how close he was, how much he wanted to.
When he puts his arms down, everything just sinks in. The emotional
rollercoaster he’s been fighting with all day suddenly crashes down around him
and he practically collapses back into the bed. He doesn’t even care when he
literally melts against Dante, tears streaming silently down his face. He’s
cold, but solid and real and present. He’s not running away. Not for now, at
least. For now, he can just breathe and hope he hasn’t totally fucked
everything up.
--
Dante watches Nero as he proves himself, and he smiles contently when he sees
that he's unmarred. "Hey, good job. Proud of you, I know I freaked you the fuck
out."
When Nero collapses, Dante feels his heart break.
"Hey, hey. Shhh, baby, it's okay. I had to go for a ride, I didn't want to keep
bitching you out. I had to sort my shit out," Dante breathes, entangling his
fingers in Nero's hair. "I'm not gonna let you go back to that house. We can't
borderline fuck in public anymore, but..."
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm gonna keep you safe."
--
Nero lets Dante comfort him, cries silently into his chest the whole time. His
breath catches when Dante calls him baby. But it’s the last thing he says, that
he’ll keep him safe. That makes him sob. He clings tight to the man, feeling
very much the lost child that he realises he very much is.
It takes probably an hour before his face dries and the headache starts in.
Before his sniffles stop and he just starts to feel completely exhausted. He
waits a few more beats in which he just stops, before pulling back and looking
up at Dante, searching his eyes in the dark.
“I’m… I-I’m sorry. That I didn’t t-tell you. I-”
Nero tucks his face back into Dante’s chest. He doesn’t even actually say the
next few words. More like he breathes them, lips moving against Dante’s skin.
“I think I might love you.”
--
Dante isn't usually the one to comfort the crying person in the room, so the
longer Nero cries, the more ill-equipped for this he feels. But he does what he
can, even if it means shoving his own feelings of awkwardness away. Nero needs
him, so you bet your ass he'll be there.
When that poor kid comes up, he looks like a hot mess, even in the dark.
Eyelashes are wet, he's still shaking. So Dante lets him stare, pushing the
hair out and away from Nero's pretty blues, trying to scan him.
Nothing. Nero is unreadable.
Which Dante likes. Makes him a wildcard, unpredictable. And it'd be sexy if he
weren't having a complete fucking breakdown. "It's all good," Dante whispers,
"Mostly, anyway. We just... Gotta be really careful."
Nero says something that Dante doesn't catch. Obviously it's not important-- If
it were, the younger would've definitely put that loud mouth of his to use. So
Dante ignores it, and instead says, "Hey. Get some sleep. Got one helluva trip
tomorrow."
--
Nero nods. Careful. He can do careful. As long as Dante stays and he can hold
himself together, as long as he doesn’t have another stupid fucking breakdown.
Careful he can do.
And when he suggests sleep, he nods again. Lets himself get lost in the comfort
he thought he’d lost. Lets himself be held as his exhaustion overwhelms him and
he falls asleep.
--
Dante doesn't sleep.
He's worried. Mostly for Nero's current mental state-- If he reacted like that
to Dante being gone without warning for a couple hours...
So he stays up. Dante lays awake, thinking. Thinks about what he could do to
ease Nero's... What seems like separation anxiety. And anxiety in general. Poor
kid can't get medicated, and he doubts anything like stress balls or whatever
the fuck is gonna work. Dante remembers his mother-- When she would get
nervous, she'd often fidget with her wedding ring.
Huh.
Dante also remembers something he came across in a pawn shop once, when he
first purchased Ebony and Ivory. It was a (very expensive) platinum ring with a
moving inner band. At the time, the elder had thought nothing of it, it was
just another trinket. But now...
Hours pass. Dawn comes. The Colorado sun peaks over the mountains and
illuminates the morning snow, and Dante keeps his eyes fixed out the window.
He nudges Nero, albeit softly. Why not have a fucking date at six am? Yolo.
"Hey," he whispers, rolling Nero onto his back, pressing kisses to his neck,
"Check that view. Not me-- The one outside."
--
It’s something like asscrack o’clock when Dante wakes him. Kisses at his neck
and whispers in his ear bring him into awareness. He struggles to look at
Dante, and scoffs when he tries to imply Nero thinks he’s the view.
But the view is stunning.
The sun is just starting to show its face over the mountains. The snow is
sparkling, untouched after some snowfall overnight. There’s a lake somewhere in
the distance with a thin layer of ice covering it and reflecting the landscape
around it. It’s breathtaking. And it almost makes Nero forget everything that
happened. All the emotions.
Still, after sleeping, Nero does feel better. Less on edge, less at a breaking
point. So he rolls back onto his side, props himself up on his arm, “There a
reason I’m awake so early?”
--
"I was thinking," Dante sighs, letting Nero get up. "View looks nice, you look
nice. Watch the sun come up or somethin'." he suggests, sighing through his
nose. God, Nero is so fucking gorgeous even when the lights aren't on and Dante
can hardly see him. He's just gorgeous.
It'd be so easy to love him.
"I'll even make you coffee. Can't have you passing out just yet."
Oh god, I'm sorry.
The longer Dante looks at him, the more he regrets yelling. He made Nero of all
people cry. Made him cry, panic. He wants to keep apologizing until Nero begs
him to shut the fuck up. But like usual, the words are stuck to the walls of
his throat like glue, and when he licks his lips to speak he can only--
"Sound good?"
--
Something about the way Dante speaks, and sighs, that makes Nero think there’s
a bit more to it than that. And there’s something in the way Dante looks at him
that makes him feel… wanted. And not in the creepy predatory way his stepdad
looks at him. But in a much more pleasant way. A way that makes him feel light.
“Coffee. Yeah. Sooner rather than later if you want to keep me awake for this.”
He wants to reach out, wants to make some kind of connection. But something
stops him. Something keeps him from bridging the odd gap that seems to have
formed between them after the previous day. He wants to put it behind them. But
he can’t. There’s still a tense awkwardness in the way he holds himself, the
way he watches Dante, the way he speaks. There’s something that is going to
take a while to fade away. It won’t just disappear overnight.
Still, Nero can try.
--
Dante nods, sitting up as quickly as he can manage and tossing the covers back,
running one hand through his hair as he takes lethargic steps toward the single
cup coffee maker, "I'll even give you the honor of first cup."
It's shitty coffee, but it's also not complete shit. It's just caffeine,
something he and Nero are going to need for this little adventure. Dante leans
back on the counter, wrists inward facing Nero, whistling something to the tune
of Twisted Nerve.
He continues even as he hands the younger his coffee and goes to make his own.
"Motel sludge, courtesy of me."
--
Nero almost falls back asleep while Dante makes the coffee. But he manages not
to. Focuses on Dante with an occasional glance out the window.
He’s thankful for the first cup, even if the stuff tastes more like motor oil
than coffee. He sucks down half his cup in one go, not bothering to wait for it
to cool. It’ll take a bit for the caffeine to really set in, but just being
able to drink the stuff feels like it’s helping.
By the time Dante’s finished making his own cup, Nero’s practically drained his
already and is sat crosslegged on the bed, staring out the window.
--
Dante watches Nero as his own coffee brews, eyes flicking from him to out the
window, and back again. Nero's bedhead is absolutely wild, and Dante laughs to
himself - the back is sticking straight up, and he half wonders if Nero's even
noticed yet. Then again, his own likely isn't much better.
"Yo, sleepyhead," Dante chuckles, whistling and pointing to his own head. "You
sleep with hairspray in or somethin'?"
Joking won't fix what he's done, but it should at least make things less tense.
Once his own coffee is done, he takes it up and goes to sit beside Nero, elbows
resting on his knees. "It's nice, right? Colorado's rad as fuck."
--
Nero allows himself to smile at the joke. He’s well aware of how ridiculous his
hair can look in the mornings. He looks back over to Dante, “I could ask the
same thing.” The casual poking fun feels like a return to normalcy. Or at least
a step in the right direction.
When Dante sits down, Nero, ever so slightly, leans toward him. He keeps his
gaze staring out the window, but he tries to be closer to Dante. At least a
little. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
--
"So," Dante says, "I'm thinking I got a surprise for you today. Bit of a, uh...
Let's call it a detour," he grins, taking a sip of his coffee. "You'll love it,
I swear."
Dante looks over to Nero, and he smiles. There's something about this kid
that's... Strong, he supposes. Aside from physically, he's got that weird aura
thing and Dante's not sure if it's his attitude or his eyes.
"But like I said, surprise. After we've had coffee and made out."
--
Nero doesn’t know what to think about Dante’s so called surprise. It could
literally be anything. From some stupid attraction like ‘World’s Biggest Mug of
Beer’ to something like another poker game. The assurance that Nero would love
it does little to narrow down the options. So, he pushes it to the back of his
mind.
Instead, he looks over to Dante with a raised brow, amused, “Well then, finish
that coffee. I could use some making out.”
--
Dante doesn't bother finishing his coffee.
He doesn't really think twice. It feels like it's natural, honestly, the way
Nero fits under him-- Dante's had sex with a lot of people and made out with
even more, but none of them had the same vibe as Nero. Not the same fire.
They're all... Boring in comparison.
"Y'know," Dante says once he's pulled away from Nero's lips and moved to his
neck, "I could shower with you. So you don't get scared."
--
Nero loves kissing Dante.
It’s all fire, passion, no thinking. It’s easy and simple and fucking good.
Natural.
When Dante suggests showering with him, he wants to tell him off. Wants to say
he can handle himself and he doesn’t need a pervy man to stand in the shower
with him to watch over him. Doesn’t need the reassurance. But then he remembers
last night, his breakdown, everything. He realises that Dante’s presence might
actually help a lot.
Doesn’t mean he won’t be flippant about it, “Think you can keep your hands to
yourself, old man?”
--
"Scout's honor," Dante says with a sly smile, pecking Nero just once before
moving off of him to stand. "Although my hands have a mind of their own. So
just try to ignore 'em if they do wander."
Dante starts stripping before he even gets to the bathroom-- Shirt tossed on
the floor as he heads back to get the water running. "I'll even make it all
romantic and shit," he calls, laughing. "Boxed wine and whatever. Wish we had
fake roses or somethin'."
--
Nero realises the way he watches Dante start undressing is entirely
hypocritical, but he also knows that Dante wouldn’t mind. In fact, it’s
probably on purpose on some level. A tease for him.
He smiles at Dante’s attempt at romance. While not necessarily conventional, it
is sincere. Even welcome. So he sets down his mug, strips down the last of his
clothes, and follows Dante into the bathroom to the sound of running water.
It’s Nero that can’t really seem to keep his hands to himself, as it turns out.
But it’s more or less innocent. A hand on Dante’s arm, a lean into his side, a
peck on his lips. Just little reminders that he’s real, in front of him.
Nero holds up the soap, “You do me, I’ll do you?”
--
The hot water feels good - really good. Dante can feel motel dust come off, can
feel the tension wash straight down the fucking drain and holy /shit/, it's
satisfying. He's trying to keep his own touches innocent for the time being,
between petting Nero's neck and
just brushing his hand.
Nero's suggestion, however, makes him cackle like a twelve year old.
"I'll do you, you don't even have to ask-- Me, though, I gotta deny that. Not a
bottom, and that's the one thing I'm not gonna try."
--
Nero smacks him in the chest. He should have expected that. Probably did on
some level. Of course he would turn that into a joke instead of just taking the
soap. So Nero pushes it into Dante’s chest, “Just… goddamnit, Dante.”
He turns his back on the man, expecting him to wash him. “Shut up and wash me
or I’ll do it myself.”
--
"Okay, okay," Dante sighs, taking the soap from Nero. He starts with his hair,
watching the suds bubble up as Dante's fingers work their non-sexual magic.
"Buzzkill."
Dante's favorite part, however, comes after the rinse and with cheap lavender-
scented hotel body wash.
"Should I start from the bottom up or the top down?" Dante asks cheekily,
already starting to lather up his hands. "Let's go with top down, shall we?"
Dante's hands start on the sides of Nero's neck, moving down over his
shoulders. Dante presses up against Nero's back with a, "I did like those thigh
highs, though."
--
Nero sighs and closes his eyes while Dante washes his hair. The fingers in his
hair feel so wonderful and he leans back into the touch. Probably even makes a
few sounds now and then.
When Dante starts getting cheeky, Nero frowns and almost tells him off. But the
way his fingers massage soap into his shoulders stops him.
He goes to tell him off again when Dante presses up against him, but the
comment on the thigh highs stops him this time. He smiles instead, "Didn't
think you'd even noticed."
--
"'Course I noticed," Dante mumbles, "I was just being a little bastard at the
time. But yeah, I liked 'em."
Dante decides to start on Nero's back, and kisses the sopping mess that is his
hair. His hands keep travelling down, over his hips and then down just under
his navel-- Dante's just trying to get a rise out of him now. "Think you'll do
a do-over for me sometime?"
--
Nero ignores the way Dante's hands feel over him. The way they move lower, run
over his body easily with the help of soap and water. The way he feels pressed
up against his back.
Well, he tries anyway.
Nero grabs one of Dante's hands before they can go any lower, "Maybe if you
behave."
--
Dante groans in obvious disappointment, moving his hands right back up where
they belong. "No fun allowed as posted by Nero."
Sensing that getting laid is not in his future, Dante finishes washing Nero up,
even doing him the honor of conditioning his hair. How's that for romance?
"I'm serious when I said you'd enjoy my surprise," Dante says, "And for the
record, getting us piss wasted isn't part of the surprise. Unless you want it
to be, because it can be arranged."
--
When Dante finishes washing Nero, he motions for them to switch positions so he
can return the favour. He starts with his hair. He’s slightly perturbed that he
has to raise himself up on his toes to be able to comfortably reach the top of
the elder’s head.
“How about we hold off on getting piss wasted and we might be in control of our
faculties enough to consent later. Sound good?” Nero’s hands continue on with
Dante’s body when he finishes his hair. He’s clinical about it, only offering a
moment of tease when he brushes over his nipples. But as fast as he does it,
he’s moved on to washing more of him, only a small smirk to indicate he’d
really done it on purpose.
“You gonna give me any hints on what this surprise is?”
--
Dante's breath hitches, and he glances down at Nero with a knowing look. "Sure
thing. I was just saying, it could definitely be a thing if you wanted it to."
As for hints, though, Dante's sure he can bullshit something. "Let's say," he
starts, "...Let's call it something that just might help you for the rest of
your life. If anything, call it something to remember me by if you ever get
tired of my old ass."
--
Nero sighs. The hint is entirely unhelpful and he doesn’t even bother wracking
his brain to try to solve the puzzle of Dante’s cryptic, half-assed hint.
Instead, he makes sure they’re both rinsed in their entirety, then gives Dante
a quick kiss.
He reaches around the other man to turn off the water and pulls back the
curtain, “Well, let’s get out of here, then, hmm? You’ve got me all curious
now.” He steps out and exaggerates the sway in his walk just slightly. Just a
bit of a tease. Even more when he bends over to get one of the towels. He turns
back to Dante with a slight smirk, “Well? Hurry up!”
--
Dante follows after Nero hastily, drying off and smiling as he watches the
other leave. "Yeah, yeah. Just go put some clothes over that cute ass of
yours."
Dante dresses himself, tossing on boxers and dusty jeans, hooking his chaps to
his belt and tossing on a flannel. "Make sure you got all your shit, baby. It'd
suck to leave something here."
Rebellion looks as beautiful as she always does, her chrome shining dully in
the rising Colorado sun, parked teasingly just outside their room. "Alright!
Let's have a little adventure, yeah?"
--
Nero dresses himself in his signature jeans and band tee. The shirt a relic
from home, the jeans new since they’ve made some money. With one final glance
around the room, he shrugs on Dante’s jacket, shoulders his bag, and follows
Dante out into the morning light.
Getting on the bike and riding away from the motel is practically routine by
now. And the ease with which they mount up almost makes it seem like the
previous day hadn’t happened. Especially when Dante’s hand finds its way to its
familiar resting place on Nero’s knee shortly after they get going.
He spends the first bit of the trip watching the scenery pass them by. Colorado
is much more interesting to look at than the flat, dusty desert of Nevada. But
eventually, he tires even of the mountains and trees and settles on resting his
head between Dante’s shoulder blades while the engine of the bike purrs beneath
them and takes them toward Dante’s surprise.
--
Dante keeps his eyes forward and hand back against Nero's knee, occasionally
pointing out a deer or two as they fly by. He sometimes glances in the side
view to look back at Nero - and smiles behind his bandana when he feels the
smaller just cuddle up smack between his shoulders.
He's so cute.
Dante drives for awhile, and eventually, they hit another smaller town. A pawn
shop lays smack in the middle of it, and that's what Dante pulls up to. "I got
a buddy here named Rodin," he says, dismounting Rebellion. "He'll hook us up."
Dante motions him in, leading the way. His bandana falls around his neck as his
aviators come up to rest on his head, and he shoulders the door open. "Rodin!
Yo, it's Dante, I got a favor and you owe me, man."
A man steps out of the back, leaning on the front counter. He's tall and dark
skinned, and just a little bit burlier than Dante himself is. "Well well well.
Do they just let anyone into Colorado these days? 'Specially with what you do."
"That's used to do, and I'm not here to chat. Here for this one," Dante says,
clapping a hand on Nero's shoulder. "Here's your surprise, kid. Pick a spinner
ring."
--
Dante pulls up at a pawn shop in this little middle of nowhere town. The guy
inside, who Dante claims to know (big surprise) looks like he crawled out of
some seedy back alley with half a dozen suspicions of various crimes. But Nero
trusts Dante and follows him in.
Nero certainly wasn’t expecting this for his surprise.
His eyes flicks over the display of rings. There are all kinds, all sizes, all
colours. From gaudy to simple. One end of the display is all spinning rings,
rings with a second piece of metal slightly larger than the main ring so it can
spin freely. Nero’s heard of them, but never seen them and certainly never had
one.
He runs a thumb over the display. He takes his time, spinning a few, testing
them on his fingers. He ends up settling on a simple one with a braided Celtic
looking design along the spinning ring. It fits snugly on his right index
finger.
Finally, he turns to Dante, “You don’t have to do this.”
--
Dante nods in approval at Nero's choice-- It really is a nice ring. Not gaudy,
not boring - it's just... Very Nero. "Nice pick."
Adding onto that, Dante looks to Nero with a raised eyebrow and that same
goddamn grin. "You usually try to wiggle out of getting presents?" Not that
this is just an ordinary present. At least, Dante hopes it won't be; His hope
is that it might help Nero with his anxiety and cutting urges in the long run.
But either way, Dante fishes out his wallet. "What's it gonna be, Rodin?"
Rodin gives him a look behind his sunglasses. "I'm knocking twenty off max,
hell boy."
"Twenty? I'm cashin' in that favor, you better knock off more than twenty."
Rodin looks to Nero and back to Dante. "...I'll knock off forty. But only
because I like you, occasionally."
The ring goes for about one-twenty-- Sterling silver and overpriced as shit.
But with forty knocked off, comes into around eighty bucks. But hey-- For Nero,
it's worth it.
Dante would blow his last dime on Nero, if he's being honest.
Once they're out, Dante stands in front of Nero. "So? What'cha think?"
--
Nero can feel his face flush some when Dante comments on his reluctance to let
him do this for him. So he looks away quickly and instead focuses on the ring
on his finger. He spins it experimentally several times, feeling how quickly it
will spin, how long he can get it going for, testing how it feels in his hand.
He likes it. He likes how it feels, that it keeps his attention, gives him
something to occupy his hands.
When he hears the price he almost takes it off.
He stares at Dante the entire time he pays, watches the older man hand over the
money. Eyes wide and disbelieving. The only time anyone has ever come close to
spending that much on him was when Credo gave him his shitty old iPod a few
years back as a birthday present. And he hadn’t actually spent money on it,
just had gotten a new one for himself and hadn’t needed the old one. Nero
treasured that thing like it was made of gold. He was pretty devastated when it
died on him.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts and disbelief when Dante asks him what he
thinks. He glances down at his hand, spins the ring a couple times, “I think
you spent way too much money on me. But…” Nero looks up to Dante’s eyes and
smiles, “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
--
Two weeks pass without a hitch, and Nero and Dante are getting bored of
Colorado. Hence why they sit where they are now - in a bar just outside Kansas,
but still within Colorado limits.
Dante sits with his personal preference - Hennessy Cognac featuring a side of
Nero. Dante's attention flicks from his lover to the TV above the liquor, which
has a Greenbay vs Chicago Bears game going. It's mindless, and it's something
to focus on when they just settle for a comfortable silence.
It goes well, up until Dante feels a tap on his shoulder and a "Dante! That
you, man?"
Dante turns, and finds himself face to face with two older men - a taller
blonde and a slightly shorter redhead. His heart jumps to his throat but fuck
if his face shows it-- Oh yeah, he knows these two. Dante remembers them both
from his days as a Hell's Angel.
"...Do I know you?"
"Yeah, man!" It's the redhead that speaks, showing Dante the patch on his
jacket sleeve.
Dante lets his eyes flick back and forth between them both, trying both to
protect Nero and keep from scaring him-- These two are definitely carrying
heaters, and if Dante says one stupid thing, this bar goes up, and Nero could
get hurt.
They don't like ex-members. In the eyes of the HA, you don't leave; You die or
get thrown in prison for the rest of your life.
"Don't recognize that."
"Dante the joker, as always," the blond snorts. "Hey, got a favor-- Half our
carriers are gettin' locked up, and you were one of the best And," he leans in
a little closer, "We got some damn good smack to sweeten the deal. You in?"
--
Nero likes sitting next to Dante in comfortable silence at bars. It’s a nice
ambiance, drinks in front of them, knees knocking occasionally against one
another, the hum of conversation over the beat of some classic rock song. And
people don’t ask questions. They don’t look at him long enough to be able to
recognise him from the posters. He feels safe here, as long as Dante’s by his
side.
When two guys, much older than himself, strike up conversation, Nero tries his
best to melt into the background. He doesn’t move, doesn’t go elsewhere, but he
also doesn’t speak. Stays still and watches the exchange out of the corner of
his eye. Dante looks… uncomfortable. Not outwardly so, Nero’s just learned to
read him. It’s like he’s waiting for something to go south.
The redhead shows Dante the patch on his sleeve, indicating he should recognise
the insignia. Dante plays it off, but Nero can tell something’s up. When the
other one starts talking about carrying and smack, Nero’s stomach drops.
Something is definitely up and it is not good.
Nero’s finger automatically starts messing with the ring Dante got him. He
spins it gently, still trying not to bring attention to himself. He’s starting
to get concerned. One knee knocks toward Dante, a subtle touch to remind him
that he’s there. And that he’s behind him.
--
Dante's hand moves to Nero's knee, and at this point, he knows the younger is
just as freaked out. His thumb runs across the denim of his jeans as he tries
to reassure Nero, but Dante also knows Nero isn't stupid. They've learned to
read each other, and read each other well.
Dante looks to Nero and mumbles, "Just old friends I never expected to see
again. Everything's good. Just sit here, and when I pop back in, we leave.
Yeah?"
Dante looks back to the two men before him. "Let's take this outside. Just-
- Privacy, y'know? Y'all are getting fuckin' sloppy."
So Dante does what has to be done.
He steps out, two men in tow. Once outside, he makes himself clear. "Listen to
me," he starts, "I don't shoot anymore. I'm not a fucking courrier anymore. I'm
out, I told you two and every other motherfucker that I was out when I turned
twenty-five. I don't know who told you I was back, I don't know why they told
you I'm back, but I'm not."
--
Nero nods when Dante explains. Takes him for what he says even though he knows
it’s not a whole truth. Stays put as he walks off with the two men.
And immediately feels very very alone.
Suddenly, he feels eyes on him. He can’t identify where they’re coming from but
they feel lecherous and predatory. His spinning increases and he turns back to
his drink to take a nervous sip.
He jumps when a hand touches him.
Whirling, he comes face to face with a man, looks to be in his late forties or
early fifties. There isn’t a single thing about him that doesn’t scream creepy
pervert. He’s got a little grin on his lips that gives Nero the shivers.
He reminds him of his stepdad.
“What’s a pretty young thing like you doin’ alone in a place like this?” the
man asks, boxing Nero in with his arms, resting them on the bar behind Nero.
“Not alone,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
The man glances to either side of Nero, “Don’t see anyone else, you look pretty
alone to me. How about you let me take care of ya, fill your glass.”
Nero can tell what was hiding behind the offer, thinly veiled. He’s disgusted,
revolted by the stench of rum wafting off of the man and just about ready to
hit him. But he can’t, not unless he wants to make a scene. And a scene means
bringing attention to himself, means someone might recognise him. He’s way too
close to home to take chances. “I’m alright, thanks,” he says, trying to be
polite but succinct.
He leans in closer, almost kissing distance. Nero can’t lean away from the man
anymore without laying on the bar. “It wasn’t a question.”
And now Nero feels entirely cornered. His eyes are wide and full of fear. It’s
like being home all over again. Unable to fight back, unable to do anything. He
just wants away, he just wants to be back in some shit motel with Dante wrapped
around him.
The man grabs his chin painfully, holds him still while he presses their mouths
together and forces his mouth open.
--
Mumbles of "Alright, have it your way," and "I'm tellin' you, it's great smack,
man," echo as the two head back to their bikes to light up cigarettes, leaving
Dante to his own devices.
Dante sighs, fixing his gloves and his jacket, before deciding just to head
inside. He thinks Absinthe sounds good-- Assuming Nero doesn't immediately
become distrustful. "Motherfucker," Dante mumbles, carding a hand through his
hair and laughing dryly. "That was fun."
So he heads back in, and immediately, he knows he shouldn't have left in the
first place.
Someone's got Nero pinned to the bar, and by the looks of it, it's someone
who's drunk as fuck and way too old. So Dante silences his steps, unhooking and
unsheathing his own knife from the back of his belt, keeping the flat of the
blade against the inside of his wrist. Upon approaching, Dante holds the edge
to the harasser's windpipe. "Fancy a shave, my friend?"
--
 
Nero isn't sure what's happening at first. He just knows he suddenly has more
space than he did. Then Dante's voice registers in his mind and he sighs in
relief. Dante is here. He's here and he's getting this pervert off of him.
He's not home. He's not helpless. He has Dante.
The man's eyes are wide with Dante's knife pressed none too gently against his
throat. He backs off of Nero some, "I don't mean no trouble." He holds his
hands up in surrender.
Sure.
Nero sneers as the man slowly backs away until he can skitter away as quick as
he can. Then he looks at Dante with a grateful smile, "Thank you. Can we get
out of here?"
--
Dante looks over Nero, quickly sheathing his knife and clicking it into place.
"Yeah-- Yeah, let's. Sorry, kiddo, should've stayed."
Dante tosses down a ten for the few drinks they did have, and guides Nero out
with a hand on his lower back. "Let's just go and not come back. Colorado's
been a shitstorm for us, cheap weed or no."
Dante looks to his partner, though, and runs his eyes up and down Nero,
evaluating him. He puts a gloved hand on the side of Nero's neck, thumb under
his jaw. "You sure you're okay? Talk to me if you aren't, Nero, I'm serious."
--
Nero is grateful for the comfort Dante offers. Grateful for the hand on the
small of his back as they leave and grateful for his excuses for leaving. He’s
even grateful for the way Dante examines him afterwards, the concern in his
eyes.
Grateful, but not used to it.
He almost says no, says he’s fine before pleading to take off as fast as they
dared. And if this were anyone else, he would have. Would have brushed them off
and pretended he was fine. But this is Dante. And Dante already knows the
truth.
“I- not really. I will be. He just- he reminded me of my stepdad.” Nero steps
closer to Dante, hands on his hips. “I’ll be ok, though. Promise.”
--
Dante kisses Nero's forehead, and he sighs through his nose. "I figured," he
mumbles, moving to hug the smaller and bury his nose in his hair. "S'gonna be
okay, kiddo. Let's just-- Let's just keep riding, and we'll settle down
somewhere 'lax."
Which is exactly what they do. Dante rides until he can't fuckin' think
anymore, rides until he figures he should stop solely for his and Nero's
safety. It's one am, they're in fucking Kansas, and Dante can't keep his mind
off the two that approached him earlier.
...Good smack, huh?
The motel is off a statewide highway. It's small, one story, closet-sized
rooms. No couch, no chair - just a bed, a dresser, and a TV. And a bathroom,
but just barely.
When they get in, Dante doesn't really say anything. Tosses his jacket on the
end of the bed and goes to wash his face-- Getting a really nice glimpse of his
arms in the mean time.
Dante hasn't wanted to pick up a needle in just under ten years, but right now,
it's coming back full force.
--
The ride is quiet, both of them caught up in their own thoughts. They drive on
for hours, well into the night until Nero loses track of what time it even is.
Somewhere deep into Kansas, they stop at a motel. Dante seems different, but
Nero can’t tell if it’s just exhaustion or something else. But something
tickling at his stomach is telling him it might be something else.
Dante hardly sets his stuff down before he retreats to the bathroom and Nero
hears the sink. That feeling in his stomach won’t go away and it feels similar
to the start of an anxiety attack. And Nero can’t ignore it.
He debates turning on the TV, but ends up choosing not to. Instead, he listens
to the water run in the bathroom. Gets worried when it goes on for a bit too
long.
Finally, he gets up and stands at the door to the tiny room. There’s Dante,
staring at him arms. The focus reminds him of a few times he’s stared at his
own body. At his scars. At the reminders of his pain, his weakness. He clears
his throat, “Hey, you alright?”
--
Dante looks over to Nero, and he turns off the water. "Dandy," he shrugs,
drying off his face and his hands, "Peachy keen, kiddo."
Dante doesn't want to tell Nero. He doesn't want to tell him that he started
shooting because someone said it's fun, doesn't wanna think about Lady or Trish
or any of that shit because in the end, that's what it boils down to. Dante
sees it as nothing more than a 'woe-is-me' story, nothing more than pity
material. And that's why he doesn't wanna tell.
'Cause Nero's just gonna cover him in apologies and pity.
It's nothing against Nero, it's just...
"It's just one in the morning. 'M tired."
--
Nero wants so desperately to believe him. Wants to just take his hand, crawl
into bed, and forget about the world as they pass out. Wants to kiss him till
his eyelids are too heavy to keep open he can’t hold his head up.
But he can’t.
And his first instinct is to get pissed. Pissed that Dante would lie. Pissed
that he’d hide anything after everything Nero has told him. So fucking angry.
Angry enough that he’d like to yell and scream at him. Accuse him of not
trusting him. Cry and slam his fists against Dante’s chest. Maybe even run for
a bit.
But he won’t.
Can, but won’t. He cares too much. And he understands Dante’s reluctance. It’s
not about trust. There are so many other factors. Fear, self loathing,
embarrassment, hatred. Plenty of other reasons not to spill his guts. And Nero
knows that look. He’s worn it far too often. And he knows now what it feels
like to have someone else who cares know your secrets. He wants to give that to
Dante.
So Nero stands his ground and raises a brow in concerned question, “You don’t
have to tell me everything, you’ve got every right to your secrets, but don’t
lie to me about them. You’ve obviously got shit going on. So let’s go lay down
and you can tell me or not, but don’t lie. It’s insulting.”
--
Dante looks at him, and he crumbles internally.
Nero's right. He has no right to lie-- Especially not after Nero /trusted/ him
enough to tell him he wasn't okay after the bar. And Dante just looked him dead
in the eye, and lied to him. So he just nods at Nero's suggestion; Strips his
shirt and tosses it wherever, and does the same with his boots and his jeans.
And once they're down, lights out, and tangled up like they're afraid to drift
apart, Dante tries to open up.
"So..." he mumbles into Nero's hair, "I used to be in some bad shit, I guess.
After Lady died and Trish left, I decided to sell all my shit and take off on
Rebellion. Ended up meeting people, doing favors. Usually I was just carting
around someone's ounce of dope, or their loaded syringes or whatever. Until a
couple of fucking goons begged to shoot me up, said it was the best thing ever,
can't not do it."
"And that," Dante sighs, "Is how I ended up stuck on it for about three, four
years. Daily, couldn't put it down. I'd miss my veins in my arms so many times
I'd just stick my neck instead."
"But fuck it. It's all good now."
--
Nero stays silent as they undress, as they lay down and tangle together. Nero
curls into Dante, safe in his arms. One of his hands runs aimlessly over
Dante’s skin, in comfort, in care, he doesn’t even know. Maybe just because it
feels right.
When Dante starts speaking, he keeps his hand moving as he listens. He’s not
terribly surprised by the story. Not too difficult to put two and two together,
after noticing the track marks, the guys in the bar, what they said. He’s had
enough experience with addicts in his life, he knows the signs.
And he knows the dismissal Dante gives him at the end. So Nero kisses his
chest, “I’m proud of you, for getting clean. That shit’s tough to put down.”
Another kiss and a moment of silence, “What made you give it up?”
--
Proud, huh.
Dante hadn't heard anyone tell him they'd been proud of him. Not even just
about getting clean, but in general-- His mother, God rest her soul, died when
he was nine, and his father before that. So to hear Nero say he's proud is--
"I got sick of puking all the time," Dante laughs dryly, "Shit makes you sick
as a dog, and I got tired of going from needle to the bathroom and back again.
Y'know?"
"Plus," Dante adds, "I might be a grown ass man, but I started thinkin' about
how mom would've felt. And I knew that if she had heard, she'd have cried and
blamed herself. So I stopped."
--
“Good for you.” It’s hardly a whisper. Nero means it though. He’s watched his
mom for ages do exactly what Dante’s describing. Only broken up by bouts of
drinking, too drunk to even stick herself with a needle. Most of the time, she
wouldn’t even make it to the bathroom, Nero’d have to clean up after her.
She’s tried, several times, to get clean. At least she’s claimed she has.
Almost made it, once. Probably was about a month or so clean before she broke
down and got higher than Nero had ever seen her before. He recognises that when
you’re trapped by something like that, it doesn’t give up easily.
“I mean it, Dante. That’s hard. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He nuzzles in
closer to Dante. “Thank you for telling me.”
--
Dante clings to Nero like he's the only grip in reality he has. "Thank you,
kiddo," he breathes, shutting his eyes, "Thank you."
Dante tries really hard not to pepper Nero in kisses, tries desperately not to
smother him in affection, tries not to keep too tight of a grip on him. It's
just refreshing to hear that, Dante thinks, it's nice to know that some one
gives a fuck.
I love you, Nero.
"Let's just get some sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."
--
Usually, the way Dante nearly suffocates Nero with kisses would irritate him.
Make him feel trapped and cornered. But with Dante it just makes him feel safe,
wanted.
Loved.
So he returns it all in kind. Kisses back, grips just as tightly. Gives back
every ounce of affection in exactly the same way. Because he feels the same
way. Exactly the same way.
Nero smiles against Dante’s skin, and that’s how he falls asleep. Wrapped up,
safe and warm. Just two souls with shit hands in life that fell into each
other’s arms.
--
Dante and Nero have been together for nearly a year, and they're inseperable.
Dante loves Nero more than he loves his bike, more than he loves himself - and
Dante really likes himself. Nero has healed scars that Dante hasn't touched in
years, and for that, he's grateful. They've both done that for each other -
licked wounds, stitched each other up. And it's been the healthiest
relationship Dante has ever had.
Now, they're trying to head to New York. Dante wants to show Nero the world,
show him everything he can before their time together is up. And where better
to show Nero the world than from the tallest skyline in America?
So here they sit, gassing up at a 7/11 and stretching their legs. Nero's gone
inside to grab copious amounts of caffeine and carbs, and Dante is just waiting
for Rebellion's tank to hit full.
--
Nero has never felt so good.
Nearly a year since he left his so-called family behind and he’s happier than
he’s ever been. He’s got Dante, he’s got a steady supply of more or less legal
income, he’s got a random motel bed each night with warm arms around him. Every
bad thing that’s happened in his life feels a little more bearable. He just
feels good.
And Dante’s taking him east. He’d never been farther east than the Mississippi.
Never been far from home before he left. He’s so excited to see more,
experience more, be out in the world. From stretches of trees to smog filled
cities, he wants to see it all with Dante.
But they need food and fuel, so they’re at a 7/11. Nero’s on food and coffee
duty. He peruses the aisles, grabbing a bag of chips here, a soda there. Piles
shit in his arms and stops at the coffee machine before going up to the
counter. He drops all the stuff and taps his fingers on the counter while he
waits to be rung up.
Only something isn’t right.
The clerk isn’t picking any of his stuff up, not scanning it. He looks up to
the clerk’s face and finds an older man staring at at him with wide eyes. He
doesn’t understand at first. Until an unfortunately familiar poster catches his
eye behind the counter.
The clerk recognises him.
--
Dante stays outside, waiting for Nero to come back out as patiently as is
possible for him. He doesn't know what's taking him so long-- It's just coffee
and chips. And, Dante hopes, maybe even a slice of really shitty gas station
cake.
Inside, however, is a whole 'nother story.
The clerk inside has already called the police upon seeing Nero enter-- And is
now just stalling. Making excuses, register's haywire, cashbox won't open. He
keeps glancing outside at Dante, and asks "You with him?"
--
Nero’s fucked.
He was fucked from the moment he walked in, but he’s just now realising exactly
how fucked. Maybe if he can get out, take off. They’ll survive without eating
for a while longer. They can stop a few more hours down. He can do this.
When the clerk asks if he’s with Dante, Nero doesn’t even have to glance out
the window to see who he’s talking about. They’re the only ones here. But he
does anyway. Glances out and looks at Dante, oblivious to all of this.
That’s when the police car pulls in.
And Nero knows he’s not going to be able to get out of this now. He can’t run
now. Can’t escape. All at once, everything comes crashing down around him. His
breathing picks up, goes into near hyperventilation. He panics. They’re going
to take him away. Back to Oklahoma. Back to where he isn’t safe. And there’s
nothing he can do about it. He’s still a kid. Not for much longer, he’ll be
eighteen soon. But for now, he’s still a minor.
He takes one more glance out the window. Dante…
--
Dante sees the cop car, and his first instinct is to leave.
He's got warrants. He's got several, and considering they're the only ones
here, Dante's gonna get searched and booked for kidnapping a minor.
Hell no.
He tries to wait. He wants to wait, steps off and mounts Rebellion. She's
already full, already disconnected from the pump so Dante fires her up, and
revs her hard.
"C'mon, c'mon," Dante mumbles, "C'mon, Nero, don't make me leave you here."
--
By the time Nero sees Dante’s ready for a getaway, it’s way too late. The clerk
has moved to the door, letting the cop in and Nero is frozen from his panic.
His heart is pounding in his throat and he tries to run, tries to move at all.
But he can’t.
He looks out the window again and sees the cop’s partner heading toward Dante.
His heart breaks. When he hears the familiar sound of the motorcycle start to
peel away, it shatters.
He’s alone.
He doesn’t even hear the cop. He asks questions, tells Nero bullshit about how
worried everyone has been. Nero stays silent. The only reaction he gives is to
violently shrug away any attempts at touching him.
He punches the nearest jaw when someone starts to lead him out. Happens to be
the cop. He’s lucky, the guy seems pretty good natured about it.
Somehow, he ends up in the back of the cruiser. They had to cuff him, worried
he’d try to hit them again. When it pulls out of the gas station, he folds.
Collapses in his seat and tries his hardest not to cry. He feels like his life
is ending.
--
Dante has never felt lower than he has now.
The second officer looks toward him and starts to approach, and Dante tears off
like a bat out of hell. He doesn't want to, God he doesn't want to. Behind his
aviators, he's hurt in Nero's honor.
Nero.
That kid is gonna go right back home to his fucking rapist and his drunk ass
mother, and he's gonna get beaten or worse. Dante feels his chest tighten and
he presses eighty, knuckles gripping the handles until the turn white. Nero,
baby, no--
--
Nero spends the night in holding. No phone call, not like he really has anyone
to call. The cops tell him his dad is coming to pick him up.
Ha.
Stepdad. Awful piece of shit. But not dad. The man doesn’t get to be called his
father. He can’t believe that the asshole has more legal right over him than
Dan-
Nero stops his thoughts right there. It hurts too much to think about him. He
plays the sound of Rebellion taking off over and over in his head and it just
makes everything worse.
He barely notices the way he automatically starts spinning the ring on his
index finger. The sound of the spinning metal rings in the room.
Somehow, he sleeps.
It’s fitful and he’s freezing. But he sleeps. And in the morning, he’s awoken
by the grate of the cell door and a regretfully familiar scent filling his
nose. His eyes only confirm the presence when they open. Nero shrinks against
the wall, first instinct to cower. When the man approaches, he can feel the
cement dig into his back through his clothes.
“Hey there, my darling boy.”
The nickname, one he’d nearly forgotten in the past year, sends him right back
to ten years old, scared and defenseless. But when his stepfather comes closer,
he goes into his fight mode. Stands up and screams, punches, scratches,
anything to get this creep away from him.
It isn’t long before a guard comes in and restrains him. Asks his stepdad if he
wants to press charges, book him. He doesn’t, just has the guard help him get
Nero to the car.
Everything is exactly the same.
Nero tries to sleep on the drive home. It takes a long time. He does everything
he can to simultaneously avoid the other person in the car and not think about
the places he’d rather be.
When they make it back to the house, it’s the same, too. Mom is in a stupor on
the couch. Glances at them and tosses the empty handle of vodka in her fist
just shy of Nero’s head, “Where th’ fuck’ve you been?”. Nero doesn’t answer and
distances himself from them as quickly as possible. He escapes to his room,
almost punches a wall when he remembers locking it won’t keep the demons away.
He buries himself in his blankets and it’s now he finally lets himself cry.
Sobs into his pillow. Wishes he didn’t hurt so bad. Wishes his chest didn’t
feel like he’s being crushed between two semi trucks.
He wishes Dante didn’t leave.
He doesn’t even realise he’s still wearing his coat. It’s not really Dante’s
coat anymore. Nero’s worn it every day since the man gave it to him. It’s
pretty much his now. But it still smells like Dante. Like Dante and cheap
motels and dusty highways and liquor. And it hurts.
That night, it gets much, much worse.
His stepdad comes in, just like always. Quiet, barely noticeable. Locks the
door behind him. Grins down at Nero where he hides under his blankets, facing
away. He knows he’s there. Can smell him, feel him. He curls in on himself,
holds the jacket he’s still wearing closer to his body.
“Missed you, darling boy. Why’d you run off like that? Not very nice. We were
so worried. I’ll have to punish you, you know.” Nero shudders, but doesn’t
move. He’ll be forced to soon enough anyway.
A hand on his shoulder wrenches him onto his back, pulls his blankets away and
tosses them aside. “Look at you.” The man drinks Nero in with his disgusting,
lecherous stare. His eyes land on the jacket. He reaches down for it, “Haven’t
seen this before…” His fist tightens and his eyes go cold and dangerous. He
leans down and puts his face right next to Nero’s. He tries to recoil, but a
hand holds him in place. “Who the hell have you been fucking? Need I remind you
who you belong to, darling boy?” This time, the nickname is spit with disdain.
Nero doesn’t answer. Lays there like a ragdoll, waiting for the inevitable. His
stepdad grabs his throat, slams him into the mattress and straddles his hips.
It takes him almost no time at all to wrench Nero’s pants down, unzip his own
enough to pull out his cock. He doesn’t waste time with a condom or
preparation, just holds Nero into the bed and pushes his legs out of the way.
Slams into him with all the force he can muster. A hand slaps across his cheek,
“Come on, darling boy, moan for me. This is what you like, is it not? When it
hurts? When you’re controlled.”
Nero’s mind wanders after this. He lets the scent from Dante’s jacket take him
away while he’s taken by the evil man above him. He remembers all of the good
things. Remembers the way Dante always protected him, kept him safe.
For a moment, he thinks Dante will appear. Save the day just like he did all
those months ago in Colorado. Come in silent and deadly, put a knife against
the bastard’s throat and fucking kill him. Let his blood cover the bed and save
Nero from any more of this torture.
But he’s not here anymore.
By the time his stepdad is finished, Nero has tears streaming from his eyes
silently. The man smirks at that. Drags his tongue across Nero’s cheek before
saying goodnight.
It doesn’t end.
Before he left, Nero’s mom would beat on him every now and then and his stepdad
would come visit no more than a few times a month, usually when his mom was too
high to be of use to him. But now, it’s like both of them are making up for
lost time. A day doesn’t go by that he’s not bruised and broken in several
different ways.
He’s not allowed to leave the house. No visitors. The only time he goes out is
if his mom sends him out on a booze and cigarette run. The only reason it’s all
sold to him is because it’s a small town and the clerks all know it’s not for
him.
He spends most days curled up on himself hoping his mom and stepdad forget he’s
there. And most of the time, they don’t. They’re always yelling at him, blaming
him, accusing him. It’s exactly the same as before he left, except much worse.
School isn’t even on his mind. No one takes him, he’s got no way to get there,
and he’s pretty sure his parents would hit him if he wanted to go. So he just
forgets about it. He’s already missed a year, might as well give up on it. Not
worth his time.
The only thing that really gets to him is that not even Kyrie and Credo can see
him. He’s been back for months now and he hasn’t heard anything from them.
Though, he’s sure that’s his stepdad’s doing. He’s keeping him especially
close. Any kind of friend of Nero’s is not welcome. He’s owned, not to be
shared.
And a year later, his eighteenth birthday come and gone, he’s still trapped.
Caged. Under orders. Legally, he supposes they can’t keep him there. But they
never did care much for the law. Evidenced by the fact that Nero is, yet again,
on a run to buy alcohol for his mother. Alcohol and cigarettes. The local
corner store is not too far from his house. About a fifteen minute or so walk.
It’s also the only gas station around for probably about 50 miles in any
direction. And the walk is the only chance he really gets to be free. And, even
in the summer heat, Nero walks with a red leather jacket hanging too large on
his frame.
--
Dante has been searching for Nero every day since he left.
He wished he'd never left Nero behind, wished he'd just gone into that store
and snatched him up and just ran. Put Nero on the back of his bike and hauled
ass-- It's not like he hasn't outrun cops before, it could've been so easy.
Nero could still be here, in his arms, safe from his shitty family.
Dante backtracked. He checked all of Arizona where they met, searched damn near
all fifty fucking states for a year to find Nero. And to be honest, he spent
half of it wanting to fill the gap he'd left with smack.
In fact, he picked up again.
He didn't shoot it. Dante was ready to though, god he was ready, belt around
his arm and needle uncapped. And he remembered the way Nero said he was proud
of him for getting clean in the first place. So he didn't. Broke the needle
under the heel of his boot behind the motel, put his belt back on, and settled
for a menthol and a bottle of Jack instead.
That was a month ago. Now, he sits outside a gas station in Oklahoma, flipping
through pictures of him and Nero on his phone as Rebellion refills.
"Miss you, kiddo. I'm tryin', I really am. Just give me a little more time."
--
Nero keeps his head down as he rounds the corner, doesn’t bother looking
around. Just ducks into the store and heads straight for the little shelf of
alcohol. He picks a couple handles of vodka off the shelf, goes to the counter
and asks for a pack of smokes. He takes a second and debates grabbing a pack
for himself, but doesn’t.
Pays with a few bills, ducks back out.
It’s a complete accident he glances around the station. A total coincidence he
notices the motorcycle that looks so fucking familiar. Random happenstance that
he looks harder for just a second.
He drops both bottles and the pack of cigarettes to the pavement.
The sound of glass breaking doesn’t even make it through the fog in his mind.
He marches over to the man leaning up against the bike with a phone on his
hand. His first move is to punch him, right in the gut. And the next is to wrap
his arms around the man, bury his face in his neck, and inhale.
“Dante, you fucking prick.”
--
The sound of shattering glass is what first catches Dante's attention, grinning
down at his phone. "Party foul--"
But when he looks up, he almost starts fucking crying.
"Baby--" he breathes, only to get cut off by one of the gnarliest punches to
the gut he's ever received. It hurts, and Dante almost pukes, but he doesn't
fight Nero. Coughs, staggers a little bit, but otherwise recovers by the time
Nero has pressed himself flush against his chest.
Dante immediately wraps his arms around Nero and just holds him, hand on the
back of his head and one arm wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he
says, "I'm so fucking sorry."
He pulls away from Nero, taking his face in his hands. "Hey," he laughs
breathily, "You grew into your jaw a little more. God, kid, you look-- You
look... Really good."
--
Dante’s apologies don’t really mean much to Nero. Not because he doesn’t accept
them, but because he doesn’t need to. Nero is pissed, angry, hurt. But none of
that matters. Because Dante is here. He’s here and real and maybe this all
won’t end so badly after all.
When they pull away, Dante looks him over. Nero scoffs at his comment, “Don’t
lie. I know I’ve got a black eye the size of Texas. I look like hell.” Nero
searches Dante’s features, memorises the face he never forgot, “You look good,
too.”
Nero wants to lean up, wants to catch Dante’s lips with his own. But he doesn’t
know if he has the right anymore. Doesn’t know how the past year has altered
their relationship. If they even have a relationship. Nero’s fingers start
spinning at the ring still on his finger after all this time. He averts his
eyes, “I missed you.”
--
Dante runs his thumb under Nero's eye, and he sighs through his nose. "He do
this to you? Nero I swear to god, I'll fuckin' kill him." Dante stops. He shuts
up, and he kisses Nero deep, albeit briefly. "I missed you. I have missed you
every day, Nero, every day. I--"
Again, Dante pauses, pressing his forehead to Nero's gently. "...You look good
to me. Always have, even when you were a little tipsy and a little sloppy,
hanging all over me."
Dante looks down, hears the metal of Nero's ring, and notices the jacket. "You
kept this shit?"
--
Nero is so glad when Dante kisses him. And of course Dante would be concerned.
Of course he would be protective. “Nah. This one… this one was mom. He doesn’t
tend to leave too many marks.” He grips Dante’s shoulder, “But don’t- don’t do
anything. It’s not worth it. Just. I just want to get out.”
Nero smiles when Dante mentions him being tipsy. Tipsy and clingy. He’s
definitely an affectionate drunk. At least he didn’t get his mother’s drunken
behaviour.
And the stuff. Of course he kept it. That ring and this jacket. That’s how he
made it through this past year. Made it through every night his stepdad would
come in. Made it through every blow from his mother. Made it through every
lonely night without strong, warm arms around him.
“Course I did.” He mutters.
--
Dante wants to argue that yeah, it is worth it. Wants to argue that it's worth
it because that fucker and his wife are disgusting and need to get put down or
taught a lesson that you don't fuck your children, metaphorically or literally.
But he doesn't. He drops it, because he knows Nero will fight him.
"You know," Dante says, "I have your stuff. It all smells like Rebellion's
saddlebags, but I have it. We can go. We can go to New York, I fucking promised
you. I promised you, baby."
--
Those words have never sounded so fucking sweet. Never felt so amazing. He
clings to Dante even harder, like he’ll disappear at any moment. “Please. Just
get me out of here. I’m eighteen now, they can’t bring me back. Let’s go.”
He steps in close again. His nails have to be leaving marks in Dante’s back by
now with how tightly he’s gripping him. He never wants to let go again. And if
they go anywhere near his house again, he’ll never get out without blood being
shed. And he has no doubt Dante’s willing to do that. But they’ll have enough
issues without a warrant out for murder on both their heads.
“Let’s just leave. Right now.”
--
Dante holds Nero just as tight, almost as if he's scared the smaller is gonna
slip right through his fucking fingers if he lets go. "I love you," Dante
mumbles into his hair, "I love you."
And when they pull apart again, Dante steps back. "Hop on. She's missed having
a passenger, she doesn't purr as loud as she used to when you were around."
"Let's go make another motel home, yeah?"
***** Banging Reunion *****
Chapter Summary
     I'm terrible at puns....
Chapter Notes
     Harley and I had an itch so now there's another chapter. So if you
     were wondering if they immediately went to have sex, yeah, they did.
When Dante finds the boy that's kept him alive after a year of separation, he
wastes no time proving how much he missed those pretty eyes and fair hair.
As Nero takes lead to their recently rented motel room, he begins to realize
how much he's missed that wiry form. Nero's grown some, gotten taller, but
Dante still has to look down at him - not that he minds. Nero walks and Dante
can't take his eyes off the boy, can't stop thinking about how much he's missed
him and how much he's missed holding him and kissing him and marking him up.
Which is exactly why Dante stops him before he can even swipe the card to get
inside.
Dante shoves Nero's back up against the door, pressing flush against them and
crashing their lips together and nipping at Nero's lips hungrily. Dante can't
help himself, he's hungry and he wants to eat Nero for fucking dinner. "Baby,"
he growls, leaving bruising kisses on Nero's neck. "Do you have any idea," he
bites down harshly, "How much I missed you?"
--
All Nero wanted to do during the ride away from bum fuck, Oklahoma, was curl
into Dante’s back and breathe him in and memorise how it all felt again. But,
instead, he spends most of it conflicted. Waffling between elation at being
back on the back of Rebellion behind Dante and dread that his stepdad would
come looking for him again.
He continues this line of thought while they check into a motel and as he leads
the way to the room they’re given. So when Dante stops him before he’s managed
to get the door open, he’s more than a little surprised. Pleasantly, but that
doesn’t change the fact that he still flinches a bit.
Nero thinks he’s hidden the flinch well enough when Dante keeps on, shoving him
hard into the door and pressing up against him. Every bit of them that could be
touching is. Dante’s kisses are bruising and painful, but it’s right. Nero
missed this. Wished for it every night for the last year.
He smiles at Dante’s words, “I think you’re giving me a pretty good idea. Do
you want, ah-, to go in first? Or do you plan on fucking in the hallway?”
--
Dante manages to get the keycard from Nero's hand and slides it quickly,
managing to open the door and stumble in with his lips still on Nero's. Nero
tastes no different than he used to - like salt and inexperience. Dante doesn't
waste time - he wants to see Nero's skin, wants to mark every inch of it and
then show him off to the world because you are mine. So he throws off the
smaller's jacket onto the carpet, kicking the door shut and following Nero
blindly.
"Do you have any idea," Dante growls, one hand grabbing at at Nero's ass, "How
often I thought of you?" His sentence is hardly coherent against Nero's mouth,
but he can't bring himself to care.
--
Nero follows where Dante leads. Stumbles backwards through the door once it’s
opened and reciprocates the fervour with which Dante kisses him. It’s no
different than it ever was. He still tastes like whiskey, still smells like
leather and lighter fluid. It’s the same passion, the same need, they’ve always
had. But it’s more intense. The distance and time has done something, added a
desperation in their interactions.
The jacket falls away and Nero almost wants to cling to it. It’s been his only
connection to Dante for so long, he has to remind himself that the man is right
in front of him. He doesn’t need to hide behind a jacket because the man is
here.
But he has other reasons to need to hide.
Dante’s hand on his ass and his words trying to make it through their kiss
distract him. He makes a sound into Dante’s lips, the best answer he can come
up with, and bring his hands up to try and pull and Dante’s jacket. He sheds it
with little difficulty.
--
Dante pushes Nero down onto the creaky motel bed the second he can, pinning the
smaller beneath him and hiking up Nero's legs over his hips. The older moves to
suck dark hickies onto Nero's neck fumbling with his own jeans as well as his
lover's.
Lover.
That's nice, Dante thinks. That's better than nice, that's - that's wonderful,
and the older can't help but pull Nero just a little bit closer and hold him
just a little tighter, even as he grinds their hips together, thirsty for
Nero's lovely little sounds. A breath of Nero's name escapes him as he moves to
suck another deep hickey right over the center of the boy's throat with a
possessive growl of mine. "You're mine," Dante repeats, grinding against Nero,
"And I'm not gonna let you get taken from me again."
--
It’s familiar and perfect.
Dante gets Nero on the bed before he really has time to do much of anything. As
it should be. Folds him in half (a bit difficult with some of his mother’s
marks still on him), and is back to kissing him in no time while he struggles
to rid them of their clothes.
Nero feels Dante’s grip get a little tighter as he grinds into him. The
friction is delicious and pulls soft moans from Nero’s throat. He feels warm
and good. His name on Dante’s lips reminds him exactly how real this is. It
strikes him how loved he feels.
“I’ll, hhh- hold you to it, old man,” Nero barely manages to get out between
moans and gasps.
--
Dante breathes some kind of breathy promise to Nero, unaware of his own words
but knowing that it's a promise to keep him safe. His hands slide up the
smaller's sides to rid him of his shirt, tossing it to the side and kissing
down his chest but his skin is--
Cuts. Dante doesn't let it register and the thought is shoved from his head
before he can even dwell on it. Dante's tongue licks over one of Nero's nipples
briefly, drinking in all the little noises and whines that the younger makes.
He's beautiful and Dante wants to make sure he knows that.
So he nudges Nero's legs off his hips to better get his jeans and his boxers
off, tossing those just the same with Nero's assistance. "The last time you got
eaten out was with me, wasn't it?"
--
Dante’s promise is reassuring in Nero’s ears. It calms his nerves and comforts
him in the face of his biggest fears. He’s still terrified his stepdad will
come after him. But with Dante promising to keep him safe, keep him by his
side, Nero feels much better. Almost like he can let his guard down.
Nero instinctively curls in on himself a bit when Dante pulls off his shirt,
trying to hide the evidence of how he’s spent much of the last year. But when
Dante just keeps kissing him and his tongue darts out, Nero forgets about the
need to hide, lost in the pleasure of it. And the rest of his clothes follow
quickly.
And then Dante speaks.
Nero can feel his cheeks burn. He wants to pop off with some stupid, flippant
retort. But he can’t bring himself to joke about how he’s spent the last year
with the wounds still so fresh. So instead he just confirms with a nod.
--
"'S'okay, baby. It's okay."
Dante gets to work pretty quickly, hiking Nero's legs over his shoulders, hands
running over the sides of his thighs. Nero is still bruised from his mother's
wrath, and it pains Dante to look at. But he doesn't dwell, instead trailing
kisses down his lover's pale thighs until he gets to his perineum. His tongue
darts out and that's what he focuses on at first, one hand moving to carefully
wrap around Nero's throat. He won't hold harder unless asked.
Dante licks and sucks at wherever he can reach, free hand teasing the head of
Nero's cock lightly. Dante can feel that he himself is straining through his
jeans and his belt is starting to feel suffocating. But he ignores it for
Nero's sake, trying to remind Nero of what they had.
And of what he hopes is still there.
--
Nero’s pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven. With the way Dante trails
kisses over him and cares. The way he immediately starts making this about him,
even though he absolutely doesn’t need to. But Nero appreciates it. Appreciates
how right Dante feels. How right he is.
And his tongue is pretty fucking magic.
There is no holding back the whimpers and moans after Dante gets started.
There’s a hand on his cock, one on his neck, and Dante’s tongue teasing him
lower. So much sensation and Nero can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. But it
doesn’t matter. He knows Dante likes it, maybe even loves it.
After a short time, Nero finds he needs more. There’s so much and still he
craves more. More of Dante, more of this, but most of all, more pressure. His
hand curls around Dante’s wrist where he’s got his neck in a loose hold,
“More,” he chokes out.
--
Dante's hold tightens and he fucking growls, eyebrows furrowing in
concentration as he tries to pleasure Nero. His tongue presses hard against the
smaller's hole, not hard enough to press inside but just hard enough to tease.
If Dante wanted to make him come just from this, he might've thrown out the
whole nine.
But he doesn't. So he trails kisses back up, not focusing on anything except
making Nero feel good. And leaving bites all across the vast expanse of his
chest and stomach, right hand still firm around Nero's neck.
"Tell me how much you want me to fuck you. Tell me what you want."
--
When Dante’s hand tightens around his throat, it all comes together. It’s not
enough pressure to make him light headed, but it’s enough to feel. Combined
with everything else, it’s absolute rapture. Nero hasn’t felt this good in so
long.
As Dante makes his way back up Nero’s front, he thinks he’s finally going to
get what he wants. But it’s never been that easy with Dante, and Nero wouldn’t
have it any other way. He grins when Dante orders him around. The nostalgia in
it near overwhelming in the best of ways.
“If you don’t hurry up and fuck me into this mattress so hard the motel kicks
us out, I’m going to flip you over and take what I want. Need you now, Dante.”
--
Dante's dufflebag rests on the floor near the side of the bed, so retrieving
lube isn't all that difficult. Most of it was left from when he and Nero were
still together, but hey - a guy can't go a year without getting off a couple
times.
So Dante slicks himself and Nero up, but only to stop and decide to make the
smaller feel even better, just for a little.
Dante lets one finger slide inside of Nero, knowing exactly where that spot is
that makes him go crazy. But he avoids it for now, only brushing near it or
next to it until a second digit joins the first. "Fuck," Dante breathes,
grinning, "You... I missed you, lookin' at me like that. Missed you whinin' my
name, missed you begging. Missed you, kiddo."
--
The bottle of lube that Dante grabs from his bag looks familiar and it makes
Nero chuckle slightly at how sentimental it feels. He kept the lube. And any
sentimentality he feels is overshadowed when Dante finally starts slicking them
up and Nero is so ready for this. To finally get what he’s been missing for so
long.
But, yet again, Dante delays. Postpones what Nero is goddamn desperate for with
teasing. This time, with a finger inside and dancing around his prostate.
“Christ-” His voice is choked and thin, so affected already.
He shudders and keens, legs shaking and fingers clutching at whatever he can
reach. “Dante…” he whines desperately. He’s so needy. It’s been so long.
--
Nero's legs are shaking with desire and need and Dante can't help but watch
him, can't help but let his eyes scan that lustful, flushed face because oh my
god, he's beautiful. He's bruised up and cut up but he's still just as radiant
as he's always been, laying flat on his back and his face contorting with
pleasure. Dante hushes him with a laugh and says, "Our neighbors are gonna know
my name if you don't pipe down."
But Dante hopes he'll only get louder. He loves those cries and those whines,
those yelps of his name and those nails raking down his back. He hopes by the
time he's done with Nero, his back's gonna look like someone threw a lion at
him.
Dante's fingers work in and out of him, occasionally brushing his prostate
while he remains in the younger's ear. He nips at his jaw, whispering, "Fuck,
Nero, I can't get enough of you, you know that?"
--
The first time Dante’s finger brushes his prostate, Nero does two things. One,
he screams. Unabashedly and without holding back. He won’t be surprised if
Dante’s ear is still ringing in a few hours. Two, his hands fly to Dante’s
back. He holds on tight, rakes his nails down through flesh. It’s a good thing
he knows Dante likes being scratched up, because otherwise he would feel bad.
Because there’s no stopping it.
If the neighbours didn’t already know Dante’s name, they sure as fuck do now.
Dante’s fingers only make him louder, but still, the whispers are like shouts
in his ear. “Then why don’t you get on with it? What are you waiting for?”
--
Dante moans without shame when Nero's nails rake down his back, leaving a
wonderful sting in their wake. He can feel the red lines coming up, he can feel
his skin tear and the blood start to prick up to the surface, and all he can
think about is getting more of that. "Shit," he hisses, biting down to leave
another hickey on Nero's throat. Dante had opened his jeans and discarded his
belt awhile ago, deciding he was tired of the way they were getting
uncomfortably tight and beginning to feel suffocating. Only now does he fully
toss off his jeans and his chaps, letting his boxers tag along with them.
Dante doesn't waste time rolling on a condom (these ones much more fresh,
because those bastards do expire), slicking up his cock and lining up against
Nero, bridged over him. He only sighs out a warning before pushing inside
slowly, letting him get used to it. "Nero holy hell-- Fuck, baby--"
--
The sound of a foil packet ripping open is music to Nero’s ears. Finally,
finally, Dante is going to give him what he wants. What he needs.
It’s slow, more or less gentle. And the extra stretch is a delicious burn. It
feels so good, so right. Nero revels in the way he feels connected to the man
over him. The way he finally has someone who loves him taking him rather than a
sick man forcing him open. Dante is so perfect.
He wants to tell the man how good it feels, how much he’s missed this, how
perfect the way he coaxes him open is. Wants to fill his ears with words about
the slow burn and the dichotomy of gentle and rough he uses. But Nero’s never
been too good with words.
So he writes him a poem of moans and gasps instead.
--
Nero's noises are absolute music to Dante's ears, and he lets him know that
when he starts moving. It's shortly after he's bottomed out - but he doesn't
let Nero adjust. Never has, Nero's never wanted to. He's a little masochist,
and this Dante is well aware of. Which is why he starts slow, rolling his hips
and thrusting deep, but not pulling out too much. Not yet.
Dante moans low, one hand caging in Nero's throat and the other helping to keep
him up. Dante's grip is firm, squeezing the sides of his throat to restrict
bloodflow and not airflow. Absently, his index finger brushes over Nero's jaw
lovingly, pressing his forehead to the smaller's temple.
And then he begins to drive into him harder.
"Do you have, any, idea," he says again, "What I did, hn-, to find you? What I
- fuck - did to see you again?"
--
Nero’s always appreciated the way Dante never questioned his propensity toward
pain. Never questioned and even seems to enjoy it. Indulges his need to hurt
and drinks in the sounds of his wanton moans. It’s one of the reasons they work
so well, he supposes. They’re practically made for one another.
So he experiences the pain. The pressure on his throat cutting off enough blood
to make his head feel fuzzy. The burn of Dante’s cock stretching him. And also
the pleasure. Dante’s breath on his skin. His finger stroking at his jaw. The
way Dante’s hips pick up speed.
He barely hears the words, but he understands the sentiment nonetheless. He
wants to know, wants to ask all about what Dante has spent the last year doing.
But not now. Now, he just wants, “More. Harder. C’mon… please.”
--
Dante gives in to Nero's request, smothering the boy in kisses as he drives
into him harder, faster. Nero is wonderful, his moans are intoxicating and his
whines are breathtaking. Dante can't even hold his own noises back, he's missed
this and he's missed /Nero/ but now he's home. He's home in Dante's arms, right
where he belongs.
Dante keeps asking his questions, "Do you know how - hah - how worried you had
me?"
Dante had been scared for a whole year. Scared for Nero's safety and scared for
his sanity, scared for his health. Dante has felt like shit since he left, and
now... He's got a chance to maybe make it up to him. "I love you."
--
Nero is finally where he belongs. Right at home beneath Dante with a soundtrack
of their moans filling the room. He's light-headed and loud and Dante is
driving him higher and closer.
Dante is still asking questions but Nero can't hope to respond. It doesn't
really matter, anyway. Nero knows all too well how much Dante missed him. He
missed Dante in exactly the same way. After he'd finished cursing his name for
leaving him behind, he just missed him. Wondered what he was doing and if he
was thinking of him. Clearly he was.
But it's the 'I love you' that really gets to him. It's only the third time
he's heard the words from the other man. Though he's known, deep down, the
truth of them long before, it's entirely different to hear them. To watch the
way Dante's lips form the words.
It tips him over the edge in a way he never thought possible.
--
Nero comes, and Dante knows he's not far behind.
The sound Nero makes when he finally lets go and makes an absolute mess of
himself is beautiful. It's loud and it's feral and Dante keeps fucking into
Nero because he's close but he's not there yet. So the hand around Nero's
throat moves to stroke his softening cock, both trying to overstimulate him and
help him through his orgasm. Dante tries to hush his cries, tries to whisper
nothings to him, but he's stopped dead by his own orgasm, eyebrows knitting
together and jaw falling open just barely.
His thrusts gradually slow and move to a stop, Dante's forehead dropping to
collide softly with Nero's own. His breath comes in ragged and harsh, and he
can't stop looking at Nero.
"I love you, baby."
--
Nero goes pretty brainless as he comes. He barely notices Dante working him
through and over stimulating him. At least until he starts to come down.
Pathetic, teary whimpers spill from his lips as Dante keeps going until he
finds his own release. And that Nero doesn’t miss. He watches Dante’s face and
it’s absolutely breathtaking.
But it’s in the moments after, hot breath mingling between them from heavy
pants, that really sits with Nero. The way Dante’s eyes don’t leave from Nero’s
face for even a fraction of a second. They just lay there, breathing hard and
heavy and ragged, staring at one another. Remembering each other, memorising,
confirming the reality of it all.
And then Dante’s words stop Nero’s heart. It’s the fourth time now that Dante’s
said it, the fourth time in Nero’s entire life he’s ever heard the words, and
Nero hasn’t yet had the chance to return the sentiment since their reunion. So
he brings his hands up to Dante’s face, cradles it gently and sighs into him,
“I love you, too, Dante. So fucking much. I missed you so much.”
--
The way Nero returns the words with such hurry makes Dante's heart break. He
leans into Nero's hands, nuzzling into them and dropping to his elbows to
better card his own hands through Nero's hair. "I know, baby," he whispers,
kissing the corner of his lips, "I know. I'm sorry, kiddo, I'm so, so sorry, I
have never fucked up that bad in my life and I'm--"
Dante doesn't continue. Instead, he nudges Nero's nose with his own, once again
resting their foreheads together. They stay like that for some time before
Dante finally pulls out, tossing whatever wrapper and condom remains from sex
into the bedside trashcan. He lays beside Nero carefully, just watching him.
Those cuts register.
--
Dante’s hands through his hair matter more to Nero than the words. He doesn’t
need Dante’s apologies. He knows he’s sorry. He spent months pissed off at the
man for leaving him alone. But he understood. He figured it out. And he knew
that Dante never wanted to hurt him. Never wanted to leave him to the mercy of
his fucked up family. He forgave Dante a long time ago.
So when Dante finishes cleaning up and lays back down next to him, Nero clings.
He clings like the elder man is just going to fade into nothing. Like this is
all some elaborate dream and he’s just going to wake up in his bed at home to
the door opening and his stepdad coming in again. He’s probably leaving little
crescent shaped nail marks in Dante’s skin, but it’s nothing compared to the
marks he’s already made. He holds hard and desperate, breathing the man in,
afraid to fall asleep in case he really does wake up back in Oklahoma.
He still doesn’t register that he’s got a lot to answer for from the past year.
--
Dante holds Nero just as tight, tangling their legs together and keeping a hand
on the back of the younger's head. His fingers stay laced in his coarse locks,
keeping Nero perfectly against him and safe from harm. Safe from his stepdad
and his mother. "I gotcha, baby boy, I gotcha. And I'm not letting you go,
yeah?" Dante stays silent for a little bit after speaking, letting Nero ground
himself and stay stable before finally asking that question he really, really
didn't want to ask.
"Did you start cutting again?"
Dante doesn't ask it with venom or disappointment - he just asks. "Because," he
starts again, "I don't-- I don't know what I'd do if I lost you to that, too, I
already lost Lady, Nero, I can't lose you too I don't want to read about
another dead kid in the paper I--"
Dante feels very, very powerless.
--
They lay there for a long time in silence save for Dante’s reassurances. Just
holding one another as tight and as close as humanly possible. Living in this
stagnant moment of post sex fantasy.
And then Dante asks the question that brings reality crashing back around Nero.
Nero instinctively pulls away. Not enough to leave Dante’s hold, or even roll
away. But enough to notice. Dante doesn’t sound disappointed or angry. He just
sounds sad. Sad and lost. And it breaks Nero’s heart. It takes him a long time
to be able to work out what to say and how to say it. He remembers the cuts on
his ribs, his arms, the fresh and very deep ones on the insides of his thighs.
He remembers the exact moment he made each of those marks and how hopeless and
out of control his life felt in that moment.
He remembers trying to die.
He curls in on himself even more, trying to hide the marks. Impossible, but he
tries anyway. “I-” he starts. His voice is so quiet, so young. “Dante, I tried.
I tried so hard not to. But it was so hard, I didn’t have anything to hold on
to.”
He goes quiet for a bit before adding, against his better judgement, “You
almost did.”
--
Dante didn't wanna hear that.
"What have I told you, Nero?" he snaps, but not raising his voice. He's not
angry, he's not, he's...
Fuck, he's scared.
"What have I told you?" he asks again, looking Nero in the eyes. "If I lost you
like that, if I spent months looking for a kid six fucking feet under-- If I
read your name in the obituaries, if I found your fucking headstone but not
you, I--" Dante's voice cracks and suddenly he doesn't trust himself to go on
and his guard goes up, steeling himself. He doesn't wanna make this about him,
Dante really doesn't wanna do that because it's not about him it's about Nero
and it's always been Nero and--
"Don't tell me that!" This time, Dante's voice does raise the barest decibel.
"Don't tell me that, kiddo, I--"
--
Each and every syllable out of Dante’s mouth is a direct stab to Nero’s soul.
It’s not like he didn’t think of all that. It’s not like he didn’t have visions
with every press of the blade of Dante’s face and memories of laying in a hotel
room while Dante explains what happened to his friend. He thought about it all
every time.
He thought about Dante happening across his headstone right before he sliced
open his thighs.
He really wanted to die that time. It was the first time he truly used his
blade to try to kill himself. It was barely a few weeks ago, now. He would’ve
been successful, too, if his stepdad hadn’t come home early that day. Early
with an intention of finding him.
The hospital was out of the question. People would ask too many questions. Part
of Nero had hoped he’d die from lack of care, but his stepdad patched him up,
kept him from bleeding out, and stitched his wounds. Spent far more time with
Nero making sure he was recovering safely.
After that, Nero learned that he didn’t even have control over his own death.
Something always interfered. So he got more careful. More shallow cuts. It
didn’t hurt as much, didn’t let him escape as well, but he still had control.
His stepdad didn’t even notice the new cuts, not surprising when he barely
bothered undressing him most times.
Nero looks at Dante, full of guilt and sadness and regret.
And anger.
“You weren’t there, Dante.”
--
Ouch.
Dante doesn't know if the hurt shines in his eyes or if he makes any kind of
grunt or distressed sound. He just knows that no one's ever said anything of
that caliber to him, no one's ever said anything that's impacted him as hard as
that just did.
Not even Vergil.
Dante kisses Nero's forehead and he sits up, sighing through his nose. His
dufflebag rests bedside, and he rifles through it to find a half-empty, tinted
bottle of Jack Daniel's. Flick of the wrist and the cap comes off easy enough,
and he raises it to his lips.
One, two, three, four.
Now he can deal with the situation at hand. Cap goes back on and the bottle
clatters softly as it hits the cheap wood of the end table, and Dante runs a
hand through his (very dusty) hair. He doesn't know how to respond - Nero's
fucking /right/. He has no excuse to be bitching at him for something he
could've prevented if he'd waited just five fucking seconds, no excuse to bitch
at Nero when he was going through hell for a year.
"Alright, you fucking win."
--
Nero regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He hates the way it
makes Dante look at him. He hates that Dante just kisses his forehead and gets
a bottle of Jack from his bag. His stomach turns and he feels miserable. He
didn’t want to do this. They just found each other, he didn’t want to fight or
hurt each other.
And when Dante concedes, he feels even worse.
“I didn’t- that’s not what I meant. It’s not a contest. I- A lot happened in
the last year. I did things I’m not proud of, but we’re here now. You’re here
now.”
--
Dante inhales and lets out a sigh, keeping his mouth shut for the time being.
He knows it's not a contest - he just wants Nero to know that he can't lose
another person he loves to suicide, can't go back to losing Lady and he can't
go back to feeling like a needle is the best therapy on the planet.
He can't do it.
So Dante lays back down beside Nero and he just holds him. Presses Nero to his
chest and presses gentle kisses to every bit of skin he can reach. "I can't
lose you, baby, I really can't," he whispers, kissing Nero's forehead again,
"You talk to me if you ever feel like that again, Nero."
Dante just hopes he doesn't have to tell Nero about the heroin.
--
Nero caves into Dante when he’s pulled back into him. He missed him so.
Fucking. Much. He missed laying against him like this. He missed breathing in
his scent and hopping from motel room to motel room. He missed being home.
So he concedes to Dante’s request, nods against his chest, “Yeah. Yeah.” He
lays against him for a long time. Long enough for him to relax. Long enough for
his hands to start moving, running over skin he’s missed so dearly. He finds
dips in skin exactly where they’ve always been, hills where he remembers.
Little has changed in Dante since Nero last saw him, physically. But he worries
about the mental things.
When his hands find Dante’s arms, run over old scars from needles, he finally
speaks, “You’re still clean, yeah?”
--
Of course he asks. Dante smiles lightly, kisses the top of Nero's head and
nods. "Barely," he admits, shutting his eyes. "But yeah. I am."
Dante's eyes close and he remembers the pressure of a belt cinched firmly
around his arm, the pinch of the metal point against his vein, but not breaking
the skin. He shudders, though not externally - he tries to keep it in.
"I'm clean. I promise."
--
Nero pulls back so he can beam at Dante. “Good. You did good. I’m so proud.” He
kisses his lips soft and slow, lingering there. It feels so good to be able to
do this. There’s nothing to worry about, no laws being broken just by being
together. Just Dante and Nero supporting one another.
“I’m here to talk about when you have urges, too. It’s not easy, but we can
help each other.” His voice is quiet, little more than a whisper. But in the
quiet of the room, he knows it carries well enough.
It could be minutes or hours later, but finally, Nero tries to peel himself
away from Dante. “I’m going to catch a shower. I still smell like that house.”
--
Dante keeps Nero close and kisses him absently, even after they've decided to
stop talking. Dante's hands continue to wander even still, running over his
cock once or twice just to hear those sensitive little gasps that he loves so
much. Dante doesn't let him go, not for anything - he's missed this far too
much to let him go now.
When Nero says he's going to shower, Dante pulls him back. "Five more minutes
and then you can, okay?" he murmurs, pressing up against Nero's back and
wrapping his arms around the boy's waist. "Five more minutes."
End Notes
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