JL Sigman (jlsigman) wrote in roads_diverged, @ 2008-08-13 15:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | devil may cry, jlsigman:dante+nero, theme 28: alien planet |
Devil May Cry, Nero, "Memories, Piled On", alien planet
Title: Memories, Piled On
Author: jlsigman
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Pairing: Nero/OC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: character death, sex
Theme: World Tour #28, Alien Planet
A/N: This one is written oddly for a reason, but I will gladly accept all concrit. Thanks!
The nightmares always start the same: as memories of his last hours on Earth. He had left Kyrie at home with her friend to finish decorating the baby's room while he went to investigate another cache of His Holiness's papers. It had been over five years since he had destroyed the Savior, but it seemed that the secrets left behind were endless. Nero also held out hope that one day he'd find answers about himself – exactly who he was, what his arm actually meant – that he craved, especially now that his daughter was to be born so soon.
He had been sitting at a desk reading for more then two hours when Hell arrived. And this is where the memories faded into twisted horrors, summoning his rage and grief and guilt and throwing them into his face as things he could have done to prevent the deaths and save someone, anyone, other than himself.
He remembered the earthquake, which seemed to last for hours as the sealed Hell Gate below the city impossibly burst into life. He remembered the screaming (echoing in his ears for the rest of time), the crumbling buildings (friends killed with each falling brick), the fires that started from nothing and consumed the town in an instant (it took days, according to others, but he wasn't there to see it). He remembered grabbing his sword and running for home, fighting off demonic hoards that poured in from everywhere. Had there been that many? He couldn't remember clearly now, everything was a blur of fear and fire.
He wanted to wake up, but he also believed he deserved what he knew he was going to see next. He hovered in between dreams and reality, unable to break away. He ran up to their house in time to see it explode. Or maybe it had already exploded and he was digging through the wreckage. He had to find her, his Kyrie. He was screaming her name, frantically slinging the rubble around with his devil arm until he uncovered her corpse.
This time she was angelic, flawless, except for the dead eyes and the open mouth telling him it was all his fault.
He fought himself, struggling to sit up and not scream and still breathe and not hit the person sharing a bed with him. He finally managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and use his stomach muscles to pull himself up. He didn't trust his devil arm after the nightmares, and his artificial arm was across the room. He slowly breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Even after two hundred and forty-seven years, the loss was still almost too much to bear.
Nero carefully stood up, not bothering to cover himself, and softly walked around the bed. He looked down into the still sleeping face of the woman he had found himself involved with off and on for the last forty-two years and twelve days. She had the eerie endless youth that he usually only saw on his own face, and he often wondered if this was long lost Dante's black-haired daughter somehow. Especially after she sprouted jet-black wings and claws when the battles got intense. She said she was raised on an orphanage ship with no parents registered, and her genetic tests were as inconclusive as his.
He felt his cock starting to stir as he looked at her, so he turned away and walked to the window, touching the button to render it transparent. The night was full of alien stars, filtered through an alien atmosphere. At the farthest horizon the sky shaded from black to deep purple as the red giant half of the double star system got ready to heave itself into the sky. His last sight of Earth had been Kyrie's corpse; after that, things fell into the incomprehension of shock and despair, improbably rescue and desperate flight. He knew the horizon had never been that kind of color, but the rest was hidden somewhere behind his nightmares.
He had seen things he never expected to see, heard wonders and explanations that would have been dismissed as science fiction before. He – or more correctly, the sword he kept in his devil arm, Yamato – was once again a savior, a closer of gates and destroyer of demons, but he was only one against a countless horde of space-faring demonic entities who didn't care how many of themselves were killed as long as everyone else was killed. He sighed. He wanted to go home, but each battle took him further from Earth as the search for the master gate that would end it all continued.
There was a ghost of a sound behind him, then the soft brush of lips on his shoulder where the scars started. She had been in the battle when he'd lost another part of his humanity to a cursed demon blade, his healing unable to do anything as his arm was hacked off mid-bicep. He body refused all transplants and grafts of arms from human genetic material, and his own refused to cooperate in any lab, no matter how advanced the civilization. In the end he was fitted with the best robotic prosthesis that could be devised, and he hated every minute he had to wear it.
He tilted his head towards her, seeing her bright blue eyes from the corner of his vision. She never asked about his nightmares, and would not admit to any of her own. She was much more direct in solving a problem, being a great believer in the application of whatever physical force would get it done fastest. Right now, it was the soft touch of her lips to scar tissue, the heat of her at his back as she didn't touch him anywhere else yet. If he asked her not to, she would merely give him a raised eyebrow before going elsewhere. There was none of Kyrie's gentle submission to him in her, this was something different, both fascinating and irritating, and he had come to understand why Trish and Dante had spent time apart.
He took a deep breath, much less a sigh this time, and moved the stump of his arm so that it was behind her head, watching her move her hands across his chest and letting himself get hard. He closed his eyes when he kissed her, because in no light did her hair look brown, especially not the purplish-red that was brightening as the first sun slowly edged to the horizon. He nuzzled her neck to hide his look of intense concentration as he forced the devil arm into something with fewer sharp edges that could pass for human if no-one looked too closely. She had one hand around his cock, squeezing the head at the end of her strokes, and the other played with a nipple, and he gasped when both were pinched almost too hard at the same time. He devoured her mouth, trying to lift her onto him one-armed. She helped by pushing him backwards until he was half-sitting on the window ledge, then climbed to straddle him.
“Is this what you want?” she purred while nipping his ear, his hips between her knees and her sex just out of reach of his erection. She always asked.
He sometimes thought he loved her. Occasionally he was sure he didn't. This was one of the times when it didn't matter. His answer was to run his hand down her back, over the flexed muscles of her ass, and around her hip until he could payback the pinching from earlier. She moaned even as he felt her lips curl upwards around his, their tongues writhing together until his fingers were soaked. He didn't trust himself to speak, not with memories and emotions and lust swirling so thickly, so he just moved his hand back to her hip and pushed down.
She was hot wet silk around him, grinding down on him, her hands gripping his shoulders tight enough to almost hurt. His name was on her lips when they were free from his; he couldn't return the favor, not now, not after a nightmare and the reminder of what he'd lost. So soon, too soon, he needed to thrust back and remember where he was, but the window ledge was too narrow. She let out a surprised sound as he surged to his feet, but the bed was too far away, he needed something now, she wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed as her back was slammed into the nearest wall.
Memories and regrets, she was gasping his name every time he thrust into her, he could stay true to no-one if he forgot, so he remembered, remembered everything, except for which name to say now. She screamed his name to the sky when she clamped down around him, drawing himself up tight to release, but he couldn't release it all, because he might get it wrong again. He made a desperate choked sound in his throat and leaned hard against her, the hair that was too short and too dark but still right for him in his nose as his seed spurted into her.
A hand gently touched his face, and it hurt that it was not Kyrie, but it was good because it was human, mostly. He could feel her legs were trembling as she unwrapped herself from him, a breathless laugh escaping her as she held on to him for support. A moment later she gently pushed him away enough to look at him with a question in her eyes. He kissed her forehead and murmured that he'd be there in a moment, turning back to the window.
The top curve of the red sun was taking up the whole horizon, red and angry and not the right sun. While he watched, a smaller but brighter white star surged through the red and started it's race across the sky, to small to be his sun. The landscape was a blasted ruin, another planet liberated from the demons, but not his planet.
Sometimes he would get confused from a powerful sort of deja vu as memories and reality piled on top of him. But his wouldn't let go of any of it, not when the memories were all he had left, so he added new ones to the old and spent the nights he didn't sleep keeping them straight.
But not tonight. The suns were wrong, and it hurt, so he tapped the window to make it dark again and stumbled towards the bed, towards her open arms and mouth and legs, to the oblivion she granted, and tried to remember the right name this time.