Five Things That Never Happened to Nightmare
Rating: PG-12 for yaoi and het
Warnings: Crossdressing and mild incest
Pairings: Griffon/Damien, Griffon/Ariel, Virgil/Damien, Virgil/Dante
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry or its characters, and I'm making no money off this fic. However, Nightmare's personality and human name belong to me.
Notes: For those who don't know already, Damien is Nightmare's humanised form, and is loosely based in appearance off a picture on Snake Heart. Also, it'll explain a lot of things if I mention here that Damien can make adjustments to his appearance courtesy of the fact he's not got a proper 'set' form; Nightmare was the important side, his human side is malleable. Ariel is an AU female version of Damien.
1
Damien was screaming. Normally, this would either bring Griffon running and cause the immediate painful death of anything around him, or it would mean Griffon was making interesting noises as well.
This time Griffon was watching the pale demon batting away with flailing arms the swarm of moths he had accidentally disturbed, and was trying hard not to laugh, though Virgil's sniggering wasn't helping him much. "Fangirls," Virgil laughed, and Griffon blinked slowly, confused.
"Fangirls?"
"Mmhm, the moths."
Griffon's confusion multiplied several times over with that peculiar statement. He'd been under the impression they were just the everyday cloth-eating breed of moth, or at most a mildly demonic variation on those. "How can you tell?"
"The flustered swarming, aimless battering of each other to try and get closer to him, and the hyperness."
Griffon gave up. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
Virgil's eyes widened in disbelief. "You've never heard of a fangirl?"
"Never."
Virgil's expression still showed surprise before it was replaced by a mild wince as Damien tripped and fell to the floor, shouting something about the moths getting under his clothes. "A fangirl is a strange, strange sort of human who finds something she likes, occasionally misinterprets it completely, and thereafter batters to death anyone who challenges her opinions or tries to like the same thing but in a different way to her type of worship." Griffon nodded at this, gestured for Virgil to explain further. "Alright, an example. Lets say... I read Jane Eyre, and decided that I thought the man in it was better off with his barmy wife. Now, lets say - and don't laugh - that Phantom read it too-" Griffon snorted quietly but bit back any further comment, "And thought the man should stick with Jane. To be proper fangirls, or in our case fanboys, we would have to shout at each other for a good few hours, not change our opinions, and then start fighting, probably to the death."
Griffon blinked slowly. "But... they're fictional characters."
"Yes, I know." Virgil looked back at Damien who was now lying rigidly still, trying not to disturb the moths that looked as though they were settling to sleep on his chest. "It's sad, isn't it?"
Griffon looked down at Damien, pondered how best to take care of the moth situation. "A bit pathetic, really."
2
Damien had been exploring the castle quite a lot of late, and had become somewhat intrigued by the various bits and pieces left behind by its previous occupants. Most recently, he had uncovered a woman's bedroom, which seemed to have been very unusually effected by the castle's curse - part of the room seemed perfectly preserved, while the rest had decayed as it should have done over time. The dry dust from powder cakes had fascinated him, though it had also served as a slightly awkward reminder that even the carefully cultivated paleness of humans was a warmer colour than his own skin. But the woman's clothes, they had been untouched - the ones in a chest at least, though the wardrobe's contents had long been ravaged by moths. He had been trying on the various dresses, adjusting his figure when necessary to fit, and had been amused by the effects. For most of the outfits, one had to shrink one's waist until it could barely contain the organs within, and at the same time possess surprisingly large breasts in order for the cloth to hang correctly.
The ages-old underwear had amused him too. Underskirts and slips were bizarre to look at, and corsets seemed more like torture devices than items of clothing. Still, he had enjoyed trying them on, reversing his arms so he could fasten the strings properly, and musing that he looked even more inhuman than the average mannequin whilst wearing one.
But time had virtually stopped when he uncovered a stash of stockings. These were unusual, particularly as they seemed to be of more modern design, like several black leather items secured within the chest. There was a different... essence to them as well, as though these had belonged to a different woman, and he felt somewhat like an invader as he took them out almost reverently. They really were beautiful.
He stretched them carefully, pondering how exactly to put them on without causing himself or the stockings any damage, before scrunching the first one up and slipping his foot into it, gently dragging the material up and out over the rest of his leg. Courtesy of some sort of material in the tops that made the stocking stick in place, this method of dressing seemed to work, so he repeated it with the other leg, enjoying the feeling of the material scraping over his skin. There was no hair for the stockings to catch on as they were pulled up; when he had been constructed, Damien had only been given hair in the 'necessary' places. Hair for his head, hair for his crotch, hair for his armpits, but that was all. The finer details of arm-hair and leg-hair had been omitted, a human indulgence. Damien gently pulled at the tops of the stockings once both were in place to remove any remaining creases, smoothed his hands over his thighs once more just for the feeling. The material was positively luscious against his skin.
He looked in the mirror at his legs, covered himself with his hands out of habit though he knew perfectly well the mirror image was only himself. Switching to one somewhat ineffective hand as he fixed the seams carefully, then back to two. A blush as he realised that he actually looked quite good in stockings, the black emphasising his delicate paleness. It clashed somewhat with the marks on his chest, but then, most things did.
There was a stunned intake of breath from the other side of the room and Damien jerked up, relaxing only when he realised the intruder was Griffon. "My God," Griffon began under his breath, locking the door behind him, eyes wide and almost unreadable as he took off his glasses. All of a sudden, his books didn't seem quite so interesting. "Could you-" he paused, mouth dry, tried again. "Uncover yourself?" Damien blushed, tensed as he shook his head. Griffon walked up to the currently not so pale demon who had backed up against the mirror, its cold having an interesting effect on the visible parts of his body. "Why not?"
Damien searched his brain hopelessly for words, some way to describe how he had ended up in his present predicament, why he was too embarrassed to do anything, but there were none to be found. He knew from Griffon's books that male creatures were not supposed to dress like female creatures, but he hadn't felt wrong in any of the gowns or skirts. Indeed, the only difference he had noticed when wearing women's clothing was that there was more of a draft on his legs than when he wore his usual outfits. "Because it's- it's wrong to you?"
Griffon attempted to laugh at that, but was still more or less breathless from the sight of Damien dressed like this, naked but for these thin sheaths over his legs that seemed only to emphasise their length. "Damien, if it was wrong, would I want to do this?" He punctuated his question with a kiss to Damien's lips, his hands resting on the pale demon's thighs, fingers tracing patterns along where stockings met skin. A vague note to apologise to Trish about this popped into the back of Griffon's mind as he noted the elasticated tops, but it disappeared as Damien's hands took hold of his and he remembered why they previously hadn't been against him.
The kiss paused. "I, ah, can we?"
Griffon smiled predatorily. "If you can leave the stockings on."
3
Ariel grinned and skipped lightly through the garden before finding herself a place to pose dramatically, fully aware that Griffon was going to positively explode with... something when he saw her like this. Griffon's weakness for mythology had been apparent for almost as long as she had known him, and while she might well be of the wrong gender for this particular character, she knew full well he was going to love this. Especially with it being Valentine's day.
February the fourteenth demanded romantic gestures, and she thought this one ought to do.
What had surprised her was how easy it had been to construct the outfit; one white cotton bedsheet and a handful of gold brooches from the room of one of the castle's long-departed human occupants. The bow she had simply borrowed from one of the various armories. Now she had only to wait.
The outfit was a bit cold, that much she could complain about, and the mild effort of sustaining her red cheeks, red lips and blue eyes was a bit frustrating, but still.
Come on Griffon.
Ah, rustling. Good.
"Ariel, where are y-" There was a thud and Ariel jumped down off the pedestal she had been perched on while waiting for Griffon.
"Griffon? Are you okay?" The older demon had fallen backwards, and was currently half-sitting, propped on his elbows.
"Ariel, could you please warn me before you pull a trick like that?" Ariel pouted slightly.
"I thought you'd like this though. It's Valentine's day, I wanted to dress as Cupid for you."
"Cupid was a boy, Ariel," Griffon managed in between recovering from the shock of finding his lover in... this manner.
"I know! But I got the outfit right, didn't I?"
"Yes, Ariel, but-" He paused and lifted the corners of the sheet to cover her right breast which had been on proud display for the past few minutes and distracting him pleasantly. "You have these, you can't run around with them in full view!" Ariel tilted her head, blushed slightly.
"So... you don't like this?"
"Of course I like it -" Griffon mused briefly on how much on an understatement that was. "- I'm just worried that other people will too. Like Virgil?" Ariel's expression darkened slightly then and she nodded slowly, apologetically.
"Should I get changed?"
Griffon paused to think, bit his lip for a moment, before smiling. "Maybe not just yet."
Ariel smiled back before whimpering as Griffon's hand slipped under the folds of her makeshift outfit.
4
Griffon's expression was thunderous as he took in the sight before him. He knew full well Dante wasn't in the castle, and knew equally well the only people who could pull impressions of the demon-hunter. "Get your filthy hands off him," Griffon spat, disturbed above all else by the fact the kiss Damien had been giving Virgil didn't seem to be forced. If anything, it seemed almost tender.
Virgil pulled back and cast Griffon a dark look before leaving the room, Damien catching Griffon's arm before the older demon could go after Sparda's son. "It's not his fault," Damien said quietly, letting his hand slip when he sensed the danger of Griffon leaving had passed.
"Why would you do that for him? Dress up as his - brother?"
Damien took a few steps back to perch on the windowsill, a dull sadness radiating off him in waves. "Because it's February the fourteenth."
"What does that date mean to him, other than Valentine's day? Surely he could find his own valentine instead of defiling you?"
Damien looked pained, shook his head. "I offered, Griffon! He didn't force me to do anything. It was this day, several years ago, that he died. Valentine's day. Mundus' idea of a sick joke - he had sent a swarm of mannequins dressed like Sparda to find and kill Virgil and Eva. He hadn't known about Dante, then."
Griffon sounded doubtful. "It's a strange excuse to kiss you."
Damien ran a hand through his hair awkwardly before continuing. "Mundus hadn't been aware of Dante because they were twins - he'd only known about Eva's pregnancy, not about the two births. Virgil and Dante were identical as children, they had known each other completely. Virgil... Virgil misses that..." Damien struggled for words. "He - they were identical, they were each other, part of each other, he misses that so much. I offered to be Dante for him for a while, and we were talking, and he-" Damien reached a hand out to Griffon, a peace offering, drew his mentor forward to sit at his side. "He looked at me the way you did the first time I... I know he doesn't love me, he loves Dante, but I was..."
"Caught up in the act," Griffon finished, saving Damien's awkward attempts to finish his sentences. "I know how he feels about Dante. He wants Dante dead for the... strangest reason. He seems to believe he's the only person who can kill Dante properly... he doesn't want Dante to be resurrected like he was. He thinks Dante would be safer if he died properly, like his mother."
Damien nodded slowly, taking Griffon's hand and linking his fingers with the older demon's. "I don't think I could ever kill you." He looked up, watching Griffon's face carefully. "Could you kill me?"
Griffon closed his eyes, considered the question as best as he could without just blowing it over, turned to Damien and frowned slightly. "No. Not for anything." Damien sighed before resting his head against Griffon's shoulder, suddenly weary.
"I'm tired," he half-laughed, aware of the obviousness of his statement. Relief flashed across his face as Griffon placed an arm around his waist and eased him up onto his legs, half-carrying him to the bed and helping him to lie down. Damien nuzzled into the pillows, sighing serenely, and Griffon sat down close by, not yet tired as he looked out the window at the surprisingly bright sunset that had cast a somewhat unnatural orange glow over the castle and in through the windows. He wished he could still love as openly as Damien did, but that ability had gone when his wife was murdered by human assassins. Granted that he did not hate mortals quite as much as he did back then, and he tried to be as reasonable as possible with his treatment of enemies these days, but he would never forget what happened to Sheila. He picked up Damien's limp hand, clasped it between his own, feeling warmth pulsing behind the almost blue skin. He knew he would never heal fully, but Damien was like surgery on an old scar. Damien had cut him open again, found a way into him, and had sealed the old wound so much more neatly.
Damien's attempts to set him free were appreciated, but Griffon knew his wings were clipped. Still, it was better to pretend.
5
Damien glared at the egg, daring it to explode like the previous two as he cracked it carefully on the bowl's edge, opened it carefully, and-
"Yes!" A perfect white, perfect yolk, and complete absence of shell fell into the bowl. He chucked the shell halves back over his shoulder to land on the floor along with the others, only to hear a quiet cough. He turned to find a rather displeased Griffon picking shell fragments off his robes. "Oh... um... sorry?"
"May I ask what you're doing?" Griffon asked with a wide gesture to the intriguing nest of bowls, boxes, powders and liquids Damien had surrounded himself with.
"I'm trying to cook pancakes," Damien replied with a very self-satisfied grin. A bowl of carefully measured out plain flour had nestled itself inches away from his elbow (Griffon presumed the thick layer of powder covering Damien waist-downwards were previous attempts at measuring), and Griffon felt it safe to guess the intriguingly coloured liquid in the pan on the stove was an attempt at melted butter.
"Do you want any help?"
"Mm-mm!" Damien replied with a shake of his head to clarify his meaning. "I'm learning by myself. I've almost got the hang of it." Griffon found himself biting back the urge to ask how long Damien had been getting the hang of this, and looked over the pale demon's shoulder at the milk and egg in the bowl he currently seemed to be concentrating on. Thus far the attempt did seem to be going reasonably well. Deciding to help his younger lover whether he wanted the assistance or not, Griffon subtly switched the pan on the stove with a fresh, clean one and placed a chunk of butter in the center, lowering the heat to make sure the butter melted fully rather than half-burnt, before stepping back to watch. Damien's fiery determination to get things right was obvious and he found his memory flickering to the first time he had ever seen such a depth of concentration on Damien's face.
Griffon knew full well that he probably should have crossed his legs and ignored the resulting thoughts from that memory, or left the room to take a cold shower, but the tray of condiments to go with the pancakes caught his sight instead, and several evil urges found their way quite forcefully into his mind. At least, he liked to imagine it was a forced entry, and that he hadn't been begging for an excuse to disrupt Damien's cooking anyway.
Damien added the melted butter to his mix, finished stirring it in, and grinned widely. Success. Now to try and make pancakes out of it.
Damien chucked a few boxes back over his shoulder, ignoring another dull thud and an "Ouch" from behind him as he rooted out a ladel, plunging it into the mix in the bowl, and poured it into the frying pan, already greased with the butter it had been melting. Now just to wait for it to bubble, and attempt to flip it. He blinked after a moment's wait, feeling a strange stickiness on the side of his neck, and looked back over his shoulder, finding a very predatory looking Griffon wielding a bottle of chocolate syrup. "Um?" Damien managed before Griffon found a unique way to silence him.
Suffice to say, they burnt the pancake.