Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

MONSTER	By : Radius Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 10984 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Please read the rating of this story before venturing any further. Seriously, it can be pretty graphic with the later chapters being… @_@ Other than that, enjoy and thanks for stopping by.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

<< | No Smoking | >>

It’d been a one of those days, the type where the slightest of agitations prompt a malicious remark from him. Enzo was driving him crazy, offering tedious jobs that weren’t worth a thought, much less his time. His latest proposal involved a series of victims found eaten alive, their bodies shredded into pieces like wet paper. Yes, Enzo’s gigs paid the bills. Yes, they’d get the people he owed money to off his back. Yes, he’d be able to buy things he wanted, like a new fridge or that gorgeous motorcycle he often passed by on his way here. Still. Each of Enzo’s offers missed that special element he craved for, that special oomph. Was he spoiled? Perhaps. His asshole of a brother always accused him of being spoiled, back when they were in good speaking terms, way before he turned psycho. But whatever. He was a man of many talents, a rare commodity. A self-proclaimed paranormal private investigator. A bounty hunter. A swordsman. A gun expert. A human. A devil. A level head. A knuckle head. Take a pick. He deserved only the best.

                That wasn’t the only reason why he rejected all of Enzo’s job offers, though. He was tired. Back-to-back, he had the job of clean-up man for many years, taking care of pests that proved too powerful for the local authorities to handle. They came in all shapes and sizes, in all colors of the rainbows. Yet, no matter what, they posed the same problems. Eat. Consume. Possess. It was the same-o crap that exhausted his patience and no longer made the hunts challenging or fun anymore.

Demons. What a depressingly predictable lot they were.

He needed some time off, away from his worn out chew toys. His overactive lifestyle had made him forget the urges that came with being part human. Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Think. They were the same necessities demons had, only more complicated and given context. A devil could kill another and think nothing of it. On the other hand, if a human did the same, a whole mess of thoughts and emotions came into play. He’d nearly forgotten about those little details and that bothered him a little.

He’d been hunting demons half his life, for nearly twenty years. No would know it by looking at him. On the outside, he was an eccentric man blossoming in his mid-twenties. Reality would say otherwise. He was in his very late thirties, on the verge of hitting the big 4-0 soon. He still made the same wages he made on day one. He still hadn’t attended a Nightwish concert. He still didn’t read a book he liked. He was still single with no children. While he was a well-known figure in the demon world, who took down the Devil Prince and many of his powerful legions, he had yet to achieve much as a human. Now he needed to reclaim his human heritage, whatever that was left of it anyway. It was easier said than done, however. As dull and annoying as his assignments were getting, they paled in comparison to something far worse and gruesome: boredom in the human world.

                Dante tossed the ice around in his glass of vodka, looking at it with a bemused face. He didn’t wear his work clothes, which consisted of red leather pants, tall biker boots, and an elaborately designed crimson trench coat that involved a black vest-piece. And there were belts in his outfit. Yes, no devil hunter, slash private investigator, could be without belts, especially ones with a demon skull. Today, though, he left all of that at home. He wore his average-Joe clothes. Alligator-skinned boots. Worn-out black jeans. And a long sleeved, light blue shirt that almost matched his eyes. No leather. No belts. Just average, human clothes.

                He took a deep swig of his drink.

The bar was old-fashioned, tailored after a western saloon. A long counter ran halfway the length of the establishment, set directly across the bar’s double-door entrance. There were round tables at the center and a series of pool tables further back. A jukebox was stationed at the corner, currently playing heavy metal. It wasn’t something the cowboys back in the day heard. Hell, they didn’t even know what a jukebox was. Still, it lightened up the place and it was better listening to Sonata Arctica than the constant bickering happening between the bartender and a waitress. Finally, there was a very large flat screen TV nestled high up a wall. It usually showed sports or concerts. However, when the bar got really rowdy, a cameraman went around the bar to record the rowdiest bunch. Any one shown on the flat screen automatically received a shirt that said, I Just Got My Fifteen Minutes of Fame So Kiss My Ass.

Overall, the bar was a mess of scents his very sensitive nose picked up. The ash of cigarettes from the smokers outside. The alcohol fuming from a drunken man’s throat. The lemon sprayed into a glass of tea. The olives of a pizza days old. The chlorine-like stench of damped pussy. The white dust a man snorted. The piss on the restroom floor. The hardened bubblegum stuck under a shoe. And there were other things, countless of other things present, none that he cared for but couldn’t ignore.

He sat alone, as far away from the rest of the people who occupied the bar with him, trying to lose himself in the shadows so that he could drink in peace. He didn’t have to worry much. There weren’t many people here. It was a Monday, that terrible day of the week when everything slowed down to a snail’s pace. Everyone hung up their happy-hour faces before clocking in and counted the days until Friday came again. He was lucky he didn’t have to report to a boss like they did, nor worry about coming in late.

He was a private investigator with the hours and wages of a freelancer. Working in a two-story building named Devil May Cry, he set his own time to come in. There was currently a staff of one, two if one counted the stray dog that tended to creep up on his porch in the early afternoon hours. He had partners, but he rarely saw them nowadays. They wanted to have their own little adventures and mishaps and he was totally fine with it. Sometimes they dropped by, bringing whatever burdens they accumulated during their trip with them, whether physical or emotional. Dante didn’t mind being left alone then. He enjoyed long hours of lying helplessly on a dusty red leather couch, listening to metal that was too raw and stupid to be taken seriously. He enjoyed having a heavy diet of beer and pizza, with no one pestering him how flabby he’d become in the future. He enjoyed taking showers whenever he wanted to, not having to wait his turn and clean up all the leg and pubic hairs that clogged the drainage. He enjoyed walking around in his office naked and jacking off whenever his dick needed attention, ejaculating wherever he damn well pleased. The lonesome life of a PI had many perks and he didn’t see himself marrying or committing to anyone any time soon.

Dante took another gulp of his drink, motioning at his waiter to come by with another round. As he waited, he sat back. Sighing, Dante glanced up at the bar’s skylight window. The sky was heavy with black and blue, the stars starting to glimmer brightly. Night time was creeping in, summoning the children of the darkness. Normally, he’d leave around this time because the night usually brought the deprived here. Bar hoppers. Singles. College students. And many other groups. They all came with stories and they all came with their own sets of problems. Dante didn’t care for either of them. Yet, today was a Monday, and since there was work tomorrow only the truly dedicated and lonely came to Bull’s Eye.

The waiter soon arrived, taking up his glass and replacing it with another. Two people pushed through the double doors. They were old men and, according to their uniforms and smells, were janitors. Dante ignored them, caught up in the liquor that enflamed his throat. It trailed all the way down to his lungs and he sighed, his eyes slowly blinking. It was his seventh shot and he wasn’t drunk enough to call it a night. It’d take a long time for him to get there and he was in no hurry to get fully liquored up any time soon. The night was young and he wanted to keep his ass planted in one place.

A laughter shot across the room. A woman. She was a voluptuous woman in the arms of her big and hairy biker man. Being bitten on the neck, she playfully smacked him on the cheek. He was too drunk to know the difference between teasing and aggression, angrily pushing her off. With a yelp, she fell to the ground. It took a moment before her tears leaked out and he started yelling, calling her a bitch, slut, stupid, and other obscenities. The woman crawled on her knees and asked him for forgiveness. After a few minutes of humiliation, they were back into foreplay mode.

Humans. They were so stupid sometimes. No wonder they were easy prey to demons all alike. No wonder his twin brother wanted to get rid of the whole lot. Dante stopped himself before going any further into that thought, knowing well he shouldn’t pass judgment on them. He was a part of them and he was stupid too. And so was his asshole brother, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise.

They were hybrids, part devil and part human. His father was some big shot Devil named Sparda who bested the prince of the underworld. His mother was a human who stole his heart. He and Vergil were products of their communion. While they were twins, they couldn’t have been any more different than two sides of a coin. His was a hot red color while Vergil’s was a cool blue one. One lived the life of a care-free guy bent on protecting the helpless. The other was hell bent in proving his worth by destroying anything considered weak. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was who.

Dante tried not to think of Vergil but it was hard sometimes. A basketball game between two rival teams reminded him of his twin. Looking at the mirror provoked the same feeling. Almost anything that suggested duality and similarity invoked memories of the crazed brother too drunk on power to control himself. And now he was dead. Considering all the crap Vergil put him through, it should’ve made him happy. But he certainly wasn’t.

He drank the rest of his eighth round, choosing to avoid another twist in his already knotted stomach. It was a Monday evening and, by Buddha, he was going to enjoy his ‘vacation.’ He wasn’t going to think about evil brothers or stupid humans. Enjoy. Drink. These were his goals for tonight. Tomorrow always brought the unexpected. He needed to make use of today while he still had it with him.

The doors opened and Dante saw a group of twenty-somethings entering the bar. College students. Their heavy faces suggested they were getting ready for a long week. Final exams, no doubt. Summer break was around the corner for them and they struggled to keep focused. They sat and for a brief moment, Dante wanted to be with them. No, scratch that. He didn’t want be with them. He wanted to be them.

Working to keep the teeth and claws of Devils away from humans had silent all notions of having a normal life for Dante. Sometimes when he crossed a street and saw a particular group, he imagined himself in their shoes. It was a little game he played, living his life through strangers. He saw himself as an ambitious student. A sly bartender. A rigid officer. A compulsive liar. A determined priest. A greedy banker. A self-professed savior. A naughty librarian. A crazed alcoholic. A home wrecker. A senior citizen. A man on the verge of a breakdown. There were a thousand things he pretended to be any time he crossed paths with someone of interest. It both entertained and depressed him.

More people had arrived during his moment of contemplation. He was set in playing another game until one of them caused him to wrinkle his nose. Nicotine. Aftershave cream. Mint bubblegum. Raspberry juiced hair. And blood that smelled something close to cooked peppers. With his ears, Dante heard a steady heart beat, too calm to be fully human.

An Other. Wonderful…

Dante placed an elbow on the table and held his chin with the palm of one hand. Tapping his fingers gently on the table with the other, he studied all the newcomers. He wasn’t in the mood to tango tonight. He was officially clocked out and planned to stay that way for awhile. Nonetheless, he was a bit bored and hoped the Other was worth his time. He always made exceptions to worthy sport.

The newcomers didn’t arrive in one group or at the same time. Some came in packs while others came alone. Dante’s eyes carefully considered the new faces. The peculiar scent he caught was moving to the bar’s counter and he shifted his gaze there. A crowd of coworkers sitting at a round table blocked his view. He waited until they sat down. Part of him was tempted to throw the hidden blade stashed in his boot at the tall woman who remained standing. Laughing and talking on her cell phone, his fingers tapped a bit louder. If looks could kill, he hoped his incinerated her. But the woman was completely oblivious and it took the arrival of their waitress to finally sit her skinny ass down. At last, Dante matched the person with the irregular scent.

The Other was a man. Despite his back facing him, Dante managed to grasp a few details. He was lean-figured, with long and toned legs. His black hair was short and shaggy, its tips flipping in all directions. He wore faded green jeans with a dark-brown suit jacket that seemed out of fashioned at first, yet complimented his outfit. An acoustic purple guitar hung over his shoulder, which reminded Dante of classic rocker, Bob Dylan. The Other’s scent wasn’t demon, but it wasn’t human either. Dante was perplexed but didn’t make a move. He encountered many Others before and many of them simply wanted to coexist in peace. So far, the stranger wasn’t interested in blood and carnage. He spoke softly to the bartender and, judging by the reaction he received, said something rather ridiculous. The casual but oddly colorful dresser slumped his shoulders a little and finally turned around. It was then Dante got a good look of him and stopped tapping his fingers.

The stranger was quite an interesting fellow. He appeared young, perhaps in his middle twenties. The bright orange t-shirt with the words, Fuck the Consequences, in glittery bold red letters was the first thing Dante noticed. With a shirt that yelled a mouthful, green jeans, brown suit jacket and a purple guitar, the man’s taste was definitely out there. He was too vibrant for a bar like this. His color choices were also a sharp contrast to his skin tone. Under the bar’s dim lighting, his warm-milk skin glowed. He must’ve known how his flesh tone and brilliant clothing clashed because he added blush to his cheeks. His full, genetically red-pink lips also put some color to his face. Dante found it all rather… appealing.

The shape of the stranger’s face was even more charming. It was well-proportioned with a collection of high cheek bones and a well-defined jaw. The nose was long and narrow at the bridge while his eyebrows were thick enough to be pronounced. They were finely shaped and noticeable, complementing his face. Parts of his forehead were covered by thick, wavy bangs that barely touched his eyes. His eyes. Yes, they were definitely the most dominate feature he possessed. Those eyes were certainly intense. They were large black orbs, lined with prominently long and dark eyelashes. A person could stare into them and see only more darkness. They absorbed the light with their power. But they were also very alive. Wide awake, they were energetic and many reflections from the bar danced over their black and sheen surfaces.

On the whole, his physical traits were something only a model agency could appreciate. Out here in the real world, though, he was a ‘girly’ man. The bar studied him with scrutinizing looks on their faces and Dante heard a few sexist profanities thrown in the air, soon followed by laughter. He knew they came from people too embarrassed to acknowledge the arousal they gained from looking at him. He was definitely man, but held a feminine quality.

Shifting his body to one hip, the Other countered the weight with his guitar and searched for a good place to sit. Whoever and whatever he was, he looked mighty pissed, not at the people who continued talking about him but by something else. Dante noticed the crude look he gave to the bar’s owner before taking a round table at a far corner away from prying eyes. Some more sneers and laughter came but he ignored them as he sat by himself. Dante watched the distinctive man carefully put his guitar on an empty chair, a waiter soon meeting him there.

Right now Dante wanted to be that waiter.

His own waiter arrived and replaced his eighth round with a ninth. More people arrived and the bar was getting crowded more than usual. Dante suspected it had something to do with the wave of leftover tourists that came to see the city’s ‘parade’ a month ago.

They threw the Cleansing every year. Originally, it started out as a city-wide blessing to rid the town of evil minions. Priests participated and nearly every supernatural investigator across the world came to lend a hand. Dante thought it was stupid. They were combating a serious threat with ancient tools and beliefs that didn’t work then, and wouldn’t work now. Admittedly, he attended the first ones, but only because they presented an excellent opportunity to hunt down demons out in the open. Three years later, however, he stopped going. The event transformed into a cross between Halloween and Mardi Gras. Everyone around the world heard how infamous the city was at attracting evil minions. They came in hopes of seeing the devils and ghosts and everything else that went bump in the night. Nowadays, only the priests and politicians who wanted public recognition attended them. Likewise, only rookies from supernatural investigative agencies who didn’t know any better came.

For the most part, Dante despised the Cleansing. He hated seeing people act like complete jackasses. These people, who wanted to become the brides of Lucifer, get possessed just for the thrill of it, or get eaten alive as some twisted sexual outlet, were the same ones he was trying to save. It was a fucked up situation for a guy like him.

He knew why there were so many devils in the city. He was a magnet to him. Nearly all of his father’s enemies who survived had decided that one Sparda was as good as another. They came with grudges, with the same bullshit they probably gave his father back on his heyday. Dante sometimes hated his sentimental father. Or rather, he hated his father’s lack of permanently killing his troublemaking brethren. Instead, he left his son the burden of completing his half-baked jobs.

Dante wanted to leave when the bar got louder and the jukebox had to be turned up. He recognized a group of five coming in. It was a team of supernatural investigators he, unfortunately, knew all-too-well. They were a sorry lot, filled with young faces barely pushing out of their teen years and who believed every superstitious story told, from the Donkey Lady to Count Dracula. They played videogames, bickered nonstop, and smoked a lot of pot. Dante dubbed them the village idiots because hardly any of them knew what they were doing.

Their leader was the one with the green Mohawk and goggles on his forehead. He was a short and skinny fellow with freckles decorating his entire face. By his side was a girl with short-cropped hair dyed black on one side and white on the other. A giant monster of a man stood next to her. He was tall, well over six feet, with natural orange hair that seemed all over the place. He had a long goatee too, which was braided and was almost disgusting to look at it. The fourth was no more modest than he was. His blue-streaked, black hair was straight and shoulder-length and in need of a good combing. Both his arms were riddled with tattoos. The last of the group was a black boy who was probably the most conservative of the bunch, his hair trimmed evenly with long sideburns, wearing casual clothes.

The one with the Mohawk looked around and Dante made sure his body shifted so he wouldn’t be spotted. While some of the team members were tolerable, their leader certainly wasn’t. He was a loudmouth punk who firmly felt they were rivals, destined to clash. Whatever. Let the kid believe in his bullshit. Just leave him his peace and drink. Thankfully, Dante was able to have both. The group settled at a table far away from him. Already, they were on bickering mode with the leader speaking too loudly and the girl telling him to settle down.

As more people arrived, the urge to go home was stronger than before. Today’s Monday was a lively one and he knew he wouldn’t drink in peace for long. There was always some idiot that ruined it for him. Before he could, though, Dante shot a quick glance at the man on the other side of the world. The stranger was drinking out of his beer mug and now in the process of lighting up a cigarette, even when it was a no-smoking house. With more humans entering the bar, Dante wasn’t sure if he could trust the Other.

Dante knew he’d be lying to himself if his sole interest in talking to him was purely Q-and-A. Dante acknowledged his attraction to the man, eventually thinking it would be such a waste of beauty if the stranger turned out to be on an eat-and-run mission. Granted, the PI had many women, but he wasn’t limited to a gender. He liked men too. Sometimes, it was nice to have a partner that met him all the way in terms of aggression, stamina, and strength. Sometimes lube, fingers, and plastic toys weren’t enough to stimulate the same effect of having a man.

It didn’t take too long for Dante to reach his table. A quick sidestep here to avoid a woman passing by, and a few steps there and he was right where he wanted to be. Those who were still bothered by the stranger kept to themselves now that they saw who was joining him. Everyone in the bar knew better than to mess with the man with silver hair.

“Mind if I join you?” Dante asked casually to the man taking a drag from his cigarette. Dante nodded at the smoke trailing up in the air. “Tom’s going to have your ass if you keep smoking in his joint.”

“Tom can go fuck himself,” muttered the stranger, glaring at the bartender.

Despite the harsh tone, his voice was like velvet. It was soft and a bit husky. Dante wished he were Tom, the bartender and head man of Bull’s Eye bar. He wouldn’t mind being told to fuck himself by a man like this. Meanwhile, the stranger’s face softened a bit. He took in Dante and smiled a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m not in the best of moods. Please.” He removed his guitar from the seat, soon hanging it behind his chair. “I noticed you’ve been looking at me. Something you like?”

Dante paused as he sat down. And smiled. It also had been a long time since he found someone as forward as he was. He wondered what else they had in common. And yet, he couldn’t drop his guard just yet. He had to play the bad cop role right now. As much as he wanted to suck on those plushy red-pink lips and lose himself in those dark eyes, he needed to know this man’s story.

“Where are you from? I’ve never seen you here before.”

The other man took an inhale and lowered his gaze a bit.

“I arrived a month ago,” he finally answered, “You probably haven’t seen me because I’m still adjusting myself to the new terrain.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. I finally got up the nerve to check out the city’s sights. I also like to play guitar and sing so I’ve been going around every club and bar in town to see if I can get a job.”

“Sounds brilliant. What kind of music do you play?”

He shrugged. “Anything, actually.”

“Old school rock like Led Zepplin? Or alternative like Postal Service?”

“Yeah. I do that. But I do other things.”

“Like what?”

Again, he shrugged. “I’m a huge eighties freak. I like playing to songs from Tears for Fears, Madonna, Cindy Lauper, Tina Turner, Michael Jackson, and Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Basically, anyone from that era. My favorite movie of all time is Pretty in Pink, which I think has the most awesome soundtrack in the world.”

“Madonna and maybe Cindy Lauper, I can see. But… Tina Turner? Michael Jackson? Frankie Goes to Hollywood?”

“What?” he asked, wondering why Dante was chuckling.

Dante couldn’t help it. What kind of man went around trendy night clubs and roughneck bars singing Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’?

“It’s… nothing. It’s just… You strike me as a Bob Dylan type of guy.”

Now the stranger laughed. His sound was brilliant and clear, not too loud and not too soft. Dante’s own guffaw subsided and he absorbed the vibrant noise coming from the other man’s throat. My god, it was the sound of an angel.

“You know, I get that a lot. It must be my hair.”

“I suppose so. But seriously, you play that type of music? You aren’t into… you know…?”

“Old school rock? Alternative?” he completed for him. “Yeah, I already said I play that. But I don’t like playing that type of music all the time. It gets boring and so cliché. If I have to listen to another Metallica or Pearl Jam song, I’m going to hang myself with my own guitar’s strings.”

He said a mouthful. Dante wanted to having another laughing fit, imagining tall, dark, and handsome donning a Tina Turner hair wig and singing Cindy Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’. No, there was nothing cliché about that. The mood was light after that tidbit and the stranger smiled. He took a drink from his glass and it was then, Dante noticed how long and wicked his nails were. His hands appeared frail and delicate but the nails were steel-like. Almost animal. Dante wondered if they were as strong as they suggested. At the same time, he thought how lovely those same beautiful but very brutal hands would feel over his body.

“I like your hair,” he suddenly heard him say.

Dante looked up. His eyes were immediately confronted by his. They stabbed into him, absorbed him in every conceivable level in their dark abyss. Such intensity, indeed. The PI felt naked.

“It looks… natural,” the stranger continued, “Your eyes too.”

                Out of instinct, Dante ran a hand through his shoulder-length wavy hair. It was silver, an unnatural color brought up by his Devil father. It was the same for his clear, white-blue ocean eyes. Usually, people thought he was a Goth man going for the surreal look. Many were frightened by the appearance, though, frightened by how small his pupils were, almost losing themselves to the mass of milky-blue orbs. But the attractive man sitting across wasn’t one of them. He stared into them and Dante realized he adored the very features that scared many.

                “Your name,” inquired Dante in a low voice, “What is it?”

                A sly smile crossed his face. “What’s yours?”

                Dante took up his challenge. “I asked the question first.”

                “Then you answer first.”

He chuckled. Checkmate. “It’s Dante.”

                “Mine’s Seth.”

                Seth. What a beautiful name that was, Dante thought. It slid through his tongue so easily like… sex. Seth… the name of an Egyptian God.

                “It’s nice to meet you, Dante,” the man addressed as Seth inserted. He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one.

                “No thanks. It’s not in my style.”

                “Yeah, I suppose it’s a nasty habit,” Seth replied and put the pack away.

He gazed at Dante in a sideway manner, his eyes illuminating despite the utter darkness within them. There was something mischievous about the smile that came afterward.

“In fact…” he resumed with a lovely tone, “if Monsieur Freud were still alive, he’d probably say my fixation with smoking comes from my fixation with putting things in my mouth.”

                Dante was quiet. On the jukebox, ‘Paralyzer’ by Finger Eleven played. While many people were jamming to it, his eyes concentrated on the man in front of him.

                “Isn’t it weird?” Seth later said with a small laugh, “Even when we’re little, we’re taught to suck. Don’t you find that funny?”

                Again, Dante chose not to say anything. He could only hear the words coming from this beautiful man’s throat and knew, far too well, this had nothing to do with cigarettes. Sitting across the table, Seth exhaled again, watching him through a faint haze of smoke.

                “I like smoking. I like putting things in my mouth. A lot of things.”

                “You smoke cigars too?” he finally spoke.

                Seth smiled. “Whenever I get the chance to.”

                “How does it work out for you, though? Most of these places have no-smoking signs.”

                “I smoke at home. I’m bothered less that way.”

“I suppose you like eating bananas too.”

                “And pickles.”

                “Yeah, I like pickles too.” Dante nodded. “I like anything sour.”

                “I hear people like to put ice cream on it.”

                “Really? That’s pretty funny. I might try that sometime.”

                “It sounds gross.”

                “Maybe, but sweet and sour. That makes for an interesting combination.”

                “I suppose.” Seth looked back at the bar. “You think they sell pickles here?”

                “Yeah. They do.”

                “Maybe we ought to try it out.”

                “Don’t bother. Their pickles are months old. They taste like cucumber by now.”

                “Pfft. Figures.”

                The investigator rather enjoyed this little chit-chat of theirs and was grateful he wasn’t the only one envisioning possible positions. As much he wanted it to carry on, though, he’d much prefer the tangible over the allusions.

“I might have something you’ll probably like,” he offered.

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it as addicting as a cigarette?”

“Very.”

“Is it as big as a cigar?”

“Much bigger.”

“Juicy as a pickle?”

“Juicer.”

“Sweeter than ice cream?”

“The sweetest.”

                Seth’s grin widened. His angelic face flushing with color. “How’s about we choose a place then?”

                So far, the other man had been forward with his advances and Dante was certainly glad. He was tired of being the one taking the first initiation, especially when things went bad. He was tired of having partners who teased or kept second-guessing themselves too, as if any of that was attractive. It was just sex anyway. But now it was Dante’s turn. He needed to see what kind of man Seth really was and repay the brunette’s gesture back. In spades.

Dante looked around them. He gave him a glance and asked, “Why not here?”

                Surprise flickered across Seth’s face and Dante wanted to laugh. Seth didn’t expect that. He had succeeded in his flirtation but now got more than he bargained for.

                “Why not my place?” he asked slowly, tentatively touching the butt of his cigarette with a thumb. “I’m rather… shy about public places.”

                “I’m not,” said Dante and unzipped his pants to seal the deal, letting loose a physical anxiety of his. It had manifested itself into roughly eight inches.

Seth paused, taking a slow drag from his cigarette, considering his choices.

Dante enjoyed seeing him lower his tough façade like that. Just moments ago he was saying some wild innuendos. Now he revealed there was a shy boy underneath the confident man. Seth really wasn’t a public type of guy but Dante didn’t back off. He wanted this man the moment he turned around. While everyone was whispering words of disgust he was silently enraptured. Dante moved his hand below and stroked himself underneath the table, visually urging Seth to be bold again. Seth licked his lips and the heat caught up to his eyes the longer he stared at Dante’s rhythmic hand movement. Looking up, his spurt of masculine confidence reemerged and he stubbed out his cigarette, slowly moving under the table.

Dante was glad they sat at the corner of the bar, hidden in the shadows, only viewable to those close by. He didn’t mind being in the public at all, though. He didn’t mind being entertainment. About the only thing he hated was being interrupted, whether it was the clueless waiter who wanted to know what else he’d like to order or the suspicious cop who was ready to intervene. It helped that it was a crowded bar.

Once Seth’s mouth was over him he dismissed those last thoughts, giving in to the warm, silky lips of the man below. He felt Seth’s lower lip run the bottom of his shaft, gently gliding it from the balls straight up to the head. Seth sucked on it once, blowing hot air on it when he exhaled. Dante shuddered as he breathed, feeling a tongue following the same path now. He slouched in his seat and pushed back a little, watching the beautiful man suckle him. Those plushy, gorgeous lips opened wide, pushed in and then pulled out with a wet smack-like sound. Each time Seth reached the tip, he swallowed on it a little longer than before. Dante struggled with this man’s mouth. This mouth… a hot mass glossed with oozing warm slime, containing a dreary snake trapped at the edge of a cave that was long and deep. It shot out and flickered over the piss-hole of his cock, wiggling and digging itself.

“You’re not shy…” Dante murmured, sighing and placing a hand on Seth’s bobbing head. “You’re not shy at all… You’re not shy…”

He halfway closed his eyes when Seth’s rhythm increased in tempo with the metal music playing. He started to use his teeth, grazing through the bumpy surface of his penis, grinding it until the head twitched in reaction. It spurted a glob of gooey milk down Seth’s throat.

“Not shy… not shy at all…” Dante kept repeating breathlessly. “You’re a good boy… a good boy that’s not shy at all…”

Drink and relax, those were his goals. He had planned to take someone too but not from the bar. The bar was always full of rejects. He never imagined he’d find an angel sitting in its midst, with the mouth of a veteran whore.

Back at the head of the shaft, Seth gathered the squirts of semen spilling out. Ejecting at the roof of his mouth, they came out short at first, with moments passing by before another round fired. The longer he blew on Dante, though, the thicker the sprays got, squeezing out more frequently and in longer strings. Seth relaxed his throat and carefully consumed the entire length of Dante in his mouth.

“Hmmpf…” Seth muffled and stayed real still when he wanted to purge. He felt Dante’s erection throbbing in his throat.

“Oh yeah… oh fuck yeah...” Dante whispered, ejaculating in streams now. “Now that’s what I’m talking about…. That’s what I’m talking about…. You’re not shy…”

Dante groaned over the music still playing from the jukebox and moved his hips upward, set to pump into the hot mouth. He rolled them forward in circular fashion, poking at the end of Seth’s throat. Seth gurgled each time and that made Dante chortle softly. It wasn’t enough to have him suckle his erection. He needed Seth to do much more. This was the man he needed, the body he wanted to explore to the fullest. His mouth was only the first of many excavations. Thrusting again and again, he caused the brunette to vomit. Saliva, semen, and beer drenched his length. Hissing and throwing back his head, Dante tightened his hand’s grip and urged him to keep going.

Yes. Keep going. Must keep going. That’s it. Fill the mouth with milk. Taste its sour liquid. Crave for its bitter tang. Drench the floor and face with it. Smear it all over and ask for more. It was his infamous pearl necklace special, an extreme rarity that was more intoxicating than any nicotine fix available.

Meanwhile, the bar was roaring alive. The crowd was bigger than before with more coming in. Only a few noted the PI on his seat, moving anxiously. They understood why when they saw a man lapping him from below. None of them said a word. Those who sprouted obscenities earlier drank in silence and watched the scene very intently, their breaths shallow.

Seth finally got the hang of Dante’s timing. He stopped puking and learned to relax his throat by inhaling each time Dante thrust forward. He grew accustomed to the throbbing and thick tissue down his corridor. So long as he kept the entire length inside his throat and made no abrupt movements, he wouldn’t have another coughing fit. Nonetheless, it was still a difficult progress. It’d been a long time since he took someone as massive as Dante was. Encountering a man with an extensively long and thick erection was a rare find these days. Eight inches was impressive but also enough to cause bleeding. Already, he felt the end of his throat itch. Yet, he kept going and found the smooth and bumpy texture in his mouth extremely pleasing. Meanwhile, Dante had both hands on his head, encouraging him with the pace he wanted, which was a fast, desperate one. Gazing up, he saw Dante’s mouth opened and heard him sprout more dirty little words, cut short by desperate grunts. Seth became painfully aware of a tiny and delicious shiver building inside his trapped cock. He closed his eyes and swallowed Dante’s offering.

“I feel it coming…” the silver haired man warned and twisted his face when Seth bobbed his head faster. “I’m going to come real hard… C’mon, shy boy, get me there… Get me there…”

The crowd started cheering and several women whistled. Something big had happened. Seth felt a bright light on him and heard Dante chuckling above, still breathing loudly. Too hot to figure out what was going on, his eyes remained shut and he followed the beat of the music.

Seth’s heart thudded fast and his own erection demanded attention, fueled by Dante’s loud panting, quivering penis, and naughty words. Seth stirred his head up and down, grasping the tight organ harder and forcing Dante to stop laughing and moan instead. Seth hummed a bit, nearly gagging at the flood of semen running freely down his throat. Dante’s hands were shaking uncontrollably now, pulling on his hair. He was going to climax inside his mouth. But Seth couldn’t breathe. Dante was so tight and thick in his throat and he hadn’t stopped ejaculating. Seth pulled out to gasp for air. As he did, however, Dante’s seed gushed over his entire face in thick volumes, sending fat droplets on his hair, cheeks, and chin.

The entire bar roared in unison. Breathing heavily, Seth turned and it was then that he noticed the light from before.

A camera was pointed right at his face, the handler squatting down to capture the man under the table, recording him in his entirety. Sweat, beer, semen, and all. Seth glanced beyond the cameraman to the rest of the bar. Many of them peered under the table while the rest viewed the large flat screen TV pasted on a wall. On the screen Seth saw his own terrified face. He flushed with embarrassment, paralyzed when someone from the crowd threw him two yellow t-shirts. They continued cheering while only one person muttered this was a no-smoking establishment. Seth wanted to leave, to run as far away. Before he moved from under the table, though, Dante’s hands caught his shoulders. Turning to him, Seth noticed the other man had a tranquil look on his face, unfazed by the hollering and clapping.

“Oh god, you look beautiful, Seth…” Dante whispered between heavy breathes, noticing what he’d done and taking pride in his work. His illuminating eyes glowed brightly and he gently brushed back Seth’s damped hair from his forehead. “You look absolutely beautiful and fuckable like that…”

Seth thought the same of Dante as he gazed upward. The people in the bar didn’t matter to him anymore. Dante’s face was rosy and glossed, the silver hair matted with sweat, several bangs covering an eye. One of his own drops sprayed on his cheek and slid down, leaving a wet trail. Dante had sex written on him, the musk of desire.

Inhaling it in, Seth said intensely, “My place.”

                Dante trembled a bit, not from the climax that still claimed him, but for what awaited them. He accepted the invitation by nodding only once.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

MONSTER