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Whenever Vergil dreamed, he was back home. He was certain that Sparda was the type to name his home, but .. No. He couldn’t remember if the manor house, in an English country style, had a name. He imagined that it would have come from his mother, house-proud as she was, soft-spoken and sweet-natured.
Half memories in his mind .. Surely not really his own, surely not, given the subject matter.
I’m here, little ones .. I know, we’re so hungry ..
Oh, he was probably Freud’s wet-dream of a patient. Still, as Vergil stirred, the clingings of this particular dream and perhaps-memory still wet on his synapses, he inhaled and rolled over. He was met with the solid wall of muscle, heat, and man that was his twin. Dante gave off heat like a breathing furnace and Vergil found himself not at all angry about it when the winter was bitter cold.
Vergil murmured something, almost to himself more than to Dante.
Dante didn’t stir, not even as Vergil pawed lazily at his chest, pushing up the threadbare shirt he had worn to bed.
Licking his lips, half asleep even as he was, Dante’s chest was laid bare for him, firm and warm.
If Dante ever took issue with this side of him, Vergil had never heard him argue it. It was just an accepted thing .. If anyone were to bring it up, Vergil would deny it, so he imagined that Dante would deny it too. But between the two of them? When it was just them? Not a word. No arguing, no pushing away .. Vergil thought he’d surely die if Dante ever pushed him away if he went to latch.
And latch he did.
Vergil would feel guilty about it in the morning, not unlike someone who woke at midnight and went into the kitchen to eat the last slice of cake in front of the open fridge. Now, though? Now, he was just able to swirl a tongue around Dante’s nipple, and then put his mouth to it.
Dante did stir then, a rumble in his chest. He tried to move, but Vergil wrapped his arms around his chest and held, eyes closed tight.
.. Dante sighed and relaxed, settling in.
He was in too deep to pull away now. It’d just be awkward.
Dante put an arm under his head, his other hand coming up to card through Vergil’s hair.
In truth, Vergil would have been happy even if Dante didn’t produce. Yes, the pay-off was getting something in his belly, but there was also a very primordial comfort from being able to nurse, even if nothing came of it. More than once, Dante had joked about getting him a pacifer, especially after an incident where Vergil was a little too toothy when he was half-asleep.
This time, however, after some kneading against the pec he was focused on, would just be a soothing suckle. This little venture bore fruit, even if the first few pulls were always that thin, oily, not-quite-milk. The slightly bitter taste gave way, the greasy slickness of the suck, though, bowed to a much more pleasing mouth-feel and a far more satisfying taste.
Dante’s milk was so smooth and almost sweet, more than once Vergil felt like he was drinking coffee creamer. Fatty, nutrient rich, and that made sense, in all truth and cando. With how often Vergil tried to latch, successfully latched, it made sense that Dante’s body assumed he had a very needy nestling to feed, nutritionally speaking. His body reacted accordingly, producing a vitamin-dense milk whenever the need arose.
Concerned that Dante might withdraw this open offer for him to nurse whenever he wanted, be it for hunger, comfort, boredom, or foreplay, Vergil never mentioned the taste or texture of his milk to Dante.
The elder twin hummed through another mouthful and swallow, almost purring as he felt Dante exhale, running his hand through Vergil’s short hair again.
“You good, babe?” Dante murmured, barely audible, the words rumbling in his chest. Vergil, his tongue flat against the nipple, felt the vibration of it in his mouth.
He didn’t nod. Didn’t even try to acknowledge that he heard his twin’s query, save for a soft chrr of a noise in his throat, pleased as can be, before he took another pull, getting another mouthful.
Dante chuckled, relaxing.
Vergil reached between their bodies, palming himself through his thin sleep-pants. He chrr’d again, clearly slipping into a soft head-space, one that was comfortable being small, being taken care of, being held, gently, in the cup of Dante’s hand.
The unease from the dreaming of his mother faded, just as he knew they would. The soft tendrils of sleep were starting to weave their way through his mind. Whatever he was after, when he decided to latch on to Dante’s chest, he had successfully chased it down.
Vergil hiccuped, and then Dante’s hand was there, by his face, a gentle finger sweeping along his lips, popping his mouth free from his nipple. The elder huffed, shifting where he lay. Dante all but hauled him up onto the pillow by his arms. Even in the dark, he could see his younger twin’s sleepy grin.
“Feel better?” Dante purred.
He grumbled something and tucked his head under Dante’s chin, holding the other close. He’d squirm away in the night, but for now, to be held was heavenly, serotonin flooding his brain from nursing, and his belly full.
When Vergil hiccuped again, growling in response to his own body's betrayal, Dante pat his back, chuckling.
“You ate too fast..”
“Go back to sleep,” Vergil whispered, not wanting to think about how good Dante patting his back felt, especially after having fed so greedily.