Work Text:
“What are you doing here?”
You’ve been aware of Dante’s slow creep down the aisle of the largest archive of metaphysical knowledge this godforsaken place has to offer for some time. You finally call out to him across messy stacks of books.
Foolishly, you hoped he wouldn’t make a game out of this. He strides up to you confidently, clearly thrilled to finally have forced you to be the first to break. This is familiar territory for you and him both, where all of your “career” related activities are conducted and where he comes to find you when he’s looked everywhere else without a trace.
Leaning against the shelf, he folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side.
“I’m researching obviously.”
You look up from the shelf in front of you with a raised brow only to be met with a pair of familiar eyes trained directly at the curve of your chest and whatever peak of skin is pushed up over your neckline.
“Yeah, researching how far you can look down my shirt from that grand height you stand at.”
Caught, the gunslinger’s eyes drift toward your face without an ounce of shame in them.
“And what about it?”
Your stance shifts from flat footed to standing on your tiptoes, arm extended high above your head with your thumb and forefinger reaching toward the tip of his nose to flick it. As sharply reflexed as he has ever been, he dodges the attack and captures your hand in his, spreading your fingers and pressing the heel of your hand against his lips.
Allowing him a moment to sniff your wrist and shoot his best half lidded glance downward, you end it quickly by snatching your arm from his grasp and placing it down at your side. A flaming face that belongs to you turns back toward the shelves to hide your thrill at his public flirtation, insisting upon keeping things polite while you’re working billable hours.
“What do you need, Dante?”
He wishes he could press another kiss at the delicate bend of your wrist.
“A break. A drink. Lots and lots and lots of money. Right now though? Information.”
Sighing, he leans against the bookshelf and holds out his forearms for you to place the ever growing stack you’re working with upon. Wrinkling your nose, you look between him and the books and he holds out his arms and shakes his head leaving you optionless.
“What about?” You stack a book and then another, looking up at him to find him already staring down at you. “God don’t look at me like that, just tell me what you want.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head.
“Well, you, of course.”
It takes all of your strength not to turn and walk away if only to be left alone from his tormenting. You’re good at holding your own, especially against the gruff figures who come to you in search of knowledge of demonology or the magical arts you’ve so raptly committed your life to seeking and holding yet it’s different with Dante.
The two of you have been very good friends since the spring of your early twenties. You’ve, at the very least, slept together for almost that entire time too - entering your thirties in each other’s arms. Constantly picking each other’s brains, running from each other when things got rough and back toward each other when they’ve improved or the lonely nights wouldn’t abate on their own. He’s almost sort of a…companion despite your distaste for defining characteristics.
A boyfriend who lives a life too dangerous for attachment, his very clear one to you cast aside. A man you think about when you wake and sleep both, hoping he’ll visit your dreams on the off chance he isn’t by your side.
Enough of that. You clear your throat to feign impatience and force him to answer.
“I need to borrow that brain and how good you are at figuring out where to find shit in here.”
Laughing, you raise both of your brows.
“It’s alphabetical. Did you forget your letters or what?”
He leans downward, a larger frame closing in and you sidestep him slightly, pretending preoccupation with the books on the portion of the shelf in front of you.
“I forget everything when you’re around.”
Scoffing, you yank a book off of the shelf. “Okay now you’re laying it on a little too thick.”
Looking around the library, you know it’s futile to refuse him. There hasn’t been a moment in the past ten years you’ve told him no in any meaningful way and surely you won’t start today.
“I’m working—” he raises his eyebrows and gasps at the words, feigning shock and you shake your head to dissuade him from continuing with his show. Working is all you’ve seemed to be doing these days, spending days and nights alike with books spread across the small expanse of your apartment leaving little time for extracurricular fun. “But I can make time to help out if you promise you’ll let me handle the research I’m being paid for first.”
“I could pay you too, y’know. My methods may be a little unconventional compared to whatever this mysterious patron is paying you with,” he raises a brow and you roll your eyes. “You’d be rewarded very, very well if you’d only put the books down for one night.”
The innuendo is dripping from his every word. If you knew less about how much he meant what he’s saying perhaps you could play it off better yet your cheeks flame. You know how his rough hands feel at the base of your spine and the dip of your waist, swearing you can feel them drag across you.
“Oh by the way, what’s the name of that demon you needed me to research?”
Attempting to gain a little bit of control over yourself and the situation, you change the subject and pretend you can’t taste him as clear as day in your mouth, memories doing more than you need them to right now.
“It’s, uh, H…” he trails off, giving up the effort of continuing his tall tale. Another sigh, another beat passes and he furrows his brows.
You always manage to expertly cut him down to size, a curse and a blessing all at the same time.
“I’ve been trying to see you for weeks, honey.”
You shake your head. “Days. It has been days since the last time we saw each other and you spent the night despite saying you were leaving before I passed out.”
No chance of wiggling out of this one.
“In my defense, they’ve felt like weeks. Months.”
Shoulders sagging, you lean forward and press yourself against the bookshelf and a pitiful excuse for a frown, the upturned corners of your mouth you can’t seem to put down any time he’s around giving you away. “Sorry for neglecting you. Unfortunately, a girl’s gotta eat and pay rent.”
Of course, there’s no offer made to assist you with either of those things considering he has to work pretty hard for both of them himself.
“And while we’re discussing it, you don’t have to pay me with that.”
If you weren’t in public you’d say what you mean - fucking - but it’s easier to simply allude to the late nights spent taking out your mutual grief and frustration with physical release when company you don’t know may be lurking around. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the shelves and stack another book atop the rest.
“In fact, if we both had more of it to spare, just spending time with you would be payment enough.”
If he’s taken aback he does his best to hide it, shifting slightly and covering his face partially by turning it in the direction of the darkened other end of the aisle.
“See, all this time I thought you only liked me for my body,” he lets slip.
Softly giggling, you pause all other movement besides the rise and fall of your chest and the focus of your gaze upon the man beside you though his gaze remains averted.
“Nah, I hate to say it but I enjoy your company most of all.”
Now he’s drawn back, looking at you with a bit of doubt clouding those steel blue eyes to which you notice and shrug at. “We have the best conversations. You make me laugh; you never make me feel like it’s inconvenient to liste–”
Your words are swallowed by Dante’s mouth before you can get them out. Those quick reflexes worked to bring him close to you before you could even notice, soft lips pressed against a slightly drier, rougher pair.
“Well when you put it that way,” he mutters against your lips. You laugh against his mouth, lips curving perfectly into his.
It’s all almost too sweet to bear. Strangely boyfriend-y for a man you’re so apprehensive to refer to as such.
A stranger breezes past the two of you in the aisle and pretends not to gawk. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you let the natural scrap of shame you have remaining go the way everything else does when Dante’s around.
It disappears, evaporates. Leaves only the two of you behind.
“You can stick around if you don’t have anything better to do,” you tell him, finally breaking away.
Groaning, he redistributes the weight of the books across his arms and stands up so he’s no longer slouching.
“Can’t we take them back to your place?”
Shaking your head, you rap your knuckles against the heaviest metal spine bound book at the bottom of the pile.
“Nope, the rules dictate that this one stays here and I need it the most.”
Smirking, he leans in closer to you. “Then we’ll just have to have some fun here.”
Tossing another book atop the now chin height stack he’s carrying, you shoot him a look that says everything he needs to know. The private booth in the back the two of you occupied the last time he decided to bother you at work is available today.