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Having a bet with Nero and Dante is the same as making a deal with the devil, you don’t know what you’ll lose or gain from it.
Still, it doesn’t deter you from suggesting that you bet on whether what they’re claiming is true or not because you strongly believe that devils may cry but you are definitely not Vergil’s favorite.
“Has he stabbed you?”
“Broke your arm off?”
“Threw you around?”
“Called you scum?”
Nero and Dante speak one at a time like a choreographed drama, their cues matching up and never speaking over the other. Your head hurts as you look at whoever the hell is speaking, listing all of the things that Vergil has apparently done to them but never towards you.
There’s a clear explanation for those, you want to say, that out of the three of you, you are the only one who never actively tried to piss Vergil off. You always approach him with caution, judging if he wants the company and if he seems to be in the mood for it, that’s when you come into the picture.
Despite that, you made a bet. The plan is simple. Ask Vergil of anything in his current possession, if he gives it, then you lose the bet. Dante and Nero are both certain that the eldest living kin of Sparda will probably give them shit while he will give you the world if you ask for it. (But don’t, Dante says, he might pull another tree out of nowhere.)
Which is why you’re coming up to Vergil right now despite the fact that he’s currently reading by the couch, a clear indication that he probably doesn’t want to be disturbed. You’ve spent enough time with him to realize that Vergil rarely wants someone to talk with when he’s reading. Though you’ve managed to do it some several times before, you think it’s because you’re polite enough to ask first if he’s willing to talk. He always says yes.
Okay, maybe Vergil is a little bit lenient with you but then again, compare to the other two, you make the effort to try and not rile Vergil to his wit’s end. Dante has made that his calling and Nero does so as payback for twenty years worth of lost child support.
Needless to say, you’re nervous as you make your way down the stairs. Dante went first hours ago, asking for Vergil’s book to which the oldest had declined by sending an insult on his way, asking “Can you even read?” Nero followed suit, deciding to ask for The Yamato but instead got into a sparring session with his father. You and Dante are still deciding if Nero lost or won the bet because technically, Vergil did give him The Yamato at the end but not after beating Nero up. That doesn’t really spell Vergil’s favourite.
By now, you’re sure Vergil is downright pissed for being interrupted twice while he reads in the main office. The fact that he hasn’t retreated back to his room confuses you but you don’t complain, it’ll be harder to approach him if he isolates himself in his own place.
It only takes you a couple of steps to get in front of him, but to you it feels like centuries.
Ever since Vergil and Dante came back from the underworld, you’ve been trying your best to establish some relationship with him, making him open up, teaching him what it means to be human in this day and age. You convince yourself it’s because you care for him the same way you care for Nero and Dante but then, it’s only with Vergil do your eyes linger the longest.
Forget the stupid bet, you actually want to know if you’re Vergil’s favourite because he’s definitely your favourite out of everyone.
“You’re in my spot,” You finally say, breaking the silence and catching Vergil’s attention, who looks up at you slowly, blinking once before tilting his head to the side with a questioning look.
“Pardon?” He sounds genuinely confused.
You don’t falter and say, “You’re in my spot. I sit there,” you pause for a moment and think whether you should say the last one and risk your life for this stupid bet but then you finish by saying, “move.”
A part of you want to argue that’s it’s just a request but the word came out of you like a command that you’re not sure where you’re pulling the confidence or even the gall to speak in such way towards Vergil. You think about apologizing hurriedly before bolting away and never showing your face again to this handsome man but you stay still.
Your goal is to have Vergil shake his head at you and reprimand you for taking a space already occupied when there’s so many left on the couch. They way he’s looking at you right now, blue eyes sharp and calculating, perhaps computing how fast he can unsheathe The Yamato and slice you in half before you can catch on and run, keeps you on edge and makes you think well, if I die today, at least his pretty face is the last thing I see.
You almost blurt out that Dante has forced you to become the ass that you are now when Vergil simply rests his back further into the couch and spread his arms wide to either side, almost as if to present himself.
“Sit, then,” Vergil replies.
Wait, what?
“What?” you repeat, out loud, looking at him gobsmacked at what he’s trying to suggest. You lower your gaze at his lap and notice, not for the first time, how thick and toned they seem even through his pants. Well, they do look inviting.
“I mean the spot you’re seating on right now not the—“
“Sit,” if you think you sound commanding earlier from saying the word move, Vergil is absolutely oozing dominant energy when he asked you to take a seat on his lap. You look up back to him to find that his eyes seem to glow against his face, a common sight whenever they’re in the heat of a battle. Well, you’re not in any sort of battle, but you’re definitely feeling some sort of unbearable heat somewhere in your body.
Defeated, you scramble awkwardly to sit on his lap. You think about sitting on his knees instead, putting your weight on your legs rather than actually sitting on Vergil, but like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he swiftly changes your position once you’re close enough. You briefly remember feeling like paper when he moves you on his lap, your side pressed against his hard chest while your feet are propped to the couch.
Your breath hitches at the close proximity, at how flushed your bodies are against each other and Vergil chuckles softly, wounding an arm around your back to hold you in place while the other hovers over your own lap, book in hand. He resumes reading, unbothered, acting like having you in his lap is as normal as stabbing Dante.
From afar, Dante laughs like the maniac he is, peaking from the second landing and shooting you with finger guns, winking, before disappearing again. You think you hear Nero saying “pay up,” to Dante but you’re not sure if it’s because of the same bet.
When Vergil doesn’t say anything, that’s when it hits you.
“You knew,” you don’t even need to ask.
“I did,” Vergil confirms, turning another page.
“Well I hope you’re happy because I just lost to your brother and son.”
“Oh? And here I thought this will warrant your win.”
“Quite the opposite.”
“Regardless,” Vergil lets out a breath of relief, seemingly satisfied, “I do feel like a winner at the moment.”
You swallow at the comment, feeling your face go up in flames you think you’re actually on fire.
Having a bet with Nero and Dante is the same as making a deal with the devil, you don’t know if you’ll lose or gain anything from it.
Turns out, you lost the bet and gained something else far better.