#i wanted to make a bigger piece buuuut it was a serious time crunch and i simply didnt have the time or resources to finish it

[broken-timemachine]

091305

[tehrevving]

Cocked and Loaded

My piece for the @ssszine. I was waiting until I received my copy to post it buuuut it’s been stuck in about 3 different countries now, so I’ve decided to just go for it.

This is a funny fic that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Enjoy!

The bar is so deserted that Dante can’t even find someone to refill his drink. He just sits there, swirling the ice around his empty glass and staring at the strange fruit bowl in front of him. He doesn’t know why there’s one on the bar, or why it’s filled with only bananas and a giant purple fruit that looks like the emoji thing that young people use when they text. If he’s not going to be able to get another drink, he decides to just leave. He stands up, not noticing the woman standing behind him, lower than his eye line. He almost knocks her to the floor. She’s pretty, older but with a bit too much plastic injected into her face for his tastes. 

“Sorry Miss,” he says sheepishly, moving around her. 

She puts a hand on his bicep and squeezes, “don’t worry about it big boy.”

Dante carefully lifts her hand off his arm. She just puts her other hand on his chest. “You’re quite a catch aren’t you Love,” she smiles sincerely, through the face fillers. “I’d popped in here for a drink, but now that I’ve seen you. Well I could go for something a little bit more,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Salty.”

Dante chokes. He’s never heard that one before and it catches him off guard, especially said with such a serious tone. The man behind the camera sighs.

“Cut!” he yells, and the room comes alive. 

People are running around, adjusting the angle of the spotlights while the director yells. Dante sits back down on the stool and takes a sip of his whisky, shaking his head. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. 

It was an offer he hadn’t been able to refuse. A simple, quick job attached to a ten thousand dollar cheque. He was already eyeing up a stylish new coat, custom holsters for his guns and the very expensive pizza shop down the road. The catch was the very nature of the job itself. The client wanted him, Dante Sparda, Legendary Devil Hunter, to star in a full frontal pornographic film, for their personal collection. 

Dante needed the cash desperately. He’d been sent a script, a time and an address, and now he was here, thrust into the spotlight and still not really sure what was going on. 

He thought that he would be walking into an amateur type affair. A casting couch in a dark room with a handycam sort of thing. There’s a whole team of people though, including an eccentric director - stupid hat included - who seems incapable of speaking in a volume lower than a shout.

He takes another look at the client, his co-star. She’s a socialite, rich, influential, and apparently a huge fan of his. She’s nice enough even though there’s just something off about her. She doesn’t look quite right when she smiles. She reminds him of the hellspawn he regularly exterminates.  

“One minute warning!”

Dante takes a deep breath and steels himself.

It takes two more attempts for the director to be happy. Dante is already bored of repeating the same thing over and over. He wonders why getting this scene right is such a big deal. It’s not like anyone ever watches the intro to porn films anyway. He just drains his glass and reaches over the bar for the bottle to refill it. 

One of the cameramen is next to him suddenly, grinning. “Are you sure drinking more is a good idea?” he smirks, biting back laughter, “it’s all well and good to calm your nerves, but don’t let it affect your performance. If you catch my drift,” he winks.

Dante rolls his eyes, the great Son of Sparda getting whisky dick? Please. Dante reckons that even flaccid he’s got a bigger cock than this idiot. He downs his drink as the man drags him into the next room.

The director has a megaphone now and is screaming into it. He walks over and puts the speaker right next to Dante’s ear. “All you have to do is let her undress you. Got it?”

Dante nods, desperate to stop the ringing in his ear as he’s dragged to the centre of the room.

“Action!”

His co-star stands in front of him again, she’s tiny. He wonders if the camera can even get both of them in the same frame. 

Dante takes in a breath and puts on his usual act, cocky and carefree. 

“Why, is that a sword in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” she smiles, winking.

Dante struggles not to laugh at the lines, or at the expression on her face. He just follows the script, cocking out his hip. “Why don’t you come a little bit closer and find out Sweetheart,” he purrs flawlessly, finishing off with some finger guns for effect. He’s starting to feel a little bit more relaxed. 

She steps in closer as a wind machine starts up. The sound almost deafening. Dante feels the breeze push at his hair and uses his heightened senses to time the shrug of his shoulders. His coat falls off his shoulders effortlessly, fluttering stylishly to the floor.

The wind machine stops and he shakes out his long hair. He flexes his arms and reaches up, over his head. He pulls off his shirt, struggling not to get caught in the fabric or mess up his hair. Sure, it’s an impractical way to take off a shirt, but he saw it in a movie once and thought it looked pretty sweet. 

She stands up on her toes and starts licking at his neck and then his hairy chest. His skin is covered with saliva when she pulls away and it feels pretty gross. She works her way down his body until she’s half crouching to be level with his crotch. The cameraman moves to get the shot, getting tangled up in the cables. Dante tries not to laugh. He tries to look sexy instead. Like he’s excited to have a desperate woman kneeling between his legs, instead of apprehensive.

She traces her hands down his thighs and works quickly down to his boots. She licks the buckle and uses her teeth to pull the zipper down. Dante notices, as she pulls off his shoe, that everyone in the room is staring at his feet.

“Cut!”

The director storms over, his voice distorted static through the megaphone. “What are those?!”

Dante looks down, “my socks?” he questions, wiggling his toes inside of his lucky, pizza print sock. 

The director groans, holding his head in his hands.

“Costuming!”

They take away Dante’s favourite sock and the mismatched pink strawberry print one from his other foot. He’s given replacement socks that are boring and plain black. He’s just managed to get them on when an assistant appears and throws all of his previously discarded clothes at him. Dante gets dressed again.

He can’t believe he has to go through it all again. He has a lot less enthusiasm during the next take. His coat falls dismally to the floor and he takes his shirt off the normal way because he’s not going to risk stretching the neck out. Eventually they get back to where they were, and then further. Now she’s crouched awkwardly in front of him, working on his fly. 

She rubs her face all over his clothed cock. He’s not really hard yet but not one seems to have noticed. It’s all going well so far. She undoes his fly and slowly pulls his pants lower. She works seductively, dragging the fabric down his legs while biting her lip. Dante cocks out his hip while the camera pans around him.

“Cut!”

The director is utterly irate this time, stalking towards Dante like he’s going to murder him. “Your underwear,” he spits. Dante twists around. He’d accidentally put on his smokin hot black briefs this morning, the ones with the word ‘sexy’ stamped across the ass in giant, holographic letters. 

His co-star turns, struggling not to laugh. “I don’t think those are a problem.”

The director stares at her like she has two heads but quickly relents. 

They don’t have to redo the whole scene again apparently. Dante’s just glad he doesn’t have to get dressed again, or deal with the wind machine. He just does his pants back up and they go from there. There’s only one more hitch on the next take. She’s a little bit too enthusiastic ripping off his underwear and his semi-hard cock springs up. Hitting her solidly in the face. She’s not hurt, but she’s definitely a little bit shaken up. The next time they try the take, she makes sure to hold him steady with her hand.  

There’s a team of people adjusting a stool in front of him. His co-star kneels on it and they mess around trying to get her high enough to comfortably reach his cock. Dante tries to play it cool. He’s starting to feel a little bit out of his depth, now that she’s about to properly touch him. 

The director turns to Dante. “Get ready,” he scoffs and makes a jerking motion with his fist. Gross. 

Dante has never had any problems with his performance, even with an audience. It’s different in the dark recesses of a strip club though, compared to harsh lights and critical stares. He ignores them, reaching down and stroking his cock a few times. He quickly gets into it, adding in a twist of his wrist here and there. It feels good. 

The director fawns over him, tells him to bend his knees, cock out his hip, tense his butt. Dante tries his best to follow the contradicting directions, ignoring the strain in his thighs. 

“Action!”

It’s now or never. She reaches out and wraps a hand firmly around the thick base of his cock. She strokes him a few times, making exaggerated movements while she leans her face in closer. She holds him in place and then sticks out her tongue. 

Dante is watching closely. There’s something not right with her tongue. It’s slightly too long and flicks out strangely from between her lips. Her grip tightens painfully around the base of his cock. He hears her hiss. “Gotcha!”

Dante recoils. Managing to pull himself back just in time. Her maw crunches down on the empty air where beloved lil’ Dante was only moments ago.

She crouches to the floor, splayed out with too long limbs. “Famed Devil Hunter,” she hisses, staring at him with glowing, slitted eyes. “You’ve fallen right into our trap. Let us see how strong you really are, aroused, naked and without any weapons.”

Dante doesn’t need to look around the room. The grotesque snapping sounds echoing off the walls tell him that everyone else in the room is transforming too. She takes a step back as the others gang up on him. 

This is his element though. He can handle a fight. “Oh, Darling,” he taunts, “I’m always fully loaded.” He winks and flies head first into battle. 

The creatures aren’t strong. Dante doesn’t need weapons. His bare fists are strong enough to puncture through their squishy chests. He has fun, backflipping and dancing around. It’s interesting, getting to fight with parts of his body that he doesn’t normally. He laughs, snapping necks with his thighs. Yelling out, “cut” and “action” as he slams disfigured faces to the ground. It’s easy to improvise, though he has to be careful not to bang his large adrenaline filled erection on the furniture. 

Far too soon for his liking, it’s just the woman and the director - stupid hat still perched on his reptilian head - left. The director stalks forward, looking just as agitated as he had when he looked human. He’s so focused on Dante that he doesn’t notice the camera cable, stretched taut and hidden by streaming corpses. He trips. Dante watches it play out in slow motion. The director flails, trying to keep his balance. His hat flies off his head. There’s a pause and a click as the swinging cable flicks the fan blades on. Dante can’t tear his eyes away from the director’s horrified face. He screams as the sharp blades slice through him and paint the walls with his blood.  

The client is furious now. She screeches at him. The sound threatens to shatter the windows. Dante throws a quick come hither motion in her direction, goading her on. She lunges forwards. 

It’s an accident, honestly. Dante was having way too much fun. He wanted to capture her, interrogate her, find out exactly what was going on here, who sent them. But it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t that he mistimed his stylish double pike backflip exactly, it was more that she anticipated his movement and decided to attack him with her teeth.

Her head swung back as he twisted. Neither her nor Dante though have accounted for the unrestrained and exceptionally lethal weapon between his legs. His dick hits her solidly in the neck. He has too much momentum. He doesn’t stop spinning. Her neck splits with a pop as her decapitated head flies across the room. 

Dante stops moving as quickly as he can. Frantically inspecting his makeshift sword for any damage. There’s a little bit of devil gore, but otherwise everything is intact. He sighs with relief as he looks around the room. 

Dante sneaks out of the apartment through the back window, dropping into the bushes below. He’s haphazardly dressed, already having put on and taken his clothes off way too many times today. He leaves the mess of bodies and equipment as they are. Not his problem. He steals the bottle of booze though, along with the strange purple fruit from the bowl and the tape from the camera, which has ‘Cocked and Loaded’ scrawled across the front of it.

He starts the slow, long walk back to the office, still broke. He’s pretty sure that the large cheque he has in his pocket is gonna bounce. He turns the purple fruit around in his hands and then takes a bite. It’s disgusting. He throws it away. Why would anyone want to eat that?

He can’t believe that he’s walking away empty handed. He’d been so confident this job was going to work out. He pats the tape in his pocket, glad he has it as a souvenir. He’s almost giddy, thinking about watching it later tonight in private. He’s already decided that he’s never gonna show it to anyone else, and even if it never really got juicy… well, he figures at least one person should jerk off to it.