A quick rhythm of knocks at the door seized Dante’s attention. The devil hunter excitedly rose from his seat to answer the door. Upon opening it, he found the disdainful face of the pizza delivery guy, which was nothing unusual. Ignoring the glare pinned on him, he grabbed the pizza box balanced on the pubescent boy’s hand. He mumbled a quick “put it on my tab” before the slamming the door in the boy’s face. He had started to say something in protest, but the door had cut him off before he could utter a single word. As expected, there were no more knocks at the door. The pizza place had learned to just let him have whatever he wanted. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t saved the owner’s life a hundred times.

“Finally,” Dante breathed as he slid the pizza from his palm to his desk, knocking a few empty cans and other clutter into the floor. His stomach grew more demanding the closer he came to opening the box. However, when the devil hunter finally did lift the lid, the childish excitement faded and his face fell. Olives—fucking olives fucking everywhere on his pizza. The hunter let out a long, frustrated groan.

At that moment, Nero stepped out onto the loft and started down the stairs. He quirked a brow at Dante and the curious noise he was making. Even without looking or asking, he knew what was the matter. The pizza place always put olives on Dante’s pizza just to spite him for not paying his tab. Cruelly, the younger hunter smirked and sniggered at the elder’s misfortune. However, he quickly righted himself as he approached Dante’s side. It was far more hilarious to play dumb and see the halfbreed’s unwavering disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.

“They put olives on my fucking pizza again,” the devil hunter growled. “I didn’t pay for this shit,” he grumbled beneath his breath as he began to pick the olives off one-by-one.

“You didn’t pay, period,” Nero rebutted with a titter of laughter.

“Yeah, well,” Dante began, struggling to think of a valid reason why the olives should have never been put onto his pizza, “they’re supposed to get your order right.”

“Yeah,” Nero started, “if you actually paid them.”

“Hey, that fat bastard who owns the place would be dead if it weren’t for me. I think that’s payment enough.”

He’s pouting, Nero thought with a chuckle when he noticed the slight pooch of the elder’s bottom lip, his mouth turned in a half-frown.

“Unfortunately, saving lives isn’t a currency.”

Dante rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word, intently focused on removing every accursed olive from his pizza. Dante didn’t seem to have any time for him at that moment, but the younger hunter skillfully managed to wedge himself half between Dante and the pizza. The older hunter kept shifting attention to him briefly. It was only after Nero had stared him directly in the eyes for several seconds that the halfbreed was forced to stop and meet his gaze.

“What?” he mumbled flatly. Nero smirked.

“Kiss me,” he said in a sultry tone. Dante’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?” he blurted.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Dante stared at the part-devil dubiously. Since when did Nero not only want but openly invite his affection? It seemed a bit suspicious, but was he going to argue? The devil hunter’s eyes shifted back to the pizza for a split-second, but it only took him a split-second to make his decision. The pizza could wait. Smirking, he braced his hands on each side of Nero against the desk. Both hunter’s eyes became lidded as grinning mouths slowly gravitated toward one another. Dante could already feel a response from his groin. Normally, he wasn’t so easy to arouse, but Nero was such a prude. He rarely got anything from the younger man, but it was always so worth the wait when he finally did. Nero had learned to read him like a book. The younger’s eyes rolled downward, lingering for a moment before rolling up again, a mischievous gleam in their blue depths. Their noses were touching, and Dante didn’t waste any time moving in to take Nero’s lips. However, it was too late when his brain finally processed what his eyes had seen: Nero reaching down quickly at the last second to grab something and shove it in his mouth.

Recoiling in disgust, Dante spat the olive Nero had pushed into his mouth with his tongue onto the floor. The sweaty, salty, musty flavor lingered on his tongue, and the devil hunter reached for a can of room temperature beer just to replace the horrible taste with a less horrible one. Nero was already cackling.

“What the fuck, Nero?” Dante was practically gargling in beer, but that taste just wouldn’t go away. There was no pause in Nero’s laughter, and he only seemed to laugh harder the more Dante expressed his displeasure.

“You evil little bastard…”