Chapter 3: Claiming What's His
The cool stone wall still pressed phantom heat against Dabi’s cheek. He slumped there, trembling, jeans pooled around his ankles, the thick scent of sex and his own release heavy in the cramped, velvet-draped alcove. Dante’s words echoed: ‘Don't wait so long next time.’ Like a command. Like a promise. The raw ache between his legs was profound, a deep, satisfying throb that warred with the sting of stretching skin and the lingering humiliation of his own desperate pleas. He’d begged. Like a fucking animal. And it had been the most electric thing he’d ever experienced.
Slowly, pushing against the trembling in his thighs, Dabi shoved himself upright. He fumbled with the torn denim, pulling them up over his sticky skin with a wince. The club's chaotic thrum felt distant, muffled behind the drape. He needed air. Or water. Or just… a moment not saturated with Dante’s overwhelming presence. He pushed the heavy velvet aside, stepping back into the pulsating heart of Inferno. The noise hit him like a physical blow – the bass vibrating his ribs, the wailing singer, the cacophony of voices. He felt raw, exposed, every nerve ending singing. He scanned the writhing mass, half-expecting to see those molten gold eyes locked on him again. Nothing. Dante had vanished into the shadows, leaving Dabi wrecked and wanting more.
Fuck. The craving was back already, a low simmer beneath the post-orgasmic haze. He made his way through the crowd, shoulders hunched, ignoring curious glances. The opulent hallway leading to the VIP section offered some respite from the crushing noise. He pushed through the heavy, soundproofed door marked with a stylized, inverted 'V'.
The VIP bathroom was a jarring contrast to the club’s gothic chaos. Black marble floors gleamed under soft, recessed lighting. Gold fixtures shimmered. Huge, ornate mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the dim, pulsating crimson light bleeding through the frosted glass that separated the space from the main VIP lounge. The air hung thick with the cloying scent of expensive cologne and something else… ozone? Or maybe just the ghost of power. Dabi caught sight of himself in one mirror: pale skin flushed, blue eyes wide and slightly unfocused, hair tousled, lips swollen. He looked thoroughly fucked. He leaned heavily against a gleaming black marble sink, the chill of the stone seeping through his thin tee. He turned on the faucet, the rush of water loud in the sudden quiet. He splashed cold water on his face, the shock helping to ground him, washing away some of the sweat and… other fluids. He stared at his reflection, the water dripping down his chin. What the hell are you doing? He didn’t have an answer. Only the insistent throb between his legs and the echoing memory of Dante’s voice: ‘Good boy.’
The heavy door clicked open. Dabi froze, water dripping from his fingertips into the sink. He didn’t need to turn. He felt him. The air thickened, charged. The faint scent of bourbon and that deep, unsettling hint of sulfur washed over him, overpowering the cologne. Dante’s reflection appeared in the mirror beside his own, impossibly close. He hadn’t made a sound crossing the marble floor. His expression was unreadable, a mask of ancient composure, but his molten gold eyes burned with a predatory intensity that made Dabi’s breath catch.
"Running away so soon, pyre?" Dante’s voice was low, smooth velvet over steel. He stepped right up behind Dabi, so close Dabi could feel the heat radiating from his body, the brush of expensive fabric against his back. Dante’s hands, cool and strong, landed on Dabi’s hips. Not gentle. Possessive.
Dabi tensed, his knuckles white where he gripped the sink’s edge. He met Dante’s gaze in the mirror. The defiance tried to spark, a feeble flicker. "Just cleaning up," he muttered, his voice rough. "After you made a mess."
Dante chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through Dabi’s spine. One hand slid around Dabi’s waist, fingers splaying possessively across his abdomen, pulling him back flush against Dante’s body. Dabi could feel the hard ridge of Dante’s cock already pressing against his ass through their clothes. The other hand moved to the button of Dabi’s barely-held-together jeans. The cool metal popped open easily under Dante’s fingers. The zipper rasped down.
"You think one round was enough, pyre?" Dante growled, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp against Dabi’s ear. His breath was hot, sending shivers down Dabi’s neck. "I'm just getting started."
Dabi’s protest died in his throat before it formed. The defiance vanished, incinerated by the raw need Dante’s proximity, his words, instantly rekindled. The ache flared into a desperate hunger. Weeks of obsession, the brutal satisfaction minutes ago, the sheer, terrifying power emanating from the man pinning him to the sink – it all coalesced into a single, undeniable truth: he craved this annihilation. He didn’t want to fight it. Not now. He needed to be filled, owned, shattered again. He pushed back against Dante’s hardness, a needy little grind.
"N-no," Dabi gasped, his eyes wide in the mirror, reflecting pure, unadulterated want. "It wasn't enough. Need more." He arched his back, pressing his ass harder against Dante's cock. "Fuck, Dante… need you. Now." The words tumbled out, raw and ragged, stripped bare of any pretense. "Please. Inside me. Need you inside me now."
Dante’s low growl was pure primal satisfaction. "That's what I wanted to hear." His hands moved with brutal efficiency. He shoved Dabi’s ruined jeans and underwear down past his thighs in one rough motion, bunching them around his ankles. Dante’s own tailored pants were shoved down just enough to free his thick, already slick cock. He spit into his palm, a crude wet sound that echoed off the marble, slicking himself roughly. He used no other preparation. There was no finesse, only the overwhelming urgency radiating from both of them.
Dante’s hand fisted in the back of Dabi’s tee, yanking it up, exposing the pale skin of his back. The other hand gripped Dabi’s hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He leaned forward, pressing Dabi’s chest down hard against the cold, unforgiving marble countertop. Dabi’s cheek was mashed against the polished stone, his reflection distorted in the mirror under his cheekbone. He saw Dante’s reflection behind him, all dark intensity and coiled power. Dante positioned himself, the blunt, slick head of his cock pressing hard against Dabi’s still-loosened, but sensitive, entrance.
"Take it," Dante commanded, no trace of the earlier smirk, only ruthless intent.
He thrust. Hard. Deep. A brutal invasion that punched the air from Dabi’s lungs in a choked gasp. Dante buried himself to the hilt in one powerful lunge, sheathing himself fully in Dabi’s tight heat. The stretch burned, a delicious agony after the recent ravaging, pushing him to a new edge of fullness. Dante didn’t pause. Didn’t give him time to adjust. He immediately set a punishing pace, fucking into him with hard, deep strokes that slammed Dabi’s hips against the marble edge with each snap forward. The cold stone bit into his skin, a counterpoint to the searing heat filling him.
"Fuck! Oh god!" Dabi cried out, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick countertop. The sensation was overwhelming – the brutal penetration, the cold marble grinding against his hip bones, the sheer force of Dante’s possession. He was pinned, helpless, used exactly as he’d begged to be. Dante’s rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving deep, hitting that spot inside him with unerring precision. Pleasure, sharp and electric, lanced through the burn, coiling tight in his gut.
Dante’s hand slid from Dabi’s hip, snaking around his body. He found Dabi’s cock, hard and leaking against the cold marble. He gripped it firmly, his touch demanding, stroking him in rough, jerking motions timed perfectly with his thrusts. The dual assault was devastating.
"Look at you," Dante rasped, his voice thick, breath hot against Dabi’s neck. He forced Dabi’s head slightly to the side, making him look at their reflection in the mirror. "Look at my cock stretching that greedy little hole. Look how you take it. Like you were made for it." His thrusts became harder, deeper, driving Dabi harder against the counter. Dabi moaned, a high, keening sound, his eyes glued to the obscene image: his own face flushed and slack with pleasure, Dante’s powerful form driving into him, the thick shaft glistening as it pistoned in and out of his stretched entrance. It was filthy. Degrading. And it sent white-hot sparks of arousal shooting through him.
"Yours," Dabi gasped, the word ripped from him. "Made for it… fuck… made for your cock… Dante!" He pushed back, meeting each thrust with a desperate grind, chasing the friction, the fullness, the edge Dante was ruthlessly pushing him towards. Dante’s hand tightened on his cock, stroking faster, rougher. The coil inside Dabi tightened impossibly, a pressure building with terrifying speed. "Gonna come… fuck… so close…"
"Come then," Dante snarled, biting the juncture of Dabi’s neck and shoulder, not breaking skin but marking him with the pressure. "Spill yourself all over this marble like the desperate slut you are. Come all over my hand while I fill your guts."
The command, the bite, the relentless fucking, the rough hand on his cock – it was too much. Dabi shattered. His back arched violently off the counter as much as Dante’s weight allowed, a raw, primal scream tearing from his throat. His cock pulsed, thick ropes of come splashing against the black marble countertop and Dante’s unyielding hand. His inner muscles clamped down hard around Dante’s driving cock in rhythmic spasms, milking him.
Dante growled, a sound of pure, feral triumph. He slammed home one last time, burying himself impossibly deep, grinding his hips hard against Dabi’s ass. Dabi felt the hot, wet pulse as Dante emptied himself deep inside him, filling him with searing heat, a claiming. Dante held himself there, buried to the root, pressed flush against Dabi’s trembling body as they rode the violent crest of their releases. The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the distant, muffled thump of the club.
Slowly, Dante pulled out. The wet slide was obscene in the sudden quiet. He stepped back, adjusting his clothes with that infuriating calm. Dabi slumped forward, barely holding himself up, trembling violently, supported only by the sink. Spent come smeared the marble beneath him. He felt Dante’s cum already leaking out of him, sliding down his inner thigh. He watched Dante’s reflection as the ancient being smoothed his dark hair, the predatory satisfaction still gleaming in his golden eyes.
Dante leaned down, his lips brushing Dabi’s sweat-damp ear. "Much better when you ask nicely," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. He straightened, his gaze sweeping over Dabi’s ruined form one last time in the mirror – flushed, trembling, marked, leaking his seed. A faint, possessive smirk touched Dante’s lips. He turned without another word and walked out of the bathroom, the heavy door clicking shut behind him, leaving Dabi alone with the echoing thrum of the club, the scent of sex and sulfur, the cooling mess on the counter, and the profound, aching emptiness where Dante had been. The craving hadn't been sated. It had been branded deeper. He stared at the darkening bruise already forming on his neck in the mirror. A hickey from Hell.