Chapter 5: Tell Me the Truth
The silence in the small sphere around Dabi’s friends stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated by the relentless throb of the bass from the main floor below. Hawks’ words hung in the air like poison gas. Shoto looked physically ill, his knuckles white around his untouched drink. Toga vibrated with manic curiosity, her wide eyes darting between Dabi and the distant dais. Shigaraki merely watched, his expression unreadable, a predator assessing a sudden shift in the ecosystem.
Dabi felt none of their reactions. He was hollowed out, scraped raw. The phantom ache between his legs, the possessive bite mark throbbing under his collar – they were trivial sparks compared to the supernova of horror Hawks had just detonated within him. Architect of damnation. Grieving father. Monster. The words warred in his skull.
His gaze, magnetized and terrified, remained locked on Dante Morningstar. The ancient being lifted his glass again, the movement unhurried, regal. Those molten gold eyes held Dabi’s across the pulsating space. Not gloating. Not threatening. Just… present. Seeing the raw shock, the dawning comprehension, the flicker of primal fear. It was an acknowledgment that felt more invasive than any touch.
Dabi pushed himself up from the chair, the leather groaning. His legs felt shaky, unsteady on the plush carpet. Hawks’ hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist. "Whoa, where you going, firecracker? Didn't you just hear the part about 'cosmic wrath' and 'ripping apart worlds'?"
Dabi wrenched his arm free, the force fueled by a surge of adrenaline. "Shut the fuck up, Hawks." His voice was low, guttural, barely recognizable. He didn't look at his ex. Didn't look at Shoto’s worried frown or Toga’s eager leer. He kept his eyes fixed on the dais. On Dante. "Need to talk to him."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and pushed through the lingering haze of smoke and expensive cologne, weaving through clusters of oblivious clubbers. The pulsating music felt like a physical pressure against his ribs. His heart hammered against his sternum, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. Is it true? The question pounded with every step. Is any of it fucking true?
He reached the velvet rope cordoning off the inner sanctum. Two massive bouncers, their eyes unnaturally dark, moved to block him. Before they could speak, a subtle gesture from the dais stopped them cold. Dante hadn't looked away. A slight incline of his head, almost imperceptible. The bouncers stepped aside.
Dabi crossed the boundary, the air shifting. It was quieter here, the bass muted, replaced by the low murmur of conversation and the clink of crystal. Dante’s siblings – the ones who weren’t on the dance floor – watched his approach with varying degrees of detached curiosity. Lilith, draped in shimmering black silk, offered a slow, knowing smile. Beleth’s gaze was sharp, analytical. Mammon barely glanced up from a sleek device.
Dante watched him come. He didn’t rise. He sat sprawled in the center of the curved obsidian sofa, an arm casually resting along the back. The low light caught the sharp planes of his face, the intensity of his eyes. He looked utterly relaxed, yet Dabi felt the sheer, contained power radiating from him like heat from a banked furnace.
Dabi stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans, trying to mask their trembling. The scent of Dante’s expensive cologne, mixed with something primal and smoky, washed over him, triggering visceral memories – the cool marble under his back, the brutal stretch, the searing heat flooding him.
"Alright," Dabi rasped, his throat tight. He forced himself to meet that burning gold gaze head-on. "Birdbrain just unloaded a whole fucking encyclopedia on me." He swallowed, his voice gaining a brittle edge. "About you. Who you were. What you did." He paused, the images Hawks painted flashing in his mind: torture, betrayal, the screams of children. "Is it true?" He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The raw horror, the need for confirmation, was etched onto his face, vibrating in the air between them.
Dante didn't flinch. He didn't look away. He held Dabi's stare, the gold seeming to deepen, to hold millennia of darkness. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. The low murmur of Lilith conversing with a lesser demon nearby faded into white noise.
Then, Dante spoke. His voice was low, resonant, devoid of any attempt to soften the blow. "Yes." A single word. It landed like a tombstone. He didn't embellish. Didn't justify. Didn't explain the nuances Hawks might have missed. The raw, brutal confirmation was more shattering than any detailed recounting.
Dabi felt the word punch through him. Yes. It was all true. The fallen prince. The slaughtered family. The inferno forged from grief and rage. The centuries of madness. The cage. This being, who had just taken him with such primal ferocity, carried that within him. The phantom ache inside Dabi flared, suddenly feeling less like aftermath and more like a brand from something infinitely ancient and dangerous.
He expected fear to swamp him. Panic. The urge to run screaming from the club, from the city, maybe the planet. It surged, yes, a cold wave threatening to freeze him solid. But beneath it, deeper, hotter, something else roared to life. Not denial. Not sympathy. Something raw, desperate, and utterly consuming. The horror was real, undeniable. But so was the memory of the power that had pinned him, claimed him, filled him so completely he’d forgotten his own name. So was the agonizing vulnerability he’d glimpsed beneath the ancient weariness in Dante’s eyes. The paradox was intoxicating. Terrifying. Irresistible.
The fear didn't vanish; it fused with a reckless, burning hunger. It stripped away pretense, leaving only a visceral, undeniable need. He didn't think. He moved.
Two strides closed the distance. He planted one booted foot on the low table between them, scattering expensive liquor bottles with a clatter that made Mammon grunt in annoyance. He ignored it. Ignored everyone. His gaze locked onto Dante’s, blazing with a mix of defiance and desperate craving. He leaned down, his fingers tangling roughly in the front of Dante’s immaculately tailored, dark silk shirt.
"Fuck," Dabi breathed, the word raw and ragged. Then he slammed his mouth down onto Dante’s.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't seeking permission. It was a furious, hungry clash of lips and teeth. A claiming as brutal as the one Dante had enacted on him in the bathroom. He poured every ounce of the shock, the terror, the horrifying fascination, and the overwhelming need into that kiss. His tongue demanded entry, tangling fiercely with Dante’s. He tasted expensive scotch and something darker, wilder, like ozone after a lightning strike.
Dante remained utterly still for a fraction of a second, a statue under assault. Then, Dabi felt it – a low, almost imperceptible rumble deep within the powerful chest beneath his hands. Not anger. Acknowledgement. Understanding. Then Dante yielded, his mouth opening fully, meeting Dabi’s desperate hunger with a sudden, answering ferocity. One large hand shot up, fingers sinking into the ragged blue-black strands of Dabi’s hair, holding him firmly in place, deepening the kiss. The other arm circled Dabi’s waist, effortlessly hauling him off the table and onto Dante’s lap. Dabi straddled him, grinding down instinctively, a choked moan escaping him as the hard line of Dante’s erection pressed against his own through the layers of denim.
The world vanished. The club, the watching siblings, the horrific history, Hawks’ smug face – it all dissolved into the heat and pressure of Dante’s mouth, the possessive grip in his hair, the hard strength of the thighs beneath him. Dabi kissed like he was trying to devour, to consume the darkness and the danger and the impossible reality of the being holding him. Dante responded with equal intensity, his tongue exploring Dabi’s mouth with devastating thoroughness, his own growl vibrating against Dabi’s lips.
Seconds bled into minutes. Time lost meaning. Dabi’s hands roamed Dante’s shoulders, his chest, fisting the silk, needing contact, needing more. He felt Dante’s hand slide down from his waist, over the curve of his ass, squeezing hard through the denim, pulling him impossibly closer, grinding their trapped cocks together with deliberate friction that made Dabi gasp into Dante’s mouth.
Finally, lungs burning, Dabi tore his mouth away. He gasped for air, forehead resting against Dante’s, their breaths mingling, hot and ragged. His blue eyes, dilated wide with lust and adrenaline, locked onto the molten gold depths barely an inch away. The raw vulnerability he’d seen earlier was still there, flickering beneath the intense heat of desire. It didn’t diminish the danger; it amplified it, made it unbearably compelling.
"Want you," Dabi panted, the words scraping his raw throat. His voice was wrecked, husky with desperation. He ground his hips down again, a sharp, demanding movement. "Now. Fuck me. Again."
Dante’s gaze burned into him. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. Not a hint of surprise. Only dark, absolute certainty. He didn’t speak. He didn't need to. His hand tightened in Dabi’s hair, pulling his head back just enough to expose the long line of his throat, the dark bruise already purpling at the base. Dante’s lips brushed the mark, sending shivers through Dabi’s entire body, before he turned his head slightly towards the sleek, tinted window-wall overlooking the chaotic dance floor below.
A subtle ripple of power, unseen but felt, washed outwards. The conversations around them died instantly. Lilith’s knowing smile widened; Beleth looked mildly intrigued; Mammon didn't even glance up. The air hummed with contained energy. Dante’s gaze swept the room, a silent, undeniable command. Without a word, his siblings rose as one. Lilith sauntered towards the exit leading back to the main VIP area, Beleth followed, Mammon pocketed his device with a sigh. Within moments, the inner sanctum was empty. Utterly silent except for their harsh breathing and the muffled thump of the distant music.
They were alone.
Dante’s hand slid from Dabi’s hair to cup his jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over Dabi’s kiss-swollen lower lip. His eyes held Dabi captive. "Against the glass," Dante murmured, his voice a dark caress that resonated deep in Dabi’s bones. "Where they can see the shadow, not the man."
The implication – the display, the anonymity, the sheer audacity – sent another jolt of raw lust through Dabi. He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head, unable to form words. Dante moved.
He stood effortlessly, lifting Dabi with him as if he weighed nothing. Dabi wrapped his legs around Dante’s waist instinctively, arms locking around his neck. Dante carried him the few steps towards the expansive floor-to-ceiling window. The Inferno Club’s chaotic heart spread out below them, a writhing sea of bodies bathed in neon and strobe lights, completely unaware of the tableau above.
Dante pressed Dabi’s back firmly against the cool, dark glass. The chill seeped through his thin shirt, a stark contrast to the furnace heat of Dante’s body pressed against his front. Dante leaned in, his lips brushing Dabi’s ear. "Hold on."
Before Dabi could react, Dante’s hands were at his belt. The buckle snapped open. The button popped. The zipper rasped down with brutal efficiency. Dante shoved Dabi’s jeans and underwear down over his hips in one rough motion, baring him from the waist down to the cool glass and the oblivious crowd beyond. The air hit his exposed cock, already hard and leaking, making him gasp. Dante didn’t pause. His own pants were undone with similar ruthless speed, his thick, heavy cock springing free, already slick with pre-come, the head flushed a deep, angry red.
Dabi braced his hands against the cold glass behind him, spreading his legs wider, presenting himself. He saw Dante’s gaze rake over him – the pale skin against the dark window, the hard length of his cock, the shadowed cleft of his ass. The molten gold eyes burned with predatory hunger. Dante spat into his own palm, the sound obscenely loud in the sudden silence. He slicked his cock with the crude lubricant, a thick, glistening coat over the impressive length and girth. He knew Dabi was still open, still stretched from earlier, but the gesture was primal, possessive.
He lined himself up, the blunt, wide head pressing insistently against Dabi’s entrance. Dabi held his breath, pushing back against the pressure, his muscles clenching instinctively.
"Look at them," Dante commanded, his voice a low growl against Dabi’s neck, teeth grazing the fresh bite mark. "Look at the fucking cattle."
Dabi’s eyes snapped open, unfocused. He looked down. The dance floor churned below, a kaleidoscope of movement, faces upturned occasionally, blissfully unaware. He saw the blurred outlines of bodies writhing, the flash of neon on skin. He saw Hawks, unmistakable with his wings, leaning against a pillar, scanning the crowd. Looking for him? He saw Shigaraki’s pale head near the bar, Toga’s blonde spikes bouncing beside him. Shoto, standing rigid, staring up at the darkened window-wall, a frown etched deep on his face. Did he see a shape? A silhouette? Or just a reflection?
The thought of his brother potentially seeing this, seeing him pinned against the glass, about to be fucked raw by the Prince of fucking Hell, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through Dabi’s gut. It twisted the fear, the shame, into something darker, more potent.
"Fuck," Dabi gasped, pushing his ass back harder, impaling himself slightly on the broad head, the burn exquisite. "Do it. Do it now."
Dante didn't need telling twice. He shoved forward, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, unrelenting thrust.
"FUCK!" Dabi screamed, the sound ripped from his throat, echoing in the empty space. His head slammed back against the glass with a dull thud. The stretch was immediate, agonizingly deep, a white-hot lance of pain-pleasure that obliterated thought. Dante filled him completely, a solid, burning weight splitting him open. He felt impossibly full, stretched to the limit, pinned between the unyielding glass and the unyielding man. His cock jerked, untouched, leaking profusely onto his own stomach.
Dante held himself deep for a moment, letting Dabi feel every inch, every ridge, the throbbing heat. He leaned in, his lips against Dabi’s ear again. "That's it," he breathed, the words vibrating through Dabi’s skull. "Take it. Take all of it." Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, the drag excruciating. Dabi whimpered, a broken sound.
Then Dante slammed back in. Harder. Deeper.
He set a punishing rhythm immediately. No teasing. No build-up. Just deep, brutal, piston-like thrusts that hammered into Dabi’s core, driving the breath from his lungs with every impact. The glass vibrated faintly against Dabi’s back with each powerful drive. Dante’s hips snapped forward relentlessly, his grip on Dabi’s hips iron-hard, fingers digging into bone, holding him open, holding him there.
"Ah! Ah! Fuck!" Dabi babbled, his voice cracking. Each thrust punched a gasp or a broken cry from him. The pain was sharp, intense, a searing stretch that bordered on too much, yet it was utterly consumed by the overwhelming tide of raw sensation. Pleasure, white-hot and merciless, radiated from the point of invasion, sparking along his nerves. His cock ached, trapped against Dante’s abdomen, smearing pre-come between them. He
His cock ached, trapped against Dante’s abdomen, smearing a slick trail of pre-come between their bodies with every jarring impact. Dante’s thrusts were relentless, deep and unforgiving, hammering into him with the force of a piston, the thick shaft stretching him obscenely wide, dragging brutally on the rim before plunging back to the hilt. Dabi’s vision blurred, stars exploding behind his eyelids; the pain was a sharp counterpoint to the overwhelming, consuming pleasure radiating from his core, setting every nerve ending on fire.
"Harder!" Dabi gasped, the word ripped from him, raw and desperate. He scrabbled against the cold glass for purchase, his nails scraping uselessly. The rhythmic thud of his body hitting the window vibrated through his bones, a dull counter-rhythm to the pulse pounding in his ears. Below, the writhing mass of the dance floor pulsed with oblivious energy, neon lights flashing across sweaty skin. "Fucking wreck me!"
Dante growled, a deep, feral sound vibrating against Dabi's shoulder where he buried his face, teeth scraping the already bruised skin near the bite mark. His grip on Dabi’s hips tightened, fingers digging deep into flesh, bruising bone as he drove forward with renewed, brutal force. The pace increased, becoming frantic, almost savage. Each thrust slammed Dabi harder against the glass, the stretch deeper, more demanding. "You want it wrecked?" Dante snarled, his breath hot and ragged against Dabi's ear. "You fucking take it. Every fucking inch."
The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the silent room, punctuated by Dabi’s choked cries and gasps. Dante’s cock was a burning brand inside him, pistoning relentlessly, hitting a spot deep within that sent shockwaves of pure, electric ecstasy through Dabi’s body. His untouched cock throbbed violently against Dante’s stomach, leaking incessantly. He could feel the thick vein on the underside of Dante’s shaft dragging against his sensitive inner walls with every powerful stroke, the swollen head nudging against that perfect, devastating place.
"Right there! Fuck! Right fucking there!" Dabi babbled, his voice high and broken. He was unraveling, the world narrowing to the brutal friction, the searing heat, the pressure building like a tsunami at the base of his spine. He risked a glance down, his head lolling against the cool surface. Through half-lidded, unfocused eyes, he saw Shoto still staring upward, frozen near the bar, his expression unreadable at this distance but radiating tension. The image – his brother potentially witnessing the shadowy outline of his violation – sent a jolt of filthy heat straight to his balls. "He sees... Shoto sees..."
Dante laughed, a dark, mocking sound. He hooked one powerful arm under Dabi’s thigh, lifting it higher, spreading him wider, opening him impossibly further to the brutal invasion. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper. "Let him see," Dante hissed, driving into him with a force that stole Dabi’s breath. "Let him see what you are now. Mine."
The claiming words, the punishing depth, the sheer fucking ownership shattered Dabi’s last tether. The coil in his gut snapped violently. His back arched impossibly off the glass, a strangled scream tearing from his throat as white-hot ecstasy detonated through him. His cock jerked wildly, untouched, erupting in thick, hot ropes that splattered across his own stomach and chest, some hitting Dante’s silk shirt. His channel clenched and spasmed around the massive cock still pistoning relentlessly inside him, milking it with uncontrollable, rhythmic contractions.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Dabi chanted mindlessly, shuddering violently, overwhelmed by the brutal intensity of his orgasm. Dante didn’t slow, didn’t stop. He fucked Dabi ruthlessly through the convulsions, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more focused. His grip was iron, holding Dabi’s trembling body upright as he chased his own climax.
"You come on my cock like a fucking slut," Dante ground out, his voice thick with strain. He drove in one final, brutal time, hilting himself impossibly deep and holding, grinding his pelvis hard against Dabi’s ass. A low, guttural groan ripped from him as he came. Dabi felt it – the hot, thick pulse of liquid heat flooding his insides, the swollen cock throbbing powerfully within his still-clenching passage. Dante held himself there, buried to the root, panting harshly against Dabi’s neck, his body rigid with the force of his release. The warmth spreading inside Dabi was a visceral, intimate brand. Mine.