Chapter 12: Booth Revelation
The bass from the Inferno main floor thrummed beneath Dabi’s knees like a living pulse, a counterpoint to the frantic hammering of his own heart. Plush, blood-red velvet pressed against his cheek, the curtain of the private booth shielding them from the VIP lounge's murmured decadence, yet doing nothing to mute the low moans drifting from nearby booths or the clink of glasses holding liquids that shimmered with unnatural hues. The air hung thick with oud wood, expensive sweat, and the sharp tang of ozone that always clung to Dante.
Dante’s fist knotted painfully in Dabi’s bleached hair, holding him in place. Dabi’s throat worked desperately around the thick girth stretching it obscenely wide. Saliva dripped freely down his chin, onto Dante’s dark sweatpants, pooling on the polished concrete floor. He gagged, the reflex uncontrollable as Dante’s hips snapped forward, driving his cock impossibly deeper, the swollen head bumping the back of his throat.
"Yeah, fuck, take it," Dante growled, his Detroit grit roughened by arousal, his free hand braced against the booth wall. The crimson glow in his eyes was barely banked embers in the curtained dimness. His other hand tightened, forcing Dabi’s nose against the wiry thatch at the base of his cock, the musky scent overwhelming. "Gonna come down that pretty throat, firecracker. Gonna fill you up."
Dabi felt the tell-tale thickening, the rhythmic pulse deep within the shaft lodged in his gullet. Dante’s hips stuttered, losing their brutal rhythm, a low groan rumbling from his chest. Now. With a surge of strength that burned through the suffocating haze, Dabi ripped his head back. The wet, obscene pop echoed in the small space as Dante’s cock slid free, glistening and slick. Dabi gasped, dragging in ragged, burning lungfuls of air, wiping his dripping mouth and chin with the back of a trembling hand.
"Not here," Dabi panted, his voice shredded. He hauled himself up, ignoring the protest in his jaw, the ache in his throat. His own cock strained painfully against his jeans. He grabbed Dante’s wrist, the demon momentarily stunned by the abrupt denial. "Backroom. Now."
Dante’s eyes, rekindling to infernos, tracked Dabi’s movements. A slow, dangerous smirk touched his lips, but he allowed himself to be pulled. Dabi shoved through the heavy velvet curtain, ignoring the curious glances from a pair of succubi draped over a low couch. He dragged Dante past the obsidian bar where the bartender, eyes glowing like banked coals, impassively polished a glass. Down a short, dim corridor lined with antique mirrors that reflected distorted versions of their urgency, Dabi shouldered open a heavy oak door marked 'PRIVATE'.
The backroom was a smaller echo of the penthouse’s gothic opulence: deep leather couches, a heavy mahogany desk littered with sigil-etched paperwork, shelves laden with disturbing curios. The thumping bass was a muffled heartbeat here. Dabi didn’t hesitate. He spun Dante around, shoving him hard backwards. Dante landed heavily on a sprawling leather couch, his wings flaring out instinctively to brace against the impact, the leather sighing under his weight. Before Dante could react, Dabi was on him. He fumbled with Dante’s sweats, shoving the fabric down past his hips, freeing the erection that stood thick and angry, veins pulging. Pre-come glistened at the tip.
Dabi clawed at his own jeans, buttons popping, fabric rasping down his thighs. He didn’t bother kicking them off fully. He swung a leg over Dante’s powerful thighs, knees digging into the soft leather on either side of Dante’s hips. Dante watched him, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes burning with predatory intent, a low growl vibrating in his chest. He made no move to help, just watched Dabi position himself, the broad, flushed head of his cock pressing against Dabi’s hole.
Dabi braced his hands on Dante’s broad, tattooed shoulders. He took a breath, held it, and sank down.
"Fuck!" The moan tore from him, raw and broken, as he impaled himself in one slow, agonizing slide. Dante was huge, stretching him relentlessly, the blunt head forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle still tender from their dawn encounter. His body burned, protesting the invasion even as it flooded him with molten heat. He felt every ridge, every vein as he bottomed out, Dante’s cock buried to the hilt inside him, his own ass cheeks pressed flush against Dante’s thighs. He shuddered, head dropping forward, gasping.
Dante’s hands shot up, gripping Dabi’s hips, claws pricking the skin beneath his shirt. "Christ, you’re tight," Dante rasped, his voice thick. He bucked his hips upwards experimentally, a shallow thrust that punched a whimper from Dabi. "Even after this morning. Like fucking virgin flesh every time."
Dabi lifted his head, meeting Dante’s blazing gaze. Sweat already beaded on his temples. He rolled his hips experimentally, a slow grind that dragged Dante’s cock against his inner walls. Dante hissed through clenched teeth, his grip tightening painfully. Encouraged, Dabi rose up, almost freeing himself, the drag exquisitely torturous on his oversensitized nerves, before slamming back down. Hard.
There. A jolt of pure, electric pleasure detonated at the base of his spine. Dante’s cock speared directly into that deep, hidden spot that unravelled him. Stars exploded behind Dabi’s eyelids. "Oh fuck, yes!" he gasped, arching his back.
Dante saw it. He saw the exact moment he hit gold. A feral grin split his face. He planted his boots firmly on the floor, his powerful thighs flexing. He took control. His hands clamped like vices on Dabi’s hips, lifting him, guiding him, setting a brutal, driving rhythm. Up. Down. Each descent a controlled fall where Dabi’s weight and Dante’s upward thrust collided, driving the demon’s cock impossibly deep, nailing that spot with piston-like precision.
Dabi’s world narrowed to the slam of flesh on leather, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the guttural sounds ripping from his own throat with every jarring impact. Dante’s cock was a battering ram of pure pleasure, obliterating thought, leaving only sensation. He scrabbled at Dante’s shoulders, his back, his hair, nails scraping over ink and scar tissue, anything to anchor himself against the relentless onslaught inside him. His own cock jerked, untouched, leaking steadily onto Dante’s sweat-slicked abs.
Dante leaned forward, his breath hot and ragged against Dabi’s neck. One clawed hand slid up Dabi’s spine, fisting in the hair at his nape, pulling his head back. Dante’s lips crashed against his, a biting, possessive kiss that tasted of ash and desperation. He fucked up into Dabi with renewed ferocity, the couch groaning in protest. He broke the kiss, panting against Dabi’s swollen lips, his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that stole Dabi’s breath.
"Mine," Dante growled, the word vibrating through Dabi’s chest, resonating in the marrow of his bones. Possessive. Absolute. Final.
The word, the raw claim in that demonic voice, the overwhelming sensation of being so completely owned, so thoroughly fucked, shattered something inside Dabi. His vision blurred. The mounting pressure in his groin, the coil of pleasure wound impossibly tight, snapped. It wasn’t just physical. The confession tore from him, ragged and raw, ripped out by the force of Dante’s thrusts and the terrifying truth of it.
"Fuck, I love you!" Dabi choked out, the words mangled, desperate, lost in the cacophony of flesh and leather.
Dante froze. Utterly still. His eyes, locked onto Dabi’s, widened fractionally. The crimson inferno flickered, replaced for a microsecond by something else – shock? Disbelief? It vanished almost instantly, buried under a sudden, volcanic surge of… something else. Something darker, hotter.
His grip on Dabi’s hair tightened viciously. His hips, stalled for that fraction of a second, snapped forward with brutal, punishing force, burying his cock so deep Dabi screamed. Then Dante’s rhythm became erratic, wild, uncontrolled. He fucked up into Dabi with short, savage thrusts, grinding deep, no finesse, just raw, desperate possession. A guttural snarl ripped from his throat, more beast than man.
"Mine," he roared again, the word a physical blow against Dabi’s senses, shaking the curios on the shelves. "Fucking MINE!"
Dabi felt it happen. The thick, furious pulse deep inside him. Dante’s cock swelled impossibly fuller, then erupted. Hot, thick ropes of come flooded Dabi’s core, jet after scalding jet, painting his insides, marking him, claiming him in the most primal way possible. Dante held himself buried to the hilt, grinding his hips hard, milking every last drop into Dabi’s clenching channel, his roar subsiding into a series of harsh, shuddering groans against Dabi’s neck.
The violence of Dante’s climax triggered Dabi’s. Untouched, his cock jerked violently, spraying thick white streaks across Dante’s heaving chest and abs, adding his own mark to the demon’s already marked skin. He collapsed forward, boneless, his forehead pressed against Dante’s shoulder, his body trembling violently with aftershocks, Dante’s softening cock still lodged deep inside him, dripping come.
Silence crashed down, broken only by their ragged breathing and the muffled thump of the club. Dante’s grip in Dabi’s hair loosened, his hand sliding down to rest heavily on the small of Dabi’s back. He was utterly still. The heat radiating from him felt different now. Not just hellfire, but something coiled, dangerous.
Dabi couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The words I love you echoed in the sudden quiet, accusing, terrifying. He’d ripped open a vein he hadn’t known he possessed. Dante’s stillness was more unnerving than his fury. Slowly, Dante shifted. His hands settled on Dabi’s hips, not gently, but with purpose. He lifted Dabi off his softening cock with unsettling ease, ignoring Dabi’s soft whimper at the loss. Come leaked obscenely down Dabi’s inner thighs as his feet touched the cool floor. He swayed, unsteady.
Dante stood, pulling his sweats up, his movements deliberate, controlled. His face was an impassive mask, but his eyes… his eyes were twin pits of smouldering crimson, fixed on Dabi with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. He stepped close, invading Dabi’s space, the heat rolling off him like a furnace blast. He raised a clawed hand. Dabi flinched, bracing for… something. Pain? Dismissal?
Dante’s thumb brushed roughly across Dabi’s bottom lip, wiping away a smear of his own spend mixed with saliva from the earlier throat-fucking. He brought his thumb to his own lips, licked it clean, his gaze never leaving Dabi’s. The act was obscene, possessive, terrifying.
The silence stretched, thick as the club smoke clinging to Dante’s skin. Dabi stood frozen, trembling, come cooling on his thighs, Dante’s thumbprint burning on his lip. The demon’s crimson gaze pinned him, unreadable, terrifying after the raw confession ripped from Dabi’s throat. Dante’s chest rose and fell with deliberate slowness, the only movement in the oppressive stillness. Then, without a word, he turned.
He strode to a heavy mahogany cabinet Dabi hadn’t noticed before, carved with unsettling, twisting figures. Dante pulled out a thick, impossibly soft black towel and a deep basin filled with steaming water that smelled faintly of lavender and something metallic, like old blood. He carried them back, setting the basin on the low table beside the ravaged couch. The scent of lavender clashed violently with the musk of sex hanging heavy in the air.
"Come here," Dante commanded, his voice low, stripped of its usual Detroit grit, leaving only ancient command. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel. Dabi stumbled forward, legs weak, the sticky mess between his thighs making him wince. Dante dipped the towel into the steaming water, wrung it out with surprising care. He knelt before Dabi, the King of Hell on his knees. His clawed hands, moments ago instruments of possession, were unexpectedly deft as he lifted Dabi’s chin.
He started with Dabi’s face, wiping away the dried saliva, the smear of his own spend Dante had tasted. The warm cloth moved over his jaw, his throat, gentle strokes erasing the evidence of the throat-fucking. Dante’s expression remained impassive, focused, but his crimson eyes held a strange intensity, a flicker beneath the smouldering embers. Dabi stood passive, shivering, the tenderness a shock after the brutal claiming.
"Turn around," Dante murmured. Dabi obeyed, presenting his back, his ass, the mess leaking down his inner thighs. Dante’s breath hitched, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. The warm towel pressed against the cleft of his ass, Dante’s fingers spreading him slightly to clean the come trickling out. The touch was clinical, thorough, yet Dabi felt a fresh tremor run through him. Dante wiped his inner thighs, the backs of his knees, the towel moving with meticulous care over skin marked by the demon’s claws and teeth. He rinsed the towel, wrung it again, repeated the process until Dabi’s skin was clean, pink, and tingling.
Dante rose, tossing the soiled towel aside. He scooped Dabi up effortlessly, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back. Dabi gasped, clinging instinctively to Dante’s neck, his face pressed against the intricate tattoos swirling over Dante’s shoulder. The demon carried him out of the backroom, past the curious succubi still lounging, ignoring them completely. He ascended the grand staircase leading up from the club, the thumping bass fading to a dull thud beneath their feet. The penthouse door opened silently at Dante’s approach.
He carried Dabi straight through the opulent living space, past velvet drapes and antique mirrors reflecting their passage – the powerful demon cradling the spent human. Into the master bedroom, a cavern of dark silks and shadows dominated by a vast, canopied bed draped in black velvet. Dante laid Dabi down on the impossibly soft sheets with surprising delicacy, arranging his limbs as if positioning something precious and fragile. The cool silk felt alien against Dabi’s overheated skin.
Dante stood beside the bed for a long moment, looking down at him. The harsh club lighting was gone, replaced by the soft glow of wrought-iron sconces casting dancing shadows. The predatory sharpness in Dante’s face seemed to soften at the edges. He leaned down slowly, deliberately. His lips, usually twisted in a smirk or pressed in a biting kiss, brushed Dabi’s forehead. The kiss was feather-light, lingering, a benediction. Dabi closed his eyes, a lump forming in his raw throat.
"I love you too, firecracker," Dante murmured, the Detroit rasp smoothing into something warm, almost vulnerable. The words vibrated against Dabi’s skin, settling deep in his bones, more profound than any roar of possession. Dabi’s eyes flew open, meeting Dante’s gaze. The crimson was still there, but it was banked, glowing softly like distant coals, reflecting something Dabi had never seen before: an unguarded, terrifying tenderness.
Dabi reached up, his hand trembling as it touched Dante’s stubbled jaw. Dante leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly. Then he lowered himself onto the bed beside Dabi, propped on one elbow. His free hand cupped Dabi’s cheek, his thumb stroking the high bone. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling – ash and lavender, ozone and exhaustion. Dante’s gaze held Dabi’s, unwavering, intense.
He closed the distance. Their lips met. Not biting, not demanding. Softly, at first. A tentative exploration. Then Dante deepened the kiss, slowly, deliberately. His tongue traced Dabi’s lower lip, seeking permission. Dabi opened for him with a sigh that was almost a sob. Dante’s tongue slid against his, a deep, languid caress that spoke of possession of a different kind. It was slow, thorough, tasting, claiming not with force but with profound intimacy. Dante’s hand slid into Dabi’s hair, cradling his head, holding him gently yet firmly as their mouths moved together in a rhythm that was ancient and new. Passion simmered beneath the tenderness, a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated through Dabi’s entire being, leaving him breathless, anchored only by Dante’s mouth and the impossible words still echoing in the quiet room.