Chapter 14: Reclaiming
The silence in Inferno was absolute, a suffocating vacuum after the blast of revelation. Dante’s crimson eyes, still burning with banked hellfire, remained locked on Sukuna. The air crackled, thick with ozone and the promise of annihilation barely held in check.
"Right," Dante finally rasped, the Detroit grit rough as sandpaper in his throat. He took a deliberate step back from Sukuna, the movement deceptively casual, but every muscle was coiled like a viper. He raised his chin, a flicker of his usual predatory arrogance resurfacing, a mask welded onto the face of barely contained fury. "So. Heavenly hit squad wants a piece of you, and they want you to carve us up like fucking Christmas ham." He managed a cold, sharp smile that didn’t touch his eyes. "Charming."
Sukuna’s four eyes narrowed, assessing the shift. "Pretty much." He shifted his weight, tattoos writhing in the dim light. "Figured you deserved the heads-up. Before they drop the net."
Dante scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "How considerate." He glanced deliberately around the frozen club, his gaze sweeping over his rigid siblings, Dabi’s pale face by the bar, Hawks’ wide eyes. "So. You gonna stand there smelling like a reopened grave, or you gonna fuck off? Got shit to do." He met Sukuna’s golden stare again, the challenge naked in his own. "Unless you don’t think you can handle waiting for a fight with the heavenly dick heads?" He deliberately mangled the phrase, layering it with contempt. "Maybe you need a nap first? Reacquaint yourself with how limbs work?"
A low growl rumbled in Sukuna’s chest. The smirk was gone, replaced by a flash of primal irritation. "Watch your mouth, princeling."
"Or what?" Dante shot back, wings giving a single, dismissive flex. "You’ll come back tomorrow and bore me again? Fine. Do it." He waved a hand, ichor still glistening on his knuckles. "Be here. Sunset. Don’t be late. Unlike dying, punctuality’s probably a skill you can relearn."
Sukuna’s upper lip curled, revealing sharp canines. He took a single, heavy step forward, the obsidian floor groaning faintly. The air pressure spiked. Vincent and Xavier moved as one, a silent, immovable barrier. Sukuna stopped. He looked from them back to Dante, the ancient fury simmering just beneath his reconstructed skin.
"Sunset," Sukuna confirmed, the word a promise laced with threat. He scanned the room once more, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long on Dabi, a look that was pure, unsettling appraisal. "I’ll be back." The words hung, heavy and final.
Then, without another sound, Sukuna turned. The crowd parted like water before a shark as he strode towards the entrance, his four arms swinging, his presence a dark stain receding. The heavy doors thudded shut behind him, sealing the oppressive silence back inside.
For a heartbeat, Inferno remained frozen. Then Dante moved. Not towards the door Sukuna exited, but with a speed that defied sight. One moment he was standing beside his booth, the shattered glass dust at his feet. The next, he was beside Dabi at the bar, his hand closing around Dabi’s bicep with an iron grip.
Dabi barely registered the touch before the world dissolved. Not the familiar, disorienting swirl of Inferno's shadows. This was instantaneous. Like being yanked through a wall of static and pressure. Sight, sound, smell, gravity – all vanished in a gut-wrenching lurch. His stomach flipped, his vision whited out, a high-pitched whine filled his skull. It was nothing like the controlled teleports Dante usually orchestrated. This was raw power, sheer will, tearing through dimensions without finesse. Panic clawed at his throat. I’m tearing apart—
Then solidity slammed back into existence. Hardwood floor beneath his boots. Silence, thick and deep, broken only by the frantic hammering of his own heart. The dizzying scents of Inferno – sweat, spilled liquor, ozone – were replaced by the heavy, familiar fragrance of aged leather, sandalwood, and the faint, petrichor-like scent that clung to Dante's skin. They were in the cavernous master bedroom of Dante’s gothic mansion. Moonlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in silver beams and casting long, skeletal shadows from the heavy, carved furniture.
Dabi staggered, the abrupt transition leaving him unmoored, disoriented. He blinked, trying to force his vision to clear, his lungs gasping for air he hadn't realized he’d stopped breathing. His gaze landed on Dante, standing inches away. The Prince of Hell looked carved from obsidian and rage. The carefully constructed mask was gone. His jaw was clenched tight, tendons standing out in sharp relief along his neck. The crimson glow in his eyes was a smoldering furnace, banked but radiating intense, dangerous heat. Sukuna’s words echoed in the sudden quiet: They want me to carve out your heart... Every last fucking drop of Morningstar blood.
The disorientation vanished, incinerated by a surge of raw, possessive fury that tore through Dabi with the force of a wildfire. It wasn't rational. It wasn't careful. It was pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct screaming through his veins. Seeing Dante like this – not invincible, not the untouchable king, but vulnerable beneath layers of ancient fury and protective instinct for his kin… and for him – ignited something primal.
He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Survival. Claiming. Affirmation. He lunged.
One second he was swaying, the next he was on Dante, crashing into him with enough force to make the taller man grunt and take a half-step back. Dabi’s hands fisted in the soft fabric of Dante’s shirt, fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath. His mouth found Dante’s, not in a kiss, but in a savage, claiming assault. Teeth scraped lips, tongues clashed, hot and desperate. It was messy, brutal, fueled by the terror of loss and the desperate need to feel, to know Dante was here, solid, his. He poured every ounce of fear, every shred of possessiveness Sukuna’s predatory look had ignited, into that kiss. Mine. You’re fucking mine. They can’t have you.
Dante froze for only a fraction of a second, shocked by the sheer, unbridled ferocity. Then a low growl vibrated in his chest, almost feral. His arms snapped around Dabi, hauling him impossibly closer, crushing their bodies together. He kissed back with equal ferocity, a counterpoint of need and dark possession. His hands slid down, gripping Dabi’s ass hard through his jeans, pulling him flush against the thick ridge of his own arousal straining against his trousers. The kiss deepened, became a desperate tangle of lips, tongues, teeth, a silent roar against the threat Sukuna had brought to their door.
Dabi broke the kiss for air, chest heaving, eyes blazing with cobalt fire. He shoved. Hard. Dante, caught off guard by the sudden shift, stumbled backwards. His calves hit the edge of the enormous, four-poster bed. He landed not flat, but half-sitting, half-leaning against the carved mahogany headboard, his wings splaying awkwardly against the dark velvet drapes. Before Dante could react, Dabi was on him again. Not kissing. Moving. Hands went to Dante’s belt buckle, fingers fumbling with frantic urgency. The clasp gave. The zipper tore down. Dante’s cock sprang free, thick, already leaking, flushed deep red and pulsing. Dabi didn’t pause. He shoved Dante’s trousers and briefs down just enough, his own jeans already undone and pushed past his hips. He spat roughly into his palm, slicking himself, his own hard length jutting impatiently.
"No prep?" Dante rasped, the words rough but laced with dark heat, his own hands gripping Dabi’s hips.
"Don't need it," Dabi snarled back, voice thick with lust and defiance. He positioned himself, the blunt head of Dante’s cock pressing against his entrance. He locked eyes with Dante, seeing the inferno still blazing in those crimson depths, seeing the raw vulnerability beneath. Possession roared in his blood. With a low, guttural sound torn from his chest, he slammed himself down.
Searing, exquisite pain-pleasure ripped through him as he took Dante in one brutal, sinking thrust. He cried out, a sharp, choked sound, his body stretching, burning, accommodating the thick invasion. His head fell back, throat working. Dante hissed, a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth, his fingers digging bruisingly into Dabi’s hips, holding him steady. "Fuck, firecracker… tight… so fucking tight…"
Dabi didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The burn was fuel, the fullness a desperate anchor. He braced his hands on Dante’s broad shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle beneath the thin shirt. Then he moved. Lifting himself almost all the way up, feeling Dante’s cock slide nearly out, the stretched rim clinging desperately, then slamming back down with all his weight. Hard. Deep. Taking every inch, forcing a choked groan from Dante, a ragged gasp from himself.
He set a punishing rhythm. Up. Down. Slam. Up. Down. Slam. Each downward plunge was a physical declaration, a furious reclaiming. His body moved with a wild, untamed grace, driven by adrenaline and a possessiveness that bordered on violence. Sweat slicked his skin, gleaming in the moonlight, tracing the lines of his scars. His breath came in harsh pants, mingling with Dante’s deeper, rougher gasps. The bed frame groaned in protest with every powerful drive of Dabi’s hips.
Dante’s head was thrown back against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. His hands roamed Dabi’s body – gripping his ass, sliding up his sweat-slicked back, thumbing a nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, eliciting a sharp hiss. He met every bucking thrust with a powerful surge upward, driving deeper, hitting that spot inside Dabi with unerring accuracy. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the cavernous room, a rapid, obscene counterpoint to their ragged breathing.
"Dabi… fuck…" Dante gritted out, eyes flying open, the crimson light blazing like coals. "Look at you… riding me like you fucking own me…"
"I do," Dabi gasped, throwing his head back, the cords in his neck standing out. He drove down harder, grinding his ass against Dante’s thighs, taking him impossibly deep. "Mine… you hear me? Fucking mine…"
Dante’s groan was pure, unadulterated need. His hands slid up Dabi’s back again, fingers tangling in the sweat-damp hair at his nape, pulling his head down for another searing, biting kiss. Dabi met it fiercely, sucking on Dante’s tongue, biting his lower lip. As they broke apart, panting, Dabi’s gaze dropped. Not to Dante’s face, but higher. To the base of Dante’s skull, where the thick, ridged roots of his dark horns emerged from his hairline, curling back and slightly upwards.
A new wave of intensity washed over Dabi. Possession. Control. Marking. Without breaking his relentless rhythm – up, down, slam, grind – he reached up. Both hands. His fingers closed around the sturdy, warm bases of Dante’s horns. Not gently. He gripped them hard, using them like handles, like reins.
The effect was instantaneous, electric.
Dante froze mid-thrust, a choked, guttural sound ripping from his throat, unlike anything Dabi had ever heard. Pure, unfiltered shock and overwhelming sensation. His crimson eyes flew wide, pupils blown black with lust. His entire body tensed, arching off the bed, wings flaring wide, knocking against the velvet drapes. A violent tremor wracked him.
"FUCK!" Dante roared, the sound raw and primal. "Oh fuck, Dabi… fuck!"
He loved it. He fucking loved it. The unexpectedness, the raw claim inherent in that grip on his horns, a part of him so intrinsically demonic, so primal. It bypassed thought, striking directly into the core of his being, flooding him with a surge of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. It was vulnerability offered and seized, power yielded. It was animal.
Dabi felt it. Felt the tremor, heard the roar, saw the utter devastation in Dante’s usually controlled expression. It fueled him. Possessiveness morphed into pure, driving need. He tightened his grip on the horns, using the leverage to pull himself down harder, faster, grinding his ass in tight circles as he impaled himself over and over. "Like that?" he gasped, his voice ragged, grinning fiercely down at Dante’s wrecked expression. "You like me holding your fucking horns while I ride your cock? Like me owning you?"
"Yes!" Dante hissed, his hips snapping up off the bed to meet Dabi’s punishing descent, driving impossibly deeper. His hands flew to Dabi’s hips again, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, trying to control the uncontrollable rhythm Dabi had set. "Fuck yes! Don't… stop… gripping me… like that… ah!" His head thrashed against the headboard, the sensation of Dabi’s hands on his horns sending jolts of pure electricity down his spine. "Ride me… fucking use me… just like that…"
The pace became frantic, desperate. Dabi’s thighs burned, his breath came in hoarse sobs, but he didn’t relent. He held onto Dante’s horns like anchors, using them to lever himself up and slam down with brutal force, angling his hips to grind Dante’s cock against that spot inside him that sparked white-hot behind his eyes. Pleasure coiled tight, a screaming knot low in his belly, amplified by the raw, unfiltered ecstasy on Dante’s face, by the absolute surrender in those burning crimson eyes locked onto his.
Sensation overloaded Dante. The relentless, perfect friction of Dabi’s tight heat, the overwhelming shockwave of pleasure-pain from the grip on his horns, the raw, possessive fury in Dabi’s cobalt eyes – it detonated. A ragged shout tore from him, raw and primal, as his orgasm ripped through him like a lightning strike. His back arched violently off the bed, wings slamming against the headboard. He emptied himself deep inside Dabi in thick, pulsing jets, his fingers clamping bruisingly hard on Dabi’s hips, holding him down, impaled as he pumped him full.
Feeling Dante erupt, feeling that hot flood deep inside, tipped Dabi over the edge. He threw his head back with a choked cry, his grip on Dante’s horns tightening convulsively. His own cock jerked, untouched, spilling hot streaks across Dante’s stomach and shirt in thick, messy ropes. Pleasure, sharp and all-consuming, obliterated thought. He rode the waves, grinding down hard on Dante’s still-pulsing cock, milking every last shuddering spasm, gasping for air like a drowning man.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tremors subsided. The frantic slapping of flesh faded into ragged breathing and the pounding of blood in their ears. Dabi slumped forward, his forehead pressing against Dante’s sweat-slicked chest, his hands still loosely curled around the bases of Dante’s horns. He felt Dante’s arms wrap around him, holding him close, not with restraint now, but with a profound, bone-deep possessiveness of his own. Dante’s lips brushed the top of his head.
They lay tangled, sticky, utterly spent. The moonlight painted silver stripes across their exhausted forms. The scent of sex, sweat, and Dante’s unique ozone tang hung heavy in the air. The echoes of Sukuna’s warning, the looming threat, the weight of Heaven’s malice – it all still hung in the shadows of the vast room. But for this single, suspended moment, drowned in the aftershocks of raw
The echoes of Sukuna’s warning, the looming threat, the weight of Heaven’s malice – it all still hung in the shadows of the vast room. But for this single, suspended moment, drowned in the aftershocks of raw, desperate claiming, it didn’t matter. Dante’s fingers traced lazy, possessive patterns along Dabi’s spine, the touch grounding, real. "You’re a fucking menace," Dante murmured, his voice rough but laced with a warmth that cut through the lingering tension. Dabi snorted, his breath hot against Dante’s chest, the sound half-laugh, half-exhausted protest.
"Takes one to know one," Dabi muttered, his voice muffled. He shifted slightly, wincing at the ache in his thighs, the stretch of his abused muscles. Dante’s cock was still inside him, soft now but unmoving, a heavy, intimate weight. He didn’t pull away. Neither did Dante. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken words. Sukuna’s face flashed in Dabi’s mind, that predatory grin, the way those four eyes had lingered on him. Possession coiled tight in his gut again, a low, simmering fire. "He looked at me," Dabi said abruptly, his voice sharper than he intended. "Like… like I was something he wanted to fucking own."
Dante’s hand stilled on his back. The air in the room shifted, a subtle drop in temperature. "He won’t," Dante said, his tone flat, final. The words were a promise, a threat, an oath carved in blood. "Not while I’m breathing." His fingers tightened slightly on Dabi’s skin, a silent reassurance. Dabi lifted his head, meeting Dante’s gaze. The crimson glow in those eyes was still there, but softer now, tempered by something Dabi couldn’t quite name. Affection. Possession. A promise of protection. It burned low and steady, like embers in the dark.
Dabi’s lips twitched, a smirk tugging at the corners despite the heaviness in his chest. "You’re breathing now," he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rasp. "But you’re still inside me." Dante’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of heat reigniting in their depths. His hips shifted slightly, a deliberate, slow roll that drew a sharp inhale from Dabi. "Fuck," Dabi hissed, his hands gripping Dante’s shoulders as sensation sparked low in his belly again. "You’re such an asshole."
Dante’s smirk was pure, unrepentant sin. "You love it," he drawled, his voice dripping with that Detroit swagger that always made Dabi’s stomach twist. He shifted again, his cock sliding deeper, eliciting another gasp from Dabi. "Admit it. You’re fucking addicted."
"Shut up," Dabi growled, but there was no real heat behind it. His body was already responding, heat pooling low, his cock stirring against Dante’s stomach. Dante’s smirk widened, his hands sliding down to grip Dabi’s hips. He lifted him slightly, the movement slow, deliberate, pulling him off his softening cock with a slick, obscene sound. Dabi hissed, his fingers digging into Dante’s shoulders. "You’re a fucking menace," he repeated, his voice rough.
"And you’re mine," Dante said, the words a low, possessive growl. Before Dabi could respond, Dante flipped them, pinning Dabi beneath him with a fluid, effortless motion. Dabi’s back hit the mattress, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the heat of Dante’s body. Dante loomed over him, his crimson eyes blazing, his wings casting jagged shadows across the room. His hands slid down Dabi’s sides, rough and demanding, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it."
Dabi’s breath hitched, his body arching instinctively towards Dante’s touch. "Prove it," he challenged, his voice a low, breathless rasp. Dante’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes darkening with intent. He leaned down, his breath hot against Dabi’s ear. "Oh, I will," he promised, his voice a sinful whisper. "But first…" His lips trailed down Dabi’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, drawing a shiver. "I’m gonna make you beg."
Dabi’s eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance igniting in their cobalt depths. "I don’t beg," he said, his voice steady despite the way his heart was pounding. Dante chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a thrill down Dabi’s spine. "We’ll see," he murmured, his lips brushing against the hollow of Dabi’s throat. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of Dabi’s inner thighs, teasing, taunting. Dabi’s breath hitched, his hips lifting instinctively, seeking friction. Dante’s smirk widened, his fingers brushing against the base of Dabi’s cock, the touch light, maddening. "You’re already close," he observed, his voice dripping with amusement. "One touch, and you’d fall apart."
"Fuck you," Dabi growled, his hands fisting in the sheets. Dante laughed, the sound rich and dark, and then his mouth was on Dabi’s cock, swallowing him whole in one smooth, devastating motion. Dabi’s back arched off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Dante’s tongue swirled around the head, his lips creating a tight, wet heat that was almost too much. Dabi’s fingers tangled in Dante’s hair, gripping hard, his hips lifting instinctively, seeking more. Dante pulled back, his lips dragging along the length of Dabi’s cock, teasing, torturing. "Fuck," Dabi gasped, his voice breaking. "Don’t stop."
Dante’s eyes flicked up, meeting Dabi’s gaze. The crimson glow in his eyes was molten, filled with dark promise. "Beg," he commanded, his voice rough, commanding. Dabi’s teeth clenched, his pride warring with the desperate need coursing through him. "Fuck you," he repeated, his voice strained. Dante chuckled, his breath hot against Dabi’s cock. "Wrong answer," he said, before pulling away completely, leaving Dabi gasping, aching, desperate.
"Asshole," Dabi hissed, his hips lifting, seeking the heat of Dante’s mouth. Dante just smirked, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Dabi’s inner thighs, avoiding the one place Dabi needed him most. "Beg," he repeated, his voice low, commanding. Dabi’s hands tightened in the sheets, his body trembling with need. "Please," he ground out, the word ripped from him, raw and desperate. Dante’s smirk widened, his tongue flicking out to tease the tip of Dabi’s cock. "Again."
"Fuck, Dante, please," Dabi begged, his voice breaking, his body on fire. Dante’s eyes darkened with triumph, his mouth descending on Dabi’s cock once more, sucking hard, his tongue swirling, driving Dabi to the edge. Just as Dabi was about to tip over, Dante pulled back again, leaving him gasping, desperate. "One more time," Dante murmured, his voice a sinful whisper. "Beg for it."
"Please," Dabi gasped, his voice raw, his body trembling. "Please, Dante, I need it. Fuck, please." Dante’s eyes burned with satisfaction, his mouth closing around Dabi’s cock once more, sucking hard, driving him over the edge. Dabi’s back arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he came, hot and pulsing, down Dante’s throat. Dante swallowed every drop, his eyes locked on Dabi’s, filled with dark, possessive satisfaction.
As the waves of pleasure receded, Dante pulled back, his lips brushing against Dabi’s hipbone. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice rough, filled with a warmth that made Dabi’s chest tighten. Before Dabi could respond, Dante’s fingers slid lower, slipping between his cheeks, teasing his entrance. Dabi’s breath hitched, his body still trembling from his orgasm. "You’re not done yet," Dante said, his voice a low, sinful promise. His fingers pressed inside, stretching, teasing, finding that spot that made Dabi’s vision white out. "Fuck," Dabi gasped, his body arching, his hands gripping the sheets. "Fuck, Dante, please."
Dante’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his fingers curling, hitting that spot again and again, driving Dabi to another peak. "That’s it," Dante murmured, his voice rough, filled with dark satisfaction. "Come for me again, firecracker." Dabi’s body obeyed, another orgasm ripping through him, sharp and intense, leaving him gasping, trembling, utterly spent. Dante pulled his fingers free, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he leaned down, capturing Dabi’s lips in a slow, possessive kiss. "Mine," he murmured against Dabi’s lips, the word a promise, a vow. "Always mine."