Chapter 15: Horned Possession
The first sliver of dawn hadn't yet pierced the heavy velvet drapes of the master bedroom. Inside Dante’s mausoleum-like mansion, silence reigned, thick and deep. Only the faint, rhythmic rasp of Dante’s breathing disturbed the stillness. He slept sprawled on his back, one arm flung wide, the other resting possessively on the warm space beside him, a space currently occupied only by rumpled sheets.
Dabi hadn’t slept. Not really. The echoes of Sukuna’s threat, the raw desperation of their claiming sex hours before, the looming sunset deadline – it all buzzed beneath his skin like trapped hornets. Possession, fierce and primal, had coiled tight in his gut all night, refusing to unspool. He’d watched Dante sleep, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the ridged base of his horns where they emerged from dark hair, the impossible stillness of a being who rarely truly rested. Vulnerability. It sparked something dangerous, something demanding, inside Dabi.
He’d prepped himself in the adjoining bathroom, slick fingers opening himself slow and deep, biting his lip against the stretch, thinking only of Dante’s cock, thick and demanding. The faint sting was fuel. He’d found Dante’s discarded shirt, pulling it on, drowning in the scent of ozone, sandalwood, and pure Dante. It hung off his shoulders, brushing his thighs. Then, moving with a predator’s silent grace, he’d climbed onto the massive bed.
Now, straddling Dante’s hips, the thin cotton of the shirt rucked up around his waist, Dabi watched the demon prince sleep. Moonlight, weak and silvery, caught the curve of Dante’s lower lip, the sharp angle of his collarbone. Dabi’s own cock was already hard, pressed against Dante’s stomach. He shifted, lining himself up. The thick, flared head of Dante’s cock lay hot and heavy against his slicked entrance, already half-hard even in sleep.
Dabi took a breath. Held it. Then slammed down.
One slick, brutal slide. No hesitation. No quarter.
He took every inch, burying Dante’s cock deep inside him in one punishing thrust. The sudden, searing stretch, the overwhelming fullness – it punched a ragged, filthy moan from Dabi’s throat, loud in the quiet room. His head snapped back, cobalt eyes wide, seeing nothing but the dark canopy above as his body struggled to accommodate the thick invasion.
Beneath him, Dante jolted awake. Not groggily. Instantly. Like a predator sensing ambush. A choked, guttural sound ripped from his chest – half gasp, half growl, pure shock and overwhelming sensation. His crimson eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, locking onto Dabi’s face hovering above him. His hips arched instinctively off the mattress, driving deeper into the tight, scorching heat that had engulfed him.
"Fuck! Dabi!" Dante rasped, his voice shredded with sleep and sudden, brutal pleasure. His hands shot up, not to push Dabi away, but to clamp onto his bare hips, fingers digging into the muscle hard enough to bruise, holding him steady, impaled. "Christ fuckin'...!"
Dabi barely heard him over the roaring in his own ears. The burn was glorious, the possession absolute. He braced his hands on Dante’s broad chest, fingers splaying over warm skin and intricate tattoos. Then, looking down into those stunned, burning crimson eyes, Dabi grinned. A feral, possessive baring of teeth. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted himself almost off, the stretched rim clinging desperately, then slammed back down with all his weight. Hard. Deep. Taking the thick shaft to the hilt again.
Dante’s growl this time was pure, unadulterated pleasure, vibrating through his chest and into Dabi’s palms. His fingers tightened impossibly on Dabi’s hips. "Fuck! Do that again!"
Dabi obeyed. Up. Down. Slam. Up. Down. Slam. Each descent was a brutal, claiming piston stroke. Sweat already sheened his skin, making the shirt cling to his back. His thighs burned with the effort, muscles flexing and bunching with every punishing bounce. The sound was obscene: the wet slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic creak of the heavy bed frame, Dabi’s ragged gasps punctuated by filthy, breathless moans. "Oh fuck... yes... take it... deeper..."
"Look at you..." Dante gasped, his own breath hitching with every powerful downward thrust. His eyes, still wide with the shock of being woken like this, burned with an inferno of lust. They raked over Dabi – the sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, the flush spreading down his chest visible above the shirt’s neckline, the fierce concentration on his face as he worked his body. "...riding my cock like a fuckin' animal... like you own it..."
"I do!" Dabi snarled back, the word ripped from his chest. He leaned forward slightly, changing the angle, grinding his ass down in tight, filthy circles as he sank onto Dante’s cock again. The head scraped over that perfect spot inside him, sparks exploding behind his eyes. He gasped, his rhythm faltering for a second. "Fuck! Right there... yours... mine! All fucking mine!"
The raw possessiveness, the sight of Dabi lost in the sensation, claiming him, drove Dante wild. His control frayed. "Yeah," he hissed, bucking his hips up violently to meet Dabi’s next descent, driving harder, deeper. "Fuck yeah, take it! My cock! Claim it!"
The heat was building, coiling low and tight in Dabi’s belly, a familiar inferno stoked by the relentless friction, by the raw power play, by the sheer fucking intensity of Dante beneath him. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed to own.
As he lifted himself up again, thighs screaming, his gaze locked onto the dark, ridged roots of Dante’s horns curving back from his temples. Power. Primal. Demon. His demon.
Dabi reached up. Both hands. His fingers closed around the sturdy, warm bases of Dante’s horns. Gripped them hard. Like handles. Like reigns controlling a wild, powerful beast.
The effect was nuclear.
Dante froze. Every muscle in his body locked rigid. A strangled, choked cry tore from his throat, raw and broken, utterly unlike his usual growl or roar. His eyes rolled back for a fraction of a second before snapping wide, pupils completely swallowed by the blazing crimson inferno. An earthquake tremor wracked his entire frame. His wings, usually controlled, flared violently, knocking against the headboard with a heavy thud. His hips jerked uncontrollably, driving his cock impossibly deep into Dabi’s clutching heat.
"FUCK! DABI! Oh fuck!" The words were a shattered plea, a surrender. "The horns... fuck... gripping my horns...!"
It always drove Dante crazy. That direct assault on such a primal, vulnerable point. It stripped away the Prince of Hell, leaving raw, shuddering sensation. Power yielded. Control seized. Animal need exposed.
Dabi felt the tremor, heard the shattered cry, saw the utter, devastating loss of composure in Dante’s face. It fed the wildfire inside him. Possession roared, deafening. He tightened his grip on the horns, the textured ridges pressing hard into his palms. He used the leverage, pulling himself down with bruising force, slamming onto Dante’s cock, grinding relentlessly. "Like this?" he gasped, his voice thick with lust and triumph, staring down at Dante’s wrecked expression. "You like me holding your fucking horns while I ride you? Like me owning you, Dante? Making you lose your shit?"
"Yes! Godfuck yes!" Dante babbled, beyond coherence. His hands scrabbled at Dabi’s hips, then flew to grip the sheets, tearing at the fabric. His head thrashed against the pillow, utterly overcome by the dual assault of Dabi’s tight heat and the electric jolts from his horns. "Don't stop! Fuck... riding me... owning me... just like that! Oh fuck, Dabi!" His hips pistoned upward, desperate, seeking more friction, more depth, more of the overwhelming sensation.
The rhythm became frantic, brutal. Dabi held on, using Dante’s horns as anchors, levering himself up and slamming down with all his strength. Sweat poured down his back, plastering the stolen shirt to his skin. His cries mingled with Dante’s gasps and broken pleas. The slap of flesh grew louder, more urgent. Dabi angled his hips, grinding down hard on every descent, forcing Dante’s cock to rub relentlessly against his prostate. Pleasure detonated, a supernova behind his eyes, white-hot and consuming.
"Fuck! Dante! I'm... fuck...!" Dabi’s warning was a ragged gasp, his grip on the horns tightening convulsively. The knot inside him snapped.
His orgasm ripped through him like a lightning strike. He threw his head back with a raw, guttural cry that echoed off the stone walls. His body locked, back arched impossibly, as he came untouched, thick ropes of cum splattering across Dante’s chest and stomach, hot even through the thin cotton of the shirt he wore. He pulsed, clenching hard around the thick cock buried deep inside him, milking it.
Feeling Dabi clamp down, feeling that hot, rhythmic convulsion, tipped Dante over the edge. He roared, a sound of pure, shattered ecstasy, primal and unrestrained. His back arched off the bed, wings flaring wide again. He emptied himself deep inside Dabi in powerful, pulsing jets, holding him down with bruising strength on his hips as he pumped him full, his release triggering another ripple of aftershocks through Dabi’s trembling body.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tremors subsided. The frantic sounds faded into ragged, gasping breaths. Dabi slumped forward, collapsing onto Dante’s heaving chest, his forehead pressed against sweat-slicked skin. His hands finally, tremblingly, released their death-grip on Dante’s horns. He felt boneless, utterly drained, every muscle screaming. Dante’s arms encircled him, pulling him close, holding him with a possessiveness that mirrored Dabi’s own earlier fury. Dante’s lips moved against the top of his head, murmuring something unintelligible, his own breath still coming in heavy gasps.
They lay tangled in the wreckage of the sheets, sticky with sweat and spend, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and ozone. The stolen shirt was rucked up around Dabi’s waist, damp and clinging. Weak morning light now edged the heavy drapes, casting pale stripes across the room. The threat of Sukuna, the weight of Heaven’s vendetta, still hung like a shroud in the periphery. But for now, drowned in the shared exhaustion and the lingering echo of raw, possessive connection, it felt distant.
Dabi let out a shaky breath, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. His fingers traced idle patterns on Dante’s sweat-damp chest. "Woke you up," he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
Dante’s chest rumbled with a low, breathless chuckle. His arms tightened around Dabi. "Fuckin' understatement, firecracker." He shifted slightly, wincing as Dabi’s weight pressed on sensitive areas. "Christ, you ride like a goddamn hellion." There was no anger, only awe and lingering heat in his rough voice.
Dabi lifted his head slightly, meeting Dante’s gaze. The crimson fire in those eyes had banked to a warm, smoldering ember. Exhaustion warred with intense satisfaction. "Told you," Dabi rasped, a ghost of his feral grin touching his lips. "Mine."
Dante’s gaze held his, intense, unreadable for a moment. Then his lips curved in a slow, genuine smile that softened the sharp lines of his face. He raised a hand, calloused fingers brushing a sweat-damp strand of hair from Dabi’s forehead. The touch was unexpectedly tender. "Yeah," Dante murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a certainty that resonated deeper than the recent frenzy. "Mine."
Dabi’s ragged gasp hung in the air between them, echoing his claim. Dante’s fingers, previously digging into his hips, loosened their bruising grip, smoothing over the sweat-slicked skin in a slow, possessive caress. His crimson eyes, still blazing from the intensity of his release, locked onto Dabi’s flushed face, searching. "Yours," Dante murmured, the Detroit grit softened to rough velvet, a confirmation that resonated deeper than the tremors still echoing through his muscles. He shifted beneath Dabi, the thick length of his cock softening but still buried deep, a heavy, intimate anchor. A slow, satisfied smirk touched his lips. "Fuckin' claimed it good, firecracker. Left your mark."
Dabi winced as he pushed himself up slightly, the ache in his thighs sharp, the stretch inside him a deep, undeniable throb. He braced his hands on Dante’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of the demon’s heart beneath his palms. "Damn right," he rasped, his voice raw, meeting Dante’s gaze with defiant cobalt fire, though exhaustion was already pulling at his edges. He could feel the sticky warmth between them, Dante’s spend leaking slightly around where they were still joined. "Told you not to sleep too soundly." He attempted a smirk, but it faltered, replaced by a shaky exhale. His body felt hollowed out, utterly spent, yet thrumming with the aftershocks.
Dante chuckled, a low, warm rumble that vibrated through Dabi’s palms. His hands slid up Dabi’s back, fingers tracing the knobs of his spine beneath the damp, clinging shirt. "Woke me up like a fuckin' earthquake," he said, his thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the base of Dabi’s spine, coaxing a low groan from him. "Could get used to that kind of alarm." He shifted his hips carefully, easing himself out with a slick, obscene sound that made Dabi hiss sharply. The sudden emptiness felt vast and cold after the overwhelming fullness. Dante’s hands guided him down gently, pulling him flush against his chest again. "C’mere. Stop wobblin'."
Dabi collapsed onto him with a sigh, his forehead finding the familiar hollow of Dante’s shoulder. The scent of sex, sweat, ozone, and Dante’s unique petrichor filled his senses, strangely comforting. Every muscle screamed in protest, but the solid warmth beneath him was an anchor. He felt Dante’s large hands roaming his back, soothing, claiming, sweeping the damp material of the stolen shirt aside to press skin to skin. The silence stretched, thick with shared exhaustion and the fading echoes of frantic need, punctuated only by their slowing breaths. The weak morning light filtering through the drapes felt distant, irrelevant.
Dabi nuzzled closer, his nose brushing the strong line of Dante’s jaw, seeking the warmth of his neck. He inhaled deeply, the primal scent grounding him further. A low thrum started beneath his ear, almost a purr, resonating from Dante’s chest. He felt the subtle shift in the air, a faint rustle, and then the heavy, leathery warmth of Dante’s wings unfurling. They wrapped around them, cocooning them in a soft, dark shield, blocking out the pale light and the looming threat beyond the mansion walls. The world narrowed to the heat of Dante’s body, the steady beat of his heart against Dabi’s cheek, the protective curve of inky feathers, and the faint, lingering sting of possession deep inside him. Dante’s arms tightened, one hand cupping the back of Dabi’s head, fingers tangling gently in his hair. His other arm wrapped securely around Dabi’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. His breath was warm against Dabi’s temple.
"Rest," Dante murmured, the word vibrating against Dabi’s skin, a low, resonant command softened by exhaustion. The crimson glow in his eyes, visible only as a faint ember when Dabi tilted his head slightly, narrowed as he glanced towards the window where dawn was slowly staining the sky. Sukuna. Sunset. The thought was a cold ember in Dante’s gut, but for now, buried beneath the weight of his lover and shielded by his own wings, he focused on the warmth, the solidity, the possessive heat radiating from the man nuzzled into his neck. Mine. Protected. Dabi’s breathing deepened, evening out, his body going pliant and heavy against Dante’s. The demon prince rested his cheek against the top of Dabi’s head, the vast, silent room holding them safe within their dark, winged sanctuary.