Chapter 17: Claiming An Audience
The heavy bass thrummed through the Inferno Club’s VIP lounge, a physical pulse felt in the teeth and bones. It vibrated the plush crimson velvet of the secluded booth Dante occupied, a shadowed island amidst the swirling, smoky gloom. Candlelight flickered erratically, casting dancing, monstrous shapes on the walls, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of expensive cigars and the sharper, underlying tang of sulfur that never quite faded. Dante leaned back, a king surveying his domain, one arm draped along the booth’s backrest. His dark eyes, reflecting the low light like polished obsidian, were fixed solely on the man straddling his lap.
Dabi moved with deliberate, grinding slowness. His hips rolled forward, pressing his denim-clad ass firmly against the hard ridge of Dante’s erection straining beneath tailored black trousers. A low groan rumbled from Dante’s chest, lost beneath the pounding music. Dabi’s hands rested on Dante’s broad shoulders, fingers digging in slightly through the thin silk of his shirt. He leaned close, his breath hot against Dante’s ear.
"Feel that, Morningstar?" Dabi’s voice was a rough purr, pitched just loud enough to cut through the bass. "Feel how fucking hard you make me?" He punctuated the question with another deliberate, sinuous roll of his hips, grinding down. The friction, even through layers of fabric, was electric. Dante’s hands slid from Dabi’s shoulders down his back, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of his ass, pulling him tighter against his cock. "Fuck yeah," Dante growled, his Detroit accent thickened by lust. "Grind that sweet ass on me, pretty boy."
In the deepest pocket of shadow near the heavy velvet curtain separating the booth from the main lounge corridor, Sukuna stood utterly still. He was a statue carved from darkness, the erratic candlelight catching only the faintest glint in his crimson eyes. He watched. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cold stone, but the air around him crackled with a contained, frigid intensity. He saw Dante’s hands gripping Dabi’s ass. He saw Dabi’s head tilt back slightly, exposing the long line of his throat as he moaned softly, the sound swallowed by the music. Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver.
Dabi’s eyes, sharp and calculating even through the haze of arousal, flickered past Dante’s shoulder. They locked directly onto Sukuna’s shadowed form. A slow, deliberate smirk curved Dabi’s lips – a challenge, a taunt, pure fucking provocation. At that exact moment, Dante’s hand tangled violently in Dabi’s dark hair, yanking his head back further, fully exposing his throat. Dante’s lips descended, teeth scraping the vulnerable skin.
Dabi gasped, a sharp, filthy sound that ripped from his throat. But it wasn’t just pain or surprise. He arched into the bite, pressing his throat harder against Dante’s mouth, his hips grinding down harder on Dante’s lap. His eyes never left Sukuna’s. The smirk widened, triumphant, daring. See this? it screamed silently into the shadows. See who he wants right now?
Dante, lost in the taste of Dabi’s skin, the heat of his body, the relentless friction driving him wild, had no inkling of the silent spectator. He bit down harder, drawing a bead of blood that bloomed dark against pale skin. Dabi cried out, louder this time, intentionally projecting his voice over the thumping bass. "Fuck! Yes! Dante!" He writhed, grinding with desperate urgency. "Make me fucking yours!"
Fueled by the cry, Dante’s hands became frantic. He tore at Dabi’s belt buckle, the metallic clang sharp even amidst the noise. Buttons popped as he shoved Dabi’s jeans and boxers down over his hips. Dabi helped, kicking them off his ankles, leaving them pooled on the plush seat. Dante’s own fly was ripped open, his thick, heavy cock springing free, already slick at the tip. He spat roughly into his palm, slicking himself hastily.
"Need you," Dante snarled, his voice ragged. He gripped Dabi’s hips, lifting him slightly. "Now." He positioned the swollen head of his cock against Dabi’s entrance, still tight despite the grinding. "Take it."
Dabi braced his hands on Dante’s shoulders, his eyes flicking once more to the shadows where Sukuna remained frozen. Then he dropped his gaze back to Dante, his expression a mask of raw hunger. "Fucking give it to me," he demanded, voice thick. He pushed down, impaling himself on Dante’s cock in one hard, brutal motion. The stretch burned, forcing a choked scream from Dabi’s throat that echoed in the booth. Dante groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction as he was sheathed completely in clenching heat.
Dabi didn’t pause. He started riding Dante with fierce, punishing strokes, lifting himself almost entirely off before slamming back down, taking every inch. The wet slap of skin on skin, Dabi’s ass meeting Dante’s thighs, was obscenely loud. "Fuck! Fuck! So deep!" Dabi gasped, throwing his head back. His gaze deliberately sought the shadows again. "You fill me up so fucking good, Dante!" He knew Dante loved the possessiveness, the claim. He poured it on thick, his voice rising deliberately. "Your cock! Only yours!"
Dante’s hands clamped onto Dabi’s hips, guiding the brutal pace, helping him slam down harder. His head tipped back against the velvet, eyes closed, lost in sensation. Dabi leaned forward, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against Dante’s. One hand slid up Dante’s neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair. The other hand, moving with deliberate slowness, reached higher. His fingers brushed the base of Dante’s skull, then traced upwards, finding the smooth, hard curve where Dante’s horns emerged from his scalp – usually hidden, but palpable now.
Dabi wrapped his fingers firmly around the base of one horn. He squeezed. Dante’s eyes flew open, blazing crimson. A shuddering groan tore from him, deeper and more primal than before. He bucked his hips upwards, driving his cock impossibly deeper into Dabi. "Fuck! Yeah! Hold 'em!" Dante gasped, his voice thick with ecstatic surprise. "Hold my fucking horns!"
Dabi grinned, a feral, victorious expression. He tightened his grip on the horn, using it as leverage to pull himself down onto Dante’s cock with even more force. "Like this?" he panted, his voice dripping with filthy intent. He looked straight past Dante’s shoulder, locking eyes with Sukuna once more as he rode. "You like me holding your horns while you fuck me raw, Dante? You like knowing I’ve got you?" He punctuated each word with a hard downward thrust. "Say it!"
"Fuck yes!" Dante roared, his hands digging bruises into Dabi’s hips. "Hold 'em tight! Own it!" He pistoned upwards, meeting Dabi’s downward plunge stroke for stroke. The booth shuddered with their violence. Dabi’s cries became screams, raw and uninhibited, deliberately loud enough to carry. "Harder! Fuck me harder! Break me!"
Dante, consumed by the sensation of Dabi’s tight heat, the grip on his horn sending jolts of pure, dark pleasure through him. He only heard the demand. He obeyed. He slammed into Dabi with bruising force, the sound wet and brutal. Dabi threw his head back, howling Dante’s name, his body convulsing as his own climax ripped through him, hot seed spurting onto Dante’s stomach and shirt. Dante followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural snarl, pumping his release into Dabi’s clenching depths.
They collapsed against each other in the booth, breathing ragged, sweat mingling, the scent of sex thick in the air. Dante’s hand, still tangled in Dabi’s hair, pulled him into a rough, claiming kiss. Dabi kissed back fiercely, his eyes, over Dante’s shoulder, fixed on the shadows. They were empty. Sukuna was gone. Vanished as silently as he’d appeared. Only the lingering chill in the air, and the faintest scent of ozone beneath the sulfur and sex, remained as proof he’d ever been there.
Dabi smiled against Dante’s mouth, a cold, satisfied curve of his lips. The message had been delivered. Loud and clear.
The heavy oak door to Dante’s private shower room slammed shut, muffling the club's thumping bass to a dull, distant throb. Steam, thick and smelling faintly of sulfur-laced minerals, instantly billowed, clinging to their sweat-slicked skin. Dante didn’t set Dabi down gently; he pressed him back against the cold, wet tiles, the sudden shock against his heated skin making Dabi gasp.
"You like playing games, pretty boy?" Dante growled, his Detroit rasp raw against Dabi’s ear. His hands, powerful and demanding, slid down Dabi’s sides, gripping his hips hard. Water sluiced over them both from the multiple showerheads above, plastering Dante’s dark hair to his skull, running in rivulets down the intricate tattoos covering his chest and arms. Dabi met his gaze, defiance still smoldering in his cobalt eyes, but beneath it, a raw need Dante recognized intimately – the need to be claimed, utterly, especially after the display meant for unseen eyes.
"Only when I fucking win," Dabi retorted, his voice rough. He pushed his hips forward, his half-hard cock dragging against Dante’s thigh, the friction making him hiss. He reached between them, fingers wrapping around Dante’s thick, already hardening length, slicking him with water and his own lingering spend. "You gonna finish what you started out there? Or just stand there dripping?"
Dante’s response was a low snarl. He spun Dabi around, shoving his chest flat against the slick tiles. "Brace," he commanded, the word leaving no room for argument. His knee nudged Dabi’s legs wider apart. Dabi spread his stance, water streaming down the curve of his ass, over the marks Dante’s fingers had left earlier. Dante spat roughly onto his palm, slicking himself with crude efficiency. The cool water mixed with the warm spit as he pressed two thick fingers against Dabi’s entrance, still stretched and sensitive from earlier.
"Christ, Dante!" Dabi gasped, arching his back at the sudden intrusion. "Still fucking loose for you, just take it!" He pushed back, impaling himself on Dante’s fingers, seeking more friction.
Dante withdrew his fingers. He lined up the swollen head of his cock, pressing insistently against Dabi’s tight ring of muscle. "Beg for it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust and something darker, possessive. "Beg me to fuck this tight hole raw again. Loud enough so everyone knows whose it is."
Dabi pressed his forehead against the cool tile, a shudder running through him. "Fuck me," he groaned, pushing back. "Shove that fucking demon cock in me, Dante. Split me open." He reached back blindly, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Dante’s slick hip, pulling him closer. "I need it. Now."
With a grunt, Dante shoved forward. The thick crown breached Dabi, stretching him wide. A choked cry tore from Dabi’s throat as Dante sank in, inch by brutal inch, the water doing little to ease the delicious, burning stretch this time. Dante bottomed out in one relentless thrust, his hips flush against Dabi’s ass, balls tight against his skin. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, feeling Dabi’s body spasm around him, adjusting, clenching. "Fuck, you take it so good," Dante growled, biting Dabi’s shoulder blade. "Always so fucking tight, even when I’ve just been in you."
He didn’t wait. He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed home again, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. Each deep, powerful thrust hammered Dabi into the tiles, the wet slap of skin echoing off the steam-clouded walls. Dabi braced his forearms against the tile, taking it, his cries morphing into low, rhythmic grunts of pleasure-pain with every inward drive. "Harder!" he gasped, pushing back to meet each stroke. "Fuck! Yeah! Just like that! Own it!"
Dante’s hands gripped Dabi’s hips like vices, controlling the brutal pace, driving into him with piston-like force. Water streamed over them, plastering Dabi’s dark hair to his neck, running into Dante’s eyes as he focused on the perfect clench of Dabi’s body around his cock. The raw power, the absolute possession, the deliberate claiming after Dabi’s provocation in the booth – it crashed over Dante. Not just lust. Something deeper, fiercer, more terrifying.
He leaned forward, his wet chest pressing against Dabi’s back, his mouth finding the juncture of Dabi’s neck and shoulder. He fucked him hard, deep, unrelenting. The words tore from him, raw and unplanned, against Dabi’s wet skin, lost between the slap of flesh and the roar of the water: "Fuck... Dabi... I love you."
The rhythm didn’t falter. Dante kept pounding into him, the raw physicality overwhelming, the confession hanging in the steam like a live wire. Dabi froze for a split second, mid-thrust, his body locking tight around Dante’s cock. Then, a shudder wracked him, stronger than any before. He turned his head, just enough to look back, water and sweat stinging his eyes. The defiance was gone, replaced by stunned vulnerability, a raw openness Dante had never seen.
His voice, when it came, was a ragged whisper, barely audible over the water and the slap of skin, yet it punched through Dante’s core: "Love you too, you bastard."
The admission, raw and real, shattered Dante’s control. A guttural roar ripped from his throat. He slammed into Dabi with primal force, burying himself impossibly deep. Dabi screamed, his body convulsing as his own climax ripped through him, untouched, his release spattering the wet tiles below. Dante followed instantly, the intensity of Dabi’s clenching heat and the raw truth of his words triggering his own release. He ground deep, pumping his seed into Dabi with powerful, possessive spurts, growling against his neck.
They slumped against the tiles, gasping, the hot water cascading over them. Dante remained buried inside Dabi, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him close, keeping him upright. Dabi’s head rested back against Dante’s shoulder, his breathing ragged. The only sounds were the rushing water and their harsh breaths fogging the steamy air. The possessiveness, the challenge, the raw fucking – it had all burned away, leaving something terrifyingly exposed in the humid silence.
Dabi shifted slightly, wincing at the movement. He tilted his head, his lips brushing Dante’s ear, his voice hoarse. "Shower’s getting cold, Morningstar." A ghost of his usual defiance flickered, but underneath it was a new, tentative warmth. Dante tightened his arms around him, pressing a possessive kiss to the damp skin beneath his ear. He didn’t move to pull out, not yet. The water was cooling, but the heat between them, the terrifying, acknowledged thing just spoken, felt like it would burn forever. Outside the steam-clouded glass, the muffled thump of the club pulsed on, a world away. But here, pinned against the tiles, marked inside and out, Dabi felt the distinct, chilling prickle of ancient eyes watching from the swirling mist, a silent, frigid counterpoint to Dante’s heat. Sukuna had seen more than just the fucking.