Chapter 2: Earning That Smart Mouth
Dabi swam up from the depths of unconsciousness, awareness returning in disjointed pulses. The first sensation was heat. Solid, radiating heat beneath his cheek, accompanied by a slow, steady thudding rhythm. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Then came the scent: ozone, leather, expensive smoke, and the musky, unmistakable tang of sex and sweat clinging to skin. His own skin. Dante’s skin. He was sprawled face-down across Dante’s bare chest, limbs heavy as lead, utterly spent. The rain still drummed a muted rhythm against the vast windows, painting shifting patterns of city neon on the walls.
A low chuckle vibrated beneath his ear. Dante’s chuckle.
“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.” Dante’s Detroit rasp was thick with sleep and satisfaction.
Dabi grunted, not ready for words. He tried to lift his head, managing only a slight shift that earned him a sharp twinge in muscles he’d forgotten he possessed. Everywhere ached with a deep, possessive soreness that was a stark reminder of the night before. Of Dante’s mouth. His fingers. The shattering intensity.
A thumb, rough-pad calloused, brushed slowly, deliberately, across Dabi’s bottom lip. It felt swollen, tender. Dante traced the shape of it, a possessive caress that sent a fresh, unwanted spark through Dabi’s exhausted system. He tried to pull away, but Dante’s other hand, resting heavy on the small of Dabi’s back, held him in place with effortless strength.
“Still think I should’ve been rougher last night, pretty boy?” Dante purred. The words were dark honey laced with poison, curling into Dabi’s ear. “Seemed like you were plenty satisfied.”
The smugness in Dante’s tone ignited the stubborn ember still smoldering in Dabi’s gut. He lifted his head properly this time, meeting Dante’s ancient, knowing gaze. Dante looked infuriatingly rested, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light, a faint smirk playing on his pierced lips. The intricate tattoos across his chest seemed more pronounced in the dimness.
“Fuck off,” Dabi rasped, his own voice rough. “Wasn’t exactly a choice.”
Dante’s smirk widened. “You begged pretty damn convincingly.” His thumb pressed harder on Dabi’s lip. “Sounded fucking beautiful.” The hand on Dabi’s back slid lower, fingers digging possessively into the curve of his ass.
Dabi opened his mouth to retort, probably something stupidly defiant, but the words choked in his throat as Dante moved. Without warning, Dante gripped his hips and flipped him. Hard. Dabi landed face-first into the tangled sheets, the air punching out of his lungs with a startled gasp. Before he could even register the indignity, Dante was on him. Knees shoved Dabi’s legs wide apart. Calloused hands clamped onto his hips, hauling his ass up. Dante’s weight settled over him, pressing him down, pinning him completely. The sudden vulnerability, the exposure, sent a jolt of adrenaline mixed with pure, unadulterated lust straight to Dabi’s core.
He felt Dante’s cock, already thick and hard as steel, pressing against the cleft of his ass. No preamble. No gentle easing. Dante spat, a wet, crude sound, the glob landing directly on Dabi’s exposed hole. He felt the coolness, then the rough drag of Dante’s fingers as he spread it, working it roughly inside without finesse, stretching the sensitive rim. It burned, a sharp, shocking stretch that pulled a ragged groan from Dabi’s chest. He was still loose from the night before, but Dante wasn’t interested in comfort.
“Fuck— Dante—!” Dabi started, pushing back against the pressure instinctively.
“Shut up,” Dante growled, low and guttural. His hand fisted hard in Dabi’s dark hair, yanking his head back sharply, arching his spine. “You wanted rough? You fucking got it.” He didn’t ask. He didn’t warn. He lined himself up and shoved.
The first thrust was brutal. A single, deep, punishing drive that tore the breath right out of Dabi’s lungs. He felt himself impaled, stretched impossibly wide around Dante’s thick cock, the initial sting of penetration exploding into a deep, consuming burn. He cried out, a sound ripped from deep within, muffled by the sheets. Dante didn’t pause. Didn’t give him a second to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way, the drag agonizing, then slammed home again. And again. Setting a relentless, pounding rhythm that shook the bed frame and rattled Dabi’s bones.
Dabi gasped, scrabbling at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to breathe. Each deep, unforgiving thrust punched into him, hitting places that sent sparks of pain and shocking, unwanted pleasure shooting up his spine. The burn was intense, almost overwhelming, yet beneath it, coiling tight in his belly, was a dark, shameful heat that flared with every brutal impact. Dante’s grip on his hips was iron, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding him exactly where he wanted him – spread open, taking it.
“Fucking take it,” Dante snarled, his voice thick with exertion and dark pleasure. He leaned forward, his chest pressing hot and heavy against Dabi’s back. One hand released his hip and snaked around Dabi’s throat. Dante’s forearm pressed hard against his windpipe, cutting off his air supply. Dabi choked, eyes flying wide, stars bursting behind his eyelids. The lack of oxygen intensified everything – the brutal thrusts, the deep burn, the dizzying sensation of being utterly controlled, completely owned.
“That’s it,” Dante hissed in his ear, the sound intimate and terrifying. He eased the pressure on Dabi’s throat just enough for a desperate, wheezing gasp, then tightened again. “Choke on it. Choke on my cock, you stubborn little fuck.” He punctuated the words with a particularly vicious thrust that felt like it reached Dabi’s stomach. Tears sprang to Dabi’s eyes, involuntary, blurring the neon streaks on the far wall. The pain was sharp, bright, but the heat in his gut was roaring into an inferno, fed by the helplessness, the sheer force of Dante’s possession.
Dante shifted the angle slightly, grinding deep. “Feel that? Hitting that sweet spot?” He released Dabi’s throat entirely, grabbing a handful of hair again to yank his head back further. “Tell me. Tell me you feel it.”
Dabi couldn’t form words. He was panting, sweat dripping down his temples, his body trembling with the effort of taking the savage rhythm. He could feel it. Oh God, he could feel it. That spot deep inside that Dante found with uncanny precision, rubbing against it relentlessly with each punishing thrust. Pleasure, raw and electric, detonated along his nerves, warring with the ache, threatening to consume him. A broken moan escaped him.
“Yeah, you feel it,” Dante growled, satisfied. He slammed into him again, hard. “Now tell me something else.” He leaned close, his lips brushing Dabi’s sweat-slicked ear. His voice dropped to a dark, commanding purr that vibrated through Dabi’s entire being. “Tell me you’re my good boy.”
The words hit Dabi like a physical blow. Shame warred with the overwhelming surge of need the command triggered. He’d never… it was filthy, degrading… yet the coil inside him tightened unbearably. Dante’s relentless pounding continued, his cock pistoning deep, striking that perfect spot with brutal accuracy. The pressure built, immense, terrifying, inevitable. Dante’s hand tightened in his hair. “Say it.”
Resistance crumbled. The pleasure, the pain, the sheer dominance, it was too much. The words tore from Dabi’s throat, raw and desperate. “Yes! Fuck! Good boy! I’m your good boy, Dante!” The admission felt like both surrender and release.
Dante’s answering groan was pure, primal satisfaction. “Fuck yeah you are.” His thrusts became even harder, faster, losing all semblance of rhythm, just pure, driving need. He released Dabi’s hair, instead wrapping both arms around his chest, crushing him back against his own powerful body, holding him immobile as he fucked into him with devastating force. Dabi felt Dante’s control snap, felt the deep, guttural growl rumble through Dante’s chest and into his own bones. Dante buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep, and came with a roar that sounded more beast than man. Dabi felt the hot, pulsing rush deep inside him, the final, possessive claim.
The intensity triggered his own release. His cock, trapped and neglected between his belly and the sheets, jerked violently. He came untouched, a silent, convulsive eruption that blurred his vision and left him gasping, shuddering violently in Dante’s crushing embrace as wave after wave of overwhelming sensation wracked him.
They stayed locked together, Dante’s arms still a vise around him, his cock still buried deep, both breathing raggedly. The only sounds were their harsh gasps and the relentless drumming of the rain. Slowly, the crushing grip loosened. Dante eased out, the sensation making Dabi flinch. Dante rolled him onto his back. Dabi felt boneless, wrecked anew, his mind blissfully blank, his body a landscape of sharp aches and deep, liquid heat.
Dante loomed over him, his gaze dark, unreadable. He reached out, not gently, but with a possessive certainty, and traced the fading red marks his fingers had left on Dabi’s throat. Then his thumb brushed Dabi’s swollen, kiss-bruised lips again. A slow, dangerous smile spread across Dante’s face, revealing sharp white teeth. It held no warmth, only dark triumph and the ancient, terrifying knowledge of ownership.
“Mine,” Dante murmured, the single word echoing in the quiet room like a sentence passed. The bass from the club below pulsed faintly, a reminder of the inferno Dante ruled. Dabi stared up at him, too shattered to speak, too overwhelmed to even process the terrifying depth of that claim. The rain blurred the city lights into streaks of red and gold, reflecting in Dante’s ancient, satisfied eyes.
The rain blurred the city lights into streaks of red and gold, reflecting in Dante’s ancient, satisfied eyes. His thumb finally left Dabi’s swollen lip, trailing down the raw marks encircling his throat instead. The pressure points stood out livid against pale skin. “Still too fuckin’ gentle for you, pretty boy?” Dante rasped, the Detroit edge sharpening his dark tone, though his gaze held that unnerving, knowing glint.
Dabi blinked, trying to clear the haze of spent adrenaline and overwhelming sensation. His throat burned where Dante’s forearm had crushed it, his body ached from the brutal claiming, and the possessive ache deep inside him was a constant, throbbing reminder. Yet, beneath the physical wreckage, a terrifying truth resonated. He met Dante’s stare, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion and raw honesty. He swallowed, wincing at the soreness. “No,” he managed, the word rough. “That… fuck. That was the best I’ve truly had.” The admission scraped out, humbling and absolute.
A slow, genuine smirk touched Dante’s lips, different from the predatory triumph moments before. It held a flicker of something almost tender, incongruous with the demonic power thrumming beneath his skin. He carefully cupped Dabi’s jaw, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle against the tender skin. His other hand slid beneath Dabi’s neck, gently lifting his head higher until their eyes locked, mere inches apart. Dante’s gaze, deep and ancient, held Dabi’s fractured blue one, searching the depths beyond the pain and the stubborn pride.
Then Dante leaned in. His lips met Dabi’s not with the bruising force of before, not with the desperate hunger of their first clash, but with a deep, profound passion. It was slow, deliberate, exploring the contours of Dabi’s mouth with a reverence that stole his breath anew. Dante’s tongue traced the swell of Dabi’s lower lip, soothing the tenderness, before slipping inside with a languid, claiming intimacy that resonated deep in Dabi’s bones. The kiss spoke of possession, yes, but also of a dark, unexpected regard that left Dabi perilously unmoored. He yielded completely, his own lips moving softly in response, a silent surrender to the unexpected depth.
Dante finally pulled back, just far enough to rest his forehead against Dabi’s. His breath ghosted warm over Dabi’s face. The silence between them was thick, charged with unspeakable things – the echo of violence, the resonance of that kiss, the terrifying weight of Dante’s ancient nature Dabi still only sensed. Dante shifted, gathering Dabi’s limp, trembling form against him, pulling the tangled sheets up over them both. He settled on his back, Dabi draped half across his chest, head tucked beneath Dante’s chin. The steady thump of Dante’s heart vibrated against Dabi’s ear, a grounding rhythm in the quiet room.
The rain continued its soft percussion against the glass. The muffled thump of the club below was a distant, fading pulse. Dante’s arm remained a heavy, secure band around Dabi’s shoulders, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Dabi’s bare arm. Exhaustion, deeper than any sleep Dabi had ever known, pulled at him like an undertow. The aches were still there, the bruises forming, the profound soreness, the lingering heat deep inside where Dante had marked him. Yet, cradled against that impossible heat, lulled by the slow beat of a heart older than cities, Dabi closed his eyes. He didn’t fight the descent into unconsciousness this time. He sank into it, the taste of ozone, leather, and that dark, passionate kiss the last sensations before the city’s neon lights dissolved into the blackness of true sleep.