Chapter 27: Connection
A year had passed. A year since Dante had seen Dabi. Dabi constantly thought about Dante. Dante constantly thought about Dabi. The memories of their last encounter—the betrayal, the venomous words, the way Dabi had stormed out of his life—had haunted Dante like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise. And Dabi? He’d tried to move on, tried to bury the ache Dante left in his chest, but it was no use. The man was a fucking infection, one he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. So, he caved. He went to Dante’s house.
The mansion loomed before him, its black iron gates and towering spires casting long, ominous shadows over the surrounding woods. Dabi hesitated for a moment, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the cool night air biting at his skin. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, wasn’t sure what he’d even say. But he couldn’t stay away any longer.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing through the silence. A few moments later, it creaked open. Dante stood there, his piercing eyes widening in shock. He looked exactly the same—his tattoos, his stretched ears, the faint smirk that always seemed to linger on his lips. But there was something different in his gaze now, something raw and unguarded.
"Dabi," Dante said, his voice low, almost a growl. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Dabi swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Can we talk?"
Dante hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied Dabi’s face. Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside, gesturing for Dabi to come in. The interior of the mansion was just as Dabi remembered—dark, opulent, filled with artifacts that whispered of Dante’s long, enigmatic life. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and something else, something distinctly Dante.
They walked in silence to the study, a room lined with bookshelves and dominated by a massive, ornate desk. Dante leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. "Talk," he said, his tone sharp.
Dabi took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "I... I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "About us. About what happened."
Dante’s expression didn’t change, but Dabi could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fists clenched at his sides. "What happened?" Dante repeated, his voice cold. "You cheated on me, Dabi. With fucking Hawks. So, what? You’re here to apologize now? A year later?"
Dabi flinched at the accusation, his chest tightening. "I... I fucked up," he said, his voice breaking. "I was an asshole, okay? I was scared. Scared of how you made me feel, scared of how much I fucking needed you. And I handled it like a fucking idiot. I’m sorry, Dante. I’m so fucking sorry."
Dante didn’t respond immediately, his eyes dark and unreadable. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, he pushed off the desk, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. He grabbed Dabi by the collar, his grip firm but not painful, and pulled him close.
"You think sorry is enough?" Dante growled, his breath hot against Dabi’s skin. "You think you can just waltz back in here after a year and expect me to forgive you?"
Dabi’s heart raced, his body trembling under Dante’s touch. "I don’t expect anything," he said, his voice shaky. "I just... I needed to see you. Needed to tell you how I feel. And if you want me to leave, I’ll go. But I had to try."
Dante’s grip tightened, his eyes blazing with intensity. For a moment, Dabi thought he was going to be thrown out, or worse. But then Dante’s lips crashed into his, the kiss fierce and hungry, a collision of anger and desire that left Dabi breathless. He moaned into Dante’s mouth, his hands fisting in the fabric of Dante’s shirt as he kissed him back with equal fervor.
Dante’s hands slid down Dabi’s body, gripping his hips and pulling him closer. "You’re fucking lucky I’m weak for you," Dante muttered against his lips, his voice rough with need. "But this? This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you."
Dabi didn’t care. All he cared about was the way Dante’s body felt against his, the way his hands roamed over his skin like he was reclaiming what was his. He gasped as Dante’s teeth grazed his neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. "Fuck, Dante," he moaned, his head falling back.
Dante smirked, his hands sliding under Dabi’s shirt, his fingers tracing the scars that marred his skin. "You’re mine, Dabi," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You always have been. And if you ever fucking betray me again, I’ll make you regret it."
Dabi nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Dante’s hands moved lower, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his hips. "I’m yours," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Only yours."
Dante’s smirk widened, his eyes dark with desire. "Good," he said, his voice a low purr. "Now let me remind you what you’ve been missing."
And with that, he pushed Dabi down onto the desk, his hands and mouth moving with a hunger that left Dabi gasping and writhing beneath him. The past year, the pain, the betrayal—it all faded away, replaced by the raw, unrelenting need that had always drawn them together. And as Dante claimed him, body and soul, Dabi knew there was no going back. He was Dante’s, now and forever.
He was Dante’s, now and forever. That truth slammed into Dabi harder than Dante’s kiss, a brutal confirmation that ignited fear and a desperate, aching relief deep in his gut. Dante pushed him down onto the cold mahogany surface of the massive desk, ancient wood groaning under their combined weight. Papers scattered, a heavy brass paperweight thudding onto the thick Persian rug below. Dabi gasped as his bare ass met the unforgiving wood, Dante’s grip like iron manacles on his hips, holding him pinned.
"Fuck, Dante," Dabi rasped, scrambling for purchase, his knuckles white where they gripped the desk edge. Dante loomed over him, a dark storm cloud of barely leashed fury and need. His grey eyes, usually sharp with sardonic amusement, were cold pits, fixed on Dabi with terrifying intensity. The stretched lobes of his ears framed a face etched in predatory lines. He didn’t speak. He simply yanked Dabi’s jeans and briefs down past his knees in one brutal tug, the fabric catching, tearing slightly at the seams.
"Thought you could walk away?" Dante finally growled, the Detroit rasp deeper, rougher, vibrating in the space between them. His hand, heavy and hot, landed hard on Dabi’s exposed ass cheek. A sharp, stinging slap that echoed like a gunshot in the vaulted study. "Thought Hawks could give you what I fucking give you?" Another slap. Harder. Dabi cried out, a mix of shock and unwelcome arousal jolting through him. "You’re mine, Dabi. Always were. You just forgot." Dante punctuated the last word with a third vicious strike, leaving the skin hot and tingling.
Dabi writhed, shame and a treacherous heat warring inside him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, utterly claimed. Dante’s fingers, cruelly efficient, probed between his cheeks without warning. Rough, calloused fingertips pressed against his tight, clenched hole. "No prep, you little traitor," Dante snarled, leaning down, his breath hot on Dabi’s neck. He spat a thick wad of saliva directly onto Dabi’s entrance. The cold wetness was shocking before Dante’s thick middle finger shoved in, knuckle-deep, dry and agonizing.
Dabi arched off the desk with a choked scream, pain lancing through him. "FUCK! Dante, please—!" He scrabbled at the wood, tears stinging his eyes.
"Please what?" Dante hissed, working the finger brutally, stretching him with deliberate, punishing force. "Please stop? Please fuck you? Tell me what you came back for." He crooked the finger, rubbing harshly against Dabi’s prostate. The sudden, violent spark of pleasure amidst the pain made Dabi sob, a broken sound. "That’s it," Dante mocked, twisting his finger. "That’s why you crawled back. Needed this ruined, didn’t you? Needed me to ruin you."
He withdrew his finger abruptly, the burn intensifying. Dabi heard the rasp of a zipper, the clink of a belt buckle. He braced himself, trembling violently. Dante gripped his hips again, hauling him back. The thick, blunt head of Dante’s cock pressed relentlessly against Dabi’s abused entrance. It felt impossibly huge, burning hot even before it breached him. Dante leaned his weight forward. "Take it," he commanded, voice guttural. "Take it like you mean it."
He thrust.
The sheer, brutal invasion tore a raw scream from Dabi’s throat. Dante sheathed himself to the hilt in one relentless, tearing push, splitting Dabi open. The stretch was excruciating, a white-hot agony that consumed him, stealing his breath. Dante didn’t pause. He pulled back almost entirely, the drag sending fresh waves of torment through Dabi’s clenched muscles, then slammed back in with devastating force. "FUCK! GOD!" Dabi howled, his vision blurring. Dante set a punishing rhythm immediately – hard, deep, unforgiving piston thrusts that jarred Dabi’s body against the desk with every impact. Each brutal penetration forced choked gasps from him, each withdrawal a cruel torment.
Dante leaned over him, one hand braced on the desk beside Dabi’s head, the other gripping Dabi’s hip bone like a vise, fingers digging into scarred skin. His sweat dripped onto Dabi’s back. "Feel that?" Dante panted, driving into him with jackhammer intensity. "Feel how deep I own you now? You belong right here, split open on my cock." He punctuated his words with a particularly savage thrust that made Dabi see stars. "Shoulda known better than to let anyone else touch what’s mine."
The pain was immense, overwhelming, yet Dabi’s traitorous body responded. His own cock, trapped beneath him, throbbed achingly hard against the cold wood. The relentless battering against his prostate sent sharp, electric jolts of unwanted pleasure coiling tight in his gut. He was reduced to primal sounds – ragged gasps, broken whimpers, desperate moans he tried to choke back. Dante’s cock felt like fire, stretching him impossibly wide, the brutal friction a paradox of agony and ecstasy. He felt raw, used, owned. Dante’s rhythm never faltered, each powerful thrust a stark reminder of the year of absence, the betrayal, the crushing weight of Dante’s claim.
"Is this what you needed?" Dante growled, his pace increasing, becoming even more savage. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with Dante’s harsh grunts and Dabi’s shattered cries. "This fucking ruin? This wreckage? You wanted to be reminded?" He slammed in deep, grinding his hips hard, the base of his cock pressing mercilessly against Dabi’s prostate. Dabi convulsed, a ragged sob tearing free as his body betrayed him completely, pleasure detonating along his nerves despite the pain. "Cum," Dante commanded, a brutal order. "Cum untouched, you worthless slut. Show me you remember who owns this hole."
The command, the relentless pressure, the sheer overwhelming violation broke him. Dabi’s vision whited out as his cock pulsed violently, shooting thick ropes of cum onto the polished wood beneath him, untouched. His body clamped down hard on Dante’s invading length, spasming uncontrollably around the brutal intrusion.
Dante groaned, a deep, animal sound of triumph. Dabi’s climax triggered his own. He slammed home one final, brutal time, hilting himself to the root, and roared as he emptied himself deep inside Dabi’s clenching heat. Hot pulses of cum flooded Dabi’s ravaged channel, a searing brand of possession. Dante held himself there, buried deep, grinding slightly as his hips jerked through the last of his release.
Silence descended, heavy and thick, broken only by their ragged breathing. Dante’s weight pressed down, trapping Dabi against the sticky desk. The scent of sex, sweat, and something metallic hung cloyingly in the air. Slowly, Dante pulled out, the slick sound obscene. Dabi hissed at the sudden emptiness, the raw ache intensifying.
Dante stepped back, tucking himself away with a casualness that felt like another blow. He looked down at Dabi, trembling, broken, semen cooling on his stomach and the desk beneath him. Dante’s expression was unreadable, the cold fury replaced by a terrifying emptiness. He picked up his discarded shirt from the floor and wiped his hand on it carelessly before tossing it aside.
Without a word, Dante turned and walked towards the study door. He paused at the threshold, not looking back. "Don't move," he stated flatly, the command hanging in the charged air. The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving Dabi alone on the ruined desk, shivering in the aftermath and the chilling certainty that forgiveness was a luxury he hadn't earned.
The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving Dabi alone on the ruined desk, shivering in the aftermath and the chilling certainty that forgiveness was a luxury he hadn't earned. Cold wood pressed against his cheek, sticky with his own release. The raw ache between his legs throbbed, a brutal reminder of Dante’s claim. Silence pressed in, thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something sharper, like ozone after lightning. Minutes crawled by, measured by the frantic hammering of his own heart. He didn’t move. Dante had told him not to.
The door handle turned again, smooth and quiet. Dante stood there, silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor. He’d pulled on loose black pants but remained bare-chested, the intricate tattoos swirling over his skin seeming to writhe in the low light. His expression was unreadable, distant, like a mountain peak shrouded in cloud. He didn’t enter fully, just leaned against the frame, his grey eyes sweeping over Dabi’s prone form on the violated desk. Dabi felt pinned by that gaze, exposed and utterly vulnerable.
"Get up," Dante commanded, his voice flat, devoid of the earlier fury but carrying an undeniable weight. It wasn’t a request.
Dabi pushed himself up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at his sore muscles and the deep, bruised feeling inside him. His legs trembled as he stood, hastily pulling his torn jeans and briefs back up over his hips, the rough fabric scraping sensitive skin. He avoided Dante’s eyes, focusing instead on the scattered papers, the overturned inkwell bleeding dark onto the rug. Shame burned hot in his chest.
Dante turned without another word and walked out into the corridor. Dabi hesitated for only a heartbeat before stumbling after him, his steps unsteady. The mansion’s dark corridors felt like a labyrinth, the air thick with the scent of old stone and secrets. Dante moved silently ahead, a shadow leading him deeper into the gothic heart of the estate. They passed closed doors, portraits with eyes that seemed to follow, and alcoves holding strange, ancient artifacts that whispered of Dante’s impossible age. Dabi kept his eyes fixed on Dante’s broad back, the tension coiling tighter with every step.
Finally, Dante stopped before a heavy, iron-bound door. He pushed it open, revealing a vast, dimly lit bedroom dominated by an enormous four-poster bed draped in black velvet. The air here was warmer, scented faintly with sandalwood and something uniquely Dante – dark spice and ozone. Dante walked in, leaving the door open behind him. Dabi hovered on the threshold, uncertainty freezing him again.
"Inside," Dante said, not looking back. He moved towards the bed. "Close it."
Dabi obeyed, the heavy door thudding shut with finality. He leaned back against it, the cool wood a slight anchor. Dante sat on the edge of the massive bed, the frame creaking softly under his weight. He leaned back against the intricately carved dark wood headboard, stretching his legs out before him. The low light from a single wrought-iron sconce caught the silver rings in his ears, the sharp angles of his face, the intensity of his gaze as it locked onto Dabi. He looked like a fallen god holding court.
"Come here," Dante ordered, his voice low, a rumble that vibrated in Dabi’s bones. He patted the space on the bed directly in front of him.
Dabi pushed off the door, his legs still shaky. He crossed the thick Persian rug, the silence thick enough to choke on. He stopped a few feet from the bed, unable to bridge the final gap. Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of impatience crossing his features.
"Sit," Dante said, gesturing again to the spot before him. His tone brooked no argument, yet held a strange undercurrent Dabi couldn’t name.
Dabi climbed onto the high bed, the velvet soft beneath his hands. He settled on his knees facing Dante, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his bare skin, close enough to see the faint pulse beating in Dante’s throat. The proximity was electric, terrifying. Dante’s gaze raked over him, lingering on his flushed face, the tear tracks Dabi hadn’t realized were there, the way his hands trembled slightly where they rested on his thighs.
A year of absence, of aching emptiness, crashed over Dabi. The raw need he’d tried to bury surged back, fierce and undeniable. He wanted Dante’s touch, his forgiveness, his oblivion. He wanted to erase the past year, erase Hawks, erase his own stupidity. He wanted to belong here, on this bed, with this impossible man.
Dante leaned forward slightly, his grey eyes boring into Dabi’s. "You came back," he stated, his voice rough velvet. "You crawled through my gates." He paused, letting the weight of that admission hang. "So show me." His gaze dropped pointedly to Dabi’s lap, then back up, holding his eyes with fierce intensity. "Show me you fucking want this. Show me you want me. Right now."
The command hung in the air, charged and dangerous. Dabi’s breath hitched. This was the test. The only one that mattered. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. He reached down with trembling fingers, fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans. He shoved them down over his hips, along with his briefs, exposing himself completely to Dante’s unwavering gaze. His cock, already half-hard from the sheer tension and proximity, twitched against his belly.
Dabi didn’t hesitate further. He shuffled forward on his knees until he straddled Dante’s thighs. He braced his hands on Dante’s broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his palms, the heat of his skin. Dante remained still, leaning back against the headboard, watching him with hooded eyes, his expression unreadable. Dabi reached between them, his fingers brushing the thick outline of Dante’s cock straining against the soft fabric of his pants. He fumbled with the drawstring, his fingers clumsy with nerves and desperate need. He freed Dante’s erection, thick and heavy, flushed dark and already leaking at the tip. The sight, the familiar scent of him, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through Dabi.
Positioning himself, Dabi gripped Dante’s shaft, guiding the broad, slick head to his still-tender entrance. He took a shaky breath, bracing himself. He sank down slowly, biting back a whimper as the stretched, bruised muscles protested violently. It burned, a white-hot agony that stole his breath. Dante hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping Dabi’s hips hard, fingers digging in, but he didn’t thrust up. He let Dabi control the descent, forcing him to take every agonizing inch.
"Fuck… Dante…" Dabi gasped, tears springing to his eyes again as he bottomed out, fully impaled. He paused, trembling, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, the searing stretch. The pain was intense, a brutal echo of the desk, but beneath it, the deep, insistent throb of need pulsed stronger.
"Move," Dante growled, his voice thick with restraint. "Show me."
Dabi obeyed. He lifted himself up, the drag excruciating, then sank back down, a choked moan escaping him. He set a slow, tentative rhythm, each movement a battle against the pain and the desperate, building pleasure coiling low in his gut. He rode Dante, using his thighs for leverage, his hands braced on Dante’s shoulders. Dante’s gaze was locked on him, intense, consuming. His breathing grew harsher, his grip on Dabi’s hips tightening, urging him on.
"Harder," Dante rasped, his knuckles white where they gripped Dabi. "Fucking ride me like you mean it. Like you want it."
Dabi pushed through the pain, focusing on the heat, the friction, the way Dante filled him so completely. He increased his pace, driving himself down onto Dante’s cock with more force, grinding his hips at the bottom of each stroke to feel Dante deeper. The pain began to blur, morphing into a sharp, intense pleasure that radiated outwards with every desperate plunge. His own cock bounced hard against his stomach, leaking steadily. "Yes… fuck… Dante…" he moaned, the words ragged, lost in the wet sounds of their joining.
Dabi rode him harder, faster, losing himself in the punishing rhythm, in the feel of Dante’s thick cock pistoning inside his aching channel. He threw his head back, gasping, sweat slicking his skin. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter, a white-hot wire about to snap. He needed more leverage, more purchase. He reached up blindly, hands scrabbling against the carved wood of the headboard behind Dante’s shoulders.
Suddenly, beneath his searching fingers, the skin at Dante’s temples shifted. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated through Dabi’s entire body, thick, obsidian-black horns erupted from Dante’s forehead. They curved wickedly upwards, gleaming in the dim light, primal markers of his true nature laid bare. Dabi froze for a split second, mesmerized and terrified by their sudden emergence.
Instinct took over. Needing support, needing to anchor himself against the overwhelming sensations threatening to shatter him, Dabi’s hands shot up and clamped onto the bases of Dante’s horns. They were hot, solid, unyielding bone beneath his palms. He gripped them hard, using them as handles to pull himself down harder, to fuck himself deeper onto Dante’s cock.
The effect on Dante was instantaneous and explosive. A ragged, broken moan tore from his throat, louder and more desperate than any sound Dabi had ever heard him make. His grey eyes flew wide, pupils blown black with pure, unadulterated sensation. His hips jerked upwards involuntarily, driving his cock impossibly deep. "FUCK! Dabi! YES!" he roared, the sound raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls. His hands flew from Dabi’s hips to clamp over Dabi’s hands where they gripped his horns, holding them there, pressing Dabi’s palms harder against the sensitive bases. "Hold them! Fucking hold them!"
Dabi obeyed, gripping the horns tighter, using them to brace himself as he slammed down again and again. The connection was electric, overwhelming. Dante’s moans were continuous now, a deep, guttural litany of pleasure-pain as Dabi rode him ruthlessly, impaled on his cock and anchored by his horns. The sensation of Dabi’s hands on that most vulnerable, primal part of him shattered Dante’s control completely. His hips pistoned upwards to meet Dabi’s downward thrusts, their movements becoming frenzied, perfectly synchronized.
The raw, filthy sounds filled the room – skin slapping against skin, Dante’s choked, ecstatic groans, Dabi’s high, desperate whimpers. The pleasure was a supernova building inside Dabi, fed by the brutal friction, the feel of Dante’s cock hitting his core, the incredible power of holding Dante’s horns while he took him. He could feel Dante trembling beneath him, feel the tension coiling in his own body like a spring wound too tight.
"Gonna… Dante… I’m gonna…" Dabi gasped, his vision blurring, his grip on the horns tightening convulsively.
"Now!" Dante roared, his voice cracking. "Cum with me! Fucking NOW!"
The command, the intense pressure, the sheer, overwhelming connection through touch and flesh and bone, detonated them simultaneously. Dabi screamed as his orgasm ripped through him, violent and all-consuming, his body clamping down viselike on Dante’s cock as jets of hot cum spurted untouched onto Dante’s stomach. At the same instant, Dante arched off the bed with a guttural bellow that shook the room, his cock pulsing deep inside Dabi, flooding him with wave after scalding wave of release. Dabi felt the hot spurts deep within his ravaged channel, each pulse triggering another convulsive spasm of his own climax.
They crashed together, Dabi collapsing forward onto Dante’s chest, still gripping the horns, their bodies slick with sweat and come, shuddering through the aftershocks. Dante’s arms wrapped around him, crushing him close, his face buried in Dabi’s neck, his breaths coming in ragged, hot gasps against Dabi’s skin. The intensity of the shared climax left them both wrecked, trembling, fused together in the echoing silence of the aftermath, the only sound their harsh, synchronized breathing and the frantic drumming of their hearts.