Chapter 28: Horned Confession
The carved wood bit into Dabi’s palms, slick with sweat where he gripped the bases of Dante’s obsidian horns. Each desperate plunge down onto Dante’s cock sent shockwaves through his ravaged body, the brutal stretch a searing counterpoint to the electric pleasure detonating deep inside him. Dante’s hips pistoned upwards to meet him, driving impossibly deep with every savage thrust. The massive desk groaned beneath them, a protesting symphony of ancient wood under their relentless rhythm.
“Say it again!” Dante snarled, his voice shredded raw, grey eyes bleeding entirely to black, pupils blown wide with feral need. His hands clamped over Dabi’s on his horns, forcing Dabi’s grip tighter, anchoring him as he slammed upwards. The sensation – Dabi’s hands on that primal, vulnerable part of him – seemed to fracture Dante’s control completely. “Say you fucking missed this cock!”
The command ripped through Dabi, tangled with the agony-pleasure tearing him apart. He gasped, air ragged in his throat. “Missed it!” he choked out, the words ripped from him. “Missed your fucking cock, Dante! Missed you ruining me!” He drove himself down harder, impaling himself, grinding his hips to feel Dante deeper, the thick shaft rubbing his prostate with brutal precision. White-hot sparks exploded behind his eyes.
“Louder!” Dante roared, bucking beneath him. His claws – sharp, black points Dabi hadn’t noticed emerging – dug into the backs of Dabi’s hands where they gripped the horns. The sting was sharp, metallic, adding another layer of sensation. “Tell the fucking walls! Tell the shadows! Tell me!”
“I MISSED IT!” Dabi screamed, tears blurring his vision, mixing with sweat on his cheeks. The confession, raw and desperate, tore free. “Missed you splitting me open! Missed you fucking owning me! Only yours! Always yours!” He rode Dante with abandon now, beyond pain, beyond thought, lost in the punishing rhythm and the terrifying intimacy of holding Dante’s demonic truth in his hands. The horns were hot, vibrating slightly with Dante’s guttural growls.
Dante’s answering sound was pure animal triumph, a deep, resonant groan that vibrated up through Dabi’s arms. His thrusts turned erratic, losing their brutal precision, becoming frantic, desperate lunges. He slammed up into Dabi, holding him deep, grinding hard. “Feel it!” he gasped, his voice cracking. “Feel me claim you! Mark you! Fill you!”
The pressure inside Dabi coiled impossibly tight, a supernova compressed into his gut. Dante’s cock pulsed violently within him, thick and insistent. “Dante! Fuck! I’m—!”
“NOW!” Dante bellowed, his body arching off the desk, horns straining against Dabi’s grip. “Cum for me! Take it! Take every fucking drop!”
The command, the intense pressure, the scalding heat flooding his channel as Dante’s release began, shattered Dabi’s last shred of control. His own orgasm detonated, violent and all-consuming. He screamed, a raw, broken sound, as his cock jerked untouched, spilling thick ropes of cum onto Dante’s sweat-slicked abdomen and chest. His body clamped down viselike on Dante’s pulsing cock, milking him, triggering another ragged roar from Dante as he emptied himself deep inside Dabi’s clenching heat.
Wave after scalding wave flooded Dabi, branding him from the inside. Dante’s hips jerked erratically, prolonging the invasion, filling him until Dabi felt impossibly full, stretched, claimed. They crashed together, collapsing onto the scarred surface of the desk, a tangled, shuddering mess of limbs and sweat and spent release. Dante’s arms locked around Dabi, crushing him against his chest, his face buried in the crook of Dabi’s neck, panting hot, ragged breaths against his skin. Dabi clung to the horns still, his grip slackening but not letting go, his own breaths coming in desperate, sobbing gasps. The only sounds were their harsh breathing, the frantic drumming of their hearts, and the faint, ominous groaning of the ancient desk.
Slowly, the world swam back into focus. The scent of sex, sweat, sulfur, and ink hung thick and cloying in the study air. Dante’s grip on Dabi loosened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His breathing gradually evened, though his heart still hammered against Dabi’s ribs. Dabi became acutely aware of the horns beneath his trembling fingers, the solid, unyielding reality of them. He traced the rough texture near the base, the heat radiating from them. Dante flinched almost imperceptibly, a low hum vibrating in his chest.
Dabi lifted his head slightly, pulling back just enough to look at Dante’s face. The blackness had receded from his eyes, leaving the familiar stormy grey, but they were shadowed, wary. Exhaustion etched deep lines around them. Dabi’s gaze travelled upwards, tracing the wicked curve of the horns emerging from Dante’s temples. They weren't smooth; they had ridges and subtle spirals, like petrified obsidian. Primordial. Powerful. Terrifyingly real.
He didn’t speak. Words felt inadequate, dangerous. He just stared, his thumb brushing lightly over the ridge where horn met skin. Dante watched him, utterly still, his expression unreadable but intensely focused. The vulnerability Dabi had glimpsed during their climax was gone, replaced by that ancient, guarded stillness. Dabi’s fingers tightened slightly again, not demanding, just… feeling. Solid. Hot. There.
Dante’s gaze flickered down to Dabi’s lips, then back up to his eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He shifted beneath Dabi, the movement causing Dabi to gasp softly as Dante’s softening cock slipped free, leaving him feeling abruptly empty and sore. A trickle of warm fluid escaped Dabi, tracing a path down his inner thigh.
Silence stretched, thick and charged. The crackle from the fireplace seemed unnaturally loud. Dante finally broke it, his voice rough, stripped bare. “See something you like?” The Detroit rasp was heavy, layered with exhaustion and a defensive edge.
Dabi swallowed, his throat dry. He didn’t look away from the horns. “Didn’t… didn’t know they were real,” he murmured, his own voice hoarse. His thumb traced the spiral again. “Not… not like this.”
Dante’s lips thinned. He didn’t confirm or deny. He just watched Dabi’s exploration, his grey eyes dark pools in the dim light. Dabi’s gaze drifted lower, taking in the sharp points of Dante’s claws, now retracting slowly, leaving faint red marks on the backs of his hands. The evidence was everywhere – the horns, the claws, the faint, lingering scent of ozone and sulfur beneath the musk of sex. Pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity: the impossible age hinted at by the artifacts, the magnetic pull, the raw power, the title he kept hidden. King of Hell. The words echoed silently in Dabi’s skull, chilling him despite the residual heat clinging to his skin.
He looked back into Dante’s eyes, searching for… what? Denial? Fear? Pride? He found only guarded stillness and a weariness that seemed bone-deep. The raw intimacy of moments before felt like a dream shattered by waking reality. The man beneath him, the man he’d just screamed his need for, was something… else. Something ancient and terrifying.
Dabi slowly, carefully, released his grip on the horns. He pulled his hands back, resting them on Dante’s chest, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath his palm. Dante’s gaze followed the movement, then lifted back to Dabi’s face. The question hung unspoken between them, heavy as stone: What now?
Dante moved first. With a grunt, he shifted Dabi’s weight off him, sitting up on the ruined desk. He swung his legs over the side, his back to Dabi for a moment. Dabi saw the powerful muscles flexing in his shoulders, saw the obsidian horns stark against the dim light. Dante stood, the movement fluid despite his obvious fatigue. He didn’t look back. He walked towards the study door, his bare feet silent on the rug, leaving Dabi alone on the desk amidst the wreckage of papers and ink and their shared, brutal climax. The horns remained, a permanent, terrifying silhouette against the doorway before he stepped through it and disappeared down the shadowed corridor. The heavy silence he left behind was louder than any roar.
The heavy silence he left behind was louder than any roar. Dabi lay sprawled on the ruined desk, Dante’s cooling release slick between his thighs, the phantom ache of that monstrous cock still throbbing deep inside him. The carved wood pressed uncomfortably into his spine, grounding him in the brutal aftermath. He stared at the vaulted ceiling, shadows dancing from the unnatural fireplace flames, replaying the raw intensity in Dante’s black eyes, the terrifying solidity of those obsidian horns beneath his palms. His own hands trembled slightly, the faint sting from Dante’s claws a stark reminder of the line crossed.
He pushed himself up slowly, wincing at the sharp protest from abused muscles and the slick, uncomfortable slide of fluid escaping him. The scent of sex, sweat, sulfur, and spilled ink clung thickly to the air, a potent cocktail marking the scene of their savage reunion. Papers were scattered everywhere, an inkwell overturned bleeding dark rivulets across Dante’s ancient desk – collateral damage. Dabi swung his legs over the edge, his bare feet hitting the plush rug. The emptiness of the grand study pressed in, amplifying the echo of Dante’s final, silent departure. He felt hollowed out, claimed, and utterly adrift.
The memory of Dante’s grey eyes, shuttered and cold after the storm of passion, sent a fresh chill through him. Hawks. The name landed like a stone in his gut. That stupid, impulsive fuck months ago – a desperate attempt to purge Dante from his system, to prove he wasn’t owned. It hadn’t worked. It had only made the yearning worse. And Dante knew. The fury radiating off him earlier wasn’t just about the year apart; it was poisoned by that betrayal. Dabi ran a shaky hand through his sweat-damp hair. How the fuck did you apologize for that? How did you even begin to fix it with a being who’d just fucked you senseless while sporting fucking horns? The impossibility of it tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe.
He needed to move. Needed to get the feel of Dante’s release off his skin, out of him. Needed space from this room saturated with power and ancient secrets and the suffocating weight of his own colossal fuck-up. Stumbling slightly, Dabi navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, the oppressive grandeur feeling more like a prison now. He found the bathroom Dante had gestured towards months ago – a cavernous space of black marble and gleaming chrome, dominated by a walk-in shower large enough for ten. He cranked the taps, the roar of water hitting stone echoing in the tiled space. Steam billowed instantly, thick and hot.
He stepped under the scalding spray, gasping as it hit his skin. It stung the fresh scratches on his back from the desk, the faint claw marks on his hands, the deep internal ache Dante had left behind. He braced his palms against the cool marble wall, head bowed, letting the water sluice over him. Rivulets traced paths through the drying sweat and streaks of ink, carrying away the visible evidence of Dante’s possession. He grabbed a bar of expensive, sandalwood-scented soap, scrubbing fiercely. He scoured his thighs, his abdomen, between his legs, working the lather deep, trying to erase the feeling of being stretched impossibly wide, filled to bursting. The heat seeped into his bones, but couldn’t touch the cold knot of dread tightening in his chest.
Hawks. Dante’s possessive snarl echoed in his mind: ‘Say you fucking missed this cock!’ He had missed it. Missed him. Desperately. Every fucking day of that year. But Dante’s fury wasn’t just about absence; it was sharpened by the image of Dabi with someone else. Someone Dabi hadn’t even wanted, not really. Just a pale, frantic imitation of the inferno Dante embodied. He leaned his forehead against the slick marble. How did you explain that? How did you convince the fucking King of Hell you were sorry for seeking warmth when his fire had vanished? The water pounded down, relentless. He slid down the wall, sitting on the shower floor, knees drawn up. The steam thickened, cocooning him. He rested his head on his knees, the hot water beating down on his neck and back. He was clean on the outside now. But inside? He felt stained. Lost. And completely fucking clueless. The scalding water kept falling. He didn't move.