Chapter 3: Back For More
Three weeks. Twenty-one days of restless nights and phantom aches. Dabi traced the edge of his bourbon glass, the cool condensation doing nothing to dampen the heat simmering low in his gut. It was stupid, reckless even, coming back here. Inferno Club pulsed around him, a living entity of pounding bass, swirling neon, and thick, smoky air that tasted like sweat and expensive sin. He’d told himself it was just for the music, to see Toga and Shig, maybe piss off Hawks if his ex happened to be lurking in the VIP section again. The lie felt flimsy even in his own head. He was here for him. For the ancient eyes and Detroit rasp that had haunted him since Dante Morningstar tore him apart and put him back together on that crimson silk.
He’d barely cleared the threshold, shouldering past the velvet rope with a nod to the bouncer who remembered him, when it happened. A prickle raced up his spine, a sudden awareness cutting through the sensory overload. He scanned the dimness near the back bar, past the writhing mass on the dance floor. There. Leaning against a pillar of black obsidian, partially obscured by swirling dry ice, Dante watched him. Not casually. Not curiously. With the focused intensity of a predator sighting prey that had wandered back into its territory. A slow, knowing smirk curved Dante’s lips, visible even across the crowded expanse. Dabi’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. Fuck. He saw me the second I walked in.
"Oi! Dabi!" Toga’s high-pitched squeal cut through the bass. She detached herself from their group huddled near a low table in the VIP section – Shigaraki slouched with his signature scowl, Deku looking mildly overwhelmed, Bakugou radiating simmering aggression, Shoto observing everything with detached calm. And Hawks, leaning back with his stupid, cocky grin and golden wingspan, eyes already tracking Dabi with predatory amusement. "Took you long enough! Thought you'd gone monastic or somethin'!"
Dabi forced a smirk, sliding onto the plush velvet banquette beside Shoto, deliberately not looking at Hawks. "Just busy avoiding this sensory overload, Toga. My ears are bleeding."
Hawks chuckled, swirling his drink. "Or avoiding certain… commitments?" The jibe was light, but the undercurrent was there. Possessive, probing.
Dabi flipped him off without turning. "Fuck off, birdbrain. Ain't no commitments here."
Across the club, Dante hadn't moved, but his attention remained locked on Dabi. He was flanked by two figures radiating the same unnerving elegance. A man with eyes like polished obsidian and hair the colour of spilled ink (Vincent), and another whose sharp features held a cruel beauty, platinum hair catching the shifting lights (Xavier). They murmured to Dante, their gazes flicking towards the VIP section with detached interest. Dante’s response was a low rumble lost in the music, followed by a predatory grin aimed directly at Dabi.
Dabi felt the challenge, the heat flaring brighter. He drained his bourbon, the burn welcome. Enough mingling.
He pushed himself up. "Need a refill. Anyone?"
Shigaraki waved a dismissive hand. Bakugou grunted. Hawks just watched, his smile tightening slightly.
Dabi wove through the crowd, the bass vibrating the floor beneath his boots. He felt Dante’s gaze like a physical touch, a brand between his shoulder blades. He reached the long onyx bar, crowded with bodies, and signaled the bartender. As he waited, the air shifted beside him, crackling with ozone and sheer, undeniable presence.
"Bourbon? Neat?" Dante’s voice, that dark Detroit purr, washed over him, closer than he’d expected.
Dabi turned, leaning back against the bar, feigning nonchalance. Dante stood impossibly close, the intricate patterns of his neck tattoos visible above his open-collared black shirt. Piercings glinted. His ancient eyes held amusement, hunger, and that unnerving certainty. "Good memory," Dabi drawled, letting his gaze travel deliberately slow down Dante’s body and back up. "For an old guy."
Dante’s laugh was a low rumble in his chest. He leaned in, one hand planted on the bar beside Dabi’s hip, caging him without touching. "Some things leave a lasting impression, pretty boy. Like the sounds you make. The way you begged."
Heat flooded Dabi’s face, but he held Dante’s stare, a spark of defiance igniting. "Begged? Nah. Pretty sure you were the one losing your damn mind." He tilted his chin up, a bratty challenge. "Guess even old guys need a thrill now and then."
Dante’s smile widened, sharp and dangerous. His gaze dropped to Dabi’s lips. "Thrill’s an understatement. More like… revelation." The bartender slid Dabi’s drink over. Dante reached out, intercepting it before Dabi could. His fingers brushed Dabi’s, sending a jolt up his arm. Dante lifted the glass, swirling the amber liquid. "Missed this," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Dabi’s. "Missed the fire."
Dabi’s breath hitched. He saw the raw hunger now, barely contained beneath the cool facade. The memory of Dante’s hands, his mouth, the brutal, perfect fucking, slammed into him. He didn’t wait for Dante to hand him the drink. He reached up, wrapping his own hand around Dante’s on the glass. His voice dropped, low and rough, cutting through the thumping music. "Talking’s boring, Dante. You got somewhere quieter? Or you all talk now?"
Dante’s eyes flared, a flash of something ancient and powerful, like banked coals flaring in a dark pit. The smirk returned, edged with triumph. He set the untouched bourbon down hard on the bar. "Thought you’d never ask, brat." He gripped Dabi’s wrist, not painfully, but with absolute possession. "Follow me. And try to keep up."
He turned, pulling Dabi with him, cutting a path through the crowd. Heads turned, whispers followed them – Dante Morningstar, dragging the striking, defiant young man with the scars towards the discreet, guarded staircase leading to the club’s upper sanctum. Dabi caught a glimpse of Vincent raising a knowing eyebrow, Xavier’s coldly amused smile, and then Toga’s delighted squeal, Hawks’s sharp, displeased stare, before they were swallowed by the shadows at the stairwell. A massive, silent bouncer stepped aside without a word, unlocking a heavy, reinforced door.
Beyond lay a different world. The bass was a muffled throb here. The air was cooler, scented with sandalwood and something metallic, like old stone. Dante pulled Dabi into a vast, circular chamber. Gothic arches soared overhead. Stained glass windows, depicting unsettling, beautiful scenes of fallen angels and writhing serpents, glowed with the club's neon from outside. Thick, dark rugs silenced their footsteps. Velvet drapes the colour of dried blood hung heavy. An ornate, obsidian desk stood near one wall, but Dabi’s eyes were drawn to the centerpiece: a massive four-poster bed, its canopy draped in thick, black silk, looking like a sacrificial altar in the low, amber light cast by wrought-iron sconces.
Dante released his wrist and turned. He moved with predatory grace, backing Dabi up until his shoulders hit the cool, carved wood of the door they’d just come through. Dante slammed a palm against the wood beside Dabi’s head, leaning in, his heat radiating.
"Quiet enough for you?" Dante’s voice was a dark caress. His free hand came up, calloused fingers tracing the line of Dabi’s jaw, skimming the fading bruises near his throat from weeks ago. The touch was deceptively light, charged with memory. "Or do you need help shutting up?"
Dabi’s heart hammered against his ribs. The sheer audacity, the raw power Dante exuded, it was intoxicating. He leaned into the touch, defiance warring with the desperate need clawing inside him. He met Dante’s ancient gaze, eyes blazing. "Maybe you do, old man. Maybe I didn’t come up here for quiet."
Dante’s laugh was a low growl. His thumb pressed against Dabi's bottom lip, parting it slightly. "Brat." He dipped his head, his breath hot on Dabi’s mouth. "Tell me what you came up here for."
The command, the proximity, the scent of him… Dabi’s control snapped. He surged forward, crashing his mouth against Dante’s. It wasn’t tender. It was teeth and tongue and desperate, bruising force. Dante met him with equal intensity, a low groan vibrating in his chest as his arms locked around Dabi, hauling him flush against his body. The kiss was a battle for dominance, a clash of heat and need. Dante’s tongue invaded, claiming, exploring, tasting the bourbon still on Dabi’s lips. Dabi bit down, hard, on Dante’s lower lip, drawing a sharp hiss and a possessive tightening of Dante’s grip.
Dante broke the kiss, breathing ragged. His eyes were pure hellfire. "Fucking hell, you’re eager." He spun Dabi around, pressing him face-first against the heavy door. Dante’s body pinned him, hard muscle against Dabi’s back, his erection a thick, demanding pressure against Dabi’s ass. One hand snaked around Dabi’s waist, fingers deftly popping the button of his jeans, yanking down the zipper. Cool air hit Dabi’s heated skin as Dante shoved his jeans and briefs down to his thighs in one rough motion.
"Spread your legs," Dante commanded, his voice gravel and smoke. His other hand fisted in Dabi’s hair, yanking his head back at a sharp angle.
Dabi gasped, bracing his hands against the door, instinctively widening his stance. The vulnerability, the exposure, sent a fresh wave of lust crashing through him. He felt Dante’s hard cock grinding against his exposed ass cheeks. He heard the wet sound of Dante spitting into his palm, then the slick, crude noise as Dante spread spit directly over Dabi’s hole, working it in with two rough fingers. It was fast, efficient, no finesse, just the blunt stretch and burn, waking dormant nerves, making Dabi cry out against the wood.
"Still tight," Dante growled, his breath hot on Dabi’s neck. He spat again, directly onto Dabi’s exposed entrance this time. "Gotta loosen you up for my cock, pretty boy." He added a third finger, shoving in ruthlessly, stretching him open with brutal efficiency. Dabi choked, scrabbling at the door, the burn sharp, the intrusion overwhelming yet unbearably necessary. "Fuck! Dante!"
"Shut up and take it," Dante snarled, twisting his fingers, deliberately seeking. He found the spot instantly, dragging a ragged scream from Dabi’s throat. "There it is. Miss that feeling, didn’t you? Missed being filled?"
Before Dabi could gasp an answer, Dante withdrew his fingers. The rough head of his cock replaced them, pressing insistently against Dabi’s stretched, wet hole. Dante’s grip on his hair tightened painfully. His other hand clamped hard on Dabi’s hip, digging in with bruising force. "Deep breath, baby," Dante rumbled, the mockery thick in his voice. "Gonna split you open."
He thrust. Not slow. Not gentle. One powerful, brutal shove that buried him to the root in one devastating movement. Dabi’s scream tore through the quiet room, muffled by the door. The sudden, incredible stretch was blinding, a white-hot agony of intrusion that stole his vision and his breath. Dante’s cock felt impossibly thick, burning deep inside him, rearranging him. He didn’t pause, didn’t let Dabi adjust. He pulled back almost all the way, the drag excruciating, then slammed home again. And again. Setting a relentless, punishing rhythm that pounded Dabi against the solid door.
Each deep, unforgiving thrust punched the air from Dabi’s lungs. Dante’s grip was iron, holding him immobile, taking him with ruthless precision. The burn was intense, a constant, consuming fire, yet beneath it, coiling tighter with every brutal impact, was that dark, shameful heat, that desperate pleasure he craved. Dante found that sweet spot with every driving plunge, grinding against it, making Dabi see stars, his cries dissolving into broken, wordless sobs.
"Fucking take it," Dante snarled, leaning his weight forward, crushing Dabi harder against the door. His hand left Dabi’s hip and snaked around his throat, pressing hard into the old bruises. Dabi choked, gasping uselessly for air. The sudden lack of oxygen amplified everything – the brutal fucking, the deep stretch, the electric jolts of pleasure-pain radiating from his core. Dante tightened his grip, cutting off his air completely. Stars exploded behind Dabi’s eyelids. "Choke on it," Dante hissed in his ear, his voice thick with exertion and dark delight. He eased the pressure for a split second, letting Dabi drag in a desperate, wheezing gasp before crushing down again. "Choke on my cock, you beautiful little slut."
The degradation, the helplessness, the sheer force of Dante’s control… it shattered Dabi. The coil snapped. Pleasure, raw and blinding, detonated through him. He came untouched, his cock jerking violently, spilling hot stripes against the dark wood of the door in shuddering, silent pulses as Dante continued to pound into him relentlessly through his climax. Dante’s thrusts grew more erratic, losing rhythm, driven by primal need. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. Dabi felt the hot, pulsing rush deep inside him as Dante came, the final, possessive claim, flooding his core.
Dante slumped against him, both of them panting harshly, slick with sweat, pressed against the door. Slowly, Dante released the chokehold, his arm dropping to wrap limply around Dabi’s waist. He eased out, the sensation making Dabi whimper. Dante turned him roughly, pinning him back against the door. Dante’s eyes, still blazing with the aftermath, locked onto his. He leaned in, not for a kiss, but to press his lips against the raw marks on Dabi’s throat. His voice, when it came, was a dark, satisfied rasp against Dabi’s sweat-slicked skin.
"Good boy," Dante breathed, the words vibrating through Dabi’s bones. "My perfect, filthy good boy." He traced the fresh bruises forming on Dabi’s hip. "But," His thumb pressed hard against Dabi’s abused hole, making him flinch and gasp. A dark promise flickered in Dante’s ancient eyes. "We're just getting started. And this time, pretty boy... you're not leaving until I break you."
Dante’s promise, low and dark against his sweat-slicked throat, should have been a threat. It was a threat. But the aftershocks still rippling through Dabi’s spent body, the raw ache where Dante had just claimed him against the door, the lingering burn – they ignited something else. Defiance, yes, but hotter, sharper. A reckless need to shatter Dante’s absolute control, even for a moment. Dante’s hands, still possessively tracing the fresh marks on his hip, were heavy anchors. Dabi locked eyes with him, seeing the ancient satisfaction, the certainty of ownership. Then, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and sheer, stubborn will, Dabi moved.
He shoved. Hard. Not against Dante’s chest, but downwards, twisting his hips violently to break the hold pinning him to the door. Dante, caught mid-smirk, off-balance from his own release, stumbled back a half step. It was the opening Dabi needed. He lunged, putting his entire weight into it, driving Dante backwards. Dante’s eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing in those obsidian depths. His boot heel caught the edge of the thick rug. He went down.
Not sprawling. Dante Morningstar didn’t sprawl. He landed hard on his back on the yielding surface of the massive black-silk bed, the impact a muted thud. Shock quickly gave way to a dangerous, intrigued glint. Dabi didn’t hesitate. He was on him before Dante could even draw breath to speak. Knees slammed down on either side of Dante’s hips, pinning him. Dabi’s hands planted firmly on Dante’s broad, tattooed chest, fingers splaying over the intricate patterns.
"Surprise, Daddy," Dabi breathed, a feral grin splitting his face, his blue eyes blazing with challenge and unspent heat. He deliberately ground his ass down, feeling Dante’s thick, semi-hard cock twitch back to life beneath him. "Thought you were done?"
Dante’s expression morphed from shock to predatory amusement. He settled back against the silk, propping himself on his elbows, a dark smile playing on his lips. "Getting ideas, pretty boy?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with condescension. "Think you’re in charge now?" He lifted his hips slightly, pressing his hardening length more firmly against Dabi’s ass. The friction sparked through Dabi, a fresh wave of want washing over the lingering soreness.
"Oh, I know I am," Dabi purred, leaning down, his lips brushing Dante’s ear. He kept his hips moving, a slow, maddening grind. "Your turn to just lie there and take it." He punctuated the words with a sharp downward roll, drawing a low grunt from Dante. Dabi reached behind himself, fingers slick with the mix of spit and cum still leaking from his own stretched hole. He found Dante’s cock, thick and hot and insistent, and guided it to his entrance. He was still open, slick, the burning stretch eased by the recent brutal claiming. With agonizing slowness, Dabi lowered himself.
He took just the swollen head, holding Dante there, feeling the thick ridge stretch him anew. Dante hissed, muscles coiling beneath Dabi’s hands. "Fuck, Dabi…"
"Nuh-uh," Dabi whispered, taunting. He rose up slightly, denying Dante the full sheathe. "Patience. Old guys gotta learn that." He sank down again, another inch, relishing the stretch, the gasp it tore from Dante. He moved like that, torturously slow, taking him inch by thick inch, pausing, grinding on just the tip, making Dante’s breath hitch every time. He watched Dante’s face, the tightening of his jaw, the dilation of his pupils, the way his control visibly frayed with each excruciating movement.
"Ride it then, you little shit," Dante growled, his hands clenching the silk sheets, knuckles white. "Stop fucking teasing."
Dabi threw his head back, letting out a low, breathy laugh. "Or what?" He lifted himself almost completely off, leaving only the head inside, then slammed down, taking Dante to the root in one smooth, powerful stroke. Dante arched off the bed with a choked roar. "FUCK!" The sound was raw, primal, ripped from him.
Dabi didn’t stop. He set a punishing pace, rising fast, slamming back down. He used his thighs, his core, every ounce of strength, pistoning himself on Dante’s cock. He knew exactly how to move, the angle that made Dante see stars. His own cock, still sensitive from his earlier climax against the door, bounced hard and leaking against his stomach. The slap of skin on skin, wet and obscene, filled the gothic chamber, echoing the muffled bass below. "That it, old man?" Dabi gasped, sweat dripping from his chin onto Dante’s chest as he drove himself down again, clenching deliberately around the thick invasion. "This what you needed? Someone to actually make you feel something besides just taking?"
Dante’s eyes were like coals, burning into him. His chest heaved. He wasn’t passive anymore; his hips surged up off the bed to meet Dabi’s downward thrusts, driving himself impossibly deeper, trying to reclaim control of the rhythm. But Dabi was relentless, meeting him thrust for thrust, riding him with a fierce, demanding skill that Dante clearly hadn’t anticipated. "Fuck, yes," Dante rasped, his voice thick, strained. "You ride it… Jesus Christ… you ride it so fucking good."
The admission, raw and unguarded, sent a jolt of pure power through Dabi. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Dante’s shoulders, his pace never faltering. "Yeah? Better than anyone else?" He ground down hard, circling his hips, feeling Dante swell impossibly thicker inside him. "Tell me. Tell me I’m the best fucking ride you've ever had in your miserable long life." His movements became shorter, harder, focused on grinding deep.
Dante’s control shattered. A snarl ripped from his throat. His hands shot up from the sheets, fingers tangling brutally in Dabi’s dark hair, yanking his head back. The other hand clamped like a vice on Dabi’s hip, fingers digging deep into the fresh bruises. His hips pistoned upward with savage, unrestrained force, fucking up into Dabi with a power that stole the younger man’s breath. "YES!" Dante roared, the sound guttural, inhuman. "Fucking perfect! Taking it… taking me so deep… best goddamn hole I’ve ever split open!" His thrusts turned brutal, possessive. "Mine!"
Dabi cried out, the mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure and the verbal degradation pushing him to the edge again. He met Dante’s violent upward thrusts, letting the King of Hell fuck up into him with raw, unbridled aggression, surrendering to the storm he’d deliberately unleashed. Dante’s grip on his hair was agony, his fingers on his hip felt like brands, his cock was a battering ram hitting that spot with devastating accuracy, over and over. "Yours!" Dabi gasped, the word torn from him. "All yours! Fuck! Dante!"
Dante roared, a sound that seemed to shake the stained glass, and surged up, burying himself impossibly deep. His release was volcanic, pumping into Dabi in hot, pulsing jets. The intensity triggered Dabi’s own climax instantly. He came untouched, hard ropes of cum striping Dante’s stomach and chest, his body convulsing around the thick cock still pulsing inside him.
They collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving breaths. Dante was still buried deep. His grip in Dabi’s hair loosened, but his hand remained fisted there. His other hand still pressed a bruising claim on Dabi’s hip. Dante stared up at the canopy, his expression unreadable, ancient, but his chest rose and fell rapidly. Dabi, draped over him, felt utterly shattered, conquered anew, but with the fierce, defiant knowledge of the power he’d wielded – and the terrifying depth of the inferno he’d willingly stoked. The silence stretched, thick with ozone, sex, and the echo of Dante’s guttural roar. Dante’s thumb, rough and calloused, began to trace slow, almost thoughtful circles on the abused skin of Dabi’s hip.