Chapter 32: Horned Ruination
A couple of days later, the library was quiet, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and that faint, ever-present trace of sulfur. Dabi leaned against one of the towering bookshelves, his arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Dante across the room. The demon was bent over an ancient tome, his broad shoulders tense, his dark hair falling into his face. Dabi’s eyes traced the lines of Dante’s tattoos, the way they coiled around his arms and disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. He cleared his throat, loud enough to break the silence.
Dante didn’t look up immediately, but Dabi could see the corner of his mouth twitch. "You’re staring," Dante said, his voice low, that Detroit rasp making the words vibrate in the air. "Got something to say, or you just here to admire the view?"
Dabi pushed off the shelf, sauntering closer. "Maybe I’m just wondering if you’re as good at reading as you are at fucking," he said, his tone teasing but edged with challenge. He stopped just behind Dante, close enough to feel the heat radiating off the demon’s body.
Dante closed the book with a sharp snap, turning to face him. His grey eyes were dark, dangerous, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. "Careful, Dabi," he said, his voice a low growl. "You keep poking the beast, you might not like what comes out to play."
Dabi met his gaze, unflinching. "I think I’ll take my chances," he said, his voice dropping, a challenge in his tone. He reached out, his fingers brushing Dante’s chest, tracing the edge of one of the tattoos. "Unless you’re scared."
Dante’s hand shot out, grabbing Dabi’s wrist in a grip that was firm but not painful. "Scared?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble. He stepped closer, crowding Dabi back against the desk. "You’re the one who came back, little prince. You’re the one who keeps asking for it."
Dabi’s breath hitched, but he didn’t back down. "Maybe I like the way you give it," he said, his voice a little unsteady but still defiant. His free hand reached up, tangling in Dante’s hair, pulling him down until their lips were inches apart. "Prove me wrong."
Dante’s growl was savage, feral. His claws dug into Dabi’s hips, lifting him off the ground and slamming him down onto the desk with brutal efficiency. Ancient tomes crashed to the floor, their pages fluttering like wounded birds. Dante spread Dabi’s thighs wide, his grip unyielding, his eyes burning with dark, possessive hunger. "You came back for this cock," he growled, his voice raw with need. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease. He slammed home in one vicious thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Dabi’s back arched off the desk, a scream tearing from his throat, but Dante’s mouth crashed over his, swallowing the sound. The kiss was brutal, all teeth and tongue, a claiming as deep and undeniable as the thrust of his cock. Dabi’s hands scrabbled at Dante’s shoulders, his nails digging in, trying to anchor himself against the onslaught. Dante’s claws left deep marks on his hips, the pain sharp and electric, mixing with the overwhelming fullness, the brutal, unrelenting force of Dante’s thrusts.
"You wanted it," Dante snarled against his lips, his voice rough, guttural. "You fucking begged for it." His hips snapped forward, each stroke deliberate, punishing, driving Dabi closer to the edge with every movement. "Take it. Take every fucking inch."
Dabi’s head fell back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was stretched impossibly wide, filled to the brim, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Dante’s cock was a relentless force, hitting that spot inside him with unerring accuracy, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He could feel the heat building, coiling tight in his gut, threatening to explode. "Dante," he gasped, his voice breaking. "Fuck, Dante—"
Dante’s hand wrapped around his throat, not tight enough to cut off his air, but enough to remind him who was in control. "Say it," Dante growled, his voice a dark command. "Say you’re mine."
Dabi’s eyes met his, wide and desperate. "Yours," he choked out, the word barely audible. "I’m yours."
Dante’s grin was feral, triumphant. He leaned down, his breath hot against Dabi’s ear. "Good boy," he whispered, the words a dark caress. His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself deep as he came with a low, guttural groan. Dabi followed him over the edge, his body convulsing, his release spilling hot between them.
For a moment, the only sound in the library was their harsh breathing, the crackle of the fire, the faint rustle of fallen pages. Dante leaned over him, his hands braced on the desk, his body still pressed against Dabi’s. "You’re mine," he said again, his voice low, possessive. "Never forget that."
Dabi’s fingers tangled in Dante’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender. "I won’t," he murmured against his lips. "I’m yours."
The taste of Dante’s mouth, the lingering salt of his own release, mixed with the iron tang of blood where their teeth had clashed. Dabi held Dante’s gaze, the “I’m yours” still vibrating in the charged air between them, raw and undeniable. Dante’s eyes, molten grey, deepened, swirling with something ancient and possessive, the pupils expanding until they seemed to swallow the light. A low, resonant thrum filled the room, vibrating up through the desk beneath Dabi’s back. Pressure built at Dante’s temples, a palpable thickening of the air around his skull.
Then, they erupted. Obsidian horns, thick at the base and curving wickedly back, pushed through Dante’s skin like polished night. Dark veins pulsed beneath their surface, catching the firelight. Dante snarled, a primal sound, the emergence intensifying the raw energy coiling within him. His claws scraped deeper into Dabi’s hips, drawing fresh beads of crimson.
A reckless thrill shot through Dabi, overriding the lingering ache. He acted on pure instinct, a surge of defiant possession meeting Dante’s own. His hands flew from Dante’s shoulders, fingers splaying wide before closing tightly around the base of the newly emerged horns. The obsidian was unnervingly warm, almost alive beneath his palms, smooth with ridges where they curved. He held on, anchoring himself, meeting Dante’s wide, momentarily stunned eyes.
A shockwave of sensation rocked Dante. No one touched the horns. Ever. It was an intimacy deeper than flesh, a claim on his very essence. A guttural roar tore from him, not of pain, but of overwhelming, unexpected sensation. It was a violation and an offering, a surrender and a conquest all at once. His hips, which had momentarily stilled, snapped forward with renewed, brutal force, driving his still-hard cock impossibly deep. "Fuck!" Dante bellowed, the sound shaking dust from the high shelves. His control frayed, shredded by the dual assault of Dabi’s grip and the relentless friction. "You—fucking—dare—!"
Dabi gasped, the sheer force driving the air from his lungs, the stretch and burn white-hot. Yet, he tightened his grip on the horns, using them as leverage to push back against Dante’s thrusts, meeting power with resistance. He arched into the punishing rhythm, his own neglected cock leaking against Dante’s belly. "Yeah!" Dabi gasped, the defiance back, laced with desperate need. "Show me… what you got… King." He dug his thumbs into the ridges near the base of the horns.
The title, the challenge, the audacious grip on his crown – it shattered Dante’s remaining restraint. He became pure, driving need. His thrusts turned jackhammer-fast, brutal pistons slamming Dabi down into the wood with each deep plunge. He fucked into the tight, clutching heat with a savagery that bordered on violence, the desk groaning beneath them. Sweat slicked both their bodies, mingling with the blood on Dabi’s hips. The wet slap of skin, Dante’s ragged growls, Dabi’s choked cries – they filled the cavernous space.
Dabi was lost, overwhelmed, the world narrowing to the searing stretch, the driving force above him, and the solid, burning reality of the horns in his fists. Pleasure and pain fused into a single, unbearable wire pulled taut. He felt Dante swelling impossibly thicker inside him, the telltale pulse signalling the edge. Dante’s rhythm stuttered, became erratic, his control fraying completely under the assault on his senses. His massive cock throbbed, a hammer against Dabi’s core. "Take it," Dante snarled, the words ripped from him. "Take my fucking come! Swallow it all, you greedy little—"
He buried himself to the root, grinding deep, a shudder wracking his frame. "Good boy," the praise ripped from Dante’s throat, raw and guttural, almost lost in a groan. "Fucking good boy, Dabi! Taking my cock like a perfect fucking whore!"
The words detonated within Dabi. A high, keening moan tore from his throat, utterly involuntary, raw and desperate, louder than any sound he’d made before. It wasn’t just pleasure from the brutal fucking; it was the visceral, electric jolt from those specific words, the dark approval hitting him like a drug. His body convulsed, untouched cock spurting hot stripes across his belly and chest in helpless pulses as Dante’s own release flooded him deep, thick and scalding, branding him from the inside out.
Dante froze, buried to the hilt, feeling Dabi’s inner muscles clenching and milking him through the pulses. He felt the tremor that shook Dabi at the praise, heard the desperate edge of that moan echoing the words. His eyes, burning like coals, locked onto Dabi’s glazed ones. The possessive fury of moments before shifted, sharpened into something else. Recognition. A slow, dark smile touched Dante’s lips, sharp and knowing. Oh, little prince, he thought, the realization settling deep and dark within him. You like that more than I ever fucking dreamed. He held Dabi’s hips down, keeping him impaled as he rode out the last shudders. "Yeah," Dante breathed, the word thick with satisfaction and this new, dangerous awareness. "Good boy." He watched Dabi’s eyelids flutter at the repetition, the faintest whimper escaping his swollen lips.
He watched Dabi’s eyelids flutter at the repetition, the faintest whimper escaping his swollen lips. Dante withdrew slowly, his thick cock slick with spend, leaving Dabi clenching around emptiness. The cool library air hit their sweat-sheened skin. Dabi shuddered, his breath hitching as he stared up at the obsidian horns, the dark veins pulsing softly in the firelight. Blood welled from the fresh claw marks on his hips, mixing with sweat and come on the scarred wood.
Dante’s thumb brushed Dabi’s lower lip, smearing a drop of blood. "Hurt?" he asked, his Detroit rasp unusually quiet. Dabi shook his head, not trusting his voice, his gaze locked on Dante’s. The demon’s expression wasn’t soft, but the predatory edge had shifted. He saw the raw vulnerability Dabi couldn’t hide – the tremble in his thighs, the dilation of his pupils, the way his body still arched slightly off the desk seeking contact. "Good boy," Dante murmured again, testing. Dabi’s breath caught audibly, a tremor running through him. A dark, possessive satisfaction settled deep in Dante’s chest. Mine.
He leaned down, caging Dabi in with his arms. Instead of claiming him with teeth again, Dante paused, his eyes searching Dabi’s. "Look at me," he commanded softly. When Dabi obeyed, Dante closed the distance. His lips met Dabi’s not with hunger, but with a heavy, deliberate intensity. It was slow, deep, and startlingly open. Dante’s tongue traced the seam of Dabi’s mouth before sliding inside, a deliberate invasion tempered by undeniable feeling. Dabi gasped into it, his hands lifting hesitantly to Dante’s jaw, fingers brushing the rough stubble near the base of his horns. The kiss tasted of blood, salt, and something uniquely them – a dark, desperate connection forged on that desk.
Dabi melted into it, his defiance evaporating. He kissed back with a clumsy, aching passion, his fingers tangling in Dante’s hair near the horns. The possessive grip Dante had maintained on his hips loosened, sliding up to cradle the small of his back, pulling him closer against the solid heat of Dante’s body. The kiss deepened, less about taking and more about sharing breath, a raw, wordless communion amidst the wreckage of fallen books and their own spent bodies. Dante’s groan vibrated against Dabi’s mouth, low and resonant. "Fuck, Dabi," he breathed against his lips when they finally parted for air, their foreheads resting together. "You wreck me."
Dabi’s laugh was breathless, shaky. "Pot calling the kettle black, Morningstar." He traced the curve of Dante’s horn with a tentative fingertip, the obsidian warm and humming faintly. "Didn’t know… kissing you felt like that." Dante nipped his bottom lip, a sharp, quick sting. "Don't get used to it, prince," he growled, but the rough edge was blunted by the arm tightening around Dabi’s back. "Just needed to taste you properly." He shifted, his cock, still half-hard, nudging against Dabi’s spent thigh. "See what all that pretty noise was really about."
Dabi flushed, the heat spreading down his neck. "Shut up," he muttered, burying his face against Dante’s throat. The scent of sulfur and sex and Dante filled his senses. Dante chuckled, the sound a dark rumble Dabi felt against his cheek. "Make me." He tilted Dabi’s chin up again. Their eyes locked, Dante’s burning with that ancient, possessive fire. "Say it again." Dabi didn’t hesitate this time. "Yours." The word was raw, final. Dante kissed him once more, hard and brief, sealing the promise. Then his arms slid under Dabi’s knees and back. "Got you," he murmured, lifting him effortlessly off the ruined desk. Dabi curled into Dante's chest, exhaustion and a strange, fierce contentment pulling him under as the demon carried him away from the library, the firelight casting long, moving shadows behind them.