Chapter 4: Bound Inferno
The silence in the grand chamber wasn’t empty. It throbbed with the muffled bass from below, the crackle of dying embers in the ornate fireplace, and the harsh, synchronized rasp of two sets of lungs hauling air back into ravaged bodies. Dante’s hand, still fisted loosely in Dabi’s sweat-damp hair, slowly relaxed. His thumb resumed its slow, almost contemplative circle on the fresh bruise blooming on Dabi’s hip, a possessive counterpoint to the fading tremors running through the younger man’s frame.
Dabi remained slumped against Dante’s chest, the heat radiating off the demon prince’s skin a brand against his own. He could feel Dante’s spent cock still nestled deep inside him, a heavy, intimate weight. The raw ache was profound, a delicious echo of the brutal claiming against the door and the fierce, unexpected ride that followed. Power still hummed in his veins from turning the tables, a reckless, intoxicating thrill. But beneath it, a deeper exhaustion settled, bone-deep and strangely vulnerable.
He pushed himself upright, wincing as the movement pulled at abused muscles and tender flesh. Dante released his hair, letting his hand fall back to the black silk sheets, his ancient eyes tracking Dabi’s every move with unnerving intensity. Dabi dismounted, Dante’s cock slipping free with a wet sound that made his cheeks flush. He stood on shaky legs beside the massive bed, the cool air hitting his sweat-slicked skin, the room’s shadows seeming to press in. Dante remained sprawled, a dark god resting after a satisfying hunt, his gaze never leaving Dabi.
"Gotta piss," Dabi muttered, the roughness in his voice a testament to choked screams. He didn’t wait for a response, stumbling towards a heavy mahogany door he assumed led to a bathroom. The brief respite, the splash of cold water on his face, the sight of his own flushed skin and bruised throat in the mirror – it sharpened the edge of defiance again. He’d made Dante roar. He’d made him lose control. He wasn’t just Dante’s plaything.
When he emerged, Dante hadn’t moved. He lay there, tattooed chest rising and falling steadily, watching Dabi approach the bed with a predator’s patience. The air crackled with unspoken challenge. Dabi stopped at the foot of the bed, his gaze sweeping over Dante’s powerful form. A slow, dangerous smile spread across Dante’s lips.
"Coming back for more, brat?" Dante’s voice was a low, lazy rumble, thick with post-coital satisfaction and an underlying threat. "Thought you might be running scared after that."
Dabi’s eyes narrowed. The condescension sparked the tinder. "Scared?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of you? Nah. Just figuring out how to make you squirm harder." He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto the thick, silk cords binding the black velvet canopy posts. His fingers trailed over the cool, heavy fabric. Strong. Luxurious. Perfect.
He looked back at Dante, a feral glint igniting in his blue eyes. "Lie still, old man."
Dante’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before melting back into amused arrogance. "Oh? Bossy now, are we?" He didn’t resist as Dabi grasped his left wrist, pulling it firmly towards the nearest post. There was a coiled strength in Dante’s arm, undeniable, but he allowed Dabi to maneuver it. Dabi looped one silk cord tightly around Dante’s wrist, pulling it taut against the carved mahogany post. The knot was clumsy, functional, fueled by adrenaline. He repeated the action with Dante’s right wrist, securing it to the opposite post. Dante’s arms were pulled wide, muscles flexing subtly against the restraints, his chest fully exposed.
"Comfortable?" Dabi asked, his voice deceptively light. He moved down the bed. Dante watched him, the amusement deepening, mixed now with a tangible heat. Dabi grabbed Dante’s ankle, the skin hot under his touch. He yanked it outwards, pulling Dante’s leg wide. The thick satin cord snaked around Dante’s ankle, then lashed it firmly to the bedpost at the corner. Dante let out a low chuckle, a sound that vibrated in the stillness. Dabi moved to the other leg, securing it with the same brutal efficiency, spreading Dante obscenely wide open on the black silk.
He stood back. The sight hit him like a physical blow. Dante Morningstar, the owner of this den of sin, the man whose presence commanded entire rooms, bound spread-eagle on his own sacrificial altar of a bed. His powerful body was on display, utterly vulnerable, yet radiating a terrifying, untamed energy. His cock, already thickening again despite the recent release, lay heavy against his thigh. The intricate tattoos swirled over strained muscle and heaving ribs. His stretched earlobes, the glint of metal in his nipples and navel, the sheer, primal masculinity of him laid bare – it was breathtaking. A dark thrill, potent and dangerous, surged through Dabi.
Dabi smirked, a slow curl of satisfaction. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly down Dante’s chest, tracing the lines of ink, feeling the powerful thud of his heart beneath. Dante’s breath hitched, the first crack in the facade of amusement. Dabi’s nails scraped lower, over the tight ridges of his abdomen, leaving faint red trails on the sweat-slicked skin.
"Fuck," Dabi breathed, his voice dropping to a husky purr as he reached Dante’s straining cock. He wrapped his hand loosely around the base, feeling the thick, hot weight jump against his palm. He looked up, meeting Dante’s eyes. Hellfire burned there, intense and challenging, but beneath it… something else. A flicker of surprise. Anticipation. The loss of control Dabi had forced moments ago hadn't been an illusion. "Fuck, you’re pretty like this," Dabi murmured, squeezing lightly, watching Dante’s jaw clench. "All tied up. All mine."
He released Dante’s cock and placed both hands on Dante’s thighs, just above where the satin cords bit into the powerful muscles. Dante tensed, his gaze locked on Dabi’s face. Dabi climbed onto the bed, straddling Dante’s hips. He positioned himself deliberately, his own hard cock brushing against Dante’s stomach, the head slick with pre-cum. He reached behind him, fingers finding his own entrance still stretched and wet from their earlier encounters. He gathered the slickness, mingling it with his own arousal, before wrapping his hand firmly around Dante’s thick length again, guiding the swollen, leaking head to his hole.
Dante hissed, a sharp intake of breath as the hot, blunt pressure met Dabi’s entrance. Dabi held him there, just the tip pressing against the sensitive ring of muscle. He looked down, watching Dante’s face, seeing the anticipation war with the primal need to thrust upwards.
"Still eager?" Dabi teased, his voice a low rasp. He hovered, letting the pressure build, feeling Dante’s cock pulse against him. Dante’s wrists strained subtly against the silk restraints. The cords creaked. Dabi saw the tendons in Dante’s neck stand out, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. He could break them, Dabi thought suddenly, a jolt of adrenaline spiking through him. He could snap these cords like thread if he wanted. The knowledge made the power surging through him feel terrifyingly fragile, a high-wire act over an abyss.
He didn't want to. Dante wanted this. The realization was a drug.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Dabi began to lower himself. He took only the fat, swollen head, letting it stretch him just past the initial resistance. A low groan tore from Dante’s throat, his hips lifting slightly off the bed, seeking more. Dabi held him there, grinding down in tiny, torturous circles. "Patience," he whispered, watching Dante’s eyes squeeze shut, his breath escaping in a ragged gasp. He rose up a fraction, denying him, then sank down again, taking another inch of thick, hot length. The stretch burned, glorious and demanding. Dante’s cock felt impossibly large, filling him, stretching him wider than before.
"Fuck… Dabi…" Dante’s voice was gravel, strained. His eyes flew open, blazing. "Stop fucking teasing."
"Make me," Dabi breathed, rising up again until only the tip remained inside. He held Dante’s gaze, a challenge and a promise. He saw the struggle in Dante’s eyes, the ancient being forced to endure a mortal’s pace. He slammed down, sheathing Dante to the root in one brutal, plunging motion.
Dante roared. A raw, guttural sound that vibrated the air. His entire body arched off the bed, straining against the silk cords, muscles standing out in stark relief. The cords groaned louder, pulled taut to their limit. Dabi gasped, the sudden, overwhelming fullness stealing his breath, the impact jolting through his core. He didn’t move. He stayed impaled, clenching tight around the massive intrusion, absorbing the feel of Dante buried impossibly deep inside him.
He looked down. Dante’s head was thrown back against the silk, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent snarl. Every muscle in his body was rigid, trembling with the effort of holding back, of enduring the torturous slowness Dabi imposed. Sweat glistened on his heaving chest. The King of Hell, bound and mastered by sensation, by the relentless, deliberate pace of a stubborn mortal.
Dabi began to move. Not fast. Not hard. Agonizingly slow. He rose, feeling every ridge, every thick inch of Dante’s cock drag against his sensitized inner walls, pulling out until just the head remained. He paused, hovering, letting Dante feel the emptiness, the cool air against the slick heat. Then, with excruciating deliberation, he sank back down. Millimeter by burning millimeter, taking him back in, stretching himself anew with each fraction of descent. He controlled every movement, every breath, every stifled groan that escaped Dante’s lips.
Dante’s eyes flew open. They held no amusement now, only a wild, feral hunger and a dawning, furious respect. His hips jerked involuntarily, a desperate, aborted thrust against the restraints. "Goddamn you… move!" he snarled, the words choked.
Dabi smiled, a slow, wicked thing. He continued his torturous ascent, then descent. He varied the pace – a fraction faster one time, excruciatingly slow the next, grinding deep when he was fully seated until Dante’s breath hitched and his fingers clawed at the silk binding his wrists. He watched Dante unravel, watched the ancient composure fracture under the weight of sensation meticulously controlled. Sweat poured down Dante’s temples, his chest. Low, guttural sounds, half-growls, half-pleas, escaped his clenched teeth.
"Like this?" Dabi murmured, his own voice tight with the effort of control and the overwhelming pleasure-pain radiating from his core. He sank down again, taking Dante deep, grinding his hips in a slow circle. "This what you wanted when you dragged me up here, old man? To be taken?" He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Dante’s chest, his nails digging into hard muscle. He moved faster, a fraction, just enough to build the heat but not enough to grant release. "To be fucked slow and deep while you can't do a damn thing about it?"
Dante’s response was a wordless roar, his body straining violently against the bonds. The silk cords creaked like overstressed rigging. His cock swelled impossibly harder inside Dabi, pulsing with desperate need. His eyes burned into Dabi’s, a stark mixture of fury, awe, and all-consuming lust. "Fucking… brat!" he gasped, the word a ragged exhalation. "You… you have no idea… what you’re playing with."
Dabi slammed down hard, bottoming out, and held himself there, grinding deep, feeling Dante tremble beneath him. He met the hellfire gaze, unflinching, the power thrumming through him a heady, dangerous wine. "Show me," he breathed, his voice raw and defiant. "Break free and show me. Or shut up… and take it." He began to move again, setting a rhythm that was pure torment, slow, deep, deliberate, each downward stroke a claiming, each rise a denial, watching Dante’s eyes roll back in his head as he was forced to endure.
The ancient silk groaned in protest, fibers straining against demonic tendons bunched like steel cables beneath sweat-slicked skin. Dabi rode him with excruciating control, each descent a slow-motion plunge onto that thick, burning cock, each rise a lingering torture that left Dante gasping, hollowed out, then brutally refilled. Dabi watched, mesmerized, as Dante’s head thrashed against the black silk, veins standing out like dark rivers on his neck, his teeth bared in a silent snarl that wasn't anger, but agony of restraint. "Fuck... your... pace," Dante ground out, each word ripped from him, his hips jerking in futile, aborted thrusts against the satin bonds digging into his ankles. "Move, goddamn you! Fucking move!"
Dabi leaned forward, nails scoring red lines down Dante’s heaving chest, relishing the sharp hiss it earned. "Make me," he breathed, grinding his hips in a tight, vicious circle, feeling Dante’s cock twitch violently deep inside him. He held himself still, buried to the hilt, savoring the tremors wracking the powerful body beneath him. "Thought you liked it slow? Savouring the moment?" He punctuated it with another slow, deliberate lift, drawing a guttural roar from Dante as the thick head stretched his rim. "Or does the King of the fucking Inferno not like being tied down?"
Dante’s eyes snapped open, blazing like banked hellfire. "You don't know what you're playing with, boy," he snarled, the words dripping venom and dark promise, his biceps flexing violently. One cord at his left wrist twanged, snapping taut with the sound of tearing fabric. Dabi’s breath hitched. He could break them. He’s letting me do this. The thought sent a fresh wave of reckless power surging through him, hotter than the cock splitting him open.
"Show me then," Dabi challenged, his voice dropping low, dangerous. "Break free and show me what you really want." He slammed down hard, impaling himself, forcing a choked gasp from Dante. "Or shut the fuck up and take what I give you." He started moving again, faster now, abandoning the tormenting slowness for deep, demanding strokes that punched the air from Dante’s lungs. Slap. Slap. Slap. The wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the chamber, counterpoint to Dante’s ragged, involuntary groans. Dabi pistoned himself, sweat stinging his eyes, his own cock leaking against Dante’s stomach, the relentless friction inside him building a brutal pressure.
Dante threw his head back, a strangled cry escaping him. His right wrist wrenched against the silk restraint. The cord frayed visibly, threads popping. "Gonna... fucking... ruin you!" he gasped, his voice thick with strain and building ecstasy. His hips surged off the bed, meeting Dabi’s downward plunge with savage force, no longer passive, fighting the bonds to fuck upwards into that tight, scorching heat. "Gonna break you... over... my cock!"
The raw threat, mixed with the brutal invasion, ignited Dabi. He cried out, nails digging deeper into Dante’s chest as the pace became a frantic, punishing race. He rode the surging power beneath him, each downward stroke met by an upward thrust that hammered his prostate relentlessly. Pleasure, white-hot and jagged, tore through him, erasing thought. Dante wasn't enduring anymore; he was taking, fighting the restraints to claim the rhythm, to bury himself impossibly deep with each violent drive of his hips. "Mine!" Dante roared, the sound shaking the gilded frames on the walls. "Fucking... mine!"
The final fraying cord at his right wrist gave way with a sharp snap. Dante’s hand shot free, grabbing Dabi’s hip with crushing force, fingers digging into the fresh bruises, pulling him down hard onto the next brutal thrust. The sudden, overwhelming intensity shattered Dabi. His vision whited out as orgasm ripped through him, cock jerking violently, spilling hot streaks across Dante’s sweat-slicked abs and chest in thick, pulsing ropes. He convulsed, clenching viscously around the cock still pistoning inside him, a keening wail tearing from his throat.
Dante roared, a primal sound of triumph and release. His free hand slammed into the mattress, hauling his hips up one final, devastating time as he buried himself to the root. Hot seed flooded Dabi’s depths in powerful, pulsing jets, a scalding, possessive claim. Dante held him there, impaled, shuddering, his one free hand a bruising brand on Dabi’s hip as he emptied himself. The thick spill seeped out around the base of his cock, staining the silk beneath them. Dabi collapsed forward onto Dante’s heaving chest, utterly spent, trembling, the raw scent of sex and sweat overwhelming.
Silence descended, heavy and thick, broken only by their ragged gasps echoing in the cavernous room. Dante’s free hand, still gripping Dabi’s hip, relaxed fractionally, his thumb tracing the edge of a deep bruise. His other wrist still strained against the remaining silk cord. His chest rose and fell beneath Dabi’s cheek like a bellows, the ancient power within him a palpable thrum against Dabi’s skin. Slowly, Dante lifted his head. His eyes, when they met Dabi’s dazed gaze, were dark, fathomless pools, holding a terrifying intensity beyond mere satisfaction. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips, still gasping for breath.
"Told you," Dante rasped, the Detroit grit thick in his voice, his thumb pressing hard into the bruise, making Dabi flinch. "Just... getting... fucking started." He released Dabi’s hip, his freed hand rising. Not to touch him gently. His fingers, strong and calloused, closed around the silk cord still binding his other wrist. With a single, contemptuous tug, the heavy silk tore like paper. He brought both hands to Dabi’s shoulders. The grip wasn't tender. It promised possession. Control reclaimed. "Your turn to lie still, pretty boy," Dante murmured, the words a dark caress against Dabi’s temple. He shifted his weight, rolling them both with terrifying ease, pinning Dabi beneath him on the ruined silk. The heat in his eyes wasn't just lust now; it was the simmering promise of retribution, of a game changing its rules. Dabi stared up, trapped beneath the ancient weight, the cold stone floor a distant memory beneath the yielding mattress, the taste of power he'd held moments ago turning to ashes in his mouth, replaced by a thrilling, terrifying anticipation of what came next. Dante’s gaze locked onto his throat.