Chapter 47: Reclaiming After The Pain
Consciousness seeped back into Dante slowly, a viscous tide pushing through the residue of unnatural sleep. The first sensation was warmth. Solid, grounding warmth pressed along his side, radiating through the thin cotton of his sleep pants. Then came the dull, persistent ache – ribs protesting, muscles stiff, the phantom sting deep within his core where Lucifer had carved. But above it all, anchoring him firmly in the present, was the familiar scent: ozone, faint smoke, and beneath it, something uniquely Dabi – sharp, clean, like lightning-scorched earth after rain.
He blinked, the borrowed grey eye adjusting instantly to the dimness, revealing the stark white bandages wrapped around his torso. The other eye, his own stormy amber, felt gritty, reluctant. He turned his head carefully on the pillow. Dabi. Curled on his side facing Dante, one arm thrown loosely over Dante’s waist, fingers resting lightly, protectively, near the edge of the bandages. His blue hair was tousled, dark lashes fanned against pale skin, lips slightly parted in deep, untroubled sleep. The fierce protector, momentarily surrendered. A wave of something profound, terrifyingly tender, washed over Dante. Here was his anchor. His chosen anchor.
He didn't speak. Words felt clumsy, unnecessary. Instead, he shifted infinitesimally closer, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. He lifted his hand, bandaged knuckles brushing a stray lock of blue hair from Dabi’s forehead. The touch was feather-light, but Dabi stirred. A soft sigh escaped him, eyes fluttering open, instantly alert despite the sleep clinging to them. Blue met amber in the gloom.
"Hey," Dabi mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His hand flexed gently on Dante’s waist. "You okay? Pain?"
Dante didn’t answer with words. He surged forward, closing the small gap between them. His mouth found Dabi’s in a kiss that wasn’t gentle, but wasn’t fierce either. It was deep, claiming, a slow, deliberate claiming of territory already willingly ceded. He poured everything into it – the lingering terror, the bone-deep exhaustion, the fierce, possessive relief at simply being here, alive, touching Dabi. His tongue slid against Dabi’s, tasting sleep and the faint metallic tang of his own power. Dabi responded instantly, a low groan vibrating in his chest as he pressed closer, his arm tightening around Dante’s waist, his free hand tangling in Dante’s dark hair.
When Dante finally pulled back, breath ragged, his lips swollen, Dabi’s eyes were wide, pupils blown dark with desire and lingering concern. "Dante… fuck," he breathed. "You sure? I don’t wanna hurt you… the ribs…"
"Yes." Dante’s voice was rough, gravel scraping over velvet. He kissed Dabi again, harder this time, nipping at his lower lip. "Need you. Need this. Need to feel you." His hand slid down Dabi’s back, beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping the firm muscle of his ass, pulling him flush against Dante’s aching erection. The friction, even through layers of fabric, drew a sharp hiss from Dante. "Fuck, Dabi… Need you."
Dabi shuddered, the last vestiges of sleep evaporating. The worry was still there, etched in the tightness around his eyes, but it was overridden by the raw heat Dante ignited. "Okay," he breathed against Dante’s mouth. "Okay, yeah. Just… tell me. Tell me if it hurts."
Dante’s answering smile was wolfish. He guided Dabi with hands that trembled only slightly with the effort, maneuvering him with surprising strength until Dabi was straddling Dante’s lap. Dante hissed again as Dabi’s weight settled fully, the pressure on his ribs a sharp spike. "Easy," Dabi murmured instantly, shifting his hips back slightly to lessen the pressure. His hands hovered uncertainly over Dante’s bandaged chest. "Where…?"
"Here," Dante rasped, guiding Dabi’s hands to his shoulders. "Just… hold here." He leaned back against the headboard, his gaze locked on Dabi’s face, illuminated by the city's neon glow bleeding through the curtains. The air crackled between them, thick with anticipation and the scent of their arousal. Dabi leaned down, capturing Dante’s lips in another searing kiss as his hands slid down Dante’s chest, carefully avoiding the bandages, tracing the hard planes of his abdomen, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Dante’s sleep pants.
Dabi’s touch was excruciatingly careful, almost reverent, as he freed Dante’s cock. It sprang up, thick and flushed, already leaking pre-come. Dante’s breath hitched, a low groan escaping him as Dabi wrapped his long fingers around the base. "Fuck… look at you," Dabi murmured, his thumb rubbing a slick circle over the swollen head. Dante’s hips jerked involuntarily. "So fucking hard for me."
Dabi shifted, reaching for the lube Dante kept on the nightstand. The slick sound as he coated his fingers was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Dante watched, mesmerized, as Dabi prepared himself with quick, efficient movements, his gaze never leaving Dante’s face. The sight of Dabi’s fingers working himself open, the flush creeping up his neck, the bitten lip – it was almost too much. Dante’s control frayed.
"Now," Dante commanded, his voice guttural. "Fuck me, Dabi. Ride me. Fill yourself up."
Dabi nodded, his breathing shallow. He positioned himself, the head of Dante’s cock pressing against his entrance. He sank down slowly, agonizingly slowly, his face a mask of intense concentration mixed with overwhelming sensation. His inner muscles clenched instinctively, gripping Dante with shocking tightness. Dante gasped, his head thudding back against the headboard, his fists clenching the sheets. "Fuck… yes… so fucking tight… take it, baby. Take me deep."
Dabi moaned, a long, broken sound, as he bottomed out, Dante buried fully inside him. He paused, shuddering, adjusting to the thick stretch. "God… Dante…" he panted.
"Not God," Dante growled, his hips lifting in a tiny, desperate thrust. "Just me. Just us. Move. Ride me."
Dabi braced his hands back on Dante’s shoulders, the contact firm but mindful of the bandages. He began to move. Slow, deliberate rolls of his hips at first, each downward stroke a deep, grinding penetration that dragged a symphony of raw sounds from both of them. Dante’s eyes were fixed on Dabi above him – the arch of his back, the play of muscles in his abdomen, the way his blue hair fell across his forehead, sweat already beading on his temples. Every cautious lift and slow sink sent waves of intense pleasure-pain radiating from Dante’s core, but beneath the physical ache was a profound sense of connection, a grounding force stronger than the pain.
"You feel… so fucking good," Dante groaned, his voice ragged with need. His hands slid up Dabi’s thighs, gripping hard. "So perfect wrapped around me." He watched the rhythmic clench of Dabi’s ass as he moved. "Taking my cock so well… Fuck, Dabi… Good boy."
The words, low and possessive, hit Dabi like a physical jolt. A full-body shudder wracked him, and a choked moan tore from his throat. His rhythm faltered for a second, his hips stuttering. "Say it again," he gasped, his eyes blazing with a desperate hunger that mirrored Dante’s own.
Dante smiled, a feral, possessive curl of his lips. He lifted his hips, meeting Dabi’s next downward stroke with a thrust that punched the air from Dabi’s lungs. "My good boy," Dante growled, the pressure building at the base of his spine, the ancient power surging. "Taking it deep… riding me so fucking beautifully… My good boy."
As the words spilled from him, raw and dominant, the air around Dante’s skull crackled. With a visceral, almost audible push, the base of his skull throbbed, and then his horns erupted. Not slowly, but in a sudden, powerful surge – thick, obsidian-black spirals curling back from his temples, sharp-tipped and gleaming dully in the dim light. The sensation was intense, a release of pent-up energy intertwined with his arousal.
Dabi froze for a split second, eyes wide, momentarily startled by the sudden manifestation. Then, without hesitation, driven by instinct and the raw need Dante’s praise ignited, he reached up. His hands, careful everywhere else, gripped the bases of Dante’s horns firmly. The contact was electric. Dante threw his head back with a roar that was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The sensation was indescribable – intensely intimate, deeply primal. It wasn't just physical; it was a claiming, a grounding, a connection that bypassed thought and went straight to the core of his demonic being.
"Yes!" Dante gasped, his voice shattered. "Fuck, Dabi! Hold them! Hold my fucking horns, baby!" His hips pistoned upward, abandoning caution, driving deep into Dabi’s tight heat with relentless, powerful thrusts. The pain in his ribs was a distant echo, drowned out by the overwhelming sensations: the exquisite friction of Dabi’s body gripping him, the searing pleasure-pain where Dabi’s hands anchored him by the horns, the raw, possessive pride surging through his veins. "Such a good fucking boy! Taking it… taking all of me! Mine!"
Dabi cried out, his grip tightening on the horns, using them as leverage as he met Dante’s thrusts, grinding down hard. His own cock, trapped between their bodies, left slick trails on Dante’s abdomen. The carefulness was gone, burned away by the inferno Dante had unleashed. They moved together in a frantic, desperate rhythm, the bed creaking beneath them, the air thick with the sounds of skin slapping skin, ragged gasps, and Dante’s guttural litany of praise. "Good boy… fuck, yes… so deep… my perfect fucking good boy…"
The pressure coiled tighter, unbearable, a supernova building at Dante’s core. He felt Dabi’s body clench around him impossibly tighter, heard his name ripped from Dabi’s throat in a strangled scream as Dabi came, hot stripes painting Dante’s stomach and chest. The sight, the feel, the overwhelming sensory overload – Dante’s horns throbbing under Dabi’s grip, Dabi spasming around his cock – shattered Dante’s control. With a final, brutal thrust that drove Dabi down onto him completely, Dante roared, his release tearing through him like a storm surge, filling Dabi in thick, pulsing waves. The world whited out, reduced to the searing connection, the anchoring grip on his horns, and the shuddering body collapsed against his chest.
They crashed back to earth together, gasping, trembling, slick with sweat and spend. Dabi slumped forward, his forehead resting against Dante’s collarbone, his hands still loosely tangled around the bases of Dante’s horns. Dante’s arms came around him, holding him close, one hand buried in blue hair, the other splayed possessively across the small of Dabi’s back. His horns remained, a solid, undeniable presence. The silence that followed was profound, punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the relentless, distant thump of the club below. Dante closed his eyes, pressing his lips to the top of Dabi’s head. The ache in his ribs was a dull throb now, secondary to the profound sense of peace, of fierce belonging, that settled over him like a cloak. He was broken, scarred, haunted… but held.Anchored. Here.
Dabi’s entire body felt liquefied, trembling against Dante’s heaving chest. His breath hitched, a ragged counterpoint to the frantic drumbeat of his heart. Slowly, carefully, mindful of the bandages beneath his hands and the slick mess between them, he lifted himself off Dante’s lap. The slide of Dante’s softening cock pulling free drew a sharp, oversensitive gasp from him. Dante hissed too, a complex sound mingling lingering pleasure and the sharp return of pain as pressure shifted on his ribs.
"Easy," Dabi murmured, his voice wrecked. He swung his legs shakily off the bed, feet hitting the cool floor. The movement sent tremors through his thighs. He grabbed the damp washcloth from the nightstand basin, the water lukewarm. Kneeling beside the bed, he gently wiped the cooling streaks of come from Dante’s stomach and chest, avoiding the stark white bandages with meticulous care. His touch was feather-light over Dante’s flushed skin, cleaning his own spend mixed with sweat. He dabbed briefly between his own thighs, the sensation making him shiver. Tossing the cloth aside, he crawled back onto the mattress.
He didn’t hesitate, collapsing heavily onto his side beside Dante. He immediately burrowed close, tucking his head into the curve of Dante’s neck, inhaling the scent of sex, sweat, ozone, and the faint, unsettling medicinal tang beneath. His arm slid possessively over Dante’s waist, fingers splaying low on his hip, well below the bandaged ribs. He felt Dante’s arm encircle his shoulders, pulling him tighter. Dante turned his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into Dabi’s sweat-damp blue hair. Another kiss followed, lighter, near his temple.
"You did so fucking good, baby," Dante rasped, his voice thick with exhaustion and something fiercely tender. His thumb traced the sharp line of Dabi’s jaw. "Perfect. My perfect fucking good boy." The words vibrated against Dabi’s scalp, resonating deep in his bones, reigniting a low ember of warmth in his spent core.
Dabi nuzzled deeper into Dante’s neck, the praise settling over him like a physical weight, comforting and thrilling. The possessive claim in ‘my good boy’ wasn’t dominance now, but shelter. He felt the rigid weight of Dante’s horns against his forehead begin to soften, the obsidian spirals dissolving back into nothingness as Dante’s power receded into exhausted slumber. The profound sense of safety, of being utterly wanted and anchored, loosened something fundamental inside Dabi, cracking open a well of raw emotion he usually kept barricaded. "Love you," he mumbled, the words muffled against Dante’s skin, raw and unadorned. "So damn much."
Dante’s arm tightened around him. He pressed another kiss, firm and deliberate, to the crown of Dabi’s head. His reply was a low rumble, absolute and certain, vibrating through both their bodies. "Love you, Dabi. Always." The finality of it, the sheer weight of centuries behind those simple words spoken to him, was the last anchor holding Dabi to consciousness. His eyelids felt like lead. Dante’s breathing deepened, evening out into the slow rhythm of true sleep. The distant, subterranean throb of the Inferno Club seemed to fade, replaced by the syncopated beat of their hearts and the soft sigh of shared breath. Dabi’s last conscious thought was the solid warmth of Dante against him, the echo of ‘good boy’ and ‘love you’ intertwining, before exhaustion pulled him irrevocably under, into the same dark, healing quiet.