Chapter 50: Nightmare Calls
Dante jolted awake, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his chest heaving as if he’d sprinted through fire. The phantom scent of brimstone choked him, the echoing screams of Cain still ringing in his skull. He thrashed against the tangled sheets, the plush darkness of the Inferno Club’s private room suddenly suffocating, a velvet-lined coffin.
"Lucifer... Dabi..." His voice was a raw scrape, hands clawing at empty air where chains had been moments before in the nightmare.
Beside him, Dabi stirred, instantly alert. The shift in Dante’s breathing, the tremor shaking the bed, ripped him from sleep. "Dante? Hey, fuck, baby, look at me!" Dabi’s voice cut through the haze, rough with sleep but urgent. He was already moving, pressing his weight alongside Dante’s trembling body, anchoring him. One hand cradled Dante’s face, forcing eye contact in the dim light filtering through heavy curtains. The distant thump of music from the club below felt alien, intrusive against the intimate terror in the room. "Breathe. Just breathe with me. In... hold it... out. Yeah, like that. Good. You’re here. You’re safe. He can’t touch us here." Dabi’s thumb stroked Dante’s cheekbone, wiping away a smear of cold sweat. "It was just the dream. Just the fucking nightmare again. I’ve got you."
Dante gulped air, his wide, haunted eyes locked on Dabi’s. He could still see the cruel amusement on Lucifer’s face, feel the helpless rage as Dabi was forced to watch. The memories, freshly unearthed in his confession to Vincent, were razor-sharp. He clutched at Dabi’s arm, fingers digging in. "Saw him... saw him holding you... forcing you to watch... all of it..." His voice hitched.
"Shhh," Dabi murmured, shifting to wrap Dante fully in his arms, pressing Dante's face into the crook of his neck. He rocked him gently. "I'm right here. He didn't win, remember? You got me out. I'm here. Feel me." He guided Dante's hand to his own chest, letting him feel the steady thump of his heart under warm skin. "Solid. Real. Not back there. You brought me home." He kept murmuring reassurances, soft profanities mixed with tender words – "It's okay, baby," "I've got you," "Not letting go," "Just breathe, pretty boy" – until the violent tremors subsided, replaced by deep, shuddering breaths against Dabi's skin. Dante sagged against him, the fight draining away, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and a clinging, desperate need.
"I need you," Dante whispered, the admission raw and vulnerable against Dabi’s neck. "Need to feel you. Need to know you’re real." There was no demand, only a plea born from the lingering terror.
Dabi understood. He pressed a soft kiss to Dante’s temple. "Anything. Everything." He slid down the bed, the sheets whispering against his skin. His eyes, dark and intense in the gloom, held Dante’s as he positioned himself between Dante’s thighs. The air crackled, thick with the residue of fear and the sudden, potent shift of energy. Dante reached down, his fingers tangling gently in Dabi’s hair, not guiding, just anchoring himself. Dabi nuzzled the soft skin of Dante’s inner thigh, his breath hot, a stark contrast to the cool room. He inhaled the familiar, musky scent of him, mixed with the faint tang of dried sweat from the nightmare.
Then he lowered his mouth.
His lips brushed the base of Dante’s cock, feather-light, a whisper of contact that made Dante gasp and his hips twitch involuntarily. Dabi’s tongue followed, a slow, broad lick from root to tip, gathering the first bead of moisture that had gathered there. He savored it, the taste exploding on his tongue – salt, skin, pure Dante. He repeated the motion, slower this time, letting the flat of his tongue press firmly against the sensitive underside. Dante hissed, his fingers tightening in Dabi’s hair. "Fuck, Dabi..."
Dabi hummed, the vibration travelling straight up Dante’s shaft, making his balls tighten. He took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the swollen crown, teasing the slit, lapping at the pre-come leaking steadily now. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, a meticulous exploration. He pulled off with a wet pop, watching Dante’s cock bob against his stomach, gleaming in the faint light. "So fucking hard already for me," he murmured, his voice thick.
"Always for you," Dante choked out, his head thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut then fluttering open to watch. "Only you."
Dabi rewarded him by taking him deeper, sinking down inch by torturously slow inch. His lips stretched wide, creating a tight, wet seal. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking firmly as he pulled back, then plunged down again, deeper this time, hitting the back of his throat. He relaxed, letting the thick head nudge into that tight space, the stretch making his own cock throb in response. He held it there for a heartbeat, Dante’s strangled groan filling the room, then pulled back to just the tip before swallowing him down again, establishing a rhythm that was slow, deep, and devastatingly thorough.
He worked Dante with his whole mouth, tongue pressing and swirling along the veins, the sensitive frenulum. He used his hand too, cupping Dante’s balls, rolling them gently in his palm, applying just enough pressure to make Dante arch off the bed with a guttural cry. "Christ, Dabi! Your fucking mouth... feels like heaven..." Dante panted, his hips lifting involuntarily, seeking more.
Dabi moaned around him, the vibration intensifying the sensation. He looked up, meeting Dante’s fevered gaze. Seeing the raw need, the lingering fear replaced by consuming pleasure, spurred him on. He sucked harder, faster, bobbing his head with increasing urgency, his free hand sliding down to press firmly against the tense muscle behind Dante’s balls. Dante cried out, a wordless sound of pure ecstasy.
"Yeah... just like that... taking it so deep, baby," Dante rasped, his voice wrecked. He thrust shallowly, unable to resist the exquisite pressure, the wet heat engulfing him. "My perfect boy... so good... such a fucking good boy for me..." Each praise spilled from him, guttural and possessive. "Look at you... sucking my cock like you were born for it... my pretty, pretty boy..." He tugged gently on Dabi’s hair, not to force, but to connect, to feel the submission, the devotion in every flick of Dabi’s tongue, every deep swallow. "Gonna fill that perfect mouth... gonna come so hard down your throat..."
Dabi’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss at the words, the praise hitting him as hard as the physical act. He doubled down, taking Dante to the hilt again, holding him deep as he swallowed convulsively, his nose buried in dark curls. The pressure, the heat, the rhythmic suction was relentless, overwhelming. Dante could feel the coil in his gut winding impossibly tight, a pressure building beyond bearing. Every nerve was alight, every muscle tensed like a bowstring. Dabi’s mouth was a silken vice, his tongue a masterful tormentor.
"Fuck! Dabi! I’m—" Dante’s warning was cut off by his own choked gasp as the orgasm detonated. He surged up off the bed, back arching violently as thick pulses of come shot deep into Dabi’s throat. Dabi held him there, swallowing urgently, drinking him down, milking every last spurt with firm sucks, his throat working against the head of Dante’s cock. The intensity forced a ragged sob from Dante, his body convulsing with the aftershocks. "God... yes... take it all... good boy... my good, pretty boy..." he gasped, trembling uncontrollably.
Dabi gentled his mouth, lapping softly, cleaning him with tender swipes of his tongue until Dante shuddered from oversensitivity. Only then did he slowly pull off, resting his cheek against Dante’s damp thigh, breathing heavily. He looked up, lips swollen and glistening, a stray drop of white tracing a path down his chin. His eyes were wide, dark pools reflecting the raw intimacy of the moment, the fear finally banished, replaced by sated exhaustion and profound connection. Dante reached down, his hand trembling, and gently wiped the drop away with his thumb. His breath was still coming in ragged bursts, his body humming with spent energy, but the terror in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, drowsy warmth. The frantic pulse of the club below was just a distant echo now, muffled by the heavy velvet and the shared heat radiating between their bodies. Dabi shifted, crawling back up the bed to collapse beside him, pressing his face into Dante’s shoulder. Their legs tangled automatically, skin sticking slightly with sweat. Dante wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close, burying his nose in Dabi’s hair, inhaling the scent of sex and his lover. No words were needed. The frantic beating of their hearts gradually slowed, syncing into a steady, shared rhythm in the quiet dark. The ghosts were silenced, held at bay by the simple, vital proof of each other’s presence.