Chapter 57: Altar of Sin
The scent of ancient stone and sex still clung to their skin, a private musk beneath the heavier assault of the Inferno Club. Bass vibrated through the soles of Dabi’s boots, a physical throb against the lingering ache deep inside him. Dante guided him through a mirrored hallway hidden behind a section of the VIP lounge, the noise morphing into a muffled roar, then suddenly deepening, taking on a sharper, more metallic edge. Dante punched a code into a discreet steel panel. Hydraulics hissed. The door slid open.
The Dungeon wasn’t what Dabi expected. Not medieval stone, but industrial chic dipped in hellfire. Polished concrete floors reflected the chaotic dance of neon tubing snaking across the high ceiling – crimson, sulfur-yellow, bruised purple. The air was thick, humid, layered with sweat, expensive cologne, ozone, leather, and something else… coppery, faintly metallic. Not the clean scent of blood, but its ghost, lingering. The bass was down here too, heavier, a subterranean pulse that made Dabi’s teeth vibrate. Booths lined the walls, deep and shadowed, some occupied by entwined figures moving in the low light. Suspension frames hung from the ceiling like skeletal angels. Racks gleamed with instruments whose purpose ranged from obvious to unsettlingly obscure.
Dante’s hand settled low on Dabi’s back, possessive, steering him deeper. His presence seemed to warp the energy of the place; heads turned, gazes sliding over him with a mixture of fear and desperate hunger before snapping away. He radiated power, a dark star in this neon galaxy.
"Place is wild," Dabi muttered, trying to sound unaffected, though his pulse hammered against his ribs. The sheer intensity of the space, the raw, unfiltered hunger vibrating in the air, was overwhelming.
"Controlled chaos, baby," Dante murmured, his Detroit rasp cutting through the thrum. He stopped near the center, where the space opened up slightly. He turned, facing Dabi, his obsidian eyes catching the fractured light. "Listen up." His tone shifted, shedding the club owner persona, becoming something harder, more direct. "Anything in here you see? Anything I suggest? You say no, it stops. No questions, no bullshit. Understand? Your word is fucking law down here." He held Dabi’s gaze, the intensity making it impossible to look away. "But," he continued, a predatory smile touching his lips, "what I want… is for you to ruin me."
The words landed like a physical blow. Ruin me. After the brutal submission Dante had demanded, the exquisite wrecking of Dabi in his mansion, this was a seismic shift. The sheer, dangerous audacity of the request sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Dabi’s veins. He saw the truth of it in Dante’s eyes – a challenge, an invitation to unleash something primal. Dabi’s own rebellious streak, the part that relished defying expectations, flared white-hot. Hell yes.
His gaze swept the room again, sharper now, hunting. Then he saw it. Tucked against a relatively quieter wall, illuminated by a single, stark white spotlight. A bed. But not like any bed. The frame was heavy, polished obsidian-black steel. Thick leather restraints were bolted to each corner. But it was the sides that arrested him. From the edge of the mattress platform, curving upwards like the talons of some great beast, were sharp, gleaming metal claws. They weren’t decorative. Their points looked wickedly sharp, positioned precisely where someone’s arms and thighs would lie if restrained face-down.
Dabi walked towards it, Dante falling in step beside him. He stopped before the menacing frame. "The fuck is that?" Dabi asked, nodding at the claw-like protrusions. His voice was tight, a mix of disbelief and a dark, coiling excitement.
Dante’s smile widened, genuine appreciation in his eyes. "One of my favorites. Designed it myself." He traced a finger along one smooth, deadly curve. "Beautiful, ain't it? Polished steel. Cold. Unforgiving. Does the job perfectly."
"The job?" Dabi prompted, his eyes locked on the points.
"Reminds you not to struggle too hard," Dante said simply, his gaze fixed on Dabi, gauging his reaction. "Unless you like the bite of steel."
Dabi stared at the bed, then at Dante. The demon prince of Hell, offering himself up to this. The power of it, the terrifying trust implied, was intoxicating. It drowned out the club's noise, the other occupants. There was only this bed, the challenge in Dante’s eyes, and the pounding of Dabi’s own heart. He hadn't planned this. It wasn't calculated. The words tore out of him, rough and commanding.
"Get on it."
No hesitation. Not a flicker of doubt. Dante’s grin turned feral. "Yes, Sir." He stripped with swift, economical movements, tossing his silk shirt and tailored pants aside, standing naked and powerfully built under the spotlight. The tattoos writhed subtly in the shifting neon reflections. Without ceremony, he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself face-down, his muscular back presented, the twin points of his horns catching the light. He stretched his arms up towards the wrist restraints, his legs down towards the ankle cuffs. He paused, looking over his shoulder, a silent question.
Dabi stepped forward, the heavy buckles cold in his hands. He secured Dante’s wrists first, pulling the leather taut, locking them in with a decisive click. He moved to Dante’s ankles, securing them just as tightly, spreading his legs wide. Dante’s body was stretched, exposed, vulnerable. His ass, high and firm, the powerful muscles of his thighs and back taut against the restraints. His cheek rested on the black silk sheet covering the padded surface. His cock, already thick and hardening, pressed against the mattress.
Dabi stepped back, surveying his work. Dante, the untouchable King of Hell, bound and offered. The claws gleamed beside his biceps and outer thighs, a hair's breadth from skin. The sheer power of the image was overwhelming. Dabi’s own cock strained against his jeans. He unbuttoned them slowly, deliberately, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free himself. He grabbed a bottle of lube from a nearby shelf, slicking his hand without breaking eye contact with Dante’s profile.
No preamble. No gentle preparation. Dante wasn’t fragile. Dabi positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Dante’s tight entrance. He leaned his weight forward, using his body to pin Dante harder into the mattress. With a grunt of effort, he shoved forward.
"FUCK!" Dante roared into the silk, his back arching instinctively, but the restraints held him fast. Dabi pushed relentlessly, forcing his thick cock past the resisting muscle, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The heat and tightness were incredible, almost suffocating. Dante’s groan was a deep, guttural vibration Dabi could feel through his entire body.
He didn’t wait, didn’t give Dante a moment to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way and slammed home again. Harder. The wet slap echoed off the concrete. He set a punishing pace immediately, fucking into Dante with savage, driving strokes, using his entire weight, pinning the demon king beneath him. Each thrust rocked the heavy steel frame.
"Take it!" Dabi snarled, his voice rough with lust and unleashed dominance. His hands gripped Dante’s hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples at the base of his spine. "Take my fucking cock, Dante!" He pistoned his hips, the angle brutal, aiming deep. The slap of flesh, the creak of the leather restraints, Dante’s choked gasps filled Dabi’s awareness. "Thought you liked it rough? Huh? This what you wanted? You wanted fucking ruined?"
Dante tried to push back, to meet his thrusts, but the restraints and Dabi’s weight held him pinned, a helpless recipient. "Yessss!" he hissed, the word drawn out, strained. "Fuck! Harder!"
Dabi obliged. He fucked down into Dante with jackhammer force, each downward drive grinding Dante’s body into the mattress. With a particularly vicious thrust, Dante instinctively tried to twist away. His bicep brushed against one of the gleaming steel claws.
There was a sharp, wet tear. Dante roared, a sound of pure, agonized shock. A deep gash opened on the meat of his triceps, blood welling instantly, dark red against his tattooed skin, dripping onto the black silk.
Dabi froze for a split second, shocked by the sudden violence of it. Dante panted, his face contorted. Then, a low, dark chuckle bubbled up from him. "Feeling inspired, pretty boy?" he gasped, his voice thick with pain and perverse pleasure. "Told you… they bite."
The sight of the blood, the raw vulnerability mixed with Dante’s defiant arousal, ignited something feral in Dabi. The shock morphed into a dark, possessive fury. "Don’t. Fucking. Move," he ground out. He reached above Dante’s head, his fingers closing around another instrument hanging nearby. A thick, knotted dildo gag. He shoved it against Dante’s lips. "Open. Now."
Dante’s eyes, dark and burning, met his for a charged moment. Then, slowly, his lips parted. Dabi shoved the gag deep into his mouth, buckling the straps tightly behind his head, silencing Dante’s groans to muffled grunts.
"Better," Dabi hissed. He grabbed Dante’s hips again, his grip punishing, fingers digging into the muscle. He pulled out slowly, savoring the tight clutch of Dante’s body, the glistening ring of his stretched hole. Then he slammed back in with all his strength.
He fucked him with renewed brutality, fueled by the sight of the blood, the gag, the utter submission. He used Dante’s body like a toy, pounding into him relentlessly. Dante’s muffled cries became rhythmic grunts timed with Dabi’s thrusts. Sweat slicked both their bodies. The blood from Dante’s arm smeared across the silk, mixing with sweat. Each time Dante instinctively strained against the restraints, the claws threatened, keeping him pinned, vulnerable.
"You wanted ruined?" Dabi panted, driving into him, hitting that deep spot inside Dante with brutal precision. He could feel Dante’s body clenching, shuddering, nearing its edge. "Look at you! King of fucking Hell? You’re just my cock sleeve right now! My good fucking boy! Taking it like you were made for it!" The filthy praise tumbled out, mirroring Dante’s own words but twisted with Dabi’s newfound dominance. "Gonna make you come like this! Gonna fuck you stupid!"
Dante’s muffled roar vibrated through the gag. His body locked up, muscles straining against the restraints, his back arching as much as the bonds allowed. Dabi felt the intense, rhythmic clenching deep inside him as Dante came, untouched, his cock spilling helplessly onto the silk beneath him. The sensation, the visual of the powerful demon undone purely by his cock, pushed Dabi over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and came, hot pulses flooding Dante’s depths, roaring Dante’s name into the pulsing neon haze.
He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Dante fully into the bed, his softening cock still buried deep. His forehead rested between Dante’s shoulder blades. He could feel the rapid thud of Dante’s heart, the tremors still running through his powerful frame. The muffled sounds from the gag had softened to ragged breaths. The coppery scent of blood mixed with sweat and sex hung heavy in the air. The bass thumped on.
Dabi reached up, fingers fumbling with the buckle of the gag. He pulled it free. Dante sucked in a huge, shuddering breath, turning his head slightly on the silk. His eyes were dark voids, pupils blown wide, filled with an exhaustion that mirrored Dabi’s own, but beneath it, a fierce, satisfied heat. His voice was wrecked, a low rasp.
"Perfect," he breathed, the word thick with blood and bliss. "Fucking perfect, good boy."
Dabi’s own harsh breathing rasped in his ears, syncing for a moment with Dante’s labored gasps beneath him. The metallic scent of blood – Dante’s blood – sharpened the haze of sweat and sex. He slowly pulled his softening cock free, the obscene, wet sound loud in the sudden lull. Dante groaned, a deep, pained vibration Dabi felt through his palms still gripping the demon's hips.
"Shit," Dabi muttered, staring at the dark rivulets trickling from the gash on Dante’s tricep, stark against the intricate tattoos. The black silk beneath them was stained crimson and pearly-white. The reality of what he’d done – what Dante had wanted him to do – slammed into him. He’d carved into the fucking King of Hell.
Dante turned his head, cheek still pressed to the silk. His obsidian eyes, though heavy-lidded, burned with fierce satisfaction, not pain. "Told you," he rasped, voice shredded from the gag. "They bite." A slow, bloody grin stretched his lips. "Fucking perfect, good boy."
The praise, echoing their previous encounters but laced now with Dabi’s dominance, sent another jolt through him. Not fear. Power. Possession. He saw the raw, dark need still simmering in Dante’s gaze. Ruin me. It wasn't finished. Dabi’s gaze swept the dungeon again, past the claw-bed, landing on another structure – a massive, X-shaped frame of polished dark wood bolted to the concrete wall. A St. Andrew’s Cross. Shackles dangled from its arms and legs. His fingers tightened on Dante’s hip.
"Get up," Dabi commanded, his voice rougher than intended. He released his grip and stepped back. "Off the bed. Now."
Dante didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself up onto trembling forearms, wincing only slightly as the movement pulled the wound on his arm. Dabi reached forward, his fingers slick with sweat and lube, and efficiently unbuckled the restraints on Dante’s ankles, then wrists. Dante swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving with deliberate slowness, the power in his frame evident even in exhaustion. He stood, naked, blood dripping steadily down his arm, pooling briefly on the concrete floor beside his bare foot. His cock, spent and softening, still looked formidable. He faced Dabi, waiting, a dark question in his eyes. The neon lights played over the fresh welts on his back and hips, the darkening bruises, the vivid claw-marks Dabi had left earlier on the mansion floor.
Dabi jerked his chin towards the cross. "Over there." He kept his voice flat, commanding. "Against that. Hands and feet where the cuffs are."
A flicker of something primal – anticipation, challenge – lit Dante’s eyes. He walked to the heavy wooden frame, his stride regaining some of its usual predatory grace despite the obvious stiffness and the blood trail he left. He placed his palms flat against the upper beams, spreading his stance, presenting his broad back to Dabi again. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles rippling. "Like this, pretty boy?" The Detroit rasp was back, edged with dark amusement.
Dabi followed him. He picked up the heavy metal shackles hanging from the frame’s arms. They were cold, industrial. He snapped one closed around Dante’s left wrist, the click echoing, then the right. Tight, but not cutting. Dante flexed his fingers, testing the give. Minimal. Dabi crouched, securing the shackles around Dante’s thick ankles, spreading his legs wide, leaving him utterly exposed, anchored to the wood. Vulnerable. Offered.
Dabi stepped back, surveying his work. Dante Morningstar, bound spread-eagle on a torture cross in his own dungeon, bleeding, marked, waiting. The sheer audacity of it was a drug. He picked up a flogger hanging nearby – thick, heavy falls of black leather, each strand ending in a weighted knot. He ran the falls through his fingers. Heavy. Stingy. He stepped close, his chest almost touching Dante’s scarred back. He could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the blood, the sweat, the lingering scent of his own release deep inside him.
"Remember what you wanted?" Dabi murmured, his lips close to Dante’s ear. He let the heavy falls drag lightly down Dante’s spine, over the curve of his ass. Dante shuddered, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "You wanted ruined." Dabi drew his arm back and swung.
CRACK!
The sound was startlingly loud, cutting through the thumping bass. A perfect, thick red stripe bloomed diagonally across Dante’s shoulder blades. Dante hissed, his back muscles locking tight, his head snapping back. His knuckles turned white where they gripped the wood.
"Fuck!" he gasped.
"Good?" Dabi asked, his voice dangerously calm. He traced the rising welt with a fingertip.
"Again," Dante ground out, pushing his back slightly towards Dabi. A demand. An invitation.
Dabi obliged. CRACK! Another stripe, parallel to the first. CRACK! Lower, across the meat of his lats. Dante grunted, a guttural sound, his body straining against the shackles. The welts stood out livid and perfect against his skin. Dabi set a rhythm. Slow. Measured. Brutal. Each stroke landed with precise force, painting Dante’s back with fiery lines of pain. CRACK! Across the shoulders. CRACK! Lower back. CRACK! Diagonally across the ass, making the powerful muscle jump.
"Yesss!" Dante snarled with each impact, his voice raw. "Harder, you fucker! Mark me!" Sweat poured down his back, mingling with the blood from his arm, dripping onto the floor. His cock, trapped against the cool wood, began to thicken again, hardening visibly despite the punishment. The sight of it, that relentless, dark hunger, fueled Dabi’s own.
Dabi dropped the flogger. It landed with a heavy thud. He stepped close again, pressing his body flush against Dante’s ravaged back. Dante flinched as the fresh welts made contact, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. Dabi ignored it. He wrapped one arm around Dante’s waist, hauling him back slightly, arching his spine. With his other hand, slick with spit and the sweat from Dante’s skin, he reached down and guided his aching cock. He pressed the thick head against Dante’s loosened, still-glistening entrance.
Dante pushed back instinctively, a desperate, wordless groan escaping him. Dabi thrust forward, burying himself in one smooth, deep stroke. The heat and clutch were incredible, Dante’s inner muscles gripping him like a vice despite the earlier fucking. Dante cried out, a ragged sound torn between agony and ecstasy, his body convulsing against the restraints.
"Shut up and take it," Dabi growled, setting a punishing pace immediately. He fucked hard and deep, using his hold on Dante’s waist to pull him back onto every thrust. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock into the cradle of Dante’s ass with brutal force. The slap of their bodies was a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to the club's bass. Each plunge ground Dante’s welted back against Dabi's chest, drawing sharp gasps that morphed into guttural moans.
"Fucking… wrecking me…" Dante managed, voice wrecked, head hanging low.
"That's the fucking point," Dabi snarled. He reached around Dante’s hip, ignoring the blood still seeping from the arm wound, and grabbed Dante’s cock. It was iron-hard, leaking profusely. He fisted it roughly, in time with his thrusts, his grip tight, almost punishing. "This what you wanted, your Majesty? Huh? Bound and fucked raw? Marked inside and out?" He twisted his wrist on the upstroke.
Dante shouted, a raw, animal sound. His body locked up, straining against the shackles. Wood groaned under the strain as his fingers clawed at the beams. "FUCK! YES! DABI!" The guttural scream ripped from him as his cock pulsed violently in Dabi’s fist, thick ropes of come splattering against the polished wood of the cross, dripping to the floor. His inner muscles clamped down on Dabi’s driving cock in a series of agonizingly tight spasms.
Dabi buried himself to the root, grinding hard as Dante shuddered through the violent pulses. The intense, rhythmic milking, the visual of the demon king coming apart while crucified, pushed him over his own edge. With a roar, he came, deep pulses flooding Dante’s depths, mixing with the remnants of his own earlier release. He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Dante harder against the unforgiving wood, his forehead resting between the demon’s scarred shoulder blades. They hung there, suspended by the shackles and the aftermath, breaths sawing raggedly, Dante’s blood sticky on Dabi’s chest. The bass thumped on.