Chapter 58: Claw-Marked Ownership
The wet slap of Dabi’s hips against Dante’s ass echoed like a drumbeat beneath the dungeon’s relentless bass. Dante’s roar, muffled by the silk beneath his cheek, vibrated through the steel frame of the claw-bed. His powerful back arched, tendons standing out like cables, straining against the thick leather restraints binding his wrists and ankles. The movement was instinctive, primal – a desperate attempt to push back against the brutal invasion, to meet the savage rhythm Dabi was setting.
It was futile. The restraints held him pinned, spread wide and vulnerable. Worse, the arching thrust his hips upward, pressing the meat of his outer thigh hard against one of the polished steel claws curving wickedly from the bed’s edge.
There was a sickeningly soft shnick. Fresh, dark blood welled instantly from a new, parallel gash alongside the first, joining the crimson rivulets already staining the black silk beneath him. Dante hissed, a sharp intake of breath that cut through his roar, his body locking rigid for a split second.
Dabi saw it. Saw the blood bloom, dark and slick against Dante’s tattooed skin. Saw the involuntary flinch, the momentary tightening around his buried cock. A feral grin split Dabi’s face. He leaned forward, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against Dante’s ravaged back, grinding him harder into the mattress, forcing his thigh against the unforgiving metal once more. He drove his cock deeper, a punishing thrust that punched the air from Dante’s lungs.
"Fuck," Dabi growled, his voice thick with lust and dark triumph. His lips brushed the shell of Dante’s ear, the stretched lobe cool against his heated skin. "Look at you. Bleeding for me." He pistoned his hips, short, brutal strokes designed to keep Dante pinned against the claw. "King of fucking Hell, carved open like a piece of meat. You love it, don't you? Tell me you fucking love it."
Dante turned his head, cheek scraping the silk. His obsidian eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the irises, reflecting the fractured neon chaos above. Pain warred with a terrifying, bottomless hunger. "Yesss," he hissed, the word ragged, torn from somewhere deep. "Mark me. Fucking ruin me, Dabi. Make it hurt."
The raw plea, the utter surrender in the demon’s voice, ignited a furnace in Dabi’s gut. He pulled back almost entirely, the sudden emptiness making Dante gasp. Then he slammed home with all his weight, using his body as a battering ram. The steel frame groaned. Dante’s cry was choked, guttural. Dabi set a relentless, jackhammer pace, each downward drive grinding Dante’s body into the mattress, each withdrawal dragging his skin perilously close to the waiting claws. Blood smeared wider across the silk, mixing with sweat dripping from both their bodies.
"You wanted ruined?" Dabi snarled, his hands gripping Dante’s hips like vices, thumbs digging into the dimples at the base of his spine. He angled his thrusts, seeking that deep, hidden spot he knew would unravel the demon. "This what you fucking begged for? My cock splitting you open while steel cuts you?" He felt Dante’s inner muscles clench like a vice, a desperate, involuntary spasm. "Fucking take it! Take every inch! You’re mine to wreck!"
Dante’s response was a wordless, keening moan. His knuckles were white where they gripped the restraints. His horns scraped against the padded headboard. With each brutal plunge, his body instinctively tried to arch, to escape the overwhelming sensation, only to be met with the cold, sharp warning of the claws. A fresh, shallow cut opened on his other thigh. He didn’t roar this time. He whimpered. The sound, high and broken, coming from the throat of the Morningstar Prince, was more potent than any scream.
Dabi saw the tension coiling tighter in Dante’s frame, felt the tremors starting deep within the body pinned beneath him. The demon was hurtling towards the edge, driven purely by the brutal fucking, the bite of the steel, the filthy degradation. Dabi leaned down again, his lips brushing the bloody wound on Dante’s tricep. He licked, a slow, deliberate swipe, tasting iron and salt and power. "Gonna make you come," he breathed, hot against Dante’s skin. "Gonna make the fucking Devil’s son spill his load untouched, just from taking my cock like a whore. Come for me, Dante. Now!"
He punctuated the command with three vicious, grinding thrusts, burying himself impossibly deep and holding there. He felt Dante’s body convulse, a violent tremor that shook the entire bed. Dante’s back arched off the mattress, held taut by the restraints and Dabi’s crushing weight. A raw, shattered cry tore from his throat, echoing off the concrete walls, momentarily drowning the bass. His cock, trapped beneath him, pulsed violently against the silk, spilling thick ropes of come that soaked into the already stained fabric. His inner muscles clamped down on Dabi’s cock in agonizingly tight, rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly.
The intense suction, the visual of utter surrender, the taste of blood on his tongue – it was too much. Dabi roared, a sound ripped from his core, as his own climax detonated. He slammed forward one last time, grinding deep as hot pulses flooded Dante’s depths, mixing with the demon’s own release. He collapsed onto Dante’s ravaged back, his weight pressing the fresh welts and cuts into the silk, his softening cock still buried deep. His harsh breathing rasped in his ears, syncing with Dante’s shuddering gasps beneath him. The air hung thick with the coppery tang of blood, the musk of sweat, and the heavy scent of spent lust.
Dabi lay there for long moments, boneless, the adrenaline crash leaving him trembling. Beneath him, Dante was utterly still except for the frantic rise and fall of his ribs. Slowly, Dabi pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as his cock slid free with a wet, obscene sound. Dante groaned softly, a sound of profound exhaustion.
Dabi looked down. The black silk was a ruin of crimson smears and pearly-white stains. Dante’s back and thighs were a canvas of welts, deep scratches from earlier, and the fresh, bleeding gashes from the claws. The wound on his arm still seeped sluggishly. Yet, even broken and bleeding, bound to the cruel bed he’d designed, Dante Morningstar radiated a terrifying, dark magnetism. His eyes, when they slowly opened and met Dabi’s, held a satisfaction so deep it bordered on reverence.
Dabi reached forward, his fingers clumsy with fatigue, and fumbled with the buckle of Dante’s wrist restraint. It clicked open. He moved to the other wrist, then down to the ankles. Each release felt like an act of profound significance. Dante didn’t move immediately. He lay there, breathing deeply, testing the freedom.
Finally, with a low groan that spoke of deep aches, Dante pushed himself up onto trembling arms. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the cool concrete floor. He stood, swaying slightly, naked and magnificent in his ruin. Blood traced paths down his legs from the thigh wounds. He turned to face Dabi, his gaze heavy-lidded but intensely focused. He lifted his bleeding arm, examining the gash with detached curiosity. Then his eyes locked back onto Dabi’s.
A slow, bloody smile spread across Dante’s face. He took a step closer, ignoring the crimson droplets hitting the floor. He reached out, his fingers – still bearing faint marks from straining against the restraints – tracing a smear of his own blood drying on Dabi’s chest. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Perfect," Dante rasped, his voice wrecked, raw silk over gravel. The single word held galaxies of meaning. Approval. Possession. A dark, shared understanding. He leaned in, his breath hot against Dabi’s ear, the Detroit rasp thick with exhaustion and something infinitely more dangerous. "My turn soon, pretty boy. Gonna ruin you right back."
The cool marble of Dante’s penthouse bathroom counter bit into Dabi’s bare thighs as he sat, watching crimson water swirl down the drain. Dante’s reflection moved behind him in the vast, steamy mirror, large hands gentle as they cleaned the claw-marks on Dabi’s back left from the mansion floor. The demon’s own wounds – the deep gashes from his own bed – were already just angry pink lines, fading impossibly fast. "Tickles," Dabi muttered, flinching as the damp cloth brushed a particularly raw scrape. Dante’s low chuckle vibrated against his spine. "Liar. Hold still, pretty boy." His fingers, surprisingly deft despite their size, smoothed cool salve over the welts. The care felt unnerving after the dungeon's brutality, a strange counterpoint. Silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. Dabi watched Dante’s reflection carefully wipe blood from the intricate ink on his forearm, the wound now barely a memory. Dante looked up, catching Dabi’s gaze in the glass. His obsidian eyes held a simmering heat, a promise. "Feeling tenderized?" The Detroit rasp was back. Dabi snorted, pushing off the counter. "Hardly. Just thirsty." He grabbed a bottle of water, the cold liquid a shock. Dante watched him drink, a slow, predatory smile spreading. "Good. We’re going back down." Dabi froze mid-swallow. Dante stepped closer, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. "Hours ago, you wrecked me." He traced a fingertip down Dabi’s chest, over the fading bruises. "My turn." His touch ignited sparks. "Thought you’d tapped out," Dabi challenged, though his pulse kicked hard. Dante’s smile turned feral, primal. "Hell doesn’t tap out, baby. It reloads." He grabbed Dabi’s wrist, pulling him back towards the private elevator. "Let’s see what you can take."
The Dungeon’s bass thrummed deeper at this late hour, the air even thicker, sweat and ozone and the metallic ghost of blood mingling. Fewer bodies occupied the shadows now, just murmurs and the rhythmic creak of strained leather from a distant suspension frame. Dante led Dabi not to the claw-bed or the cross, but to an open space near a section of rough-hewn stone wall adorned with iron rings. He stopped, turning, the neon fractals playing over the healed scars on his skin. "Rules still stand," he stated, voice low but cutting through the thump. "Your word stops everything. But…" He stepped into Dabi’s space, crowding him. "I won’t break you like you broke me. Not tonight." His hand slid down Dabi’s stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of his borrowed sweats. "Gotta find your limit first." He yanked them down roughly, exposing Dabi’s hardening cock. "Get naked. Now."
Dabi shoved the sweats off, kicking them aside. The cool air prickled his skin. Dante’s gaze raked over him, possessive, assessing. He didn’t move to restrain Dabi, just circled him slowly, a shark. "Turn around. Hands on the wall." Dabi complied, pressing his palms against the cool, gritty stone. Dante stepped close behind him, his massive frame radiating heat. Dabi felt the thick head of Dante’s cock, already heavy and hard, press against his cleft. A slick finger, cold with lube, probed his entrance. "Breathe out," Dante murmured. Dabi exhaled, and Dante’s finger slid inside, one knuckle, then two. It was a stretch, deliberate, probing, but lacked the brutal immediacy of Dabi’s earlier assault. "Fuck… Dante," Dabi gasped, pushing back slightly. The finger curled, finding his prostate with unnerving accuracy. Pleasure, sharp and electric, jolted through him. "Sensitive there," Dante noted, his rasp almost conversational as he added a second finger, scissoring slowly. "Good to know." He worked Dabi open with a maddening patience, fingers thrusting, stretching, brushing that spot until Dabi was panting, his cock leaking against the stone, his knuckles white. "Ready for me, pretty boy?" Dante’s breath was hot on his neck. "Need it," Dabi ground out, arching his back. "Give it to me."
Dante withdrew his fingers, the emptiness aching. Dabi heard the slick sound of him stroking his own cock. Then the blunt, searing pressure was back, immense, at his entrance. Dante gripped Dabi’s hips hard, thumbs digging in. "Push back," he commanded. Dabi obeyed, bearing down. Dante surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one relentless, smooth thrust that punched the air from Dabi’s lungs. "FUCK!" It was overwhelming, a stretch bordering on pain, but laced with a deep, shocking fullness. Dante held still, buried deep, letting Dabi adjust, his chest pressed flush against Dabi’s back. "Fucking tight," Dante groaned, his voice thick. He began to move, not jackhammering like Dabi had, but with deep, powerful strokes, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in with piston-like force. Each thrust nailed Dabi’s prostate dead-on, sending shockwaves of intense, brutal pleasure through him. "Oh god! Right fucking there!" Dabi gasped, his forehead scraping the rough wall. Dante set a punishing rhythm, deep and relentless, the wet slap of skin echoing. He wrapped one arm around Dabi’s chest, pinning him harder to the wall, his other hand sliding down to fist Dabi’s cock in time with his thrusts, the grip tight, demanding. "That’s it, take it," Dante growled. "Take my cock deep. Feel it wrecking you slow."
Mid-thrust, Dante froze. A low, guttural rumble vibrated through Dabi’s back, unlike any sound Dante had made before. The air crackled, charged with static. Dante’s arm tightened convulsively around Dabi’s chest. Then, with a sound like tearing leather and snapping bone, colossal shadows unfurled behind them, blocking the neon glare. Dabi gasped, twisting his head. Enormous, leathery wings, the colour of charred bone and veined with dark crimson, stretched high, then settled, their tips brushing the concrete floor. Heat radiated from them, intense as a forge. Dabi felt the shift against his back, the texture changing. Dante pulled his head back slightly. Where smooth skin had been, thick, black, ridged horns now curved wickedly from Dante’s temples, sharp points glinting. His fingers, still gripping Dabi’s cock, felt different – the nails lengthening into obsidian-black claws that scraped delicately, dangerously, against Dabi’s sensitive flesh. Dante’s eyes, when Dabi met them over his shoulder, were molten embers in a face suddenly far more ancient and terrifying than handsome. He pulled out abruptly, his slick cock leaving Dabi achingly empty, dripping.
"No! Fuck, Dante, don’t stop!" Dabi begged, pushing back against nothing, the sudden loss agonizing after the deep fullness. "Please! Need you! Fuck me!" The transformation should have terrified him. It only ignited a deeper, more desperate hunger.
Dante’s burning gaze held his. A dark, predatory grin split his face, revealing slightly sharper teeth. "Begging looks good on you," the demon prince rasped, his voice layered with power. Before Dabi could retort, Dante’s clawed hands clamped onto his hips – sharp points pricking but not breaking skin. The massive wings snapped down with incredible force. The ground vanished.
Dabi cried out as they lifted, Dante’s grip the only anchor in the sudden, sickening lurch. They hovered, ten feet up, the dungeon floor a dizzying pattern of neon and shadow below, the bass a physical thrum in the air. Dante’s wings beat steadily, powerful downdrafts ruffling Dabi’s hair. Then Dante adjusted his grip, pulling Dabi up higher, bending him forward. The thick, blunt head of his cock pressed brutally against Dabi’s loosened hole. "Hold on," Dante commanded, his voice resonating with otherworldly power. With a grunt, he slammed back inside, burying himself to the root in one fierce thrust. Dabi screamed, the penetration deep and shocking in mid-air, the wings beating hard to counter the force. Dante began fucking him again, powerful strokes that drove Dabi forward with each impact, the claws on his hips biting just a little harder now, drawing pinpricks of blood. "Fuck! Dante! Yes!" Dabi babbled, the thrill of the height, the raw demonic power holding him, the brutal fucking combining into an overwhelming sensory overload.
Dante beat his wings once, hard, surging them sideways. Dabi’s back slammed against the cold, rough stone wall, knocking the breath from him. Dante pinned him there, wings flaring wide to brace them, claws scraping against the rock as he anchored them. He never stopped fucking. If anything, the impact spurred him on. He drove into Dabi with renewed ferocity, the angle against the wall even sharper, deeper. His clawed hand returned to Dabi’s cock, stroking him roughly, the sharp tips dragging deliciously. "Mine," Dante snarled against Dabi’s neck, his horns scraping the stone beside Dabi’s head. "Scream for me." The deep, relentless pounding, the scrape of stone, the beat of impossible wings, the searing stretch – it ignited an inferno. Dabi came with a shattered cry, spilling hot over Dante’s clawed fist and the dungeon wall, his body clamping down hard on the demon’s driving cock. The fierce contraction triggered Dante’s own release. He roared, a sound that shook dust from the ancient stones, burying himself impossibly deep as he pumped his scorching come deep inside Dabi’s clenching heat. He held them pinned, wings shuddering, as the last pulses faded. Slowly, the immense wings folded, lowering them until Dabi’s feet touched the shuddering concrete floor, Dante’s softening cock slipping free. He leaned his forehead, horns and all, against the stone beside Dabi’s head, breathing hard. "Found your limit yet?" he rasped, the embers in his eyes still glowing.