Chapter 62: Primordial Claim
The thump of the bass in the Inferno Club’s VIP lounge felt less like music and more like the echo of Dabi’s own pounding heart. He leaned back in the deep crimson velvet booth, swirling cheap whiskey he hadn’t tasted in three sips. His gaze, hooded and deliberately blank, tracked Dante across the room. The Prince of fucking Everything moved with that infuriating ease, all coiled power and casual arrogance, stopping near the obsidian bar where a bottle of top-shelf bourbon sat open.
And there he was. Adam.
The First Dick leaned against the bar, one boot hooked on the brass rail, looking like a fallen monument carved from desert rock. His ancient eyes, sharp and calculating, followed Dante’s approach. As Dante poured himself a generous measure of amber liquid, Adam shifted, angling his body towards him. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, crinkling the corners of those unsettlingly blue eyes.
"Missed that fire, Morningstar," Adam purred, his deep voice cutting through the low thrum of conversation like a hot knife. He gestured vaguely towards Dante’s neck, where the faintest ember-glow pulsed beneath the skin. "The real heat. Not this... club owner bullshit you’ve got draped over you." He took a lazy sip of his own drink, something clear and probably strong enough to strip paint. "Always did burn brighter than anyone else."
Dabi’s knuckles tightened on the whiskey glass. Fire? He dares talk about his fire? After... The image of Dante pinning him against the storage room door, then the office door, fucking him raw and possessive while Adam’s apocalyptic news hung heavy in the air... it flashed behind Dabi’s eyes, stoking the blue embers banked deep in his core. He forced his fingers to relax, took another slow, deliberate swallow. Calm. Ice.
Dante didn’t even turn his head fully towards Adam. He downed half his bourbon in one go, the muscles in his jaw flexing. "Fire’s got better places to be than your nostalgia trip, Adam," he growled, the Detroit rasp sharp. He slammed the glass down. "And I’ve got shit to do that doesn’t involve your commentary." He pushed off the bar, turning away dismissively.
Adam’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. He pushed off the bar, taking a step that brought him uncomfortably close to Dante’s retreating back. "Oh, I bet you do," he murmured, the words pitched low, intimate, meant to carry just to Dante – and, Dabi knew damn well, to him. "Always so busy. But some things are worth revisiting, eh? That spark... that intensity..." He chuckled, a dry, grating sound. "Hard to forget. Harder to replace."
Dabi felt the barbed wire around his guts tighten another agonizing notch. Replace? He stared straight ahead at the shifting lights on the dance floor below, his face a masterpiece of bored indifference. Inside, the cold blue fire roared, screaming to incinerate the smug bastard where he stood. Spark? Intensity? Fuck you. You don’t know what intensity is.
Dante froze. His shoulders tensed, the ember-glow under his skin flaring briefly before subsiding. He half-turned, his obsidian eyes locking onto Adam’s with a cold fury that made even the ancient being pause for a fraction of a second. "I said," Dante enunciated, each word dropping like a frozen stone, "shut. The fuck. Up." He didn’t wait for a reply. He just shoved past, heading towards a dark archway leading deeper into the club’s private warren, away from the lounge.
Adam watched him go, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. He took another slow sip, his gaze drifting lazily back across the lounge, lingering for a beat too long on Dabi. A silent challenge. A reminder. I know him. I was there.
That look. That fucking look. It was the final spark. The careful ice facade Dabi had maintained shattered. He didn't think. He just moved. He slammed his glass down on the obsidian table, the sound sharp, making Shoto glance his way. Ignoring everyone – Shigaraki’s knowing, amused hum, Bakugo’s muttered "The fuck now?" – Dabi strode across the plush carpet. Not towards the bar. Not towards Adam. Towards the dark archway Dante had disappeared through. Possession, raw and feral, burned away any pretense of chill.
He pushed through the heavy velvet curtain beyond the arch. A narrower corridor lay beyond, lined with unmarked doors – storage, Dante’s office deeper down, and others whose purpose Dabi didn’t care about. Dante was standing a few yards ahead, leaning against the dark wood paneling, rubbing his temples. He didn’t turn as Dabi approached, but his posture shifted minutely – coiled, waiting.
"Got something to say, Pyro?" Dante asked, his voice low, tired, still edged with the anger Adam had provoked. He finally turned, leaning one shoulder against the wall, his obsidian eyes assessing Dabi’s approach. The faint ember-glow was back beneath his skin, but it looked weary now. "Or just here to glare?"
Dabi stopped mere inches from him. The scent of Dante – bourbon, expensive cologne, and that underlying, electric ozone – filled his nostrils. He could see the tension in the set of Dante’s jaw, the faint shadow of Adam’s words lingering. It only fed the possessive beast snarling inside him.
"Enjoying the fucking reunion tour?" Dabi’s voice was low, rough, stripped of its usual lazy drawl. It vibrated with barely contained fury. He stepped even closer, forcing Dante to tilt his head back slightly to maintain eye contact. "Him hanging off you like a fucking lost puppy? Talking about your fire?" The word dripped with venomous sarcasm. "Telling you how much he missed it?" Dabi leaned in, his breath hot against Dante’s ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Bet it felt good. Reminding you of the good old days. Before you were slumming it with mortal trash."
Dante’s eyes narrowed. A spark of genuine anger flared in the obsidian depths, but beneath it, Dabi saw something else. A flicker of... challenge? Provocation? Dante didn’t push him away. He held Dabi’s furious gaze. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Dabi," he murmured, the rasp deepening. He brought a hand up, not to shove, but to trace a slow, deliberate line down Dabi’s chest with one finger. "Makes you predictable."
The touch, deliberate and incendiary, was like gasoline on the blue inferno inside Dabi. Predictable? Dante wanted predictable? He’d show him predictable. Dante was trying to get him going. Dabi could see it now – the subtle baiting, the refusal to back down, the way he leaned into Dabi’s space instead of away. He was daring him. The realization shattered the last vestige of restraint.
"Fuck predictable," Dabi snarled. He moved faster than Dante expected, fueled by pure, possessive rage. One hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Dante’s dark hair, yanking his head back hard, exposing the long line of his throat. Dante grunted, surprise flashing across his face before it hardened into something darker, hotter. Dabi slammed his other hand against Dante’s chest, shoving him backwards with brutal force.
Dante stumbled, his back hitting the solid wood door of a storage closet with a heavy thud. The impact rattled the frame. He didn’t fight the momentum, didn’t try to break free from Dabi’s grip on his hair. That dark, challenging look intensified, mixed with a predatory anticipation. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk. "That all you got, hotshot?"
The taunt was the detonator. Dabi crowded him against the door, his body pressing Dante hard into the unyielding wood. He released Dante’s hair only to rip open the buttons of his own shirt, exposing his scarred chest. He grabbed Dante’s wrists in one hand, pinning them high above his head against the door, ignoring the flare of molten light beneath Dante’s skin at the rough handling.
"No," Dabi growled, his voice thick with dark promise. He leaned in, his mouth hovering inches from Dante’s, his turquoise eyes blazing with possessive fury. "It’s not." He used his free hand to fumble with the buckle of Dante’s belt, fingers clumsy with rage. "He doesn’t get to look at you like that. Talk to you like that." The belt came undone with a sharp rasp. Dabi shoved Dante’s pants and underwear down his hips in one rough motion. "This?" he hissed, his hand closing around Dante’s hardening cock, giving it a brutal, possessive squeeze that made Dante gasp, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. "This fire? This isn't his nostalgia trip." Dabi spat onto his own fingers, the glob landing wetly on Dante’s exposed hole. He didn’t wait, didn’t prepare him. He just shoved two fingers in deep, knuckle-deep, twisting cruelly.
Dante arched off the door with a choked roar, pain and intense pleasure warring on his face. "Fuck! Dabi!" His molten veins flared brightly, casting jagged shadows on the wall.
"Shut up," Dabi commanded, his voice raw and guttural. He withdrew his fingers, leaving Dante clenching around nothing. He spat again, this time directly onto his own aching cock, slicking it roughly as it strained against his jeans. His eyes never left Dante’s face, drinking in the mixture of anger, defiance, and raw, dark hunger there. Dante was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his cock jutting hard and flushed against his stomach. He didn’t look away. He met Dabi’s burning gaze head-on, a silent challenge still burning in the obsidian depths. Do it.
Dabi didn’t need another invitation. He gripped Dante’s hip hard enough to bruise, angled him roughly, and slammed forward. The head of his cock breached the tight, unprepared ring of muscle with brutal force.
Dante’s head snapped back against the door, a guttural cry tearing from his throat, equal parts agony and ecstasy. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Dabi didn’t stop. He buried himself to the hilt in one relentless thrust, sheathing himself completely in the searing, clenching heat. He held himself deep, grinding against Dante, forcing his body to take every inch, feeling Dante’s inner muscles spasm violently around him. The pain in Dante’s cry shifted, deepened into a ragged groan that vibrated through Dabi’s entire body. Dante’s pinned hands clenched into fists above his head.
"Tell me," Dabi demanded, his voice a harsh rasp against Dante’s ear as he began to move. Short, punishing thrusts. Pulling almost all the way out before hammering back in. No rhythm, just raw claiming. Each deep drive drew another choked sound from Dante – curses, gasps, groans. "Tell me who you belong to. When he looks at you. When he talks about your goddamn fire." He punctuated the question with a particularly brutal slam that made Dante’s teeth clack together. "Who owns this?"
Dante writhed against the door, pinned but far from passive. His hips jerked, meeting Dabi’s thrusts with a desperate ferocity of his own. His eyes, when they locked onto Dabi’s, were molten obsidian, filled with a chaotic storm of pain, fury, and undeniable, dark arousal. "You," he ground out, the word ripped from him as Dabi pistoned into him again. "You fucking bastard. It's— fuck!— yours."
The admission, raw and forced, sent a jolt of feral triumph through Dabi. He increased his pace, fucking Dante with unrestrained savagery against the unyielding door. The wet slap of skin, Dante’s ragged breathing, Dabi’s own guttural grunts – the sounds were obscene, primal. He released Dante’s wrists, letting them drop. Dante instantly tangled one hand in Dabi’s hair, pulling hard, while the other clawed at his back, scoring lines through the fabric of his ruined shirt. Dante’s legs wrapped around Dabi’s hips, pulling him impossibly deeper, demanding more, harder.
"Prove it," Dante gasped, arching into each brutal thrust. "Show me... fuck... show me you mean it!"
Dabi didn’t need telling twice. He shifted his angle slightly, finding that spot deep inside Dante with unerring accuracy. He hammered against it relentlessly.
Dante’s entire body locked up. A choked scream tore from his throat, raw and ragged. His cock pulsed wildly between them, untouched, spilling hot stripes of come onto his own stomach and Dabi’s scarred chest with each convulsive jerk of his hips. His inner muscles clamped down on Dabi’s cock like a vice, a searing, rhythmic milking that shattered Dabi’s control.
The sheer intensity of Dante’s surrender, the ferocious clenching, the raw, possessive claim echoing in his own strained voice... it ripped through Dabi. He buried his face in the crook of Dante’s neck, biting down hard on the muscle there as he slammed deep one final time. He roared, a sound ripped from the depths of his being, as he came. Thick, hot pulses flooded Dante’s core, each spurt wringing another desperate groan from Dante’s lips. Dabi held himself buried, grinding deep, pumping every last drop into the possessive heat as Dante shuddered through the aftershocks, his body still trembling violently.
They slumped against the door, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests. The air reeked of sex, bourbon, ozone, and raw, primal claim. Dante’s head rested against the wood, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Dabi, still buried deep inside him, his own breath sawing in his lungs, braced his hands on the door on either side of Dante’s head. He looked down at the being pinned beneath him – the King of Hell, marked, claimed, trembling from his touch, his possession. The blue fire still flickered faintly in his own eyes, a cold echo of the inferno he’d unleashed.
Dante’s eyes slowly opened. They weren't soft. They weren't gentle. They were dark, fathomless pools reflecting the dim corridor light and the raw carnage of what had just happened. A slow, dangerous smirk, far more genuine than Adam’s, touched his swollen lips. He lifted a hand, smeared with his own come, and pressed it possessively against Dabi’s scarred chest, right over his pounding heart.
"See?" Dante rasped, his voice wrecked but laced with dark satisfaction. "Told you jealousy made you predictable." His smirk widened, a challenge renewed. "But fuck, Pyro... when you're predictable..." He shifted slightly, the movement causing Dabi’s still-hard cock to twitch deep inside him, making them both gasp. "...you're goddamn lethal." The unspoken hung heavy in the sulfurous air, mingling with the scent of their brutal joining: And I loved every fucking second.