Chapter 8: Public Ruination
The muffled thump of bass vibrated through the polished marble floor of the VIP bathroom, a deep, insistent pulse that matched the frantic drumming in Dabi’s veins. Dante lounged against the counter near the gleaming chrome sinks, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler, a picture of detached amusement watching the chaos he’d orchestrated just beyond the soundproofed door. His gaze, sharp and assessing, tracked Dabi who paced a short, tight line near the heavy, opaque glass door.
"Still wound tight, firecracker?" Dante drawled, that Detroit rasp smoothing the edges of his words. He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Dabi’s restless form. "Thought that little… debriefing… upstairs took the edge off." He gestured vaguely upward with his glass, a smirk playing on his lips.
Dabi stopped pacing. The memory of the penthouse, of Dante’s brutal tenderness, of being filled and claimed and called a wrecked cathedral, sent fresh heat coiling low in his gut. But the simmering energy from the club below, the lingering echo of Dante’s siren song luring fresh prey, the sheer fucking audacity of the demon’s calm – it was a spark to tinder. He turned, his blue eyes blazing with a familiar, destructive light, but laced now with something hotter, more possessive. Dante saw it. His smirk widened fractionally, a predator recognizing the shift.
Without a word, Dabi crossed the space. Fast. Intentional. He didn't hesitate. One hand shot out, shoving Dante hard against the cold, unforgiving marble countertop surrounding the sinks. The tumbler flew from Dante’s hand, shattering against the far wall in a spray of crystal shards and expensive whisky. Dante grunted, momentarily pinned, his eyes flashing – not with anger, but with sudden, intense interest. Surprise flickered, quickly replaced by dark amusement as Dabi dropped to his knees on the cool tile floor.
"You talk too much, Morningstar," Dabi growled, his hands going straight to the buckle of Dante’s tailored black pants. Fingers fumbled with practiced urgency with the button and zipper. "Shut the fuck up for once." Dante’s cock sprang free, already half-hard, thick and heavy against Dabi’s cheek. The scent of him, oud wood and sulfur and pure male heat, flooded Dabi’s senses. He didn't tease. He opened his mouth wide and swallowed Dante down to the root in one smooth, obscene motion.
"Jesus fuck," Dante gasped, his head thudding back against the mirror above the sinks. His hands, which had instinctively braced against the counter, clenched into fists, knuckles white. Dabi worked him, hollowing his cheeks, applying brutal suction, his tongue a demanding pressure against the sensitive underside. He pulled back slowly, letting Dante’s cock drag against his palate, then plunged down again, deep and dirty. Wet, sloppy sounds echoed off the marble and glass, louder than the muffled music, a filthy counterpoint to Dante’s ragged breathing. Dabi looked up, his blue eyes locking onto Dante’s face, watching the control fray. He saw the tendons cord in Dante’s neck, the clench of his jaw, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk upwards, seeking more of that scorching heat.
Dabi deepthroated him again, holding it, letting Dante feel the convulsive swallow around his cockhead, the tight constriction of his throat. Dante hissed, a sound like escaping steam, and Dabi felt the demon’s cock throb violently against his tongue. He pulled off just as Dante’s restraint seemed ready to snap, a string of saliva and precum connecting his lips to the flushed, swollen head.
"Fuckin' hell, Dabi," Dante rasped, his voice rough, stripped bare. His pupils were blown wide, the usual sharp intelligence drowned in primal need. He tried to push himself off the counter, but Dabi planted a hand firmly on his hip, pinning him back.
"Not yet," Dabi murmured, his voice hoarse from the abuse. He rose smoothly to his feet, his movements fluid with predatory grace. He turned his back to Dante, facing the enormous, floor-to-ceiling mirror that dominated one wall. His hands went to his own belt, fingers working quickly. He shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs in one fluid motion, baring his scarred ass. He braced his hands on the cold marble countertop beneath the mirror, pressing his chest forward, arching his back deliberately. He looked over his shoulder, meeting Dante’s burning gaze in the reflection.
"Now," Dabi commanded, his voice low and thick. "Fuck me against this mirror. Hard. Right here. Right now. Make me watch you lose control."
The challenge. The raw demand. The sight of Dabi presented, scarred and defiant, offering himself while demanding dominance. It was the final trigger. A low, guttural snarl ripped from Dante’s throat that sounded utterly inhuman. The air crackled, thickened with sudden, oppressive heat. The faint scent of sulfur bloomed, sharp and acrid.
Dabi watched, transfixed, in the mirror’s reflection. Dante’s form shifted. Not completely – not the monstrous visage of legend – but enough. Black, leathery wings, vast and bat-like, erupted from his shoulder blades with a tearing sound, stretching high and wide, the tips brushing the bathroom ceiling, casting monstrous shadows. Two heavy, ebony horns, curved and wickedly sharp, spiraled from his temples, pushing through his dark hair. His fingers elongated, nails darkening into obsidian claws that scraped deep grooves into the marble countertop as he surged forward.
The sight wasn't terrifying. It was electrifying. Pure, unadulterated power, ancient and dark, unleashed. A visceral thrill shot through Dabi, hotter than his own blue flames. Yes. This. The real Dante. Not the charming club owner, but the fucking Prince.
Dante didn't ask. Didn't prepare. His clawed hands gripped Dabi’s hips with bruising force, talons pricking the scarred skin. He spat once, roughly, onto his palm, then slicked the thick, angry length of his cock. The spit wasn't enough, not for the brutal invasion Dante intended. He positioned the blunt, swollen head against Dabi’s tight, exposed hole. Dante’s reflection in the mirror was pure, feral hunger – horns casting shadows on the glass, wings mantled, eyes glowing like banked coals.
He thrust.
It was a brutal impalement. Dante drove in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one devastating stroke, sheathing his cock completely in the clenching heat. Dabi shouted, the sound bouncing off the mirrors, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth marble as the searing stretch tore through him. Dante didn't pause, didn't let him adjust. He pulled back almost to the tip, the drag agonizing, then slammed home again, setting a punishing rhythm. Thud. Skin slapping scarred skin. Thud. Dabi’s gasp echoing. Thud. The scrape of claws on marble.
Dabi gripped the counter, knuckles white, eyes glued to the mirror. He watched Dante’s face contort with savage pleasure, watched the powerful muscles in his back and shoulders bunch and flex with each driving thrust, the massive black wings flaring slightly with the effort. He watched his own face – lips parted, eyes wide with shock and raw arousal, sweat beading on his forehead – as he was ruthlessly fucked. Dante’s cock pistoned into him, a hard, unforgiving force splitting him open, hitting that deep, electric spot with relentless accuracy. Pleasure-pain exploded through Dabi’s nerves, white-hot and consuming.
"See?" Dante growled, his voice distorted, deeper, layered with infernal resonance. He met Dabi’s reflected gaze, his clawed hands digging deeper into Dabi’s hips, lifting him slightly to take each brutal plunge. "See what you do? See how you break me?" He slammed in hard, grinding deep, the base of his cock pressing mercilessly against Dabi’s ass. Dabi moaned, a long, broken sound, his cock leaking heavily onto the marble beneath him.
Driven by a surge of reckless desire, Dabi reached back. Not to push away, but to seek. His fingers tangled in the dark hair at Dante’s temple, then slid higher, grasping the base of one heavy, spiraled horn. The horn felt hot, almost alive, thrumming with power beneath his palm. Dante froze mid-thrust, a sharp, startled hiss escaping him. His glowing eyes snapped to Dabi’s in the mirror, blazing with an intensity that stole Dabi’s breath. For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the muffled bass.
Then Dante snarled, a sound of pure, dark delight. "Yeah," he rasped, his hips beginning to move again, slower now, deeper, grinding. "Fuck yeah. Hold on, firecracker." He angled his thrusts, driving up harder, making Dabi cry out as the new angle intensified the sensation. Dabi tightened his grip on the horn, anchoring himself as Dante fucked him with renewed ferocity. The sensation of holding that primal power, guiding it, using it as Dante used him, was intoxicating.
Dante’s pace became erratic, desperate. His wings beat once, a powerful gust of hot air rustling Dabi’s hair, knocking over an expensive-looking bottle of cologne on the counter. It shattered, filling the air with a cloying, floral scent that clashed violently with the sulfur. "Gonna come," Dante ground out, his voice raw, his thrusts becoming shallow, brutal jabs. "Gonna fill this tight fuckhole. Breed you right here." The obscenity, the raw possessiveness, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through Dabi.
With a final, guttural roar that shook the mirrors, Dante slammed deep and held, his body locking rigid. Dabi felt the hot, pulsing flood deep inside him, the intimate claiming triggering his own unraveling. His orgasm ripped through him, untouched, violent and blinding, ropes of come splattering onto the marble counter and floor beneath him as he clenched hard around Dante’s spurting cock. He sagged against the counter, trembling violently, held up only by Dante’s clawed grip on his hips and his own desperate hold on the demon’s horn.
Dante stayed buried, his forehead pressed between Dabi’s shoulder blades, his breath ragged gusts against Dabi’s sweat-slicked skin. The wings slowly furled, the horns seemed to recede fractionally, but the heat radiating from him remained infernal. Slowly, deliberately, Dante turned Dabi around, the softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He shoved Dabi back against the mirror, the cold glass a shock against his overheated skin. Dante crowded him, his larger frame pinning him, his gaze, still glowing faintly, sweeping over Dabi’s wrecked face, his heaving chest, his trembling legs.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of Dabi’s ear, his voice a dark, possessive rasp laced with Detroit grit and ancient fire. "Mine," he stated, the single word resonating with absolute conviction. "Every fucking scar. Every drop of rage. This fire…" His clawed hand slid possessively over Dabi’s abdomen, sticky with come. "It all belongs to me now." He captured Dabi’s mouth in a fierce, claiming kiss, tasting of sulfur and their shared ruin. When he pulled back, the glow in his eyes still simmered. "Stay right fucking there," he ordered, turning towards the shower stall, his wings rustling like dry parchment. The command hung in the sulfur-tinged air, a promise of more. Dabi, pinned against the mirror, dripping and aching, watched the demon king walk away, a shiver that wasn't entirely cold tracing his spine. He was far from done.
Steam billowed, thick and sulfur-scented, swallowing Dante’s silhouette as he stepped under the pounding water. The glass door clicked shut. Dabi remained pinned against the cold mirror, breath hitching, rivulets of sweat and come tracing paths through the grime on his thighs. Dante’s command – Stay right fucking there – vibrated in his bones, a shackle of pure will. His reflection was a mess: hair plastered dark, eyes wide and bruised-looking, lips swollen. Below, the angry red mark of Dante’s bite pulsed on his neck, a brand above the ruin of scars.
Inside, the wildfire Dante had named roared. Not just rage now, but a terrifying, possessive hunger mirroring the demon’s own. He watched the distorted shape behind the fogged glass move, heard the water sluice over powerful shoulders. The ache deep in his ass was a raw, delicious throb, a reminder of the power that had split him open. His own neglected cock, half-hard again against his thigh, twitched.
The shower door slid open abruptly, steam rolling out like infernal breath. Dante stood framed, water sheeting down the dense muscle carved over his ribs, over the intricate tattoos writhing across his chest and arms. His gaze, still glowing faintly pink in the steamy gloom, locked onto Dabi. "Told you to stay put," he rasped, voice rough from roaring. He stepped out, dripping, onto the bathmat, ignoring the puddle forming. Water darkened the tight spirals of his horns, beaded on the leathery expanse of his half-furled wings.
He didn't towel off. He simply walked forward, a predator closing in, the heat radiating off him palpable even from feet away. Dabi’s breath caught. Dante stopped inches from him, his wet skin almost touching Dabi's chest. The scent of clean water, expensive soap, and that underlying, dark musk of him washed over Dabi. Dante’s clawed hand rose, not gentle, tracing the fresh bite mark with a talon-tip that scraped just enough to sting. "Mine," he repeated, low and guttural.
Then his hand slid down, tracing the constellation of scars on Dabi’s chest, the puckered flesh, the fused muscle. Water dripped from his fingertips onto Dabi’s skin, cool trails on heated flesh. "Every ruined inch," Dante murmured, his gaze following the path of his hand down Dabi’s abdomen, over the sticky mess drying there, finally wrapping strong, wet fingers around Dabi’s cock. Dabi gasped, arching into the touch instantly. Dante’s hand was slick with water and his own heat, the grip demanding. "This fire… it answers to me."
He pumped once, slow and deliberate, his eyes boring into Dabi’s. "Get in the shower," Dante ordered, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Get the stink of the club and your own fucking mess off. But don't." He squeezed the base of Dabi’s cock hard, making him gasp. "Don't you dare fucking come. Not until I say."
He released him, stepping back towards the cascading water. The implicit threat, the raw possessiveness in Dante’s command, sent a fresh jolt of desperate arousal through Dabi. He pushed off the mirror, legs shaky, and stumbled forward into the steam-filled cubicle. The hot water hit him like a physical blow, washing over his scars, stinging slightly where Dante’s claws had pricked his hips, washing the sweat and spend down the drain. He braced a hand against the cool marble wall, head bowed under the spray.
Dante followed him in. The stall was spacious, opulent, but still close with two large bodies and massive wings. Dante crowded him back against the marble, his wet, powerful body pressing Dabi into the hard surface. Water plastered Dabi’s hair to his skull, streamed into his eyes. Dante’s hands were everywhere at once – sliding over Dabi’s slick back, palming his ass cheeks roughly, kneading the muscle where his fingers had dug in earlier. His cock, already thick and hardening again despite the recent release, pressed insistently against Dabi’s hip.
"Turn around," Dante growled against his ear, water running down his jaw, dripping onto Dabi’s shoulder. "Ass against the wall. Show me what’s mine." He stepped back just enough to give Dabi space. Dabi obeyed, turning, pressing his back and shoulders flat against the slick marble, the cold a stark contrast to the pounding hot water. He spread his legs, bracing himself, the sensitive, stretched rim of his hole exposed to the spray and Dante’s burning gaze. Dante’s eyes, glowing brighter pink now in the steam, raked over him, drinking in the sight. His clawed hands settled on Dabi’s hips again, thumbs digging into the crease where thigh met ass, spreading him slightly. Dabi flinched as the hot water hit his tender entrance directly, a sharp, unexpected sensation. Dante watched, fascinated, a low hum rumbling in his chest.
"Still open for me," Dante observed, his voice thick. One hand left Dabi’s hip, sliding between his own legs. Dabi watched, transfixed, as Dante spat into his palm again, then reached back to slick his own cock, already thick and flushed. The water diluted it, but the intent was clear. Brutal. Possessive. Dante stepped closer, the heat of him overwhelming the shower's steam. He hooked Dabi’s right leg over his forearm, lifting it, opening him wider. The blunt, wet head of Dante’s cock pressed against Dabi’s loosened, water-slicked entrance. Dante’s other hand gripped the base of his horn again, a silent demand for the contact Dabi had initiated earlier. "Look at me," Dante commanded.
Dabi dragged his gaze from the mesmerizing sight of Dante’s cockhead pressing against him, meeting those glowing pink eyes. Dante’s expression was feral hunger mixed with terrifying ownership. He pushed. Hard. Dabi cried out, the sound swallowed by the roar of the water and the steam. Dante drove deep, past the initial resistance, sheathing himself fully in the tight, clenching heat in one relentless thrust. The marble was cold and unyielding against Dabi’s back; Dante’s body, hard and wet and impossibly hot, pressed against his front; and inside, that thick, claiming invasion stretched him anew, reigniting the deep, bruised ache into a white-hot wire of sensation.
"Fuck!" Dabi gasped, his head thudding back against the marble, water streaming over his face. Dante held deep, grinding his hips in a slow, cruel circle. The stretch was exquisite agony. The water cascaded over them, slicking skin, making Dante’s thrusts slide easier but no less powerfully. Dante set a punishing rhythm, pulling almost all the way out, the drag making Dabi whimper, then slamming back in with a force that shook Dabi’s body against the wall. Each powerful drive hammered into that spot deep inside, sparking jolts of unbearable pleasure that arced through Dabi’s nerves. He clutched at Dante’s shoulders, fingers digging into wet skin and the dense muscle underneath, anchoring himself against the onslaught.
Dante’s breath came in harsh grunts against Dabi’s neck. His wings, half-unfurled again in the confined space, beat slowly, powerfully, sending waves of displaced water and steam swirling around them. His hips pistoned, relentless. "Feel it," Dante snarled, his teeth scraping Dabi’s throat. "Feel me owning you. Filling you." The hand on Dabi’s hip tightened, talons pricking sharp reminders into his skin. "This hole… takes my cock so fucking good. Made for it." He slammed particularly hard, making Dabi shout. "Gonna fuck it raw. Keep you full of me."
Dabi was lost, drowning in sensation. The cold marble, the scalding water, the demon pounding him into it. The dual grip on his hip and horn connected him to Dante’s power, made him a conduit. Dante’s rhythm became erratic, brutal. His thrusts shortened, became desperate jabs, grinding deep. The pink glow in his eyes flared like a supernova. "Dabi…" he gasped, a ragged sound ripped from his chest. "Gonna… fill you… again…"
With a guttural roar that echoed off the marble, Dante slammed deep and locked. His body shuddered violently against Dabi’s. Dabi felt the hot, thick pulse deep inside him, the claiming flood triggering his own unbearable tension. He was so hard it hurt, untouched, teetering on the edge Dante had forbidden him to cross.
Dante held himself buried, panting harshly, his forehead pressed to the wet marble beside Dabi’s head. The heat radiating from him was intense, primal. Slowly, he pulled out, the drag agonizingly slow, leaving Dabi achingly empty and trembling. Dante stepped back slightly, his cock slick and glistening, water washing the evidence of his release down Dabi’s thighs. His glowing eyes, still burning pink, locked onto Dabi’s desperate face, then trailed down his trembling body to his aching, neglected cock, rigid and flushed against his stomach.
A slow, predatory smile touched Dante’s lips, water dripping from his horns. "Kneel."