Chapter 1: The Devil’s Gaze and a Defiant Spark
The bass thrummed through the floor, a physical pulse that vibrated in Dante Morningstar’s molars. He leaned back against the plush velvet banquette in his club’s VIP section, a glass of ridiculously expensive bourbon dangling from his fingers. Below, the Inferno’s main floor writhed – a sea of gleaming skin and desperate movement under the low, sultry glow of crimson and obsidian lighting. Expensive cologne, sweat, and the faint, metallic tang of spilled liquor hung thick in the air, a perfume he knew intimately after centuries.
His gaze, sharp and discerning even in the dimness, drifted lazily over the crowd. It snagged, stopped dead. Near the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a pillar as if bored by the spectacle he was part of, stood a figure that immediately commanded Dante’s complete attention.
The man was young, maybe mid-twenties, with a lean build hidden beneath dark, well-worn clothes. But it was the scarring that arrested Dante first – stark, angry lines of puckered, marred skin covering one side of his face and disappearing down his neck beneath a high collar. Yet, it wasn’t the scars alone. There was an intensity in the set of his jaw, a stoicism that bordered on defiance, and eyes that glinted with a weary sort of fire even from this distance. A vulnerability, fiercely guarded. Dante felt a familiar, predatory spark ignite low in his belly. Intriguing. Captivating. More than just another pretty face lost in the thrum.
He couldn’t look away. Dabi – Dante caught the name drifting up from a nearby whispered conversation – held a stillness amidst the chaos, an anchor point. Dante tracked the subtle shift of his shoulders, the way he brought a cigarette to his lips without hurry. The air around him seemed charged differently.
Near Dabi, a girl with wide, curious eyes and a too-sharp smile – Toga, he recalled – nudged her companion hard in the ribs. She bounced on her toes, pointing subtly but insistently in Dante’s direction. Dabi’s head turned slowly, reluctantly. His gaze swept upwards, past the swirling lights, past the opulence of the VIP tier, and locked directly onto Dante’s.
Time didn’t stop. The world didn’t fade. But something happened. Dante saw the spark of recognition flare in those guarded eyes, a flicker of surprise, then something deeper – a mirror of the raw, immediate pull Dante himself felt. It was instantaneous, undeniable. Heat bloomed in Dante's chest, a low thrum of pure, primal interest. He didn’t smile, didn’t move. Just held that gaze, letting Dabi see the open appraisal, the unvarnished attraction. He felt the power of his own presence radiate outwards, a silent challenge.
Dabi held his stare for three heavy beats. Then, deliberately, he looked away, taking a long drag from his cigarette. The dismissal was clear, cool, almost insolent. But Dante saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the faint flush creeping up the unscarred side of his neck beneath the harsh club lighting. Not uninterested. Playing hard to get.
"Not your type?" Dante murmured to himself, a smirk finally touching his lips. Oh, but he was. He was exactly the type Dante wanted to unravel.
Dabi pushed off the pillar with a muttered word to Toga, who grinned like a cat watching birds. He wove through the gyrating bodies towards the long, glowing onyx bar at the edge of the lounge.
Opportunity. Dante smoothly pushed himself off the banquette. "Refill," he announced to no one in particular, his eyes never leaving Dabi’s retreating back.
The bar was marginally quieter, a haven for those seeking temporary escape from the dance floor's assault. Dante approached, deliberately leaving a space beside Dabi. He felt the younger man tense infinitesimally, though he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead at the gleaming bottles behind the bartender.
"Whiskey. Neat. Something that bites back," Dante ordered, his voice low and rich, cutting through the ambient noise. He leaned his elbows on the cool stone bar top, the metal of his piercings – bridge, nostrils, septum, the horizontal labret catching the light – glinting faintly. He turned his head fractionally towards Dabi. "Long night?"
Dabi didn’t turn. "Aren't they all?" His voice was rougher than Dante expected, smoke-roughened, edged with a practiced indifference.
"Could be longer," Dante countered smoothly, swirling the amber liquid the bartender slid towards him. He took a slow sip, letting the burn travel down his throat. "Or shorter. Depends on the company."
Dabi finally turned his head, those intense eyes sweeping over Dante with a deliberately unimpressed once-over. It lingered on the intricate tattoos snaking up Dante’s neck, disappearing into the collar of his black silk shirt, then down the exposed forearms where more ink swirled. "Trying to buy me a drink with philosophy?"
"Trying to see if you bite." Dante met his gaze, unblinking. There was a dangerous spark in his eyes, a promise of heat. "You seem like you might."
A dry, humorless huff escaped Dabi. "Heard that before. Usually ends with disappointment." He raised his own glass – something dark and fizzy – and took a sip. His movements were economical, controlled.
"Maybe you haven't been bitten hard enough," Dante murmured, leaning in slightly. The scent of him – smoke, cheap soap, and something uniquely, frustratingly male – hit Dante. Intoxicating. "Or by the right teeth."
Dabi’s gaze flickered down to Dante’s lips, then back up, a challenge in his eyes. "Cocky bastard, aren't you?"
"It’s not cocky if you can back it up." Dante let his smile widen, predatory. "Care to find out?"
Dabi held his stare, the air crackling between them. He took another slow sip of his drink, then deliberately placed the glass down. He turned fully to face Dante, the movement deliberate. "What exactly," he asked, his voice dangerously low, "are you offering?"
"Quiet," Dante said simply, his gaze unwavering. "Somewhere the music doesn't pound your skull. A… change of pace." He let the implication hang, thick and heavy.
Dabi’s eyes narrowed, weighing him. Dante saw the flicker of wariness, the ingrained defensiveness. But beneath it, undeniable curiosity. Desire, barely leashed. The defiance was a shield, and Dante wanted to shatter it.
"Fine," Dabi said abruptly, the word clipped. "Show me."
Dante didn't hesitate. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn a familiar comfort. He touched Dabi's elbow lightly, a guiding pressure that was more command than suggestion. "This way."
He led Dabi not towards the exit, but deeper into the club's labyrinthine heart, past velvet ropes manned by discreet security who nodded Dante through. They moved down a quieter corridor lined with unmarked doors, the bass a muffled throb now. Dante stopped at one, pulling a key card from his pocket. The lock clicked open with a soft snick.
The room beyond was small, intimate. Plush carpet, a low leather sofa, a discreet minibar. The only light came from dim, recessed sconces. The air was cool, still, a stark contrast to the humid chaos outside. Dante closed the door, the click echoing slightly in the sudden quiet.
Before Dabi could speak, could reassess, Dante moved. He backed him smoothly, firmly against the closed door, one hand planted on the wood beside Dabi's head. The other caught his hip, fingers digging in just enough to pin him. He was taller, broader, his ancient strength easily containing Dabi's wiry frame. Dante leaned in, their faces inches apart. He could feel the heat radiating off Dabi, the rapid beat of his pulse beneath Dante's thumb where it rested on his hipbone.
"No more games," Dante murmured, his voice a dark velvet rasp. His gaze locked onto Dabi's, holding him captive. "You're here. What do you want?"
Dabi didn't flinch. His breath hitched, his pupils blown wide in the dim light, swallowing the defiance. He searched Dante's face, the piercings, the intensity, the sheer presence that filled the small space. His jaw worked, but no words came. The raw attraction, the spark ignited at the bar, flared into an open flame.
Dante didn't wait for an answer. He claimed Dabi’s mouth. It wasn't soft. It was demanding, a searing press of lips that instantly deepened into something hungry, possessive. Dabi stiffened for a fraction of a second, a final resistance, then surrendered with a low, guttural sound. His hands, previously hanging at his sides, flew up – not to push away, but to fist in Dante’s shirt, pulling him closer, nails scraping against the silk.
Dante's hand left the door to cup Dabi’s jaw, angling his head for better access, his thumb tracing the rough edge of the scarring with surprising gentleness even as his kiss remained fierce. The other hand slid lower, gripping Dabi’s hip harder, pulling his body flush against his own. He dominated the kiss, setting the pace, the depth, his tongue exploring possessively. He felt Dabi respond, meeting his hunger with a desperate, answering fire, a moan vibrating against Dante's mouth. Dante pulled back just enough, breathing ragged, to look down at him. Dabi’s eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, his lips swollen, breathing hard. Utterly yielded, yet still burning with that inner fire. Dante traced Dabi's lower lip with his thumb, a silent command.
"Good," Dante breathed, the word heavy with satisfaction. He saw the flicker of something else in Dabi’s eyes then – not just lust, but a dazed wonder, a complete absorption in the moment, in him. Utterly oblivious to the ancient, infernal power that held him pinned. Dante leaned in again, capturing Dabi’s gasp, the thrill of this stolen, potent moment, this human utterly ensnared without knowing the true nature of the predator, sending a dark, possessive surge through his veins. The game was far from over.
The muffled thump of the bass from the club felt distant now, a dull echo against the plush silence of the private room. Dante’s gaze, molten gold and utterly unwavering, held Dabi pinned against the door as effectively as his body. The kiss had been a claiming, a stark declaration. Dabi’s lips tingled, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pulls that hitched in his chest. He felt scorched, branded. Dante’s thumb still traced the rough edge of his scar, a touch that was paradoxically gentle against the possessive force radiating from him. It sent confusing shivers down Dabi’s spine – vulnerability warring with a startling, deep-seated thrill.
"Still playing hard to get?" Dante murmured, his voice a low vibration that resonated deep in Dabi’s core. The faint scent of expensive bourbon and something ancient, like petrichor and smoke, clung to him.
Dabi swallowed, forcing defiance into his voice, though it cracked. "Wasn’t playing."
A ghost of a smirk touched Dante’s pierced lips. "Liar." He shifted his weight, the hand on Dabi’s hip sliding lower, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of his ass. Dante applied pressure, guiding more than pushing, pulling Dabi away from the door and towards the low leather sofa dominating the small space. Dabi stumbled slightly, his back hitting the cool leather a heartbeat later. Dante didn’t follow him down immediately. He stood over him, a dark silhouette against the dim sconces, his eyes gleaming as they raked over Dabi sprawled on the sofa. The sheer look of him, the raw appraisal, made Dabi’s skin flush hot beneath his clothes. It wasn't just lust; it was ownership, a predator surveying its prize.
"Off," Dante commanded, the single word brooking no argument. He gestured vaguely at Dabi’s worn jacket and shirt.
The command, delivered with such casual authority, sparked a flare of rebellion. "Make me," Dabi challenged, lifting his chin, the fire in his eyes flaring back to life. It was stupid, reckless. He knew it the moment the words left his lips. But the need to push, to see what lay beneath that controlled exterior, was overwhelming.
Dante’s smile widened, sharp and dangerous. He moved like liquid shadow. One knee planted itself firmly on the sofa cushion beside Dabi’s hip, caging him in. Before Dabi could react, Dante’s hands were on him – not rough, but impossibly fast and decisive. He gripped the collar of Dabi’s jacket and the hem of his shirt beneath it, yanking them both upwards in one smooth, powerful motion. Fabric bunched and scraped against Dabi’s skin. The cool air of the room hit his exposed chest and stomach, making him gasp. Dante discarded the garments onto the floor without a glance.
Dabi instinctively tried to push himself up, a hand coming up defensively. Dante caught his wrist effortlessly, pinning it back against the sofa above his head. His other hand captured Dabi’s free wrist just as quickly, immobilizing him. Dante leaned down, his body a heavy, warm bar pressing Dabi into the leather. His face was inches away, his piercings glinting coldly. The horizontal labret brushed Dabi’s jaw.
"Better," Dante breathed, his voice a dark caress. He held Dabi’s gaze, the dominance radiating off him like heat. "You like pushing, don't you? Seeing how far you can go before you break." It wasn't a question. His hips pressed down, a deliberate, grinding pressure that drew a choked gasp from Dabi. Not pain. Not yet. Just the undeniable weight of him, the friction, the implicit threat. "But tonight," Dante continued, his lips brushing Dabi’s earlobe, sending jolts of electricity through him, "I decide how far you go. And when you break."
He released Dabi’s wrists. Not freedom, but a test. Dabi didn’t move them. They stayed where Dante had placed them, above his head, trembling slightly. He stared up, mesmerized by the ancient power in those gold-flecked eyes, the intricate ink swirling across Dante’s collarbones and down his arms. The submission was terrifying. Exhilarating. It flooded him with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
Dante’s hand trailed down Dabi’s chest, calloused fingers skimming over ribs, tracing the planes of his stomach. Every touch was deliberate, assessing, stoking the fire building low in Dabi's belly. Dante’s other hand slid beneath him, gripping Dabi’s hip again, hauling him roughly into a better angle. The movement was abrupt, commanding. Dante leaned back, his gaze sweeping over Dabi’s exposed torso, lingering on the scars marring his skin. There was no pity, only a dark, intense curiosity.
"Beautiful," Dante murmured, his voice thick. His hand moved lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of Dabi’s jeans. The metal of his rings was cold against Dabi’s heated skin. Dante applied steady pressure, his eyes locked on Dabi’s, watching for every micro-expression. "You want this," he stated, not asking. He saw the truth in the dilation of Dabi’s pupils, the flush creeping down his neck, the way his breath hitched. He saw the flicker of fear, yes, but beneath it, a desperate, hungry need that mirrored his own. Dante popped the button. The zipper rasped down, loud in the quiet room. The cool air hit Dabi’s skin again, making him shiver, but the heat inside him roared.
Dante dominated the space, the pace, the very air. He wasn't insanely rough. He didn't need to be. His strength was implicit, his control absolute. Every touch, every shift, every command was calculated to overwhelm Dabi’s defenses, to stoke the fire of his reluctant surrender. He pushed Dabi right to the edge of resistance, then backed off just enough, only to push again, harder. The friction was exquisite. Dante’s mouth, hot and demanding, found Dabi’s neck, his collarbone, leaving marks that weren't quite bruises but stark declarations. His hands were firm, possessive, mapping every inch of exposed skin, guiding Dabi’s body with effortless authority.
Dabi arched beneath him, a low moan tearing from his throat, raw and unfiltered. He liked it. The sheer force of Dante’s presence, the way he took control without asking, without hesitation. He liked the feeling of being completely overcome, of the relentless pressure that stripped away his usual guarded defiance and left only raw sensation. He liked the bite of Dante’s rings against his hip, the scrape of teeth against his pulse point, the sheer power radiating from the man holding him down. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel. It was dominance, pure and potent, and it ignited something deep within Dabi he hadn't known existed – a craving to be mastered, consumed. He pushed back, not to escape, but to feel the resistance, to feel Dante meet him, crush him, own him. Every gasp, every shudder, every involuntary sound that escaped him was a surrender Dante claimed as his due.
The leather sighed beneath Dabi as Dante moved. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t fumble. His motions were deliberate, predatory, stripping Dabi’s jeans and underwear down his thighs with ruthless efficiency. The cool air kissed Dabi’s exposed skin, a stark contrast to the furnace heat radiating off Dante above him. Dante’s own clothes seemed to vanish – a blur of dark fabric discarded, revealing more swirling ink, powerful muscle, and the undeniable, hard length of him pressing hot against Dabi’s hip.
Dabi’s breath came in shallow gasps. He felt laid bare, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying and exhilarating. Dante’s gaze, molten gold and utterly focused, pinned him. He produced a small bottle from somewhere – sleek, black glass – slicking his fingers with practiced ease. The scent of something faintly herbal filled the small space, mixing with sweat and leather.
"No," Dante murmured, his voice a low vibration that thrummed through Dabi’s bones as Dabi instinctively tried to lift his hips. Dante’s free hand pressed firmly on his lower abdomen, holding him down. "Still." The command brooked no argument, underscored by the sheer physical power holding him in place.
Dabi tensed, expecting invasion, but Dante’s touch, when it came, was a slow, deliberate exploration. One slick finger circled, pressed, testing. Dabi sucked in a sharp breath, his head pressing back against the sofa arm, eyes squeezing shut. It wasn’t painful, just… intense. Unfamiliar. Dante watched his face, every flicker of expression, every hitch of breath. A second finger joined the first, stretching, probing deeper. Dabi arched, a strangled sound escaping his throat. Dante’s thumb rubbed small, maddening circles near the base of his cock, which stood rigid and aching against his stomach.
"Look at me," Dante ordered.
Dabi forced his eyes open, meeting that intense, ancient gaze. In those depths, he saw absolute control, a dark hunger, and something else… a chilling sort of fascination. Dante crooked his fingers, finding a spot that made Dabi cry out, his hips jerking involuntarily.
"Ah," Dante breathed, a dark satisfaction in his voice. He repeated the motion, slower this time, watching Dabi unravel. "There it is." He withdrew his fingers slowly, the loss abrupt. Dabi whimpered, the sound raw and embarrassing.
Then Dante shifted, positioning himself. The blunt, hot pressure against him made Dabi gasp. Dante’s hands gripped his hips, fingers digging in like brands.
"Breathe," Dante commanded, his voice rough.
Dabi sucked in air just as Dante pushed forward. It was a slow, relentless invasion, stretching him beyond anything he’d known. Dante didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, filling him inch by burning inch. Dabi cried out, a ragged sound torn from his chest, fingers clawing uselessly at the smooth leather sofa. The fullness was overwhelming, a mix of sharp stretch and deep, aching pressure. Dante held himself there, buried to the hilt, his own breath harsh in the quiet room. Sweat beaded on his temples, tracing the intricate lines of ink on his neck. His eyes were locked on Dabi’s, seeing the shock, the pain bleeding into a dazed, overwhelmed arousal.
"Fuck," Dabi gasped, his voice wrecked.
Dante began to move. Not fast, not frantic, but with a slow, powerful cadence that ground into Dabi’s core. Each deep thrust hit that spot inside him with devastating accuracy, sending shockwaves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. Dante controlled the rhythm completely, his hips rocking with an ancient, predatory grace. He leaned forward, bracing one hand beside Dabi’s head, his other hand gripping Dabi’s hip hard enough to bruise. Their chests brushed, Dante’s piercings cold against Dabi’s heated skin. Dante’s lips found the scarred edge of Dabi’s jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"You take it so well," Dante rasped against his skin, the words vibrating through Dabi. "Like you were made for it." The thrusts deepened, gaining a fraction more force. The friction was incredible, building the pressure inside Dabi with terrifying speed. He felt the coil tightening low in his belly, a familiar sensation now amplified tenfold by the sheer dominance of the act, by the overwhelming presence of the man possessing him.
Dante felt it too. He pulled out almost completely, leaving Dabi gasping and empty, the sudden loss jarring. "Not yet," Dante murmured, watching the desperate confusion flare in Dabi’s eyes. He thrust back in, hard and deep, wrenching another gasp from Dabi, then immediately slowed the pace again, a torturous, grinding rhythm.
He did it again. And again. Dabi was lost in a haze of sensation, every nerve ending alight. Dante would drive him to the very brink, that point where release was an imminent explosion, then pull back, ease off, let the agonizing pressure subside just enough to leave him trembling and desperate before building it all back up. It was exquisite torment. Dabi begged, incoherent sounds, pleas muffled against Dante’s shoulder where he’d buried his face. "Please... fuck... Dante..."
Dante’s only response was a low growl, his thrusts becoming harder, more insistent, pushing Dabi towards the precipice once more. Just as Dabi felt himself shattering, Dante pulled out entirely, leaving him gasping, shaking, on the edge of oblivion. Dante flipped him onto his stomach with effortless strength. The cool leather was a shock against his flushed skin. Before Dabi could even process the movement, Dante was over him, pressing him down, his weight a delicious anchor. He guided himself back inside in one smooth, deep stroke that punched the air from Dabi’s lungs.
This angle was different, deeper still. Dante fucked him with relentless, powerful strokes, each one driving Dabi’s hips down into the sofa. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mingling with Dabi’s choked sobs of pleasure and Dante’s ragged breathing. Dante’s hand fisted in Dabi’s hair, pulling his head back, arching his spine. He leaned down, his lips brushing Dabi’s ear. "Now," he commanded, his voice raw with his own straining control. "Come for me."
He reached around, his fingers wrapping around Dabi’s neglected, leaking cock. One firm stroke, two, perfectly timed with a deep, grinding thrust. It was the final detonation. Dabi shattered. His orgasm ripped through him with a violence that stole his vision, his hearing, his breath. It wasn't just physical; it was seismic, obliterating. He cried out, a raw, broken sound, as wave after wave of pure, white-hot ecstasy crashed over him, draining him utterly. He pulsed in Dante’s hand, against Dante’s body, completely beyond thought, beyond control.
Dante followed him over only moments later, his rhythm stuttering, then locking deep as a low, guttural groan tore from his chest. Dabi felt the hot pulse deep inside him, Dante’s body shuddering against his back with the force of his release. He collapsed partially onto Dabi, his breath hot and ragged against Dabi’s scarred shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding in the aftershock. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by their harsh breathing and the distant, muffled heartbeat of the club. Dante’s hand, still loosely wrapped around Dabi’s softening cock, was sticky. Dabi felt boneless, wrecked, floating in a haze of endorphins and shock, the best, most overwhelming climax of his life still echoing through every nerve. Dante nuzzled the nape of his neck, a surprisingly gentle gesture that felt incongruous after the raw dominance, his lips brushing the damp skin. "Good," he murmured again, the word vibrating against Dabi's spine, a dark benediction in the stillness.