Chapter 3: Roles Reversed
Dawn hadn’t yet breached the heavy velvet drapes of the Devil’s Den, but the deep indigo of night was fading into the oppressive grey of pre-dawn. The distant, muffled thump of the club’s bass was finally silent, replaced by a profound stillness broken only by Dante’s deep, even breathing beside him. Dabi lay on his back, staring up at the shadowed canopy of the four-poster bed, the events of the night – Dante’s mouth, the devastating orgasm, the terrifying craving that lingered – churning in his gut.
He felt raw. Exposed. Dante’s arm was draped heavily over his waist, a possessive weight even in sleep. The intricate tattoos on Dante’s shoulder and chest were barely discernible in the gloom, a map of darkness Dabi couldn’t read. He remembered the power, the control, the way Dante had made him feel utterly wrecked and yet desperate for more. A spark of defiance, sharp and familiar, flared within him. He couldn’t just lie here, passive. Not again.
Carefully, slowly, he eased Dante’s arm off him. The ancient being stirred slightly, a low murmur escaping his pierced lips, but didn’t wake. Dabi slid from the crimson silk sheets, the cool air raising goosebumps on his scarred skin. He stood naked beside the bed, looking down at Dante sprawled in unconscious luxury. The tattoos seemed to writhe in the low light, coiling over powerful muscle. His cock lay thick and soft against his thigh, a dormant beast.
Dabi’s pulse hammered against his ribs. This was madness. But the craving wasn’t just for the taking anymore. It was for the giving. To see him unravel. He knelt on the plush carpet, the texture rough against his knees. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, the unfamiliarity tightening his throat, before leaning forward. His lips touched the soft skin of Dante’s inner thigh. He inhaled the rich, masculine scent – musky sleep mixed with expensive cologne and something primal.
He took Dante’s cock into his mouth. It was heavy, the skin soft and warm. He explored tentatively with his tongue, tracing the prominent vein along the underside, swirling experimentally around the head. He felt it twitch, thickening almost instantly against his tongue. Dante’s breathing hitched.
A low groan rumbled from the bed. Dante’s molten gold eyes snapped open, hazy with sleep but sharpening fast. He looked down, surprise flickering across his usually impassive face as he registered Dabi’s position. "The fuck?"
Dabi pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a flush creeping up his neck under Dante’s intense gaze. "Don’t be a dick," he muttered, avoiding Dante’s eyes, his voice rough.
Dante pushed himself up on his elbows, his gaze raking over Dabi. "Excuse me?"
"Just…" Dabi swallowed, the defiance warring with sudden, intense self-consciousness. "Don’t fucking laugh or make some smartass remark. I haven’t… I haven’t done this before."
Dante stared, genuine bafflement etched on his face. "You’re fucking with me."
Dabi glared, the vulnerability hardening into irritation. "No. Dead fucking serious."
"Never?" Dante’s voice was flat, disbelieving. "You walked into this club, you crawled into my bed… but you’ve never sucked a guy off?"
"Been on the receiving end plenty," Dabi shot back, defensive. "Never… given. Okay?" He felt stupid saying it. Exposed.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Dante’s face, illuminating the sharp angles and gleaming metal piercings. He settled back against the pillows, spreading his legs slightly. "Why the sudden change of heart, pretty boy?" The gold in his eyes seemed to glow.
Dabi met that burning gaze, the vulnerability burning away under a surge of raw desire. "Because I want to," he stated, the words low and fierce. "I want you. Every fucking way imaginable. Understand?" The admission hung heavy in the quiet room.
Then, without waiting for a response, Dabi bent forward again, sealing his mouth over Dante’s now fully hardened cock. He took him deep, pushing past the unfamiliar pressure at the back of his throat. For someone who claimed inexperience, instinct seemed to take over. He focused on the smooth glide of skin against his tongue, the salty tang of precome, the thick heat filling his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, drawing a sharp hiss from Dante above him.
He was good. Fuck, he was good. He found a rhythm, deep sucks followed by teasing licks along the sensitive ridge of the head, swirling his tongue over the slit. He used his hand alongside his mouth, pumping the base in counterpoint, his thumb rubbing firm circles just beneath the crown. Dante’s hand tangled roughly in his hair, not guiding, just holding on. A low growl vibrated in Dante’s chest. "Fuck…"
Dabi felt a surge of power. He pulled back, leaving Dante’s cock slick and straining, bobbing heavily. He blew a cool stream of air over the wet head, watching Dante’s abs tighten, a choked noise escaping him. Dabi’s eyes flicked up. Seeing the ancient creature trembling under his mouth was intoxicating. He leaned in again, taking just the head, sucking hard, swirling his tongue relentlessly. Dante’s hips jerked. Dabi felt the tension coiling, the telltale throb against his tongue.
He pulled off abruptly. Dante swore violently, his grip tightening painfully in Dabi’s hair. "Don’t fucking stop—"
"Shut up," Dabi murmured, his breath ghosting over the wet tip. He licked a slow, torturous stripe from root to tip. Dante hissed, his knuckles white where they gripped the sheets. Dabi held him there, teetering on the edge, for long, agonizing seconds before engulfing him again, deep and demanding. He built him back up, faster this time, his mouth working expertly, sucking, licking, his hand twisting firmly. Dante’s breathing became ragged gasps, his thighs trembling. Again, Dabi sensed the peak rushing near. He pulled off at the last possible second, leaving Dante shuddering, a strangled roar of frustration tearing from his throat.
"Fucking… tease," Dante snarled, his voice thick with barely restrained need.
Dabi just smiled, a feral little twist of his scarred lips. He repeated the torment twice more. He’d work Dante to the very brink with deep, rhythmic sucks and clever flicks of his tongue, feeling the cock swell impossibly hard, pulsing with imminent release. Then, with cruel precision, he’d pull away, sometimes just to lick the weeping tip, sometimes to blow softly, sometimes to simply let the cool air sting the heated flesh. He’d watch Dante’s control fray, the cords in his neck standing out, sweat beading on his tattooed chest, the low growls turning into guttural curses.
The fourth time Dabi stopped, Dante roared. Not a curse, but a sound of pure, primal fury and need. He surged up, grabbing Dabi by the shoulders and hauling him bodily off the floor, throwing him back onto the crimson silk. Dante loomed over him, eyes blazing like hellfire, his cock thick and angry red, leaking profusely onto Dabi’s stomach. "Enough fucking games," he snarled, his voice raw. He grabbed his cock, slick with spit, and guided it roughly to Dabi’s entrance. There was no bottle this time. No preparation beyond Dabi’s own spit. Dante thrust in, hard and deep, a brutal invasion that punched the air from Dabi’s lungs. "You want me every way?" Dante growled, pistoning into him with punishing force, the bed frame creaking. "Take it then."
Dabi cried out, the stretch and burn sharp, intense, but buried beneath it was a shocking wave of euphoria. Dante fucked him with relentless, driving thrusts, owning the body beneath him, each slam driving a choked gasp or a broken moan from Dabi’s lips. It was raw, visceral, a claiming. Dante’s eyes bored into his, the ancient hunger stripped bare, no longer amused, only consuming. Dabi met that gaze, the defiance gone, replaced by a dazed surrender to the overwhelming sensation, the sheer power of being taken by something so dangerously potent. He arched up, meeting the brutal rhythm, lost in the storm Dante unleashed inside him.
Much later, muscles trembling, skin sheened with sweat and other fluids, Dabi stumbled from the oppressive warmth of the Devil’s Den into the marginally cooler air of the private corridor. He leaned heavily against the dark wood paneling for a second, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his knees feeling like jelly. The echoes of Dante’s possession still thrummed through his body, a relentless aftershock.
He pushed off the wall, intending to find his discarded clothes, maybe a stiff drink, and get the hell out. He turned the corner and walked straight into a soft, immovable barrier. The scent hit him first – cloying, expensive perfume overlaid with something sharper, predatory.
"Well, well," a low, amused voice purred. "So that's where you've been hiding, little bird."
Dabi staggered back a step. Sapphire. One of Dante’s… associates? Enforcers? Something dangerous, Dabi knew instinctively. She leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed under her ample chest, her dark eyes raking over him with undisguised interest. Her gaze lingered on the fresh bruises blooming on his hips, the unmistakable bite marks Dante had left high on his neck. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her unnervingly perfect lips. "Looks like the Devil himself took a liking. Roughly." She uncrossed her arms, taking a slow step towards him, her hand lifting as if to trace one of the marks. "Poor thing. Did he hurt you?"
Before her fingers could make contact, before Dabi could even flinch away, Dante’s voice cut through the dim corridor like fractured ice, cold and sharp enough to draw blood.
"Touch him," Dante said from the open doorway of the Den, silhouetted against the crimson light within, radiating a palpable aura of ancient, terrifying power, "and I'll skin you alive. Slowly."
Sapphire froze, her hand hovering inches from Dabi’s neck. Her smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear that widened her eyes. She dropped her arm instantly, backing up a step, her gaze fixed on Dante. "Just admiring the handiwork," she said, her voice losing its purr, turning brittle. "No harm intended."
Sapphire’s fear was a palpable stench in the tight space. She backed away, vanishing around the corner without another word, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor. The oppressive silence after her departure vibrated with Dante’s lingering fury.
Dabi stood frozen, Dante’s chilling threat echoing in his bones. Sapphire’s predatory interest had been a cold shock, but Dante’s reaction… the raw, protective violence in his voice… it ignited something dangerously warm low in Dabi’s belly. Possession. Pure, primal possession. He’d never been claimed like that, never been someone worth defending. The sensation was terrifying. Addictive.
He turned slowly. Dante still filled the doorway, a silhouette etched in crimson light from the Den. His face was a mask of ancient fury, the tattoos seeming to writhe like trapped serpents. The anger radiating off him was a physical pressure. Dabi stepped back into the room, letting the heavy door swing shut behind him with a soft, final thud. He leaned against it, the cool wood against his bare back.
"What the fuck was that?" Dabi rasped, his voice rough. "Who is she?" He watched Dante, the adrenaline mixing with the lingering ache of their earlier fucking.
Dante’s gaze, molten gold and still simmering, locked onto him. He didn’t move from the doorway. "Sister," he said flatly. The word was dropped like a stone. No elaboration. No context. Just a hard fact.
Dabi stared. Sister? The revelation landed strangely. It explained the familiarity, the shared predatory air, the way Dante’s fury had been so intensely personal. But it deepened the mystery. What kind of family was this? He pushed off the door, the movement tentative. Dante’s eyes tracked him, the fury banked but still glowing like embers.
He walked towards the massive bed, the crimson silk sheets still tangled and damp. He sat on the edge, the mattress yielding beneath him. Dante finally moved, stepping away from the doorway, the predatory tension easing fractionally. He moved to stand near Dabi, gazing down at him, a complex expression flickering in those ancient eyes – anger, possessiveness, something else Dabi couldn’t name.
He reached out, his scarred fingers brushing Dante’s tattooed hip. The contact felt electric. Dante’s gaze snapped down to his hand, then back to his face. Dabi leaned in slowly, drawn by the magnetic pull of Dante’s intensity, the dangerous allure amplified tenfold by his protective rage. "Dante…" he breathed.
He kissed him. Not tentative, not questioning. A hard, claiming press of his lips against Dante’s. He tasted the lingering salt of his own skin, the faint metallic tang of Dante’s piercings. For a split second, Dante remained still, a statue carved from fury and power. Then, with a low growl that vibrated through Dabi’s mouth, he responded.
Dante’s hand shot out, tangling roughly in Dabi’s hair. Not pulling him away, but pulling him in. His other arm wrapped around Dabi’s waist, a band of iron. He kissed back fiercely, demanding, his tongue thrusting into Dabi’s mouth, claiming him all over again. It was a kiss that spoke of ownership, of barely leashed violence, of desperate, consuming need.
Dabi groaned into the kiss, arching against Dante’s hard body. He could feel Dante’s cock, thick and rigid once more, pressing insistently against his hip. Dante broke the kiss, breathing harshly, his eyes blazing inches from Dabi’s. Without a word, he shoved Dabi backwards onto the silk sheets. Dabi landed sprawled on his back, but Dante was already moving, his strength terrifying.
He gripped Dabi’s hips, flipping him roughly onto his side. Dabi gasped, the sudden movement jarring. Dante pressed against his back, his body a furnace against Dabi’s skin. His cock, slick with pre-come and the remnants of their earlier encounter, slid roughly between Dabi’s thighs, seeking friction. One powerful arm snaked around Dabi’s chest, pinning him close. The other hand gripped his hip bone hard enough to bruise.
"Stay still," Dante commanded, his voice a dark rasp against Dabi’s neck. He shifted his hips, the thick head of his cock pressing not between Dabi’s thighs, but lower, against the tight, still-sensitive pucker of his hole. Dabi stiffened, a small sound escaping him. There was no lube this time, just spit and sweat and the urgent, brutal need radiating from Dante.
Dante didn’t ask. He pressed. The blunt pressure was intense, immediate. Dabi hissed, biting his lip. Dante’s arm tightened across his chest, crushing him back against that hard chest. "Fucking take it," Dante snarled, his breath hot on Dabi’s ear. He thrust his hips forward, forcing himself past the tight ring of muscle in one relentless, brutal push.
"FUCK!" Dabi cried out, the burn sharp and deep as Dante buried himself to the hilt in one savage stroke. The invasion was shocking, almost painful in its suddenness and lack of preparation. Dante’s cock felt impossibly thick and hard inside him, stretching him wide, claiming the depths of him. Dante held himself deep for a moment, his body rigid against Dabi’s back, breathing harshly. His grip on Dabi’s hip was like a vise.
Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, the drag agonizingly rough. Dabi gasped, clenching involuntarily around the retreating thickness. "Christ…" he panted. Dante slammed back in, hard, forcing another ragged cry from Dabi’s throat. He set a relentless, punishing rhythm. Deep, driving thrusts that forced Dabi forward with each powerful shove of Dante’s hips.
There was no finesse, no teasing build. This was raw fucking. Possession. Each thrust drove the air from Dabi’s lungs, each withdrawal scraped his sensitive inner walls. Dante’s teeth grazed the tender skin where Dabi’s neck met his shoulder, not quite biting down, a constant threat. His arm tightened across Dabi’s chest, holding him impossibly close, arching Dabi’s back, forcing him to take the full, brutal length with every plunge.
"Who do you belong to?" Dante growled against his ear, punctuating each word with a vicious thrust that felt like it rearranged Dabi’s insides. "Say it."
Dabi couldn’t speak. He could only gasp, moan, his body rocking violently with the force of Dante’s claiming. The pain was a live wire, but beneath it roared a terrifying euphoria. Being filled this way, owned this completely by something so powerful… it was shattering. His cock was painfully hard again, trapped between his stomach and the mattress, leaking precum onto the silk. "You!" he finally choked out as Dante pistoned into him, hitting a spot that sent sparks through his vision. "Fuck! You!"
Dante grunted, a sound of dark satisfaction. He shifted his angle slightly, driving harder, deeper, each thrust now aimed unerringly at Dabi’s prostate. The sharp bursts of pleasure-pain exploded through Dabi’s core, obliterating coherent thought. His moans became high, keening sounds lost in the wet slap of skin on skin, Dante’s ragged breathing.
He fucked him like that, ruthlessly, relentlessly, on his side, pinned and utterly vulnerable. The world narrowed to the brutal rhythm, the searing fullness, the scrape of Dante’s teeth on his neck, the possessive arm locking him in place. Dante’s thrusts grew harder, faster, losing some of their precision as his own peak approached. His growls became guttural groans against Dabi’s skin. He was close. Dabi could feel the frantic pulse of Dante’s cock deep inside him.
Dante slammed in one final, brutal time, burying himself to the root. He roared, a raw sound ripped from deep within his chest. His body locked rigid against Dabi’s back, his hips grinding forward. Dabi felt the hot, thick pulse as Dante came, a flood of liquid heat filling him deep, marking him internally as thoroughly as the bruises marked his skin. Dante’s release seemed endless, each powerful jet a claim staked deep in Dabi’s body. Dante shuddered violently, his grip on Dabi tightening almost painfully as the last tremors racked him. He stayed buried, his breath a harsh rasp against Dabi’s neck, cock still pulsing weakly inside the tight, clenching heat.