Chapter 5: Burn Together
The VIP bathroom was a tomb lined in black marble, the air thick with bergamot, cedar, and the distant, muffled thump of the club’s heart. Dabi didn’t remember deciding to follow Dante here. One moment he was drowning in the suffocating horror of Hawks’ words, the image of a child impaled on a spear burning behind his eyes, the next he was pushing through the heavy, soundproofed door, trapping himself alone with the ancient, broken thing Hawks claimed Dante to be.
Dante stood near the ornate, gilded sink, washing his hands with deliberate slowness. He didn’t turn, but his reflection in the vast, antique mirror caught Dabi’s entrance. Gold eyes, cold and assessing, met blue through the glass.
Dabi moved like a strike. He slammed Dante back against the marble sink, the impact jarring up his own arms. He fisted his hands in the impossibly soft black silk of Dante’s shirt, knuckles white against the scarred skin of his own wrists. The heat radiating off Dante was unnatural, like standing near an open forge. Dabi shoved him hard, the sink digging into Dante’s lower back.
"Tell me," Dabi snarled, the words ripped raw from his throat. His breath hitched, betraying the tremor beneath the rage. "Tell me it's all bullshit. That Hawks is full of fucking shit. That you’re not some ancient ass monster who watched his kids get slaughtered."
Dante didn’t fight the hold. He didn’t even flinch. He just watched Dabi in the mirror, those unnerving gold eyes holding a depth of millennia that suddenly felt terrifyingly real. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips, nowhere near his eyes. It was the smile of a predator amused by the defiance of prey.
Then, it happened.
A ripple passed through Dante’s reflection. Gold bled to a deep, burning crimson. Fangs, sharp and ivory-white, elongated past his lower lip, glinting under the low, ambient lights. From his temples, two thick, ebony horns, ridged and wicked, curled upwards. Lower down his skull, near the base of his neck, two more, shorter and sharper, pierced through his dark hair. The air crackled, thick with static and the scent of ozone and sulphur. When Dabi blinked, vast, leathery wings – black as the void between stars and shimmering with faint, iridescent veins – stretched out behind Dante’s reflection, filling the mirror and brushing the high ceiling.
Dabi froze. The raw fury bled out of him, replaced by a primal, icy terror that locked his muscles. The sight wasn’t just scary; it was wrong, a violation of reality. His fingers went slack in the silk shirt.
In a blur of impossible speed, Dante moved. He wasn’t trapped anymore. He was the cage. He spun Dabi around, pinning him face-first against the cold, unforgiving marble counter. Dante’s body pressed flush against his back – impossibly hard muscle, the heat now a furnace, the texture of his wings a soft, terrifying brush against Dabi’s arms. One powerful arm snaked around Dabi’s chest, binding his arms to his sides. Dante’s other hand, calloused and searing hot, gripped the back of Dabi’s neck, not painfully, but with absolute, inescapable control. Dante’s lips brushed the shell of Dabi’s ear, his breath scalding.
"Every fucking word is true, hot stuff," Dante purred, the voice deeper now, layered with a guttural resonance that vibrated through Dabi’s bones. The faint lisp from the fangs made it monstrously intimate. He ground his hips forward, the thick ridge of his erection unmistakable even through layers of clothing, pressing hard against Dabi’s ass. "But since you’re so eager to know... let me show you exactly what kind of monster you're playing with."
Dabi gasped, a sound ripped between fear and a shocking jolt of arousal that flooded his veins like liquid fire. The terror was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but it warred violently with the electric heat Dante radiated, with the possessive weight of his body, with the sheer, overwhelming power that held him immobile. He felt small. Prey. And part of him, a dark, hidden part he barely acknowledged, reveled in it. "Fuck... you..." he managed, voice strangled, pushing back instinctively against Dante’s hardness, a defiance that felt hollow even to himself.
Dante chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that resonated in Dabi’s chest. "Oh, I plan to," he murmured, his tongue tracing the curve of Dabi’s ear. The hot, wet drag sent shivers cascading down Dabi’s spine. "Right here. Right fucking now. Against this pretty marble."
His hand left Dabi’s neck, sliding down the front of his body with deliberate slowness. Dante’s fingers, still fever-hot, found the buckle of Dabi’s belt. The rasp of leather, the metallic clink of the buckle opening, was obscenely loud in the enclosed space. Dabi sucked in a sharp breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He braced his hands on the cold counter, knuckles white. He should fight. He wanted to fight. But his body felt heavy, pliant under Dante’s overwhelming presence. Dante’s other hand slid lower, rough palm cupping Dabi’s cock through his jeans, squeezing firmly. A ragged groan escaped Dabi’s lips, his hips bucking involuntarily into that touch.
"See?" Dante breathed, his voice thick with dark amusement and lust. "Even scared shitless... your cock knows what it wants. Mine." He deftly unbuttoned Dabi’s jeans, the zipper rasping down. Cool air hit Dabi’s heated skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of Dante’s hand sliding past fabric, wrapping around his bare, hard length. Dabi cried out, his head falling forward, forehead pressing against the cold mirror. Dante’s grip was firm, demanding, his thumb swiping over the slick head, spreading the pre-cum beading there. "Fuck, you’re leaking already," Dante growled approvingly, pumping him slowly, torturously. "Such a desperate slut for me."
He didn’t stop there. Dante’s hand retreated only to shove Dabi’s jeans and boxers down over his hips in one rough motion, baring his ass to the cool air and Dante’s burning gaze. Dabi gasped, exposed, vulnerable. He felt Dante shift behind him, heard the rustle of clothing, the metallic slide of Dante’s own zipper. He tensed, knowing what was coming, the fear spiking again, sharp and bright. He tried to push back, to struggle, but Dante’s arm tightened like steel around his chest, crushing the breath from him for a second.
"Shhh," Dante murmured, his breath hot on Dabi’s neck. The hand that wasn’t holding him captive slid between his cheeks. Dante’s finger, thick and slick with something cool and slick – conjured, Dabi’s dazed mind supplied – pressed against his tight hole. "Just relax, pretty boy. Gonna make it good." The command was velvet over steel. The finger breached him, a sudden, intrusive stretch that burned. Dabi hissed, arching his back, pain and shock warring with the relentless pressure of Dante’s cock grinding against his ass. Dante worked the finger slowly, relentlessly, curling it, searching. When it brushed that spot inside him, Dabi jerked, a choked cry tearing from his throat, his cock twitching violently in Dante’s slackened grip. Pleasure, sharp and electric, arced through him, momentarily drowning the burn.
"Found it," Dante purred, satisfaction dripping from the words. He added a second finger, the stretch intensifying, the burn flaring hot again, but now laced with that devastating pleasure. He scissored his fingers, stretching Dabi open with efficient, ruthless precision, rubbing that spot relentlessly until Dabi was panting, trembling, his cock dripping onto the marble floor, his earlier defiance reduced to ragged gasps and involuntary shudders. "That’s it. Take it. Gonna fuck you so deep, you’ll forget your own fucking name."
Dante withdrew his fingers abruptly. Dabi felt empty, aching. Before he could process it, the blunt, searing-hot head of Dante’s cock replaced them, pressing against his stretched entrance. It felt enormous. Impossible. Dante’s hand gripped his hip hard enough to bruise. The arm around his chest became an iron bar. Dante leaned in, his fangs scraping Dabi’s shoulder where the collar of his shirt had fallen away. His voice was a guttural growl that vibrated through Dabi’s entire being.
"Breathe out, Dabi."
Dabi obeyed on a shaky exhale. Dante thrust.
It was a brutal, unforgiving invasion. Dante sheathed himself in one slow, relentless push that tore a raw scream from Dabi’s throat. The stretch was agony, a white-hot tearing sensation that stole his breath. He felt split open, filled beyond capacity, every nerve ending screaming. Dante buried himself to the hilt, his balls pressed tight against Dabi’s ass, his cock throbbing deep inside with unnatural heat. Dabi panted, tears stinging his eyes, his body rigid with shock and pain.
Dante didn’t move. He held himself there, buried impossibly deep, his breath hot and ragged against Dabi’s neck. He ground his hips in a slow circle, making Dabi feel every thick inch, the ridges and veins mapping themselves onto his insides. The pain began to shift, morphing into a heavy, overwhelming fullness that was its own kind of torture. Dante’s hand slid up from Dabi’s hip, over the scarred tissue on his stomach, to wrap around his aching cock again. The touch sent another jolt through him.
"Hurt?" Dante murmured, his voice thick. He gave Dabi’s cock a slow, possessive stroke. "Good. Remember it. Remember who owns this tight fucking hole now." He pulled back, agonizingly slow, the drag exquisite torture, then slammed back in with punishing force.
Dabi cried out again, the sound swallowed by the marble and Dante’s body. The pain flared, but this time it was chased by a bolt of pure, electric pleasure so intense it bordered on pain itself, radiating from that spot deep inside him Dante had claimed. Dante set a brutal pace immediately. No gentle build-up. Each thrust was a controlled ram, driving the air from Dabi’s lungs, slamming his body against the unforgiving counter. The marble was cold, slick with sweat under his palms. Dante’s wings rustled, brushing Dabi’s arms, enclosing them in a dark, leathery shroud. His fangs nipped at Dabi’s neck, not breaking skin yet, but promising.
The sounds were filthy. The wet slap of skin on skin, the ragged gasps torn from Dabi’s throat, Dante’s guttural growls of "Fuck... so tight... take it, slut..." filling the small space. Dante’s hand worked Dabi’s cock in time with his thrusts, rough and demanding, pulling him towards the edge with terrifying speed. The pain was still there, a deep, burning ache, but it was being consumed, overwritten by the relentless assault on his prostate, by the sheer, overwhelming force of Dante possessing him. He felt owned. Used. Utterly, terrifyingly claimed. And his body, traitorously, gloried in it. Pleasure coiled tight in his belly, hot and urgent, amplified by the harsh words growled in his ear, by the burn of the stretch, by the impossible heat radiating from the demon fucking him senseless.
"Look," Dante commanded, his voice ragged but absolute. He grabbed Dabi’s hair, not gently, and yanked his head up, forcing him to meet his own reflection in the ornate mirror.
Dabi stared, dazed. His own face, flushed crimson, eyes wide and dark with a mixture of pain, terror, and raw, unadulterated lust. Sweat plastered dark hair to his forehead. His lips were parted, swollen from biting back cries. And behind him, filling the frame, was Dante Morningstar. Horns casting shadows, crimson eyes burning with infernal fire, fangs bared in a snarl of pure carnal hunger. His massive shoulders flexed with each powerful thrust, intricate tattoos rippling over defined muscle. His wings, vast and dark, framed the brutal scene like a demonic altar. Dante’s gaze locked on Dabi’s in the reflection, intense, possessive, utterly feral.
"See?" Dante rasped, pounding into him with even deeper, harder strokes, making Dabi’s vision blur. "See the monster fucking you? See what you begged for?" His hand tightened brutally on Dabi’s cock. "Now come for me. Come on my cock, Dabi. Show me you belong to it."
The command, the degrading words, the impossible pressure inside him, the sight of his own wrecked face under the demon’s control – it shattered Dabi. His orgasm ripped through him with violent, blinding force. He screamed, back arching as much as Dante’s grip allowed, his cock pulsing hot ropes of cum onto the marble counter and Dante’s fist. The convulsions of his inner muscles clamped down hard on Dante’s cock buried deep within him.
Dante roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very walls. His thrusts became erratic, jackhammer-fast, driving Dabi forward with each punishing slam. With a final, bone-shaking thrust that pinned Dabi hard against the counter, Dante came. Dabi felt it – a hot, volcanic flood deep inside him, impossibly copious and searing. Dante held himself there, buried to the root, grinding his hips, his body shuddering against Dabi’s back, his wings flaring wide with the force of his release. A low, continuous growl vibrated from his chest, more animal than man.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. The unnatural heat emanating from Dante lessened slightly, though his cock remained thick and hard inside Dabi. The crimson glow in his eyes faded back to molten gold. The horns and wings didn't vanish, but seemed less aggressively present. Dante nuzzled the sweat-damp skin at the nape of Dabi’s neck, his breath still hot but no longer scalding. He gently eased his softening cock out, the sudden emptiness making Dabi gasp. Dabi slumped forward, utterly spent, trembling, held up only by Dante’s arm still wrapped around his waist and his own shaky grip on the counter. Cum dripped down his thighs, mingling with sweat. He stared blankly at their reflection – the scarred human wreck and the ancient demon, still marked by his true nature, connected by the mess they'd made.
Dante ran a surprisingly gentle hand down Dabi’s spine, over the curve of his ass, his touch lingering on the abused flesh. He pressed a soft kiss, shockingly tender, to the juncture of Dabi’s neck and shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was rough but devoid of its earlier growl, the fangs barely noticeable.
"Still think it's bullshit, sweetheart?" The question hung in the heavy air, thick with sex and sulphur.
Dabi stared at his own shattered reflection. Sweat plastered dark hair to his forehead, tears mingling with it at the corners of his eyes. Behind him, Dante’s monstrous form – horns silhouetted against the dim light, wings casting vast shadows, golden eyes reflecting primal satisfaction – was an indelible stain on reality. The ache deep inside him was profound, a raw, throbbing reminder of the brutal claiming. Sulphur and his own spent arousal hung thick in the air. Dante’s question echoed: Still think it's bullshit?
He turned. The movement was stiff, every muscle protesting. His jeans pooled around his ankles, leaving him exposed, vulnerable against the marble. Dante watched him, a predator momentarily sated but no less dangerous, traces of crimson still flickering in the depths of his demonic eyes. Before Dante could speak again, perhaps to mock, perhaps to offer some twisted comfort, Dabi acted. He surged forward, ignoring the sharp twinge in his ass, ignoring the terrifying reality of the creature before him. He grabbed Dante’s face, fingers digging into the stubble along his jaw, and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, a collision of lips and teeth and tongues. A deep, consuming kiss that tasted of copper, sulphur, and the ghost of expensive whiskey. A raw claiming of his own. He poured every shred of confused fury, the lingering terror, the unexpected, unwanted need that the brutal fucking had ignited, into that kiss. He kissed him like he was trying to devour the centuries of pain Hawks had described, to erase the image of the impaled child.
Dante froze for a fraction of a second, startled. Then, with a guttural sound that vibrated against Dabi’s lips, he ate it up. He gave it back tenfold. His hand fisted in Dabi’s hair, yanking his head back to deepen the angle, his tongue plundering Dabi’s mouth with possessive ferocity. It was a battle, a furious dance of lips and teeth, Dabi’s defiance meeting Dante’s ancient, possessive hunger. Fangs scraped Dabi’s lower lip, a sharp sting that only fueled the fire. Dante’s other hand slid possessively down Dabi’s back, claws retracted but the intent clear, gripping his bruised ass cheek hard.
Dabi broke the kiss, gasping for air, blood beading on his lip. His chest heaved. He looked directly into Dante’s now fully golden eyes, the demonic intensity undimmed. The words ripped out of him, raw and ragged, devoid of his usual sardonic guard. "Fuck your history. Fuck the monster. I want you. Right now. Bad." His cock, already stirring again despite the recent brutal use, twitched against Dante’s thigh. "More. Now."
A slow, predatory smile spread across Dante’s face. It held centuries of darkness, but also a spark of genuine, dark amusement – and undeniable heat. His thumb swiped the blood from Dabi’s lip, then brought it to his own mouth, tasting it. His horns seemed to gleam in the low light. "Demanding little slut," he purred, the deep voice resonating in Dabi’s bones. "Think you can handle another round? Think you can take this monster inside you again so soon?" His hand slid between Dabi’s legs, fingers tracing the swollen, tender rim of his hole, slick with their mingled fluids. Dabi hissed, arching into the touch, the pain transmuting instantly into sharp, electric need.
"Don't fucking tease," Dabi growled, grinding his hips back against Dante’s probing fingers, seeking more pressure, more intrusion. He was already impossibly open, sore, but the emptiness was worse. "Just fuck me again. Harder. Show me what that ancient cock can really do." He reached down, fumbling for Dante’s shaft, finding it already thick and hot and rigid again, the demonic stamina terrifying and intoxicating. He squeezed it, the hot, veined flesh pulsing in his grip. "Give it to me. Fucking ruin me."
Dante’s chuckle was dark velvet. "Greedy fucking thing." In one fluid, powerful movement, he spun Dabi back around, bending him forcefully over the cold marble sink counter. Dante’s cock, thick and demanding, slid roughly through the cleft of Dabi’s ass, smearing slickness. One massive hand pressed between Dabi’s shoulder blades, pinning him. The other guided the blunt, leaking head back to his stretched, aching entrance. "Beg for it."
"Please," Dabi gasped, shameless, pushing back, trying to impale himself. "Fuck, Dante, please! Shove it back inside me. Stuff me full. I need it... need you fucking me raw!"
"Louder," Dante commanded, applying pressure. The thick head began to stretch him anew, the recently abused muscles screaming. It burned, a white-hot agony laced with unbearable anticipation.
"GOD, PLEASE!" Dabi yelled, the sound echoing off the marble, mingling with the distant throb of the club. "Split me open! FUCK ME!"
Dante obliged. He slammed forward, sheathing himself in one brutal thrust that tore a ragged scream from Dabi’s throat. It was deeper, harder than before, Dante’s cock driving into him with relentless force, stretching him beyond what felt possible. Dante didn't pause. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each withdrawal a searing drag, each slam forward a devastating impact that drove Dabi’s hips hard against the unforgiving counter. His huge wings rustled, enveloping them both in shadow and heat. Fangs scraped Dabi’s shoulder.
"Tight fucking ruin," Dante grunted, his voice thick with exertion and dark pleasure. His hips pistoned, the slap of skin echoing obscenely. "Taking it like a born whore. Made for this demon cock, weren't you?" His hand snaked around, calloused fingers wrapping Dabi’s hard, leaking cock, jerking him roughly in time with his thrusts. "Gonna pump you so full of my seed you’ll taste it for days. Mark you inside."
Dabi could only moan, a continuous, broken sound. Pain and ecstasy warred, the relentless pounding on his prostate sending shockwaves of pleasure that threatened to short-circuit his mind. He was pinned, owned, utterly filled by the ancient, terrifying power fucking him senseless. He pushed back desperately onto each thrust, meeting Dante’s force, craving the devastating fullness, the searing heat. "Yes! Fuck! More! Harder! Ruin me! Own me!" he babbled, lost in the maelstrom of sensation.
Dante roared, a sound that shook the heavy door. His thrusts became frantic, jackhammering into Dabi’s impossibly tight channel. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep, his cock pulsing as he erupted. Dabi felt it – a scalding flood, impossibly voluminous, filling him, claiming him internally. The sensation, combined with Dante’s brutal grip on his cock and the relentless assault on his prostate, hurled Dabi over the edge instantly. He came with a silent scream, body convulsing violently, his own release splattering the marble as Dante’s heat pulsed deep inside him.
Dante held him there, buried, grinding slowly as the last pulses faded. His breath was ragged gusts against Dabi’s sweat-slicked back. The wings slowly relaxed, folding in. Dante pulled out slowly, the sudden emptiness vast and echoing. Dabi slumped over the counter, trembling uncontrollably, utterly spent, Dante’s cum already leaking down his thighs.
Dante turned him around, surprisingly gentle now. His eyes were molten gold, the demonic edge receding but not gone. He looked down at Dabi’s wrecked, tear-streaked face, his swollen lips, the fresh bruises forming. He traced a finger down Dabi’s scarred cheek. "Still want me, sweetheart?" His voice was rough but held a strange softness.
Dabi managed a weak nod, his body screaming in protest but his need undimmed. "Always." His voice was a wrecked whisper.
Dante’s smile returned, genuine this time, crinkling the corners of those ancient eyes. "Good." He snapped his fingers.
The opulent, sex-stained bathroom dissolved. The thumping bass vanished. One moment, cold marble pressed against Dabi’s bare skin; the next, cool night air brushed his face, smelling of ozone, damp earth, and something old – stone and iron. They stood on a vast, shadowed porch. Before them loomed a structure that defied scale. An insane Victorian mansion, all gothic spires, turrets, and looming bay windows, carved from dark, weathered stone. It sprawled across a moonlit, mist-shrouded hill, radiating an aura of ancient power and profound isolation. Jagged rooflines clawed at a starless sky. Intricate, unsettling gargoyles leered down from the eaves. The sheer size was oppressive, a monument to centuries of accumulated darkness.
Dante’s arm tightened around Dabi’s waist, steadying him. "Welcome," he murmured, his voice echoing slightly in the vast silence, "to my home." He pushed open the heavy, iron-bound front door, revealing a cavernous, dimly lit entrance hall within. The air that wafted out was cold, carrying the scent of aged wood, dust, and something far more primal. "Let's see how much more of me you can take."