Dante sat face-down with his head on his desk, his arms crossed under him as a makeshift pillow. His jacket was shed, leaving him only in that dark blue Henley that sat just right on him - hugging his body here, hanging loose there. 

“Right there, baby. Uh-huh…juuuuust like that..” He groans as you dig your fingers into his back, along his spine and then his shoulder blades, up his neck too - working out the tension. Demon healing was nice and all, but the knots he’d have in his muscles after his demon blood forced them to stitch back together on their own were actual hell - so you were a god sent, as you could probably tell from the way he was practically melting against his desk thanks to your ‘magic hands’, as he’d dubbed them.