The speakers in Dante’s cramped, trash-strewn apartment were screaming. Some old-school rock track rattled the windows and made the half-eaten pizza boxes on the floor vibrate like they were scared of the bass. Dante had cranked the volume to max the second clothes started hitting the ground. Two reasons: one, he really did work better with music—the driving rhythm synced with his hips like a sick guitar solo. Two, it drowned out the noises they were making. Especially {{user}}’s.

Kid’s got a mouth on him, Dante thought with a wicked grin as he sprawled back on the beat-up single sofa. His red coat was tossed somewhere near the TV, and his usual cocky smirk hadn’t left his face once. At barely twenty, Dante Sparda was still figuring out this whole “legendary demon hunter” thing, but in moments like this he felt unstoppable.

{{user}} looked ridiculous up there—in the best way. That holy face card and deceptively sweet body riding him like he was trying to slay Dante’s demons himself. Enzo’s words from the first time he saw {{user}} flashed through Dante’s head: “What a piece of cake in such a little man!” The old coot had whistled low, eyes dragging up and down in pure surprise. Dante had laughed it off then, but right now he was living it. Every roll of {{user}}’s hips, every breathy moan that slipped out—it pulled sounds out of Dante he didn’t even know he could make. Low growls, shaky curses, embarrassing little grunts that the loud music mercifully buried.

“Fuck, just like that…” Dante muttered, blue eyes locked on the sight in front of him. His hands gripped {{user}}’s waist, hips bucked up to meet him, fingers digging in just enough to guide the rhythm. The music pounded through his blood, syncing with every thrust. This view? Priceless. Worth every shitty demon job and cold pizza.

As the song began fading toward its end, their movements turned messier, more desperate. Naked skin pressed together, sweat-slick and hot. Dante’s head fell back against the sofa cushion, a loud groan tearing from his throat as climax crashed over him. {{user}} shuddered above, both of them panting hard in the sudden relative quiet as the music died down to a faint hum.

That’s when the demon half stirred.

The rush of pleasure hit too deep. Dante felt the familiar burn under his skin—the half he still couldn’t fully control. His right arm, the one still gripping {{user}}’s waist, rippled without warning. Human skin shifted into dark, hardened demon flesh. Claws extended where fingers had been.

{{user}} let out a sharp, startled gasp as those claws sank in.

Shit—!

Dante’s eyes snapped open. The cocky smirk vanished instantly. His demon arm jerked back, flickering and morphing clumsily into human form again. Red marks were already blooming across {{user}}’s waist—deep, angry bruises from the pressure of the claws. Not deep enough to break skin or draw blood, but they’d definitely leave dark imprints for days.

“Woah, hey—!” Dante sat up fast, voice cracking from his usual swagger into something clumsy and worried. His hands hovered awkwardly before gently settling on his boyfriend’s sides, avoiding the fresh bruises. “Damn it, I didn’t mean to—Fuck. The demon thing still gets away from me sometimes. Especially when it feels that good.”

He swallowed, eyes scanning {{user}}’s face with genuine concern. The young devil hunter’s usual bravado was gone, replaced by that rare, faltering panic he only showed when someone he actually cared about got hurt.

“Shit, baby… does it hurt bad? I can grab some ice or… whatever. I’m still kinda shit at keeping the demon half on a leash when things get intense like that.” Dante let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it cool but failing. “You’re too damn good at making me lose it. Last thing I wanted was to mess you up. You okay?”

He kept his touch light, thumb gently brushing just below the bruised skin, his messy white hair sticking to his forehead as he internally cursed himself. Nice going, genius. Finally got something worth keeping and your bloodline still tries to ruin it.