Chapter 102: Memories
Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer breaching dark, viscous waters. Pain came first – a deep, persistent throb radiating from Dante’s chest wounds, a dull ache resonating deep within his pelvis, the sharp sting of Sukuna’s bite on his shoulder. Then sensation: warmth. Solid, grounding warmth beneath his cheek. The steady, rhythmic thump of a powerful heartbeat against his ear. The scent wasn't just sulfur and stale bourbon anymore; it was skin, sweat cooled on skin, and something uniquely Sukuna – ozone and iron and ancient violence barely leashed.
He was lying half-sprawled on Sukuna’s bare chest, Sukuna’s arm a heavy, possessive band across his lower back. Fingers, thick and calloused, moved with surprising gentleness. They traced idle patterns over the ridges of Dante’s spine, dipped into the hollows above his hips, then slid upwards to massage his scalp, blunt nails scraping lightly through sweat-dampened hair. It was a slow, hypnotic rhythm, utterly at odds with the brutal claiming hours before.
Dante kept his eyes closed, breathing shallowly, savoring the unexpected tenderness. The muffled bass from the club below was a distant pulse, the velvet darkness of his sanctum a cocoon. For a moment, the horrors of Abyzoth’s chamber, the raw agony of Sukuna’s reclamation, felt distant, blurred by exhaustion and this quiet intimacy.
He shifted minutely, a soft sigh escaping him. The fingers in his hair stilled. He felt Sukuna’s chest expand beneath him with a deeper breath.
"Finally decided to rejoin the land of the painfully obvious?" Sukuna’s voice was a low rumble, vibrating through Dante’s cheekbone. The smart-ass edge was back, but softened, lacking its usual bite. "You snore like a fucking chainsaw chewing through gravel."
Dante cracked open one crimson eye, meeting Sukuna’s watchful gaze inches above him. Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, but the predatory intensity had banked, replaced by a weary alertness. Dante managed a dry, rasping chuckle that scraped his raw throat. "Fuck you, Ryomen. Least I don’t hog the fuckin’ sheets like a territorial badger."
Sukuna’s thumb resumed its slow circles on Dante’s scalp. "Wouldn’t need to if you didn’t thrash like a landed fish every five minutes." He paused, his gaze flickering over Dante’s face, lingering on the shadows under his eyes, the pallor beneath the fading bruises. The teasing edge vanished completely, replaced by a flat, almost weary seriousness. "You need to stop getting yourself kidnapped and tortured, Prince. It’s getting fucking tedious."
Dante’s laugh this time was harsher, drier, devoid of humor. He pushed himself up slightly on one elbow, wincing as the movement pulled at the seared sigils on his chest. The bite on his shoulder throbbed. He looked Sukuna dead in the eye, the ghost of his usual smirk twisting into something bitter. "Oh yeah, Ry," he rasped, the old nickname slipping out effortlessly, loaded with centuries of shared history, pain, and a love that had never truly died. "It’s totally been my fuckin’ life goal. Wake up, check the calendar – ‘Hmm, Tuesday, must be time for another psycho to damn near kill me and rape me religiously.’ Really spices up the weekly routine."
The effect was instantaneous. Sukuna froze. Utterly still. The fingers massaging Dante’s scalp went rigid. His crimson eyes widened a fraction, shock stripping away the layers of cynicism and control. ‘Ry’. A name Dante hadn’t uttered since before Sukuna’s supposed death, a name reserved for moments stripped bare, for the man beneath the curse, the legend, the King of Curses. It hung in the velvet air, thick and potent as incense.
Dante saw the impact. Saw the flicker of something raw and vulnerable beneath Sukuna’s usual granite exterior. Saw the way Sukuna’s breath hitched, just once. The silence stretched, charged with the weight of that single syllable and the brutal truth laid bare in Dante’s sarcasm.
Then Sukuna moved. Not with violence, not with anger. Slowly, deliberately. He leaned down, his gaze never leaving Dante’s. The distance closed. His lips brushed Dante’s – not a claiming bite, not a bruising demand. A tentative, searching touch. Soft. Gentle. Dante’s breath caught. Sukuna deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against Dante’s with a startling tenderness. His tongue traced the seam of Dante’s lips, seeking entry not as a conqueror, but as a pilgrim returning to hallowed ground. Dante opened for him, a low moan vibrating in his throat. The kiss deepened, slow and deep and achingly passionate. It tasted of shared pain, bourbon, exhaustion, and a fragile, terrifying hope.
Sukuna’s hand slid from Dante’s scalp to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him gently but firmly. His other hand smoothed down Dante’s spine, settling possessively on the curve of his ass. The kiss went on, a silent conversation, an apology, a reaffirmation. Dante melted into it, into Sukuna’s strength, his own hands finding purchase on Sukuna’s broad shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle. The pain receded, replaced by a different kind of ache, a deep, yearning heat coiling low in his belly.
Sukuna finally broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against Dante’s. Their breaths mingled, ragged and warm. Sukuna’s eyes burned into his, dark with unspoken emotion. "Fuck," he breathed, the word rough with feeling. His hand on Dante’s ass squeezed, pulling their hips flush. Dante could feel Sukuna’s hardening length pressing against his own stirring cock through the thin sheet still tangled around their legs.
"Ry…" Dante whispered again, the name a plea this time. He rocked his hips forward, grinding against Sukuna’s erection, eliciting a sharp hiss from the larger man. The tenderness was morphing, twisting back into the familiar, desperate hunger that always simmered between them.
Sukuna growled, low in his chest. His hand slid from Dante’s ass, fingers hooking into the sheet and yanking it down past their hips. Cool air hit Dante’s skin, but it was instantly replaced by the searing heat of Sukuna’s palm wrapping around Dante’s cock. Dante gasped, arching into the touch. Sukuna’s grip was firm, possessive, but lacked the punishing roughness of before. He stroked him slowly, deliberately, his thumb swirling over the slick head, smearing precome.
"Still sensitive?" Sukuna murmured against Dante’s temple, his breath hot. His other hand slid lower, fingertips tracing the curve of Dante’s ass cheek, brushing against the swollen, tender entrance Sukuna had brutally claimed hours earlier.
Dante shuddered. "Fuck yes," he breathed. The memory of Abyzoth’s violation was a cold shadow, but Sukuna’s touch, his presence, burned it away. "Everything… everything hurts. Everything feels… raw." He pushed his hips back against Sukuna’s questing fingers. "Do it. Fuck me properly this time, Ry. Slow. Deep. Make me feel you."
Sukuna’s answering groan was pure need. He shifted, rolling Dante gently onto his back. Dante hissed as his wounded chest pressed against the silk, but Sukuna was already moving, kneeling between Dante’s thighs, pushing them wide. He leaned down, his mouth finding Dante’s again in another deep, consuming kiss as his fingers returned to Dante’s hole. It was still swollen, tender, but Sukuna’s touch was careful, probing gently with slicked fingers – Dante realized distantly Sukuna must have grabbed the oil he kept beside the bed.
"Easy," Sukuna murmured against his lips, working one finger slowly inside, deeper than before, crooking it deliberately. "Just breathe."
Dante obeyed, focusing on the kiss, on Sukuna’s scent, forcing his muscles to relax around the invading digit. The stretch burned, a familiar ache, but Sukuna’s gentleness made it different. Bearable. Almost welcome. He added a second finger, stretching him with slow, patient circles. The pressure against his prostate was deliberate, insistent, but not brutal. Pleasure began to build, a slow, deep thrum beneath the lingering pain, intertwining with it until Dante couldn’t separate the two. He moaned into Sukuna’s mouth, his hips lifting off the bed, seeking more.
"Ready?" Sukuna rasped, withdrawing his fingers. He slicked himself thoroughly, his cock thick and heavy in his fist, glistening in the dim light.
Dante nodded, his gaze locked on Sukuna’s. "Yeah. Fuck me, Ry. Fill me up."
Sukuna positioned himself, the blunt head pressing insistently against Dante’s stretched entrance. He leaned forward, bracing himself on one forearm beside Dante’s head, his other hand guiding his cock. He pushed forward slowly, inexorably. Dante gasped, his head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as the thick intrusion stretched him wide, deeper than fingers could reach. It burned, a deep, internal ache, but Sukuna moved with agonizing slowness, sinking inch by inch, allowing Dante’s body to accommodate him.
"Fuck… so fuckin’ tight," Sukuna groaned, his voice strained. He paused when he was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against Dante’s ass. He dropped his forehead to Dante’s shoulder, breathing harshly. "Feel me?"
Dante could only nod, overwhelmed. The fullness was immense, pressing against every sensitive spot inside him, igniting sparks that danced along his nerves. The pain was there, a deep throb, but it was subsumed by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of Sukuna inside him, connected, claiming him not with violence this time, but with deliberate, profound intimacy. "All of you," Dante managed, his voice thick. "Feels… fuck… feels like you’re everywhere."
Sukuna began to move. Slow, deep drags. Withdrawing almost completely, then sinking back in with that same deliberate, unhurried pace. Each thrust was a deep, grinding pressure that rubbed relentlessly against Dante’s prostate. Pleasure built steadily, a molten coil tightening in his gut, radiating outwards. Sukuna kept his rhythm torturously slow, his gaze fixed on Dante’s face, watching every flicker of sensation, every hitch of breath.
"Look at you," Sukuna breathed, his voice rough with awe and desire. "Taking me so fuckin’ deep. So fuckin’ good." He leaned down, capturing Dante’s lips again, swallowing his moans. His thrusts remained measured, deep, each one a deliberate exploration, a reaffirmation of connection. His hand slid between them, wrapping around Dante’s leaking cock, stroking him in time with his slow, penetrating thrusts.
The dual sensation was exquisite torture. The deep, internal pressure of Sukuna’s cock rubbing his prostate, combined with the firm, rhythmic strokes on his own length, pushed Dante towards the edge with relentless, building force. It wasn't the violent peak of before; it was a slow, inevitable ascent, a tide rising. He clutched at Sukuna’s back, fingers digging in, his hips lifting to meet each deep stroke.
"Ry… gonna…" Dante gasped, breaking the kiss, his head thrashing back.
"Come," Sukuna commanded, his voice thick. He increased the pace of his hand on Dante’s cock just slightly, his hips snapping forward with a fraction more force, grinding deep. "Come for me, Dante. Let me feel you."
The command shattered Dante’s control. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and all-consuming. He arched violently off the bed, a raw, guttural cry tearing from his throat as his cock pulsed thick ropes of come onto his stomach and chest. His inner muscles clenched down hard on Sukuna’s buried cock, milking it rhythmically through the convulsions.
Sukuna roared, Dante’s tightening grip triggering his own climax. He slammed deep one final time, grinding his pelvis hard against Dante’s ass as he emptied himself in hot, pulsing bursts deep inside. He shuddered violently, his body collapsing onto Dante’s, his forehead pressed against Dante’s shoulder, breath coming in ragged gasps against Dante’s sweat-slicked skin.
They lay tangled, breathing harshly in the sudden quiet. Sukuna’s weight was heavy, grounding. Dante felt utterly spent, boneless, the pain a distant thrum beneath the warm haze of satisfaction and profound exhaustion. Sukuna’s softening cock slipped free with a wet sound, followed by a trickle of mixed fluids onto the silk beneath them. Sukuna didn't move, his arm tightening around Dante’s waist, his face buried in the crook of Dante’s neck.
Dante lifted a trembling hand, tangling his fingers in Sukuna’s wild hair. "Ry…" he murmured, the name a sigh.
Sukuna lifted his head slightly, his crimson eyes meeting Dante’s. The vulnerability was still there, raw and exposed. He didn't speak. He just leaned down and pressed another kiss to Dante’s lips, softer than before, lingering. Then he shifted, carefully rolling them onto their sides, pulling Dante back against his chest, spooning him protectively. His arm draped heavily over Dante’s waist, his hand splayed possessively over Dante’s stomach. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words and the fading echoes of passion. Outside the velvet sanctum, the Inferno Club pulsed on, oblivious. Inside, Dante drifted, anchored by Sukuna’s warmth and the lingering, impossible echo of a name thought lost forever. The deep ache inside felt different now. Not just the ghost of violation, but the imprint of something reclaimed. Something fragile. Something terrifyingly real.