Chapter 103: Horned Domination
The heavy velvet drapes in Dante’s bedroom swallowed most of the moonlight, leaving the vast space bathed in deep shadows and the flickering glow of candles perched on wrought-iron stands. The air hung thick with the scent of expensive bourbon, old leather, and the faint, ever-present tang of Hell that clung to Dante like expensive cologne. Silk sheets were tangled around Dante’s waist as he reclined against a mountain of black pillows, his crimson eyes gleaming like banked coals in the dimness.
Dabi straddled his lap, a lean silhouette against the deeper darkness. Sweat slicked his pale skin, catching the candlelight on the stark lines of his scars and the taut muscles of his abdomen. He moved with a deliberate, grinding slowness, rising almost completely off Dante’s thick cock before sinking back down, taking every inch with a low, shuddering groan that vibrated through both of them. His hands, strong and scarred, were braced on Dante’s shoulders, fingers digging in.
"Fuck," Dabi breathed, his voice rough, head thrown back. "Always… always so fucking much of you."
Dante’s answering rumble was pure satisfaction, a predatory purr that resonated deep in his chest. His hands, large and powerful, rested possessively on Dabi’s hips, thumbs tracing the sharp crests. "Told you, pretty thing," Dante murmured, his Detroit accent thickening with arousal. "Built for it." His molten veins pulsed beneath his skin, casting a faint, hellish glow against Dabi’s thighs where they gripped him.
Dabi’s gaze snapped down, meeting Dante’s. A defiant spark flashed in his turquoise eyes, a remnant of the hard-to-get facade that had crumbled weeks ago under Dante’s relentless, magnetic pull. He knew Dante was dangerous, powerful, other, but the specifics remained shrouded in mystery, adding a thrilling edge to the raw physicality. "Shut up and fuck me harder," Dabi demanded, shifting his grip. Instead of Dante’s shoulders, his hands slid upwards, fingers tangling roughly around the base of Dante’s curved obsidian horns.
The effect was instantaneous. A low growl ripped from Dante’s throat, primal and possessive. His pupils dilated, swallowing the crimson iris almost entirely. His claws, usually retracted, slid free with a soft shink, sharp points instantly biting into the flesh of Dabi’s hips, drawing thin, crimson lines. Dabi hissed, a sharp intake of breath that morphed into a choked moan as Dante’s hips snapped upwards, driving his cock impossibly deeper.
"Fuck! You take me so good," Dante growled, the words thick and guttural. His molten veins flared brighter, casting shifting patterns of hellfire light across Dabi’s chest and face. He pistoned his hips upwards, meeting Dabi’s downward grind with brutal force. The wet slap of skin on skin, the slick sounds of penetration, filled the heavy air. "Ride me like you mean it, firecracker. Show me what that stubborn mouth is good for."
Dabi gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped the horns. The sting of Dante’s claws anchoring him only fueled the fire. He met Dante’s thrusts, grinding down hard, seeking that deep, punishing friction. "Harder, you fucker!" he panted, throwing his head back again, exposing the long line of his throat. "Make me fucking feel it tomorrow!"
Dante’s laugh was dark, hungry. He leaned forward, dragging Dabi down onto him even deeper, burying his cock to the hilt. His mouth found the juncture of Dabi’s neck and shoulder, teeth scraping the sensitive skin before biting down, not hard enough to break, but enough to claim, to mark. Dabi cried out, a ragged sound torn from his chest, his body convulsing around Dante’s shaft. Dante drank the sound, licking the sweat from Dabi’s skin, his claws digging deeper, drawing beads of blood that welled and dripped onto the dark silk sheets.
Hidden within the deeper shadows near a towering bookshelf, Sukuna stood utterly still. The flickering candlelight didn’t touch him; he was a void, a silent observer wrapped in ancient power. His crimson eyes, identical in hue to Dante’s but infinitely colder, were fixed on the writhing figures on the bed. He saw Dante’s molten glow illuminate Dabi’s ecstatic face. Heard Dante’s possessive growls, Dabi’s demanding cries. Saw Dante’s claws draw blood, saw him bite the pale throat.
Jealousy, cold and sharp as a shard of obsidian, pierced Sukuna’s chest. It was an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation, twisting his insides. Just hours ago, Dante had lain spent and vulnerable in his arms, whispering the name ‘Ry’ like a sacred prayer. The memory of Dante’s lips under his, the taste of shared exhaustion and fragile hope, felt like ashes in Sukuna’s mouth now. He watched Dante lose himself in this mortal, this defiant, scarred boy who knew nothing of the abyss Dante commanded, nothing of the millennia of power and pain Dante carried.
He saw Dante’s hand slide from Dabi’s bleeding hip, fingers slick with crimson, to wrap around Dabi’s neglected cock. Dante stroked him roughly, in time with his brutal thrusts. "Gonna come for me?" Dante rasped against Dabi’s neck. "Gonna spill all over my cock while I fill you up?"
Dabi’s answer was a strangled shout, his body bowing as release slammed into him. Thick ropes of come striped Dante’s stomach and chest. The clenching heat triggered Dante’s own climax; he roared, a sound that vibrated the very air, driving impossibly deep as he emptied himself inside Dabi with pulsing force.
Sukuna watched Dante collapse back onto the pillows, pulling Dabi’s limp form against him, one hand still possessively on Dabi’s ass. He watched Dante lick a stray drop of blood from his claw. Watched the molten glow slowly fade beneath Dante’s skin, leaving only the powerful, tattooed form of the King of Hell sated and holding his latest conquest.
The cold fury within Sukuna solidified. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was betrayal. Dante’s whispered ‘Ry’ echoed mockingly in the silence after the lovers’ harsh breaths. Sukuna’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened at his sides, knuckles white. He could stride forward, tear the mortal limb from limb, remind Dante exactly who he belonged to. The impulse was visceral, violent.
But he didn’t move. He simply watched. Watched Dante murmur something low and undoubtedly filthy into Dabi’s sweat-damp hair. Watched Dabi shiver and press closer, already half-asleep, oblivious to the ancient, lethal gaze boring into them from the shadows.
Sukuna remained a silent statue in the darkness long after Dante’s breathing evened out, long after Dabi slipped into unconsciousness. The scent of sex, blood, bourbon, and sulfur hung heavy. The image of Dante lost in another’s embrace burned behind Sukuna’s eyes. The fragile thing reclaimed last night felt brittle, ready to shatter. Without a sound, Sukuna dissolved deeper into the shadows, leaving the lovers entwined in the gothic opulence of the bedroom. The silence he left behind was thick, charged, and colder than the grave.
The silence Sukuna left behind in the bedroom clung to Dante like cold ash, thick and suffocating. He disentangled himself from Dabi’s sleeping form, the marks on the younger man’s hips already fading under demonic healing, yet the phantom sting of Sukuna’s unseen gaze lingered. Dante dressed swiftly, the opulent gloom of the mansion feeling suddenly oppressive, the lingering scent of sex and blood now tainted with an icy residue of betrayal he couldn’t quite define.
Hours later, the cavernous kitchen, all cold marble and stainless steel beneath the gothic arches, offered little warmth. Dante needed coffee, strong enough to scour the uneasy feeling clawing at his gut. He pushed through the heavy door, the industrial fridge humming loudly in the quiet. Sukuna stood near the vast island, a glass of dark liquor in hand, his back unnaturally rigid, radiating tension like a storm about to break. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge Dante’s entrance, his crimson gaze fixed on the black marble countertop as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Dante moved to the espresso machine, the silence stretching, taut as a garrote. He could feel Sukuna’s suppressed fury like a physical pressure against his skin, thick and dangerous. “You look like you swallowed a lemon, Ryomen,” Dante commented, his tone deliberately casual, probing. He started grinding beans, the harsh noise shattering the quiet. Sukuna didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. He simply turned on his heel, aiming for the door.
Instinct flared. Dante’s hand shot out, fingers closing like iron manacles around Sukuna’s forearm, yanking him back with demonic strength. “What’s fucking wrong?” Dante demanded, his voice dropping low, the Detroit edge sharpening. He pulled Sukuna close enough to see the barely contained violence swirling in those crimson depths.
Sukuna’s jaw clenched, tendons standing out like cables. He didn’t meet Dante’s eyes. “Nothing,” he ground out, the single word dripping with venom. He wrenched his arm free with brutal force, sending a jolt up Dante’s shoulder, and stalked out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed.
Dante stared at the door, the coffee forgotten. ‘Nothing.’ The lie hung in the chilled air. That rigid posture, the refusal to look at him, the raw fury barely contained – it was anything but nothing. It gnawed at him as he abandoned the kitchen, the memory of Sukuna’s tenderness the night before twisting into something sharp and unsettling. He prowled the mansion’s shadowed corridors, the gilded frames on the walls seeming to watch him with silent judgment. Why wouldn’t he talk? What the fuck had crawled up his ass?
He found Sukuna again near the library’s arched entrance, silhouetted against the towering shelves of ancient, forbidden texts. Sukuna was staring into the dim interior, his profile a mask of stony indifference. Dante stopped a few feet away, the air crackling. “Alright,” Dante said, his voice tight. “Cut the cryptic bullshit. What’s eating you?”
Sukuna turned slowly, deliberately. His crimson eyes were chips of frozen blood. He stepped into Dante’s space, invading it, radiating cold fury. “Drop it,” he commanded, the words low and dangerous. “It’s nothing.”
A spark of irritation flared into defiance. Dante met Sukuna’s glare, his own eyes flashing crimson. “Right. ‘Nothing’. You keep staring holes in the wall and stomping around like a pissed-off titan. Real convincing.” He shook his head, a sarcastic smirk twisting his lips. “Enjoy your wall-staring.” He turned to walk away.
He didn’t see Sukuna move. One moment Dante was turning, the next, a powerful hand clamped around his throat like a vise, slamming him back hard against the cold stone wall. The impact knocked the breath from Dante’s lungs, stars bursting behind his eyes. Pain radiated from his shoulders, sharp and sudden. Stunned, Dante froze, his own hands instinctively coming up but not pushing back. Sukuna’s grip was unyielding, his thumb pressed against Dante’s pulse point, feeling the frantic beat. Dante’s head swam, a dizzying mixture of shock and something else – a dark, shameful heat flooding his belly, coiling tight. The raw display of power, the threat inherent in Sukuna’s grip, ignited an immediate, visceral arousal that warred with the ache in his spine.
Sukuna held him pinned, his face inches away, those crimson eyes boring into Dante’s, searching, furious. The silence stretched, thick with violence and the sudden, potent thrum of something else entirely. Then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure vanished. Sukuna released his throat, stepping back half a pace, his expression unreadable except for a flicker of… surprise? At Dante’s reaction? At his own action?
Dante gasped, sucking in a ragged breath. He rubbed his throat, the phantom pressure lingering, the dark heat in his gut still pulsing. He forced a dry, shaky laugh. “Well,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Color me convinced. You’re clearly fucking fine.”
Sukuna didn’t react to the sarcasm. His gaze remained locked on Dante’s face, intense, probing. The air felt charged, brittle. Then he spoke, the question slicing through the tension like a blade. “What am I to you?”
Dante blinked, thrown completely off balance. The heat faded slightly, replaced by cold confusion. The question hung there, immense, terrifying in its simplicity. Lover? Enemy? Ghost? King? Ry? Words tangled in his throat, centuries of pain, loss, and desperate, clawing hope colliding violently. He opened his mouth, closed it. Nothing coherent emerged, only the echo of his own chaotic thoughts.
A short, harsh bark of laughter escaped Sukuna. It held no humor, only bitterness and a profound, cutting disappointment. He shook his head once, a sharp, dismissive motion, and turned away, starting to walk down the shadowed corridor, his broad back radiating cold finality.
Sukuna’s broad back receded into the gloom of the corridor, the finality of his dismissal a physical blow. Dante pushed off the cold stone wall, the phantom ache in his spine warring with the lingering, shameful heat low in his belly. "What the fuck is going on with you right now?" The shout ripped from Dante’s throat, raw and echoing off the vaulted ceiling, shattering the oppressive silence Sukuna left in his wake.
Sukuna froze mid-stride. His shoulders tensed, a visible ripple beneath the dark fabric of his clothing. He didn’t turn. The air thickened, charged with the storm Dante could feel brewing inside him. Seconds stretched, taut and suffocating. Then, slowly, Sukuna pivoted. His face was a mask carved from granite, but his crimson eyes burned with a turmoil Dante hadn't seen since before his supposed death – raw, conflicted, dangerously close to the edge. "Until you can answer my question," Sukuna stated, his voice dangerously low, devoid of inflection, "I’m not answering shit you ask."
Frustration boiled over, mingling with the desperate need clawing at Dante’s insides. The memory of Sukuna’s tenderness last night, the whispered ‘Ry’, felt like a cruel joke against this icy wall. "Will you please just fucking talk to me, Ry?" Dante pleaded, the name cracking on his lips, stripped bare of its usual sarcasm, revealing the terrified vulnerability beneath.
The name ‘Ry’ hit Sukuna like a physical blow. The granite mask shattered. Fury, cold and sharp, flooded his features, twisting them into something predatory. He surged forward, closing the distance in two strides, invading Dante’s space with terrifying speed. "Talk?" Sukuna snarled, the word dripping venom. His hand shot out, not grabbing Dante’s throat this time, but fisting roughly in the front of his shirt, hauling him forward until their faces were inches apart. Dante could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the ozone-tang of barely leashed power. "You want talk? After what I fucking saw?" Spittle flecked Dante’s cheek. "You sprawled out like a fucking whore for that scarred little mortal? Him riding you? Gripping your horns?" Sukuna’s voice dropped to a guttural rasp, thick with disgust and something darker. "You whimpering for him while he bled under your claws? That’s what you want to talk about?"
Sukuna’s fist twisted tighter in Dante’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer until Dante could taste the fury on Sukuna’s breath – ozone and ancient rage. "After what I fucking saw? You sprawled out like a fucking whore for that scarred little mortal? Him riding you? Gripping your horns?" Spittle hit Dante’s cheek. "You whimpering for him while he bled under your claws? That’s what you want to talk about?"
A harsh, disbelieving chuckle burst from Dante’s lips. The sheer absurdity of this being the breaking point cut through his shock. "That’s seriously what you’re pissed about right now?" Dante’s voice was sharp, incredulous, his own anger flaring hot against Sukuna’s ice. "When you crawled back after centuries, practically bleeding out on my fucking doorstep needing my help, I was already dating him. You fucking knew that." Dante shoved against Sukuna’s chest, a futile gesture that barely budged the immovable force. "You didn’t give a single flying fuck then! Why the hell does it suddenly fucking bother you? Huh?"
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something raw – confusion, maybe pain – beneath the overwhelming fury. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper that scraped Dante’s nerves. "Fuck me. I’ve been dating him for years now, Ry! Years. And who the fuck am I with more? You! He’s up Adam’s ass religiously half the damn time anyway! What changed? What the fuck changed?"
He punctuated each point by slamming Dante back against the cold stone wall. Dust puffed from the impact. Sukuna’s aggression was palpable, radiating outwards like heat haze, his control fraying faster than he realized. "Seeing it," he spat, the words thick with revulsion and an undeniable, possessive ache. "Hearing you… the sounds you made for him. After… after last night." The reference to their shared vulnerability hung unspoken but heavy in the air. "It’s different now. It’s fucking real now, seeing it."
"Fuck off," Sukuna snarled, the dismissal a physical blow, his grip on Dante’s shirt tightening like a vise before he shoved him away violently. "Just… fuck off, Dante."
Dante stumbled, catching himself against the wall. His eyes, already crimson, flashed – a sudden, blinding eruption of molten gold, the ancient power of Hell flaring uncontrollably. The gilded frames on the walls rattled; the air pressure dropped sharply, smelling of brimstone and scorched stone. "Make me," Dante growled, the words resonating with infernal power, the gold in his eyes pulsing.
Sukuna didn’t even flinch. He didn’t retreat an inch. He stood his ground, a mountain against the storm, his own crimson gaze locked onto Dante’s golden one, unwavering. "Or what?" Sukuna challenged, his voice deceptively low, a predator circling. "You’ll burn me, Prince? Like you burned Abyzoth?" He took a deliberate step forward, invading the space Dante’s power tried to claim. "Go ahead. Try."
The golden light flickered, uncertainty warring with fury in Dante’s eyes. Sukuna saw the hesitation, the chink in the armor of infernal might. He moved. Blindingly fast. Not demon-speed, but pure, devastating cursed energy fueled by millennia of violence. One moment he was three paces away, the next his hand was fisted in Dante’s hair, yanking his head back with brutal force, exposing his throat. Dante gasped, the golden light sputtering out, replaced by shock and the immediate, treacherous flare of arousal low in his gut.
"Didn't think so," Sukuna breathed against the vulnerable column of Dante’s throat, his other hand ripping at Dante’s belt buckle with savage efficiency. The leather tore. "You don’t get to play King of Hell with me. Not now." The zipper shredded next. Sukuna’s hand plunged into Dante’s pants, rough fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock, squeezing hard, not to arouse, but to dominate, to punish. Dante choked, a strangled sound escaping him as pain and pleasure collided.
"Last night," Sukuna hissed, dragging Dante away from the wall by his hair, ignoring the cry of protest, "you were mine." He kicked Dante’s legs apart, shoving him face-first towards the heavy mahogany table dominating the library entrance. Dante’s palms slammed onto the polished wood, splintering the surface. "Tender," Sukuna spat the word like venom, his own erection pressing hard against Dante’s ass through their clothes. "Careful." He leaned his full weight onto Dante, pinning him, grinding against him. "Now?" He wrenched Dante’s pants and underwear down to his thighs in one brutal motion. "Now you remember who owns you."
Sukuna didn’t bother with preparation. He spat roughly onto his fingers, then pressed one, then two, calloused digits brutally into Dante, stretching him with no regard for tenderness. Dante arched, a cry torn from him – pain, yes, sharp and searing, but laced with a humiliating, desperate need. "Ry—!" The name was a gasp, a plea lost in the violence.
"Shut up," Sukuna commanded, withdrawing his fingers. The thick head of his cock, hot and demanding, replaced them, pressing against Dante’s tight, unprepared entrance. He leaned down, his mouth against Dante’s ear. "You wanted me to talk? This is the only language you understand right now." And he shoved.
Dante screamed. The brutal invasion was agony, a white-hot tear that consumed everything. Sukuna buried himself to the hilt in one relentless thrust, sheathing his cock fully in the vice-like heat. He didn’t pause, didn’t allow Dante a moment to adjust. He pulled back almost entirely, then slammed forward again, harder, deeper, the force rocking the heavy table. "Mine," Sukuna growled, setting a punishing rhythm, each thrust a hammer blow designed to shatter, to claim. "Say it."
Tears blurred Dante’s vision, pain and overwhelming sensation blurring into a dark, shameful ecstasy. He was pinned, impaled, utterly at Sukuna’s mercy. The brutal pace stole his breath; each deep, grinding drive forced ragged gasps and choked whimpers from his throat. His cock, trapped against the cool wood, throbbed unbearably hard. "Y-yours," Dante gasped, the words ripped from him, a surrender to the raw dominance overwhelming him. "Fuck… yours, Ry!"
Sukuna’s hand fisted in Dante’s hair again, yanking his head back further. He changed angle slightly, driving upwards with ruthless precision. Dante’s cry shattered into a broken moan as Sukuna’s cockhead slammed directly into his prostate. Pleasure, sharp and electric, detonated through the pain, making his legs tremble. "Louder," Sukuna demanded, pistoning into him, the wet slap of skin, their harsh breaths, the creak of the table the only sounds in the vast, dark space. "Tell me who you belong to!"
"YOU!" Dante howled, the sound raw, primal, echoing off the stone. He pushed back against Sukuna, meeting the brutal thrusts, his body betraying him, welcoming the devastating invasion, craving the punishing friction. "Fuck! Sukuna! Yours! Only yours!" The words were torn from him, a truth laid bare under the assault.
"Damn right," Sukuna snarled. His rhythm became erratic, desperate. He drove into Dante with unrelenting force, chasing his own climax, claiming his territory with every brutal stroke. He wrapped an arm around Dante’s chest, crushing him back against his own body, fingers digging into the muscle. "Take it," he grunted, each word punctuated by a savage thrust. "Take every fucking inch. Remember this." The final thrust was a deep, grinding slam, burying him impossibly deep as his orgasm ripped through him. He roared, a sound of pure, feral possession, his cock pulsing violently as he emptied himself deep inside Dante, flooding him with hot, possessive release.
Dante came untouched, his own climax ripped from him by the overwhelming sensations – the brutal fullness, the searing heat flooding his insides, Sukuna’s crushing grip, the sheer, undeniable force of the claiming. His scream was muffled against the table as he spilled over the polished wood, his body convulsing around Sukuna’s still-pulsing cock.
Sukuna held him there, buried deep, panting harshly against Dante’s sweat-drenched neck, his grip unyielding. Dante hung limp, pinned, shuddering through the aftershocks, the library air thick with the scent of sex, sweat, blood, and the undeniable, brutal scent of Sukuna’s victory. The silence that followed was broken only by their ragged breaths, heavier than the ancient stones around them.