Chapter 118: Nightmare
The scent of sex, sweat, and spent release hung thick in the study, mingling stubbornly with the fading ozone tang of the twins’ power and the woodsmoke from the dying embers. Dante lay slumped against Adam, his breathing gradually deepening from ragged gasps into something heavier, more exhausted. The frantic energy that had driven him was utterly spent, leaving behind a profound lethargy that seemed to seep into his bones. Adam felt the weight of him, the solid heat, the slight tremor that still ran through Dante’s frame beneath the sweat-slicked skin.
"Alright," Adam murmured, his voice a low rumble against Dante’s temple. His hand, still resting on the nape of Dante’s neck, gave a gentle squeeze. "Enough of this couch. Bed. Now."
Dante made a vague noise of protest, a low groan muffled against Adam’s shoulder. "Fuck off," he mumbled, but there was no heat in it, just bone-deep weariness.
"Move your royal ass, Morningstar," Adam insisted, shifting beneath him. "Or I'll drag you. Don't think I won't." He started to extricate himself, the sticky mess on his stomach pulling uncomfortably.
Dante lifted his head slightly, amethyst eyes bleary and unfocused. He looked wrecked, shadows like bruises beneath his eyes, the usual sharp angles of his face softened by exhaustion. "Fine," he rasped. "But you're coming."
"Wasn't plannin' on sleepin' in the fuckin' hallway," Adam grunted, finally managing to sit up. He grabbed Dante’s discarded shirt from the floor, using it to roughly wipe the worst of the drying come from his stomach and chest before tossing it aside. He stood, legs feeling strangely shaky, and offered Dante a hand. "Up."
Dante took it, his grip surprisingly weak for a moment before tightening. He hauled himself upright with Adam’s help, swaying slightly. He didn't bother retrieving his own clothes, just stood there naked and magnificent in the dim firelight, wings drooping slightly, looking utterly lost. Adam grabbed his own torn shirt, pulling it on haphazardly, not bothering with buttons, then scooped up Dante’s jeans. "Here," he said, thrusting them at him. "Unless you wanna parade through the halls like that."
Dante took the jeans, fumbling them on without underwear, the zipper left half-down. He didn't seem to care. Adam led the way, opening the heavy study door. The throb of the Inferno Club’s bassline hit them like a physical wave, louder now, punctuated by distant shouts, laughter, and the faint, discordant wail of a saxophone. The corridor was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the stone walls. They moved silently, two predators navigating their own territory, the aftermath of raw need and deeper fear clinging to them like a second skin. Adam kept a hand lightly on Dante’s lower back, a steadying pressure.
The master suite was a cavern of shadows and luxury. Heavy blackout curtains were drawn against the perpetual twilight of Hell, but faint ambient light from the city beyond leaked around the edges, casting long, distorted shapes. The air was cooler here, scented faintly of sandalwood and clean linen. The bed was enormous, a fortress of dark wood piled high with pillows and black silk sheets.
Adam crossed to the bed first. He shucked his jeans and ruined shirt, tossing them onto a nearby chair, leaving him naked. He slid between the cool silk sheets, the sensation a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the study couch. He settled onto his back, the mattress sighing beneath his weight. "C'mon," he said, his voice low.
Dante stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, silhouetted against the faint light from the curtains. He looked like a statue carved from obsidian and weariness. Then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of the earth, he crawled onto the bed. Not with his usual predatory grace, but with the heavy movements of a man carrying an unbearable weight. He didn't arrange himself beside Adam; he moved directly on top of him, settling his head heavily on Adam’s broad chest, just over his heart. His horns pressed gently against Adam’s collarbone, a familiar, grounding pressure.
Adam didn't hesitate. His left arm came up and wrapped firmly around Dante’s shoulders, pulling him in tight, anchoring him. His right hand lifted, fingers sinking into the thick, dark hair at Dante’s nape. He began to rub slow, deliberate circles on Dante’s back, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the skin, the slight ridge of his spine, the heat radiating from him. His other hand moved to Dante’s scalp, fingers massaging gently, methodically, working through the tension knotted there.
Dante let out a long, shuddering breath. His body, which had been held rigid with residual anxiety, began to soften against Adam’s. His wings, draped loosely over them both like a heavy blanket, relaxed further. His breathing deepened, becoming slower, more rhythmic. Adam kept up the steady pressure, the circles on his back, the kneading of his scalp. He didn't speak. Words were useless here. This was the language they understood: touch, presence, the unyielding solidity of one against the other.
Minutes stretched. The distant thrum of the club faded into a background hum. Dante’s breathing became utterly even, deep and slow. The frantic pulse Adam had felt earlier beneath his palm had calmed. The Prince of Hell was asleep, his face pressed against Adam’s chest, looking younger, stripped of his infernal mantle, vulnerable in a way few ever witnessed. Adam kept massaging, the rhythm soothing his own frayed nerves. The enormity of the day – the twins' sudden appearance, their raw power, Dante’s raw terror and grief – pressed in on him, but holding Dante like this, feeling the solid weight of him, the trust implicit in his surrender to sleep, acted as a counterweight. Adam’s own eyelids grew heavy. The exhaustion of the day, the intense physical release, pulled him down. His hands slowed, then stilled, resting on Dante’s back and head. His breathing synced with Dante’s. Darkness claimed him.
Adam woke instantly. Not slowly, not groggily. One moment he was submerged in deep, dreamless sleep, the next he was utterly alert, every sense snapping open like tripwires.
It was the breathing. Dante’s breathing.
It had changed. Gone was the deep, slow rhythm. It was sharp now. Shallow. Fast. Panting breaths punched out of him, harsh and ragged against Adam’s chest. Dante’s body, which had been a warm, relaxed weight, was rigid again. Tremors ran through him, small, violent shivers. A low, choked whimper escaped his lips, muffled against Adam’s skin.
Nightmare. Not the full-blown panic Adam had witnessed before, the kind that shattered furniture and shook foundations. This was quieter, sharper, a blade twisting deep inside. Dante wasn't thrashing; he was frozen, locked in some internal horror, his breath sawing in and out as if he couldn't get enough air.
"Hey," Adam murmured, his voice thick with sleep but instantly gentle. "Dante. Hey, wake up." He tightened his arm around Dante’s shoulders, his hand resuming those slow circles on his back, but firmer now. "You're dreaming, man. Just a dream."
Dante gasped, a sharp, wet intake of breath. His head jerked slightly on Adam’s chest. "N-no... stop..." he choked out, the words fragmented, terrified. "He... he stopped... breathing..."
Adam’s blood ran cold. Sera. The ghost haunting Dante’s sleep, resurrected by the terrifying echo in Charlotte’s skittish eyes. "He’s not here, Dante," Adam said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the nightmare fog. He shifted, pulling Dante even tighter against him, wrapping his other arm around him too, enveloping him completely. Dante’s wings fluttered weakly, a trapped bird. "It’s Adam. You’re with me. You’re safe. The kids are safe. Hela’s got them. Breathe, Dante. Just fuckin' breathe."
He pressed his lips against Dante’s sweat-dampened hairline. "In," he instructed softly, taking an exaggerated breath himself, making his chest rise prominently beneath Dante’s head. "Feel that? In... then out." He exhaled slowly, deliberately. "C'mon, follow me. In... and out."
Dante shuddered violently. His fingers clawed briefly at Adam’s side, then clenched into a fist. He tried to mimic Adam’s breathing, but it hitched, catching in his throat. A sob, raw and ugly, tore loose. "Couldn't... save him..." The words were barely audible, thick with agony.
"I know," Adam whispered, his own throat tight. He rocked Dante slightly, a slow, rhythmic motion. "I know, man. But you’re here now. Here. With me. Feel me?" He squeezed hard. "Solid, yeah? Anchor you. Breathe. Just fuckin' breathe."
He kept talking, low and constant, a stream of grounding nonsense mixed with firm commands to breathe. He rubbed Dante’s back relentlessly, feeling the knotted muscles slowly, reluctantly begin to loosen under his touch. He traced the ridges of Dante’s spine, the curve of his shoulder blade, the powerful sweep of his wing joint. Dante’s frantic panting gradually began to slow, deepening slightly. The rigid tension bled away, replaced by a trembling weakness. The choked sobs subsided into shuddering breaths, then finally, into something closer to normal, though still unsteady.
Dante didn't pull away. He burrowed deeper into Adam’s embrace, his face still pressed hard against Adam’s chest, his arms trapped between their bodies. He felt fragile suddenly, despite his immense power, like glass under immense pressure. Adam held him without reservation, his own body a shield against the ghosts. The silence stretched, thick with the remnants of terror and shared grief. The distant pulse of the Inferno Club felt obscene now, a reminder of the chaotic world outside this fragile bubble.
Adam felt Dante shift slightly. Not to pull away, but to press closer. A low, needy sound vibrated against Adam’s skin. Dante’s hand, trapped between them, moved. Fingers slid down Adam’s stomach, rough and seeking, bypassing his softening cock to delve lower, tracing the crease of his thigh. The touch wasn't gentle. It was desperate. Claiming.
"Adam..." Dante’s voice was a wrecked scrape, thick with unshed tears and a hunger that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with obliteration. "Need... need you inside me. Now. Fuck me. Hard. Make me feel something else. Make me feel you."
The raw demand, the vulnerability twisted into a fierce, physical need, hit Adam like a punch to the gut. He understood the unspoken plea: Drown the ghosts. Anchor me in flesh. Make it hurt so I know I'm alive. He didn't hesitate. His hand slid from Dante’s back down to his hip, gripping hard, pulling him up slightly. Dante went willingly, shifting onto his knees beside Adam, his back presented, wings flaring slightly for balance. The faint light from the curtains caught the sheen of sweat still cooling on his skin, the intricate tapestry of tattoos, the powerful curve of his ass.
Adam sat up swiftly. He reached for the nightstand drawer, knowing Dante kept supplies there too. His fingers closed around a familiar bottle of slick oil. He popped the cap, coating his fingers liberally, the scent sharp and clean in the dark room. He didn't waste time. Dante was already braced, head bowed, breathing heavily with anticipation, not fear. Adam’s slicked fingers found Dante’s entrance, pressing firmly against the tight ring of muscle.
"Fuck," Dante hissed, pushing back instantly, demanding entry. "Don't fuckin' tease..."
Adam obliged. One thick finger breached him, sinking deep. Dante groaned, low and guttural, his body clenching fiercely around the intrusion. Adam worked him fast, adding a second finger almost immediately, scissoring, stretching him with brutal efficiency. There was no time for gentleness, no place for it in this raw need. Dante pushed back onto his fingers, grinding down, taking them deeper, his breath coming in sharp pants. "More... fuck... now..."
Adam withdrew his fingers. He slicked his own cock, already hard and throbbing, the head swollen and leaking. The sight of Dante kneeling, presented, wings trembling slightly, was primal, irresistible. He positioned himself behind him, the broad head of his cock pressing firmly against Dante’s stretched, glistening hole. He gripped Dante’s hips hard enough to bruise.
"Take it," Adam growled, his voice rough with lust and something darker, fiercer. He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful, relentless stroke.
Dante cried out, a raw, shattered sound that echoed off the high ceiling. His body arched violently, wings snapping taut. The invasion was brutal, breathtaking. Adam filled him completely, stretching him wide, the hot, silken clench of Dante’s body almost unbearable. He held himself deep for a heartbeat, letting Dante feel the sheer, unyielding thickness of him, the utter possession. Then he pulled back almost all the way, leaving just the head inside, before slamming forward again with punishing force.
"YES! FUCK!" Dante roared, pushing back to meet the thrust, his voice ragged. "Harder! Fucking ruin me!"
Adam obeyed. He set a brutal, driving pace, pistoning into Dante’s ass with deep, powerful strokes that rocked Dante’s entire body forward with each impact. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the bedroom, louder than the distant club music. Dante braced himself on his forearms, head down, ass lifted high, taking every inch Adam gave him, pushing back for more. Adam’s hands gripped Dante’s hips like vices, holding him steady for the relentless pounding. He watched his thick cock disappear again and again into Dante’s tight heat, the sight filthy and intoxicating.
"Feel that?" Adam grunted, driving deep, grinding his hips against Dante’s ass. "Feel how deep I am? Filling you up? Claiming you?"
"Fuck yes!" Dante gasped, his voice breaking. "All of it... yours... fuck... Adam!" He reached back blindly, fingers scrabbling at Adam’s thigh, urging him on.
Adam leaned forward, draping himself over Dante’s back, biting down hard on the muscle where Dante’s neck met his shoulder. Dante cried out again, a sound mixed with pain and ecstasy. Adam fucked him harder, deeper, the angle changing, the head of his cock dragging mercilessly over Dante’s prostate with every thrust. Dante’s cries turned into continuous, guttural moans, his body convulsing around Adam’s cock. He was close, teetering on the edge, driven there by the sheer intensity, the desperate need to be overwhelmed.
"Come for me," Adam snarled against his skin, pounding into him relentlessly. "Let go. Fucking come!"
The command, the brutal rhythm, the overwhelming fullness – it shattered Dante. He roared, a sound that shook the room, his body locking tight as his orgasm ripped through him. Hot pulses of semen spurted onto the silk sheets beneath him, untouched. His inner muscles clamped down viselike on Adam’s cock, milking him instantly.
Adam groaned, deep and primal, his own control snapping. He buried himself to the root and held, his hips grinding hard against Dante’s ass as his own release tore through him. Thick ropes of cum flooded Dante’s depths, hot and claiming, filling him as he pulsed uncontrollably. He collapsed forward onto Dante’s back, both of them gasping, trembling, slick with sweat, pinned together by the force of Adam’s final thrusts.
They stayed like that for long moments, breathing harshly in the dark, the only sounds their ragged gasps and the frantic pounding of their hearts. Adam slowly softened inside Dante, the sensation drawing a low sigh from them both. He carefully pulled out, the wet sound obscene in the quiet. Dante slumped forward onto the bed, utterly spent, wings draped limply. Adam rolled beside him, pulling Dante half onto his chest again, heedless of the mess. Dante went bonelessly, his head finding its place over Adam’s heart. Adam wrapped his arms around him,