Chapter 130: Claiming the King
The heavy silence in the bedroom after Adam left was a physical weight. Dante remained slumped against the ebony paneling, the cold wood a stark contrast to the fading heat radiating from his abused skin. Come cooled on the wall, stark white against the dark wood, and trickled down his inner thighs, a visceral map of their brutal encounter. His ass throbbed, a deep, internal ache echoing the violent claiming. He pushed himself upright with trembling arms, wincing as muscles screamed. Turning, he found only empty space where Adam had stood. The profound emptiness hit him harder than the physical impact. He staggered towards the en-suite, the scent of sulfur, sex, and his own tears thick in his nostrils.
Days bled into a haze of fractured existence. Club Inferno ran on autopilot, managed by Azrael with a disdainful efficiency. Dante haunted the mansion’s shadows, the opulence feeling like a gilded cage. The echo of Adam’s fury – "Go fuck yourself, Dante." / "Scream for me, you faithless fucking bastard!" – played on a loop in his mind. He avoided the bedroom where the scent of Adam lingered. He avoided the living room where he’d wept. He found himself gravitating towards the one place that demanded focus: his study.
The study was a sanctuary of ancient knowledge and quiet power. Towering bookshelves groaned under the weight of millennia, scrolls crammed into every available space. The air hung thick with the comforting, dusty scent of parchment and the ever-present undercurrent of sulfur. Flickering candlelight from ornate iron sconces cast long, dancing shadows over the massive obsidian desk – a relic from before the Fall – and the circle of deep leather armchairs encircling it. Dante sat behind the desk, not working, just staring at the grain of the black wood, tracing patterns only he could see. He wore only loose black silk trousers, the bandage finally discarded, revealing the healed, puckered scar low on his abdomen – a permanent reminder of Azrathiel, and the night Adam had stayed.
The heavy oak door clicked open. Dante didn't need to look up. He knew the weight of that presence, the subtle shift in the air. Adam stood framed in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. He wore dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt, his expression unreadable, eyes shadowed. The silence stretched, thick and electric, charged with everything unsaid, everything violently enacted against the wall days prior.
"You hiding?" Adam's voice was flat, devoid of its usual heat, which somehow felt worse.
Dante finally lifted his head. His single eye met Adam’s. He saw the lingering anger, the deep hurt, the exhaustion that mirrored his own. He also saw Adam looking at the scar. "Thinking," Dante rasped, the Detroit grit in his voice rougher than usual. "Haven't been sleeping much."
"Yeah," Adam acknowledged, stepping fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. The soft thud echoed. He moved towards the circle of chairs, not sitting, just running his fingers over the worn leather back of one. "Me either." He glanced around the room, taking in the books, the scrolls, the oppressive weight of history. "This place suits you. All the old secrets." He paused, his gaze landing back on Dante, sharpening. "Still got secrets, Dante?"
The question hung in the air. Dante leaned back in the high-backed chair, the leather creaking softly. "What secrets, Adam? You know my worst one." The Val incident. The choked silence when asked if he loved. "You cracked me open against the wall. Saw everything ugly inside."
Adam pushed off the chair, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the desk. "Did I? Or did I just fuck the anger out? Doesn't feel gone." He stopped directly across the vast desk from Dante, placing his palms flat on the cool obsidian surface. The distance felt both vast and intimate. "That night... you looked wrecked. On the floor. Crying. I thought... fuck, I thought maybe..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Then you let him kiss you. In front of everyone. Made me feel like the pathetic one."
Dante flinched. "It meant nothing."
Adam slammed a fist down on the desk. The impact reverberated, making inkwells rattle. "Stop saying that!" he snarled, the carefully controlled facade cracking. "It meant enough for him to shove his tongue down your throat! It meant enough for you to let him! And it meant enough to rip everything we built apart!" He leaned forward, knuckles white where they pressed into the stone. "You think fucking me raw against the wall fixes that? It just burned the rage off for a minute. The hurt? That shit’s still there, Dante. Festering."
Dante surged to his feet, mirroring Adam’s posture, palms flat on the desk. "Then what do you want?" he demanded, the ancient power simmering beneath his skin, molten veins glowing faintly. "Blood? More tears? You want me on my knees begging? I will! I fucking will! Tell me what undoes it!" His voice cracked. "Tell me how to make it stop hurting you."
Adam’s eyes, usually stormy grey, seemed to darken, holding Dante’s fiery gaze. "I want you to stop pretending it didn't matter. Stop pretending I don't matter. You keep acting like Hell’s fucking King, untouchable, playing with everything and everyone like toys. Including me." His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. "You don't get to walk away from this thinking it's done."
A spark of defiance, born of desperation, flared in Dante. He straightened, lifting his chin, the mask of the untouchable Prince settling back over his raw vulnerability. "Then show me I can’t," he challenged, the Detroit swagger thick in his tone, a dare laced with bitter challenge. "Show me how much I fucking matter."
Adam moved. Fast. Blindingly fast. He vaulted over the massive desk, scattering scrolls and knocking a heavy lead-crystal paperweight to the floor with a crash. He landed solidly in front of Dante, his momentum carrying them both backwards. Dante’s back slammed hard against one of the towering bookshelves. Ancient tomes shuddered in their places. Adam’s hands shot out, clamping like iron manacles around Dante’s wrists, pinning them against the leather-bound spines above his head. The grip was brutal, crushing, enough to bruise bone. The scent of Adam – ozone, fury, and something uniquely him – filled Dante’s senses.
"You think this is a fucking game?" Adam snarled, his face inches from Dante’s, breath hot and angry against his lips. "You think that smirk helps?" He slammed Dante’s wrists harder against the books. "You think I don't see you hiding behind it? That kingly bullshit?" He shoved his hips forward, grinding his hard cock against Dante’s trapped groin through the layers of denim and silk. Dante gasped, his own body igniting in response despite the turmoil. "You want shown? Fine."
With one hand still pinning both of Dante’s wrists effortlessly, Adam dropped to his knees. His free hand hooked into the waistband of Dante’s silk trousers and underwear, yanking them down to his thighs in one vicious motion. Dante’s cock sprang free, already half-hard, betraying him. Adam barely glanced at it. His focus was lower. His hand slid down Dante’s inner thigh, rough and demanding. He spread Dante’s legs wider with his own knee, forcing him open. Then his fingers found Dante’s entrance, still slightly tender from days before. Adam spat, a thick glob landing directly on the tight furl, and rubbed it in roughly with two fingers, no finesse, just brutal preparation.
Dante hissed, arching his back away from the bookshelf, the sensation shocking and degrading. "Adam—"
"Shut. Up." Adam growled. He pushed one thick finger inside without warning, knuckle-deep. Dante cried out, the stretch sharp. Adam worked it ruthlessly, crooking it, finding the spot that made Dante’s legs tremble, but it wasn't tender. It was punishment. He added a second finger almost immediately, stretching him wider, scissoring harshly. Dante panted, head thrown back against the books, torn between pain and the insistent throb of arousal. "Still loose from the other night?" Adam muttered darkly, twisting his fingers. "Or just born to take cock? Born to be fucked open?"
He withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving Dante empty and clenching. Dante looked down, panting. Adam was already unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink loud in the tense silence. He shoved his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It was thick, flushed, and fully erect, jutting aggressively. Adam spat into his palm again, slicking his length with rough strokes, his eyes never leaving Dante’s face, watching the mix of fear and hunger there.
Then he was up. He grabbed Dante’s hips, turning him with brutal efficiency, shoving him face-first towards the massive obsidian desk. Dante stumbled, catching himself on the cold, smooth edge. Before he could brace, Adam kicked his legs wider apart. One hand planted firmly between Dante’s shoulder blades, shoving his chest down flat onto the unforgiving stone surface. The cold bit into Dante’s skin. Ancient scrolls crunched beneath his weight. The other hand gripped Dante’s hip hard, claws threatening to break skin again, yanking his ass up into position. Dante felt the swollen, slick head of Adam’s cock nudge against his entrance, demanding entry.
"No more hiding," Adam snarled, his voice guttural with fury and lust. He leaned his weight onto Dante’s back, pinning him completely. "Take it."
He didn’t thrust. He slammed. One powerful, brutal drive of his hips buried him balls-deep in one stroke. Dante screamed, a raw, ragged sound torn from his throat. The stretch was agonizing, a white-hot brand searing him open. Adam was huge, filling him impossibly full, deeper than he’d ever been, the desk edge grinding into Dante’s hip bones. Adam held himself buried to the hilt for a searing heartbeat, letting Dante feel every pulsing inch impaling him. "Fucking feel that?" he growled, his breath hot on Dante’s nape. "Feel how deep I own you? This cunt is MINE."
He pulled back, the drag an exquisite torment, then hammered forward again. Thwack! His hips cracked against Dante’s ass with punishing force. Dante cried out, nails scrabbling uselessly on the slick obsidian. Adam set a relentless, punishing pace immediately. No rhythm, just deep, hard, driving thrusts that pistoned Dante forward into the desk with every brutal plunge. The sound of wet flesh slapping flesh, hard and fast, echoed off the stone walls and high ceiling, punctuated by Dante’s choked gasps and Adam’s guttural grunts.
"Fucking tight," Adam ground out, his hand sliding from Dante’s back to fist in his hair, yanking his head back, arching his spine painfully. "Even after taking it rough. Begging for more, aren't you? Begging for your King to fuck you stupid?" He slammed in again, hitting Dante’s prostate with devastating accuracy. Dante arched with a ragged moan, his cock trapped hard and leaking against the cold stone. "Yeah, there it is. That sweet spot. You gonna come like this? Come all over the Devil’s desk while I breed you deep?"
The filthy words, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly claimed, the relentless pounding against that perfect spot – it shattered Dante. His orgasm ripped through him, violent and unstoppable, tearing another guttural scream from his throat. His cock jerked, spilling thick pulses of come onto the priceless obsidian, his inner muscles clamping down in vicious, rhythmic spasms around Adam’s driving cock.
The fierce clenching triggered Adam’s own climax. He buried himself to the root with a final, savage roar, grinding deep. Dante felt the hot, wet pulse deep inside him as Adam emptied himself, each thick jet flooding his core with possessive heat. Adam collapsed forward, his chest heaving against Dante’s back, forehead pressed between Dante’s shoulder blades. His grip on Dante’s hair loosened. They stayed locked together, pinned over the ancient desk, Dante trembling violently, Adam’s weight the only anchor. The air was thick with the musk of sweat, sex, sulfur, and dust disturbed from the scrolls. Dante’s face was pressed against the cold stone; he could smell his own come. Adam’s harsh breaths were loud in his ear.
Slowly, Adam pulled out. The emptiness was profound, followed by the wet slide of his release leaking down Dante’s thighs. He stepped back, his breathing still ragged. Dante pushed himself up on shaky arms, wincing at the deep ache, the cool air hitting his wet skin. He turned slowly to face Adam.
Adam leaned back against the heavy desk, jeans still bunched around his thighs, his cock softening but glistening. He was looking at Dante, his expression no longer furious, but utterly exhausted, haunted. He looked at the mess on the desk, the state of Dante. He ran a trembling hand over his face.
"Still think you can just walk away?" Adam asked, his voice raw and hollow, the heat gone. It wasn't a taunt. It was a plea wrapped in despair. He pushed himself off the desk, pulling his clothing back into place with jerky movements. He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out of the study, leaving Dante alone amidst the wreckage of ancient knowledge and their shattered intimacy, the echo of his final question hanging heavier than the scent of sulfur.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Adam, the sound final as a tomb sealing. Dante stood frozen by the desk, the cold obsidian leaching heat from his palms where he still braced himself. Adam’s release oozed warmly down his inner thighs, a stark contrast to the chilling emptiness spreading through his chest. The study felt cavernous, echoing with the ghost of Adam’s harsh breaths, the phantom sting of his grip, the visceral echo of skin slapping skin. Dante’s own come smeared the priceless desk beneath him, a vulgar stain on centuries of history. He pushed himself upright, wincing at the deep, familiar ache in his ass, the raw sensitivity where Adam had claimed him with such brutal ownership. ‘Still think you can just walk away?’ The question wasn’t defiance; it was a raw, exhausted wound. Dante staggered back, pulling up his silk trousers with trembling hands, the fabric clinging unpleasantly to his damp skin. He needed air that didn’t taste of sulfur, sex, and despair.
He found Adam not in the echoing grand halls or the cavernous living room, but slumped on a stone bench in the shadowed, overgrown courtyard garden. Moonlight caught the silver streaks in his black hair, the sharp lines of his profile etched with weariness. He held a half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon, the neck gripped loosely in his fingers. Dante paused in the archway, watching him. The sight shouldn’t have hurt so much – Adam’s isolation mirroring his own. He moved silently across the flagstones, the scent of night-blooming jasmine doing little to mask the alcohol fumes clinging to the air. Adam didn’t look up, just took another long, slow pull from the bottle. The silence stretched, thick and dangerous.
"Found better company?" Dante finally asked, his voice rough, the Detroit rasp sharpened by a jagged edge. He kept a few feet away, leaning against the cold stone wall.
Adam lowered the bottle slowly, his gaze flicking to Dante, grey eyes dull in the moonlight. "Didn't know you were keeping tabs." His tone was flat, devoid of its usual bite.
"Hard not to. Place feels like a fucking tomb without you stomping around." Dante pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. The bourbon scent was stronger now. "Been busy?"
Adam snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. "Tried. Couldn't." He gestured vaguely with the bottle. "This helps. Mostly." He took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Tried what?" Dante pressed, the question sharp as a blade. He moved into Adam’s space, forcing him to look up. "Tried forgetting? Or tried finding someone else to fuck that rage into?" He saw the subtle flinch, the tightening around Adam’s eyes. The confirmation hit Dante like a physical blow, a white-hot poker driven straight into his gut. It wasn’t surprise; it was the visceral punch of knowing. He did it. He went to someone else.
Adam met his gaze, defiance flickering weakly through the haze of alcohol. "What if I did? You gave me a fucking roadmap when you let Val put his hands on you." He stood up abruptly, swaying slightly. "Yeah, Dante. I fucked him. Some guy at that dive bar near the docks. Blond. Smelled like cheap beer and desperation. Seemed like a good idea at the time." He laughed, the sound brittle and ugly.
The image exploded in Dante’s mind: Adam, furious and hurting, shoving someone else against a grimy wall, fucking them with the same raw intensity he’d just used on Dante. It wasn’t anger at Adam that ignited; it was a consuming, possessive firestorm of jealousy so violent it stole his breath. Adam hadn't betrayed him; Dante had pushed him, fists and fury, straight into that stranger’s arms. The fury wasn’t directed outwards. It imploded, turning inwards into a molten core of self-recrimination and savage hunger. His vision narrowed, focusing solely on Adam, the man he’d driven away, the man whose body another had touched. The air crackled, thick with ozone and the raw energy Dante usually kept chained. "Did he?" Dante’s voice dropped, low and dangerous, vibrating with barely contained power. "Did he fuck the pain away? Hmm?"
Adam squared his shoulders, meeting the inferno in Dante’s eye. "He tried."
"Tried?" Dante took another step, crowding Adam back against the stone bench. "Did he fuck you like I do? Did he make you scream?" He reached out, lightning-fast, grabbing the front of Adam’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist. "Did he know where to touch?" His other hand shot down, palming Adam’s crotch through his jeans, feeling the flinch, the responding hardness despite the alcohol. "Did he make you feel owned, Adam?"
Adam gasped, pushing against Dante’s chest. "Get off—"
"No." Dante’s snarl was pure predator. He shoved Adam hard backwards. Adam stumbled, his legs hitting the low stone bench, and he collapsed onto it. Before Adam could recover, Dante was on him, knees straddling his thighs, pinning him down. His hands clamped onto Adam’s wrists, slamming them down onto the cold stone seat on either side of his head. Dante leaned in, his face inches from Adam’s, the heat radiating from his skin palpable. "Tell me," Dante demanded, his voice a guttural rasp. "Was he better?"
"Fuck you, Dante," Adam spat, struggling futilely against the iron grip.
"Did he fill you up?" Dante ground his hips down, his own rapidly hardening cock pressing against Adam’s trapped erection, making Adam arch. "Did he make you beg for it? Did he fuck you so deep you forgot your own fucking name?" The words were laced with venom and a desperate, possessive need. "Could he?"
Adam writhed, his breath coming in ragged pants. "He… he was just…"
"Just what?" Dante slammed Adam’s wrists harder against the stone. "Just a convenient hole? Because that's what you needed? Something to use?" He leaned even closer, his lips brushing Adam’s ear. "Did he taste you? Did he swallow you down?" Dante’s teeth scraped Adam’s earlobe. "Did he make you come screaming like I do?"
Adam let out a choked moan, a mix of anger and helpless arousal. "N-no…"
"No?" Dante pulled back, his fiery gaze locking onto Adam’s. "Good." His hand shot down, fingers fumbling with Adam’s belt and jeans button with brutal efficiency. He yanked the denim and briefs down Adam’s hips just far enough. "You want to forget?" Dante growled, shifting his weight. He spat roughly into his own palm, slicking his already straining cock. "Let me remind you."
He didn't wait. He didn't prepare. He lined up and slammed forward in one brutal, unforgiving thrust. Adam cried out, a sharp sound ripped from his throat as Dante’s thick cock speared him open. Dante grunted, the tight, hot clench almost painful. "Fuck, yeah… mine," he snarled, burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep. Adam’s head thrashed against the stone bench, his body arching, impaled. "Feel that? Feel how I fill you?" Dante pulled back almost completely, leaving Adam gasping at the sudden emptiness, then drove home again with punishing force. Thud. His hips cracked against Adam’s ass. "No one fucks you like this. No one owns you like this."
He set a savage, unrelenting pace. Deep, hard, piston-like thrusts that hammered Adam back into the unyielding stone with every snap of Dante’s hips. He gripped Adam’s wrists like vices, pinning him utterly. The wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filled the moonlit courtyard, louder than the distant city hum. Adam’s cries were muffled groans, torn between pain and overwhelming sensation, his cock trapped and leaking against his stomach. Dante fucked him with single-minded intensity, each plunge a violent reclamation, an assertion of dominance fueled by jealous fury. "You take it… take my cock so fucking good… always," Dante grunted, his breath hot and harsh. "Did he make you feel this full? Huh?" He pistoned harder, driving the air from Adam’s lungs. "Could he make you come just from getting split open on his dick?"
Adam’s body was a taut bowstring, trembling violently under Dante’s onslaught. His knuckles were white where Dante held his wrists pinned. He was hard, achingly hard, precome slicking his stomach, but the peak hovered just out of reach, blocked by the raw intensity, the brutal claiming, the sheer overwhelming force of Dante’s possession. Dante could feel the desperate tension coiling in Adam’s body, the clenching heat around his cock, but no release came. Dante leaned forward, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against Adam’s, his lips against the shell of Adam’s ear. "Not yet?" he rasped, his thrusts not slowing, each one a deliberate assault on Adam’s senses. "Can't come just from my cock fucking you raw? Need more?" He nipped Adam’s earlobe. "Need your King to finish you properly?"
With a final, deep grind that punched a ragged sob from Adam, Dante stilled, buried deep. He held himself there, pulsing, as his own climax ripped through him. His roar was primal, echoing off the courtyard walls as he emptied himself in thick, hot pulses deep inside Adam, marking him, filling him, claiming him utterly. He collapsed forward slightly, resting his forehead against Adam’s shoulder for a second, panting heavily, feeling Adam’s body quake beneath him, still tense, still frustratingly unspent.
Dante pulled out slowly, the wet sound obscene in the sudden quiet. Adam whimpered at the loss, at the sudden cool air on his abused entrance, the hot spill of Dante’s release starting to leak out. Dante looked down at him. Adam was a wreck – flushed, trembling, his cock a rigid, angry red against his stomach, weeping with need. Dante’s gaze narrowed, possessive satisfaction warring with the urge to push further. He hadn't finished the job. He dropped to his knees on the cold flagstones between Adam’s splayed legs. Adam looked down, his eyes wide, confused, still clouded with lust and the lingering haze of alcohol.
"Still hard for me, sweetheart?" Dante murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. He didn't touch Adam’s cock yet. He ran his hands slowly up the insides of Adam’s thighs, feeling the muscles jump under his touch. "Poor thing. All that pounding and still aching?" He leaned forward, nuzzling the base of Adam’s shaft, inhaling the musky scent of sex and sweat and Adam. "Bet that other guy didn't leave you wanting like this. Bet he didn't know how to wind you up so fucking tight."
He finally wrapped his fingers around the base of Adam’s cock, firm but not tight. Adam gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. "Easy," Dante breathed, his breath hot on the slick head. "Let me." He swirled his tongue slowly, deliberately, around the flared tip, tasting precome, tasting Adam’s desperation. He licked a slow, torturous stripe up the rigid length, then took just the head into his mouth, sucking gently. Adam cried out, his hands flying to tangle in Dante’s hair, not pushing, just clutching. "Fuck… Dante…"
Dante pulled off with a soft pop, looking up at Adam through his lashes, a predatory glint in his eye. "Was he better at this?" he asked, his thumb rubbing circles over the weeping slit. He didn’t wait for an answer. "Doubt it." He ducked his head again, taking Adam deeper this time, working his tongue along the straining vein underneath. He bobbed slowly, deliberately, one hand cupping Adam’s balls, rolling them gently. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, then relaxed, drawing it out, teasing. Adam’s fingers tightened painfully in his hair, his breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. "Please… fuck…"
"Please what?" Dante murmured around his cock, the vibration making Adam shudder violently. He pulled off again, licking his lips. "Tell me. Tell me what you need." He swirled his tongue around the head again.
"Make… make me come," Adam begged, his voice strangled. "Please, Dante… I need…"
Dante grinned, a feral, triumphant flash in the moonlight. He swallowed Adam down to the root in one smooth movement, his nose buried in the dark curls at the base. Adam’s back arched off the bench, a choked scream tearing from his throat as Dante sucked hard, relentlessly, massaging his balls, his free hand gripping Adam’s hip. It was too much, too intense, the brutal fucking followed by the expert, demanding mouth. Adam’s body locked, every muscle straining, before shattering. He came with a guttural roar, pulsing hot and thick down Dante’s throat in long, shuddering spurts. Dante swallowed it all, greedily, sucking him through the violent spasms until Adam was wrung out, limp and gasping on the stone bench.
Dante finally released him with a satisfied lick to the oversensitive head, making Adam whimper. He sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at the wrecked figure before him. Adam’s chest heaved, sweat gleaming on his skin in the moonlight, eyes closed, utterly spent. Dante leaned forward, planting his hands on the bench on either side of Adam’s hips, caging him in. He pressed a kiss, surprisingly soft, to the damp skin just below Adam’s navel. "Mine," he whispered against the skin, the word a low, possessive rumble lost in the rustling leaves. "Always mine."