Chapter 18: Strike One
The bass in the main pit of the Inferno Club was a physical assault. It thumped deep in the chest, rattling teeth, vibrating the sticky floor beneath worn boots. Neon signs – crimson devils, emerald serpents – pulsed erratically, casting garish, shifting light over the seething mass of bodies on the dance floor. The air hung thick and cloying, a noxious cocktail of cheap beer, expensive cologne, stale smoke, and that ever-present, faintly rotten undercurrent of sulfur. Dabi leaned heavily against the scarred bar top, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey dangling loosely from his fingers. His vision swam slightly, the sharp edges of the world softened by the alcohol burning in his veins. His friends – loud, brash, equally drunk – jostled beside him, shouting over the music.
"Another round, fuck it!" one yelled, slapping Dabi’s shoulder. Dabi just grunted, tipping the bottle back. The whiskey tasted like fire and oblivion. Good. He needed oblivion. Dante’s words in the steamy shower – "Fuck... Dabi... I love you" – echoed in his skull, clashing violently with the primal, possessive fucking that had preceded them. The terrifying vulnerability in Dante’s eyes afterward. The chilling certainty that Sukuna had seen everything. The emotional whiplash was too much. He chased it down with another burning swallow.
His cobalt eyes, usually sharp and calculating even in chaos, were glazed. He scanned the chaotic room without really seeing, his gaze skating over gyrating bodies, predatory stares, the flickering neon that made everything feel unreal. Then, a flash of crimson and gold cut through the haze. Hawks. He moved with an unnatural, predatory grace, weaving through the crowd like smoke. Golden eyes locked onto Dabi with unnerving focus. A slow, knowing smirk curved Hawks’ lips as he approached the bar, ignoring Dabi’s friends completely.
"Looking lonely over here, hot stuff," Hawks purred, his voice somehow cutting through the din, smooth as oiled silk. He leaned an elbow on the bar, too close. His wings, usually held tight against his back, flexed slightly, creating an intimate, enclosing space around them.
Dabi scowled, taking another defiant swig. "Fuck off, birdbrain. Not in the mood."
Hawks chuckled, low and dangerous. "Really? Seemed like you were in quite the mood earlier." His gaze dipped pointedly, lingering on the fresh bite marks Dante had left on Dabi’s throat, barely visible above the collar of his t-shirt. "Heard the King of Hell himself was putting on a show. Must be exhausting, keeping up with all that... infernal energy." The sarcasm was thick.
Dabi bristled. "None of your goddamn business." He tried to turn away, but Hawks’ hand shot out, lightning-fast, catching his wrist. The grip wasn't painful, but it was unbreakable. Cold. Calculating.
"Everything in this pit is my business, sweetheart," Hawks murmured, leaning in so his breath ghosted over Dabi’s ear. He smelled like ozone and something metallic. "Especially when it involves Morningstar’s favorite chew toy. Heard you two got all sentimental in the shower after the main event. Cute." He squeezed Dabi’s wrist. "Bet it felt good, letting loose before he chains you down for good."
The words hit like a physical blow. The raw truth of Dante’s claim warring with the suffocating weight of it. The fear of what ‘love’ meant coming from the Devil’s son. The memory of Sukuna’s cold eyes watching his vulnerability. The whiskey surged in his gut, churning with a desperate, reckless need. To feel something else. To be something else. Even for a moment.
Dabi’s resistance crumbled. He met Hawks’ predatory gaze, a flicker of self-destructive defiance replacing the anger. "What the fuck do you want, Feathers?"
Hawks’ smirk widened into a triumphant, razor-sharp grin. "Just to show you there’s easier company to keep. Less... complicated." His free hand slid around Dabi’s waist, pulling him flush against a surprisingly hard body. "Less demanding." His lips brushed the shell of Dabi’s ear. "Wanna ditch these losers? Find somewhere quieter?"
Dabi didn’t answer with words. He drained the last of the whiskey, letting the empty bottle clatter onto the bar. Then he turned fully into Hawks, his own hands grasping the front of Hawks’ ridiculous bomber jacket. He kissed him. Hard. Messy. A clash of teeth and tongues, fueled by whiskey and a desperate need to obliterate the echoes of Dante’s voice and Sukuna’s stare. Hawks responded instantly, deepening the kiss with a possessive growl, his wings snapping out slightly further, shielding them from the worst of the crowd.
Dabi’s friends whooped drunkenly, a sound that seemed miles away. Hawks broke the kiss, his golden eyes gleaming with victory. "Back hall," he rasped, already pulling Dabi away from the bar. "Storage closet. Now." Dabi stumbled slightly but followed, a numb emptiness settling over him, punctuated only by the frantic drumming of his own heart. Oblivion. Just oblivion.
Dabi slumped forward against the shelves, gasping, his legs trembling. He felt filthy.Used. Hollow. The numbness was back, thicker than before. He heard Hawks zipping up behind him.
"Cheers, gorgeous," Hawks said, his voice dripping with false cheer. He slapped Dabi’s ass hard, making him flinch. "Tell Morningstar thanks for warming you up." The door clicked open, then slammed shut. Dabi was alone in the reeking closet, semen trickling down his inner thighs, the bass still pounding its relentless rhythm. He didn’t move. He just breathed in the stench of cleaner and sex, feeling the cold metal against his cheek.
Sukuna stood motionless in the deep shadow just outside the cracked-open door of Dante's private study. The air here was cooler, scented with old leather-bound books and the faint, acrid tang of demonic power. Inside, Dante paced like a caged predator. He’d been gone for hours, tending to some infernal dispute in the lower circles, the weight of his crown a physical ache behind his eyes. The memory of Dabi in the shower – that raw, terrifying admission wrung from him in the heat of passion – warred with the seething fury Sukuna’s silent presence had ignited. He needed to see Dabi. To touch him. To erase the lingering chill of Sukuna’s knowledge.
The door scraped open. Sukuna entered without knocking, his movements silent, his expression unreadable granite. Dante stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Sukuna. What?" Dante’s voice was tight, wary.
Sukuna didn’t mince words. His crimson eyes bored into Dante’s, cold and utterly devoid of sympathy. "Your little pet whore just got railed in a storage closet by Hawks."
The words hit Dante like a physical blow. He froze, the air crackling with sudden, dangerous energy. The tattoos on his arms seemed to writhe beneath his skin. "What?" The word was a low growl, barely recognizable.
"Saw it," Sukuna stated flatly. "Five minutes ago. Back hall storage. Hawks had him bent over a shelf. Fucked him raw. Loud." Each word was a shard of ice. "They finished. Hawks left. Dabi’s still in there. Smells like cheap whiskey and bird spunk."
A low snarl ripped from Dante’s throat. Crimson fire flickered in his eyes. "You’re lying." The denial was instinctive, volcanic. "You’re fucking lying to me, Sukuna! Trying to twist the knife because you saw—"
Sukuna moved faster than thought. He crossed the space between them in a blur. Before Dante could react, Sukuna’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to clamp around Dante’s wrist with bruising force. His grip was iron, colder than the grave. Dante tried to wrench away, a surge of infernal power gathering at his core, but Sukuna held fast, his other hand clamping onto Dante’s shoulder, pinning him.
"See what I fucking saw," Sukuna hissed, his voice devoid of anything but glacial fury. His eyes, burning crimson slits, locked onto Dante’s. "Look."
Images, raw and visceral, flooded Dante’s mind. Not memories. Not thoughts. Direct sensory input ripped from Sukuna’s perception and slammed into Dante’s consciousness with brutal force.
The flickering bulb in the grimy closet. Dabi’s pale skin pressed against cold metal. Hawks’ golden wings blocking the light. The sharp gasp as Hawks breached him. The brutal rhythm of hips slamming against ass. The raw, animalistic sounds torn from Dabi’s throat. Hawks’ teeth sinking into Dabi’s shoulder. The crude, mocking words. The final, violent thrusts. The unmistakable spill of seed. Every sight, every sound, the stench of sweat and cheap booze and sex, the palpable aura of Dabi’s drunken surrender and Hawks’ predatory triumph – it crashed over Dante in a nauseating, soul-scorching wave.
Every sight, every sound, the stench of sweat and cheap booze and sex, the palpable aura of Dabi’s drunken surrender and Hawks’ predatory triumph – it crashed over Dante in a nauseating, soul-scorching wave. Sukuna’s grip on his wrist was a cold shackle, forcing the vile truth into his skull. The images burned: Dabi’s back arching, Hawks’ wings eclipsing the light, the brutal piston of hips, Hawks’ teeth sinking into skin Dante had marked mere hours before. The crude words echoed: "Tell Morningstar thanks for warming you up." Dante ripped his wrist free, stumbling back a step. The infernal power roiling beneath his skin flickered violently, crimson fire blazing in his eyes, then molten gold, before collapsing back into his natural, exhausted hazel. He looked hollowed out. Defeated. Almost unnervingly calm.
He stared at Sukuna, his expression utterly blank. The rage was there, a molten core deep within, but it was buried under an avalanche of bone-deep weariness. The weight of millennia, the crown of Hell, the fucking mess of loving a stubborn, self-destructive human… it pressed down, crushing. Sukuna’s crimson gaze held his, the glacial fury replaced by something else. Regret? Pity? Sukuna swallowed, the movement stark in the tense silence. "Dante," he began, his voice uncharacteristically rough. "I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have shown you like that."
Dante didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just looked at Sukuna, the silence stretching taut. Then, like a snapped cable, he lunged. Not with violence, but with a desperate, brutal hunger. His hand fisted in Sukuna’s dark hair, yanking his head back. His mouth crashed down onto Sukuna’s, a kiss devoid of tenderness, all teeth and punishing pressure, tasting of ash and shared fury. Sukuna froze, stunned for a heartbeat by the raw, unexpected assault. Then, a low growl vibrated in his chest. His hands flew up, not to push Dante away, but to claw at his shoulders, pulling him closer, meeting the savage kiss with equal ferocity. Their teeth clashed, lips bruising, tongues warring – a battle cry without sound.
Dante shoved Sukuna backward with brutal force. Sukuna’s back slammed into the heavy oak desk, ancient scrolls and inkwells scattering. Dante followed, pinning him against the shuddering wood. His hands tore at Sukuna’s clothes, fabric ripping under demonic strength. Sukuna snarled, grappling back, fingers tearing Dante’s silk shirt open, buttons pinging off the stone floor. There was no finesse, no seduction. Only the frantic need to obliterate the images, to replace the scent of betrayal with something familiar, something his. Dante’s knee shoved Sukuna’s legs apart. He spat roughly onto his hand, slicking his already hard cock, the head swollen and angry purple. Sukuna hissed, baring his teeth, but arched his hips up, offering himself. "Do it, you bastard," he rasped, defiance flashing in his eyes even as he spread wider. "Fucking claim something."
Dante lined up, the blunt head pressing insistently against Sukuna’s tight entrance. He shoved forward, no preparation, no gentleness. Sukuna’s back arched off the desk, a choked gasp tearing from his throat as Dante breached him in one brutal thrust, splitting him open on his thick cock. Dante sank to the hilt, balls slapping against Sukuna’s ass, buried impossibly deep in clenching, resisting heat. Sukuna’s nails scored bloody furrows down Dante’s back, his head thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck. "Fuck! Yes!" he snarled, the pain twisting into perverse pleasure. "Harder! Fucking ruin me!"
Dante obeyed. He pulled back almost entirely, then slammed home again with piston force, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. The desk groaned under the impact. Each deep, savage thrust hammered Sukuna into the unforgiving wood, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely in the study. Sukuna met every drive, pushing back, taking it, his cries morphing into guttural groans. Dante’s hands gripped Sukuna’s hips, fingers digging into flesh, controlling the brutal pace. He leaned down, biting Sukuna’s shoulder, drawing blood that welled dark and coppery. The taste, the tight heat strangling his cock, the raw violence of it – it was a cleansing fire, burning away the image of Dabi bent over, Hawks rutting into him.
Sukuna wrapped his legs around Dante’s waist, locking him in, heels digging into the small of his back. "Own it!" he gasped, bucking upward. "Fuck your pain into me! Mark me!" Dante growled, a sound ripped from the depths of Hell itself. He pistoned harder, deeper, the angle brutal. Sukuna’s cock, trapped and leaking between their sweat-slicked stomachs, jerked violently. "Gonna come," Sukuna choked out, his body tightening like a vice around Dante’s pounding length. "Fill me! Fucking brand me!" The demand, the raw surrender, shattered Dante’s control. He slammed deep one final time, burying himself to the root as Sukuna convulsed, his release spurting hot stripes across both their stomachs. Dante followed instantly, roaring Sukuna’s name as he emptied himself in powerful, possessive spurts deep inside the clenching heat, grinding his hips, claiming Sukuna’s body as his anchor in the storm. They collapsed against the ruined desk, breathing ragged, the scent of blood, sex, and ancient paper thick in the air. Dante stayed buried, his forehead pressed against Sukuna’s, their harsh breaths mingling. The cold stone floor beneath Sukuna’s back felt miles away from the plush velvet of the VIP booth, the grimy closet tiles. Outside the heavy door, the muffled thump of the Inferno Club pulsed on, oblivious. Inside the wrecked study, pinned beneath the King of Hell, Sukuna felt the distinct, chilling prickle of ancient eyes watching from the swirling dust motes caught in the dim light – a silent, frigid counterpoint to Dante’s desperate heat. Dabi’s scent, whiskey and Hawks’ spunk, clung faintly to Dante’s torn shirt. Sukuna closed his eyes. The reckoning was coming.
The stillness in the ruined study was suffocating, broken only by Dante's ragged breathing against Sukuna’s neck. Sukuna kept his eyes closed, feeling the heavy thud of Dante’s heart against his own chest, the deep, possessive pulse still radiating where Dante remained buried inside him. The faint, acrid tang of Dabi’s betrayal – whiskey and the sharp ozone scent of Hawks – clung stubbornly to Dante’s torn shirt, a toxic perfume in the wreckage of parchment and spilled ink. Sukuna’s own release cooled stickily between their stomachs. He opened his eyes. Dante hadn’t moved, his face pressed into Sukuna’s shoulder, his body a leaden weight radiating exhaustion and simmering, dangerous rage. The air crackled with unspent violence.
A faint scuff sounded beyond the heavy oak door. Sukuna’s head snapped towards it, his senses flaring. He knew that step, the slight hesitation before entry. Dabi. Sukuna tightened his legs reflexively around Dante’s waist, a silent warning. Dante flinched, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "He's here," Sukuna murmured, his voice barely audible, gravelly with spent exertion. Dante’s grip on Sukuna’s hips tightened to the point of bruising. The door handle turned slowly, deliberately.
Sukuna watched Dante’s profile, the rigid line of his jaw, the flicker of molten gold in his exhausted hazel eyes. He saw the tremor run through Dante’s shoulders, the monumental effort to contain the inferno inside. "Dante," Sukuna breathed, keeping his voice low, intimate despite the carnage. "You okay?"
Dante’s head lifted slightly from Sukuna’s shoulder. His eyes, when they met Sukuna’s, were hollow, shattered, but burning with a cold, incandescent fury. The words that scraped out were pure venom, raw and guttural. "What the fuck do you think?" It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of profound, world-ending pain and wrath.
The door creaked open wider. Dabi stood framed in the entrance, his silhouette stark against the dim corridor light. His cobalt eyes swept the scene: the scattered scrolls, the overturned inkwell bleeding black onto stone, Sukuna pinned beneath Dante on the desk, Dante’s cock still visibly sheathed deep inside him, Sukuna’s legs locked around Dante’s waist. Dabi’s gaze lingered on Dante’s back, the taut muscles, the fresh bloody scratches Sukuna’s nails had left. He saw Dante’s torn shirt, smelled the thick musk of sweat, sex, and blood mingled with the lingering trace of his own transgression. His expression, initially guarded, hardened into something unreadable, cold.
Sukuna’s crimson eyes never left Dante’s. He saw the fury warring with the urge to turn, to confront. He saw the devastating wound Dabi’s betrayal had carved. His grip shifted from Dante’s hips to his shoulders, fingers digging in. "Turn around," Sukuna commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, cutting through Dante’s internal storm. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't a request. It was an order, a demand for absolute control, a way to channel the maelstrom. "Turn the fuck around and look at him."
A tremor, more violent this time, shook Dante. He hesitated, the muscles in his back knotting. Then, with agonizing slowness, he began to move. He pulled himself out of Sukuna with a wet, obscene sound, his thick cock glistening with Sukuna’s release and his own spend. He turned, his movements stiff, mechanical, like rusted gears grinding. He faced Dabi fully, his body still poised between Sukuna's thighs, his expression a mask of shattered ice and banked fire. Sukuna didn't give Dabi time to react, didn't give Dante time to speak. He shoved Dante’s hip, forcing him to bend slightly at the waist, presenting his ass. Sukuna’s hand snaked around Dante’s flank, fingers slicked with the mess cooling on his own stomach, and shoved two roughly inside Dante’s unprepared hole.
Dante gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound, his body jerking forward. Sukuna didn’t pause. He withdrew his fingers, grabbed Dante’s hips, and slammed his own cock, still hard and slick from being buried moments before, into Dante’s tight channel with brutal force. Dante cried out, a raw, guttural sound torn from deep within, his hands slamming down on the desk for support. Sukuna pistoned forward, burying himself to the hilt in one punishing thrust, the power rocketing Dante forward. "Look at him!" Sukuna snarled, his voice thick with dark triumph and something else, something desperate. "Look at him while I fuck you!"
Dante’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with Dabi’s. Rage, humiliation, betrayal, and a terrifying, raw vulnerability warred in his gaze. Sweat streaked his temples, his muscles trembled under the assault. Sukuna set a vicious rhythm, slamming into Dante with piston-like force, each deep thrust jolting him, the wet slap of skin echoing loudly in the tense silence. Dabi stood frozen in the doorway, his knuckles white where he gripped the frame. His eyes were wide, fixed on the brutal coupling, on Dante’s agonized face, on Sukuna’s merciless grip on his hips. He saw the stretch, the raw power, the utter claim Sukuna was reasserting right in front of him. He didn’t look away. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
Sukuna fucked Dante hard, deep, deliberately rough. His claws extended slightly, scoring fresh red lines over the existing welts on Dante’s back, drawing beads of dark blood. Dante groaned, a sound ripped from his chest, his body trying to push back against the invasion even as Sukuna held him pinned, impaled. "This is what you want?" Sukuna growled against Dante’s sweat-slicked shoulder blade, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "This is what fucks you best? After he spreads his legs for that fucking bird?" Dante couldn't answer, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his eyes still locked on Dabi’s frozen form. The pain was intense, the stretch burning, but beneath it roared a dark, terrifying current of unwanted, undeniable sensation – the brutal fullness, the punishing friction sparking nerve-endings alight.
Sukuna felt Dante’s body begin to clench around him, an involuntary tightening spurred by the intensity, the humiliation, the sheer physical overload. His own climax built, a dark pressure coiling low in his gut. He wrapped an arm around Dante’s waist, holding him impossibly close, and slammed into him one final, devastating time. Sukuna roared, a primal sound of possession and dark victory, as he emptied himself deep inside Dante, grinding his hips, marking Dante internally with his release. Dante shuddered violently, a strangled groan escaping him as the hot flood triggered his own helpless, agonized climax, untouched. His seed spattered the stone floor beneath the desk, his body sagging forward, supported only by Sukuna’s iron grip and the edge of the ruined wood. Sukuna held him there, buried deep, panting, his crimson eyes fixed not on Dante, but on Dabi’s ashen face in the doorway. The air hung thick with the scent of blood, sex, sulfur, and bitter ozone. Dante, impaled and trembling, stared at Dabi over his shoulder, his expression a shattered landscape of fury and devastation. The reckoning had arrived. Dabi hadn't moved.