Chapter 79: Moment of Truth
The thick velvet drapes in Dante’s living room were drawn against the perpetual twilight outside, casting the sprawling space in deep, amber-hued shadows. The only light came from the crackling fireplace, painting dancing patterns on the dark wood floor and the worn leather furniture. Adam sprawled sideways in an armchair, one leg dangling over the armrest, swirling amber liquid in a heavy crystal tumbler. Opposite him, Dabi sat perched on the edge of a sofa, looking less haggard than days prior but still carrying a residual tightness around his eyes, a ghost of the terror Astaroth’s vision had instilled.
"…so then the bartender," Adam was saying, gesturing with his glass, "looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘We don’t serve angels here.’ Like I’ve got wings sprouting out my damn back. Had to remind him my halo’s strictly metaphorical, usually manifests as a killer hangover." He took a gulp. "Dickhead."
Dabi managed a faint smirk, tracing the rim of his own untouched glass of water. "Place sounds charming."
"Charming like a rusty bear trap," Adam snorted. "But the bourbon’s decent. Unlike whatever swill Dante stocks." He nodded towards the bar cart. "Seriously, try some. Might smooth out those worry lines, kid."
Before Dabi could answer, the heavy front door groaned open. Dante filled the entryway, the scent of ozone, smoke, and expensive leather rolling in ahead of him. He shrugged off his long, dark coat, hanging it precisely on an antique stand. The tailored black shirt he wore clung to broad shoulders and powerful arms, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealing intricate tattoos that seemed to writhe in the firelight. His expression was its usual mask of controlled arrogance, but tension radiated off him like heat shimmer, his molten gold eyes scanning the room before landing on Dabi. A flicker of something unreadable – satisfaction? Possession? – crossed his features.
"Debating the merits of fermented grain again?" Dante’s voice, rich with that Detroit grit, cut through the quiet. He moved towards the bar cart, pouring himself two fingers of a dark, oily-looking liquid.
"Trying to get the kid to live a little," Adam drawled. "Unlike some stuffy old princes I know."
Dante raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. "Some of us value clarity. Unlike heathens who mistake cheap whiskey for personality." He looked at Dabi. "You alright? Sleeping?"
Dabi nodded, meeting his gaze. "Better. No more… visitors." The unspoken specter of Astaroth hung heavy.
"Good." The single word carried weight. Finality.
The air pressure shifted, a subtle drop that made the fire sputter. Sukuna leaned against the doorframe Dante had just passed through, having entered without a sound. He wore simple black pants and a loose tunic, open at the chest, displaying the intricate scars and powerful musculature beneath. His four crimson eyes scanned the room with detached amusement before settling on Adam.
"Talking about me, angel-food?" Sukuna rumbled, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Or just lamenting your lack of decent liquor?"
Adam didn’t bother turning fully. "Just mourning the death of basic manners. Like knocking. Ever heard of it, King of Cursed Foot Fungus?"
"Didn’t see a doorbell," Sukuna retorted, pushing off the frame and sauntering in. He moved with predatory grace, radiating contained violence. His gaze swept over Dabi. "You. Human. Still breathing? Or did the memory of that flayed fucker sour your stomach?"
Dabi straightened slightly under the intense scrutiny of Sukuna's multiple eyes. "I'm okay. Thanks to you." He kept his voice steady, meeting the Curse King’s gaze without flinching.
Sukuna grunted, seemingly neither impressed nor annoyed. "Good. Ugly bastard had it coming. Shame it was over so quick." He sounded almost disappointed. He glanced towards Dante, who was watching him with narrowed eyes, his posture deceptively relaxed. "Headed for the inner sanctum, Morningstar?" Sukuna asked, nodding towards the hallway leading to Dante’s private quarters.
Dante set his glass down with a quiet clink. "Something like that." He didn’t move.
Sukuna’s smirk widened. He took another step into the room, his presence seeming to expand, pressing against the atmosphere. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble aimed directly at Dante, though his eyes flicked back to Dabi for a split second. "You got two serious pieces of supernatural muscle looking out for you now, little spark." He looked back at Dante, the challenge clear. "Anything aching? Anything… needing eased? Don’t hesitate." The innuendo was thick, crude, and deliberate.
A beat of silence. Heavy. Electric. Dante’s expression didn’t change, but the air grew colder. Adam whistled low under his breath, swirling his drink again, a spectator enjoying the show. Dabi tensed, unsure where this was heading.
Then, without a word, Dante turned. He walked past Sukuna, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed the Curse King’s chest, radiating heat and suppressed fury. He headed down the shadowed hallway towards his room. The dismissal was absolute.
Sukuna watched him go, that predatory smile never fading. He lingered for a moment, letting the tension Dante left behind coil tighter. Then, with a final glance that swept dismissively over Adam and lingered pointedly on Dabi, he turned and followed Dante down the dark corridor.
The heavy oak door to Dante’s room was closed. Sukuna didn’t knock. He grasped the wrought iron handle. It didn’t turn. Locked. He chuckled, a low, grating sound. One clawed finger extended. Dark, chaotic energy, the color of a deep bruise, pulsed around the digit for a fraction of a second. The lock clicked, soft as a sigh. Sukuna pushed the door open.
Dante’s bedroom was a vault of shadow and rich textures. The only light spilled from the doorway, silhouetting Dante where he stood near the vast, canopied bed draped in blood-red silk. He’d removed his shirt, the intricate tattoos swirling over his back muscles like living ink in the gloom. He hadn’t turned.
"Locking the door, Prince Charming?" Sukuna stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft thud. The lock clicked again, sealing them in. "Afraid of the big bad wolf?"
Dante turned slowly. Firelight from the sitting room hearth beyond the door caught the hard angles of his face, the molten fury blazing in his eyes. "The fuck you want, Sukuna?" The Detroit rasp was a low growl. "Came to gloat? Came to remind me you ripped apart the asshole who threatened my territory?"
"Your territory?" Sukuna took another step into the room, invading the space deliberately. "Is that what the pretty human is? Marked turf?" He scanned the room, the heavy furniture, the decadent fabrics. "Seems excessive for one little spark. Or maybe you just like building cages."
"Get out." Dante’s voice was flat, dangerous. Power hummed in the air around him, a static charge raising the hairs on Sukuna’s arms.
Sukuna laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "Make me." He took another step. They were closer now, the distance charged, hostile. "That look in your eyes, Morningstar… after what you saw that fucker Astaroth wanted to do to your pet… it’s eating you alive, isn’t it? That helpless rage. That fucking impotence."
Dante moved. Not with supernatural speed, but with the terrifying swiftness of coiled fury unleashed. He closed the remaining distance, one hand shooting out to grip the front of Sukuna’s tunic, bunching the fabric in his fist. He slammed the Curse King back against the solid oak door. The impact reverberated through the wood.
Sukuna grunted, more from surprise than pain. Dante crowded him, forearm braced across Sukuna’s collarbones, pinning him, their faces inches apart. Dante’s breath was hot and angry against Sukuna’s skin. "Don't fucking talk about him like that," Dante snarled, his free hand coming up, claws extending, pressing sharp points against the pulse point in Sukuna’s neck. "Don't talk about what he saw. That's mine. His terror is mine. His safety is mine."
Sukuna stared into the incandescent fury inches from his face. He didn't struggle. Instead, a slow, dark smile spread across his features, genuine this time, filled with a perverse kind of understanding. "There it is," he breathed. "That beautiful, ugly possessiveness. The beast on the leash." His own hand came up, not to push Dante away, but to grip.
Sukuna’s hand slammed into Dante’s hip, fingers digging deep into the muscle beneath the black fabric of his pants, pulling him flush against the unyielding plane of his own body. He leaned in, his breath hot and smelling faintly of ozone and old blood against Dante’s mouth. "Your territory?" he repeated, the rumble vibrating through Dante’s chest. "Maybe you need reminding who actually owns the fucking leash, Morningstar. Go fuck yourself."
Dante’s molten eyes blazed. "You first, curse-rot." The words were a harsh scrape.
Then the spark ignited. Dante surged forward, not away, but into Sukuna’s space, his mouth crashing against Sukuna’s with brutal force. It wasn’t tender; it was collision, challenge, teeth scraping lips. Sukuna met it instantly, his free hand tangling viciously in Dante’s dark hair, yanking his head back to deepen the angle. He dominated the kiss instantly, tongue thrusting past Dante’s defenses, a hot, claiming invasion that tasted of violence and power. Dante growled into it, a sound swallowed by Sukuna’s mouth, his own hands clawing at Sukuna’s back, tearing the thin fabric of the tunic.
Sukuna used his grip on Dante’s hair to slam him sideways, sending them both staggering. Dante’s back hit the cold stone wall beside the door with a jarring thud. Sukuna crowded him, knee driving hard between Dante’s thighs, pinning him. He broke the kiss only to bite down savagely on the tendon of Dante’s neck, drawing a sharp hiss. "That’s it," Sukuna growled against his skin, the vibrations raw. "Show me that fucking fire." His hand tore at Dante’s belt buckle, the metal clattering to the floor. He shoved the expensive black pants and underwear down Dante’s hips in one brutal motion, exposing him.
Dante gasped, not in pain but in raw sensation, as Sukuna’s thick, calloused fingers wrapped around his already hard cock. Sukuna’s grip was punishing, no finesse, just tight, demanding friction. He stroked him roughly, thumb grinding over the leaking head, spreading pre-come as lubricant. "Look at you," Sukuna snarled, watching Dante’s head thud back against the stone, tendons standing out in his neck. "Prince of fucking Hell, pinned and panting like a bitch in heat." He spat onto his other hand, the sound obscenely loud in the tense silence, then reached down, fingers probing roughly at Dante’s entrance.
Dante’s breath hitched, a ragged sound torn from his throat. "Fuck you," he rasped, pushing his hips back against the invading fingers.
"Exactly," Sukuna grunted. One thick finger breached him, dry and unyielding, the stretch sharp and immediate. Dante hissed, teeth bared, but arched into it. Sukuna worked the finger ruthlessly, scissoring, adding a second before Dante was truly ready, the burn intense. He leaned in, biting Dante’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Take it, Morningstar. Take what you fucking begged for when you slammed me into this door." A third finger forced its way in alongside the others. Dante groaned, deep and guttural, his own cock jerking in Sukuna’s tight fist.
Sukuna withdrew his fingers abruptly. Dante gasped at the sudden emptiness. He didn’t have to wait. Sukuna freed his own massive cock from his pants, thick, veined, and already slick at the tip. He lined himself up, the blunt, hot head pressing against Dante’s stretched, resisting entrance. "This what you wanted?" Sukuna rasped, his multiple eyes fixed on Dante’s face. "This the reminder?"
"Just fuck me, you sadistic bastard," Dante snarled, defiance burning in his eyes even as his body trembled.
Sukuna slammed forward. Dante’s cry was choked off as he was filled, stretched impossibly wide, split open on Sukuna’s girth. It burned, a deep, tearing fullness that stole his breath. Sukuna didn’t pause, didn’t ease. He pulled back almost to the tip, then drove in again, harder, deeper, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm against the stone wall. Each thrust jolted Dante, his shoulders scraping the rough surface, Sukuna’s grip on his hipbone like a vise. The sounds were filthy: the wet slap of skin on skin, Sukuna’s guttural grunts, Dante’s ragged gasps punctuated by sharp, bitten-off curses.
Sukuna pistoned into him, relentless, his cock dragging against Dante’s inner walls with rough friction. He leaned in, sinking his teeth into the juncture of Dante’s neck and shoulder, a primal claim. "Mine," he growled against the bleeding bite, the word vibrating through Dante’s body. "That fucking terror Astaroth wanted? This is where it belongs. Here." He punctuated the word with a particularly vicious thrust that made Dante’s vision blur.
Dante clawed at Sukuna’s back, drawing blood beneath the torn tunic. He met each punishing drive, his own hips snapping back, taking everything Sukuna gave and demanding more. The pain bled into blinding pleasure, a raw, consuming fire in his gut. Sukuna’s fist tightened around Dante’s cock again, jerking him in time with his thrusts, the rhythm brutal and efficient. Dante felt the coil inside him tighten impossibly, the pressure building under Sukuna’s relentless assault. "Fuck... Sukuna..." Dante gasped, the name more plea than curse now.
Sukuna’s pace became frantic, erratic, his own control fraying. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, slamming Dante against the wall with bruising force. With a roar that shook the stones, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt, pulsing hot jets of come deep inside Dante. The sudden, searing heat triggered Dante’s own release. He arched violently, back bowing off the wall as he came with a hoarse shout, thick stripes of semen painting Sukuna’s fist and his own stomach in hot pulses.
Sukuna held him pinned through the aftershocks, both of them panting harshly in the sudden, sweat-slick silence. Dante slumped against the wall, the cold stone a shock against his overheated skin. Sukuna slowly pulled out, the sensation making Dante shudder. He stepped back, tucking himself away, his expression unreadable in the dim light, eyes still glowing faintly. He looked down at Dante, disheveled, marked, come smeared on his abdomen, leaning against the wall.
Sukuna reached out, not gently, smearing a thumb through the mess on Dante’s stomach. He brought it to his mouth, licked it clean, eyes locked on Dante’s. "Still think you own the leash, Prince?"
Dante pushed himself off the wall, wincing only slightly. He met Sukuna’s gaze, the fire in his own molten eyes banked but far from extinguished. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing Sukuna’s blood from his lip. A slow, dangerous smirk curved Dante’s lips. "Feeling cocky after one fuck, Sukuna?" He took a step closer, the movement fluid despite the obvious ache. "Don’t confuse the dog getting fed with the dog becoming master." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low Detroit rasp. "My house. My rules. My leash. You came when called." He straightened his torn pants with deliberate slowness, the smirk never leaving his face. "Now get the fuck out."
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Sukuna, sealing Dante alone with the lingering scent of sweat, ozone, and raw sex. Silence pressed in, thick and charged. Dante leaned back against the cold stone wall, the rough surface scraping his bare shoulders. He drew a slow, ragged breath, the ache deep inside him a visceral reminder of Sukuna’s brutal possession. Come cooled on his stomach. Blood welled from the bite on his neck. He pushed off the wall, wincing only slightly, the defiance in his molten eyes undimmed. He straightened his torn pants, the movement deliberate, reclaiming his space. My house. My rules.
Back in the living room’s amber gloom, the crackling fire painted shifting patterns on Adam’s face as he nursed his bourbon. He watched Dabi, who sat stiffly on the sofa’s edge, gaze fixed on the hallway Dante and Sukuna had vanished down minutes before. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Adam finally broke it, his voice a low drawl cutting through the quiet. "Color me fucking shocked, kid." He took a deliberate sip, eyes sharp on Dabi’s profile. "Didn’t see you puff up like an angry cat when Sukuna trailed after your Prince Charming. Usually, you’d be halfway through ripping his throat out with your eyeballs by now."
Dabi didn’t turn. His fingers tightened slightly on the arm of the sofa. "Why?" The word was flat, devoid of inflection.
Adam chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Why? Because last time Sukuna so much as looked at Dante like he wanted seconds, you damn near set the curtains on fire with pure, unadulterated pissiness." He gestured vaguely towards the hallway with his glass. "Remember? After that nasty business with the Soulmonger? You practically growled." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying Dabi intently. "So? What gives? You finally accept you’re sharing the Hellhound’s chew toy?"
Dabi didn’t answer. He didn’t move for a long moment, the tension coiling tighter in the room. Then, with a suddenness that made Adam blink, Dabi pushed himself off the sofa. He didn’t look at Adam. He simply crossed the short distance between them, the thick rug muffling his steps. He stopped directly in front of Adam’s sprawled form in the armchair. Adam raised an eyebrow, a question forming on his lips.
It died instantly. Dabi dropped to his knees between Adam’s legs with a fluid, decisive motion. Before Adam could process the shift, Dabi’s hands were on his belt buckle, fingers working with swift, practiced efficiency. The clasp popped open. The button of Adam’s linen pants followed. The zipper hissed down. Adam froze, glass halfway to his lips, eyes wide. "Whoa, kid, what the fu—"
Dabi didn’t let him finish. He yanked Adam’s pants and underwear down his hips just far enough. Adam’s cock, already thickening with startled interest, sprang free into the warm, firelit air. Dabi didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his mouth opening wide, and engulfed Adam’s hardening length in one smooth, hot slide.
"Fucking hell!" Adam gasped, his head snapping back against the leather headrest, the crystal tumbler nearly slipping from his suddenly nerveless fingers. The heat was instant, overwhelming. Dabi’s mouth was furnace-hot, wet velvet tightening around him. Adam felt the slick drag of Dabi’s tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft as he pulled back slowly, teasingly, before plunging down again, taking him deeper. His nose pressed into the coarse hair at Adam’s base. Adam groaned, a deep, involuntary sound ripped from his chest. "Jesus Christ, Dabi…" His fingers tangled instinctively in Dabi’s dark hair, not pushing, just holding on as sensation crashed over him.
Dabi worked him with fierce, focused intensity. No tentative exploration, no gentle coaxing. This was pure demand. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, creating a delicious, rhythmic pressure that made Adam’s thighs tremble. His tongue swirled relentlessly around the swollen head on every upward stroke, flicking the sensitive slit, gathering the salty pre-come that beaded there. He deep-throated Adam with shocking ease, his throat muscles fluttering around the invading thickness, swallowing him down until Adam felt the tight ring of muscle at the back of Dabi’s throat constrict around the base of his cock. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room – slick slurps, Dabi’s controlled breathing through his nose, Adam’s ragged gasps and muttered curses. "Fuck… yeah… just like that… suck it deep, you filthy little cocksucker… take it all…" Adam’s hips jerked upwards involuntarily, seeking more of that incredible heat, that perfect pressure. Dabi took it, his hands gripping Adam’s thighs, holding him steady as he bobbed his head faster, his rhythm becoming urgent, desperate. Adam felt the coil in his gut tighten impossibly fast. This wasn't just good; it was fucking transcendent. Raw, skilled, and utterly consuming. "Shit… Dabi… gonna fucking blow…" he choked out, fingers tightening painfully in Dabi’s hair.
Dabi pulled off with a wet pop just as Adam felt the crest hit. Adam groaned in frustrated agony, his cock throbbing angrily, slick and glistening in the firelight. Dabi looked up at him, his lips swollen and slick, his eyes dark pools reflecting the flames. There was no submission there, only fierce determination. He didn’t speak. He pushed himself up onto his knees, then climbed onto Adam’s lap, straddling his thighs. Adam’s hands instinctively went to Dabi’s hips, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. Dabi reached between them, fingers wrapping around Adam’s aching cock, guiding it firmly towards his own groin. With his other hand, he roughly shoved his jeans and underwear down just enough, exposing himself.
Adam saw the flash of pale skin, the tight furl of Dabi’s entrance. He saw Dabi spit into his own palm, the globule glistening before he reached back, fingers slicking himself roughly. There was no finesse, no preparation beyond that crude wetness. Dabi positioned the thick head of Adam’s cock against his tight hole. He locked eyes with Adam, a challenge burning in his gaze. Then, with a sharp intake of breath and a low grunt, Dabi sank down.
Adam hissed as incredible, impossible tightness engulfed him. Dabi was hot, clenching, and so fucking tight it bordered on painful. He watched, mesmerized, as Dabi impaled himself, inch by agonizing inch, his face a mask of fierce concentration mixed with raw sensation. Dabi’s head fell back, tendons standing out in his neck as he forced himself down, taking Adam’s full length deep inside his body. He bottomed out with a shuddering gasp, Adam’s cock buried to the hilt inside him. He paused for a heartbeat, trembling, adjusting to the brutal stretch. Adam could feel every frantic pulse of Dabi’s inner muscles around him, the heat radiating from his core. "Fuck… you’re so goddamn tight," Adam breathed, his voice thick with lust, his hands gripping Dabi’s hips hard enough to bruise.
Then Dabi moved. He braced his hands on Adam’s shoulders and lifted himself up, Adam’s cock dragging almost entirely out of that clinging heat, leaving only the swollen head caught inside. Adam groaned at the loss. Dabi paused, hovering, then slammed back down with brutal force, sheathing Adam fully again in one hard, deep stroke. Adam cried out, the impact jolting through him. Dabi set a punishing pace immediately, riding him hard, fucking himself on Adam’s cock with abandon. Each downward plunge was a deliberate, powerful slam, driving the breath from Adam’s lungs. Dabi’s ass slapped against Adam’s thighs with wet, rhythmic smacks. His own neglected cock bounced hard against his stomach, leaking steadily. Adam could only hold on, overwhelmed by the sheer, raw intensity of it – the tight, hot grip around his cock, the fierce determination on Dabi’s face, the primal sounds filling the room. He thrust upwards to meet Dabi’s downward strokes, driving deeper, grunting with the effort. "Ride me, you fucking hellion… take it… take every fucking inch…" Adam growled, his control fraying as pleasure built like a storm surge. Dabi’s rhythm became frantic, erratic, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his movements losing precision as he chased his own peak, fucking himself desperately onto Adam’s thick cock.