Chapter 81: Just Like Old Times
The heavy scent of sex still hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint, ever-present sulfur and expensive whiskey lingering on their breath. Sweat cooled rapidly on Dante’s bare skin, raising goosebumps despite the room's warmth. Sukuna lay beside him on the massive, rumpled bed, the black silk sheets a stark contrast to their tangled limbs. Dante’s breaths had finally settled into a steady rhythm after the frantic pace of their coupling, a temporary reprieve carved out by raw physical release.
But the moment his body stilled, the quiet descended, and the pain crashed back in. Not physical pain. Something deeper, a hollow ache that pulsed behind his ribs, squeezing his lungs. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling of his private chamber high above the Inferno’s thrum, the intricate carvings of damned souls writhing in the dim light. His chest hitched once, a small, broken sound escaping before he could clamp it down. His eyes, usually sharp and mocking, were wide, lost, shimmering with unshed tears. He looked utterly heartbroken.
Sukuna, propped on one elbow, watched him. The cursed energy radiating from the ancient sorcerer was a low, predatory hum, but his gaze on Dante was unnervingly still. He saw the tremor in the King’s jaw, the way his throat worked, the utter desolation etched onto features usually masked by arrogance. Without a word, Sukuna shifted. He slid a powerful arm beneath Dante’s shoulders and pulled.
Resistance flared for a split second – Dante’s pride, his ingrained reflex to push everyone away – but it was feeble, crushed under the weight of his despair. Sukuna pulled him firmly against his side. Dante’s head landed heavily on Sukuna’s shoulder, his dark hair spilling across the sorcerer’s marked chest. Sukuna’s other hand came up, large and calloused, and began a slow, rhythmic rub up and down Dante’s bare back. The touch was surprisingly gentle, grounding.
Dante shuddered. He opened his mouth, tried to form words. "Suku…" It came out a ragged whisper, choked. He tried again, pushing against the lump in his throat that felt like stone. "I… I just…" Nothing coherent emerged, just fractured sounds of anguish.
"Shhh." Sukuna’s voice was a low rumble, vibrating against Dante’s temple. The hand on his back didn’t stop its motion. The other hand lifted, fingers threading into the thick strands of Dante’s hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. "I know." A pause, heavy. "I know. Don’t try to talk right now. Just breathe. Relax."
The words, the tone, the familiar scrape of nails on his scalp… it wasn't just comfort. It was a fucking time machine. Centuries peeled away. Before the cursed markings, before the insatiable hunger for destruction, before Sukuna became this – a force of annihilation wrapped in flesh. Sukuna had held him like this once, millennia ago, under different skies, whispering similar reassurances against different fears. Back when the touch meant safety, not just possession. Back when "I got you" felt like a shield, not a cage.
That reminder shattered whatever brittle composure Dante had left. A raw, guttural sob ripped from his chest. Then another. The tears he’d fought spilled over, hot and fast, tracking down his cheeks to wet Sukuna’s skin. His shoulders shook violently against Sukuna’s flank. He buried his face deeper into the curve of the sorcerer’s neck, not in affection, but in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds of his own breaking. Fingers that could rend mountains clenched weakly into the sheets.
"I’ve got you," Sukuna murmured again, the words thick in the charged air. His arms tightened possessively, one hand still moving in soothing circles on Dante’s back, the other firmly cradling his head. He offered no platitudes, no empty promises. Just the solidity of his presence, the relentless pressure of his hold, and those devastatingly familiar gestures that dredged up a past Dante could barely look at. He held Dante as the King of Hell wept against him, shuddering with the weight of ancient grief and the suffocating loneliness of eternity. Sukuna held him, offering the only comfort he possessed – the brutal, confusing solace of shared history and unbreakable, toxic bonds, while the muffled bass of the Inferno vibrated through the floor beneath them, a relentless, uncaring heartbeat.
The muffled bass of the Inferno thrummed through the floorboards, a relentless counterpoint to the ragged hitches of Dante's breath against Sukuna's neck. Sukuna’s hand, large and surprisingly tender, continued its slow, rhythmic journey over the intricate ink covering Dante’s shoulder blade, the other firmly cradling the back of his skull. Minutes bled into the dimness, marked only by the gradual slowing of Dante’s tremors and the cooling sweat on their entwined bodies. The raw scent of their earlier coupling, sharp and musky, still hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint, ever-present sulfur of the place Dante called home.
Finally, a shuddering sigh escaped Dante, deeper than the sobs. He shifted minutely, his voice a raw scrape in the silence. "Suku?" The name was barely audible, thick with spent tears and vulnerability.
Sukuna didn't stiffen, but the low hum of his cursed energy seemed to pause. "Hmm?" His reply was a low vibration against Dante’s temple.
Dante pulled back slightly, just enough to lift his head from Sukuna’s shoulder. His dark eyes, usually sharp and mocking, were red-rimmed, pupils wide and searching Sukuna’s face. He swallowed hard, the movement visible in his throat. "Is there…" His voice cracked. He cleared it, a harsh sound. "Is there still any piece of you in there? The one who…?" He trailed off, unable to finish, the question hanging like a fragile thread between them.
Sukuna froze. Utterly still. For a single, suspended heartbeat, the predatory aura that perpetually clung to him seemed to recede, replaced by something profoundly ancient and painfully human. His crimson eyes locked onto Dante’s, unblinking. Then, a barely perceptible nod. "Yeah," he rasped. The word landed with the weight of millennia. "There is."
A fresh wave of agony washed over Dante’s features, raw and exposed. He choked on a breath. "Fuck. I miss you." His voice broke again. "I miss you a fucking lot sometimes."
Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. The hand on Dante’s back moved up to cup the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the dark hair. "I miss you too." The admission was rough, almost reluctant, yet utterly sincere. "I’m sorry. Sorry I wouldn’t let you help me. Back then."
Dante shook his head sharply, a tear escaping to track down his cheek, cutting a path through the faint sheen of sweat. "Don’t be. Just… don’t." The apology felt like salt in the wound of what was lost.
Sukuna’s grip on Dante’s neck tightened almost imperceptibly. With deliberate gentleness, he lifted Dante’s head just a fraction more, forcing their eyes to meet fully, without obstruction. The intensity in Sukuna’s gaze was terrifyingly soft. "Dante," he said, the name a low rumble. "I really did love you."
The air vanished from Dante’s lungs. His eyes welled anew, spilling over as a single tear escaped, tracing the hard line of his cheekbone. His lips trembled. "I loved you too," he whispered, the words thick with unspeakable pain. "So fucking much."
Sukuna leaned down. Not with the possessive hunger of earlier. Not with the violence that defined him. Slowly, deliberately, his lips met Dante’s. It was a kiss of profound gentleness, a deep well of shared history and unbearable loss. Dante responded instantly, a soft, broken sound escaping as his mouth opened beneath Sukuna’s, yielding completely. They kissed with a desperate tenderness, tongues sliding together not in conquest, but in remembrance, a silent communion of shattered things. Time dissolved. The Inferno’s pulse faded. There was only the shared breath, the salt of tears, the soft, wet sounds of a connection reforged in vulnerability.
When Sukuna finally broke the kiss, it was a slow, reluctant parting. Dante’s eyes were closed, lashes wet, lips slightly parted. Sukuna guided his head back down, resting Dante’s forehead against his own collarbone. Dante nuzzled instinctively into the hollow of Sukuna’s neck, seeking the familiar scent beneath the ozone and power, his breathing shaky but deepening. Sukuna wrapped both arms around him fully now, one hand resuming its slow, soothing circles on Dante’s bare back, the other buried in his hair, fingers massaging his scalp with infinite care.
The exhaustion, emotional and physical, pulled Dante under swiftly. His body grew heavier against Sukuna’s, the tension bleeding away into limp surrender. His breathing evened out into the shallow rhythm of true sleep. Sukuna held him, watching the subtle flutter of Dante’s eyelids finally still. He pressed his lips gently to the crown of Dante’s head, inhaling the scent of him – sweat, sex, faint brimstone, and something uniquely Dante. Then, Sukuna shifted slightly, settling deeper into the pillows, Dante’s weight a comforting anchor against his side. With a sigh that seemed to release centuries of tension, Sukuna nuzzled his own cheek against Dante’s hair and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed the King of Curses just as completely, his fierce features softening into an unguarded peace.
Down the dim hallway, the door to Dante's chamber creaked open a sliver. Adam, drawn by the earlier sounds of distress he couldn't quite ignore, peered into the gloom. The sight halted him. He saw them tangled on the massive bed, Sukuna's powerful arms wrapped protectively around Dante's sleeping form. He witnessed the exact moment Sukuna lifted Dante's head, the raw, uncharacteristic softness on the curse's face illuminated by a sliver of light from the hallway. He heard Sukuna’s gravelly whisper, carried faintly on the still air: "I really did love you." Adam didn’t breathe. Something warm, unexpected, bloomed low in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy. It was relief. A deep, quiet satisfaction that Dante, battered by his own ancient demons, had received this sliver of absolution, this echo of the devotion Adam knew he’d once craved. He saw Dante’s tear, heard his choked "I loved you too, so fucking much." He saw Sukuna lean down, the kiss that followed achingly tender, devoid of all the violence Adam associated with the entity. It was too intimate, too raw. Adam silently pulled the door shut, the latch clicking softly. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a moment, the image seared into his mind. He turned away, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips as he walked back down the corridor, the muffled thump of the club below now a strangely comforting sound.