Chapter 88: Cursed Claiming
The air in Dante’s bedroom still hung thick with the musk of sweat, sex, and ozone. Sukuna’s weight pinned him against the cold, carved wood of the massive bedpost, Dante’s transformed body – spectral purple skin, obsidian horns curling wickedly, leathery wings pinned awkwardly – straining against invisible bonds. Cursed energy ropes, shimmering with malevolent crimson light, coiled around his wrists, ankles, and throat, anchoring him mercilessly. They hummed against his skin, a low, threatening vibration that promised agony if he struggled too hard. Sukuna’s four hands were everywhere: one fisted in Dante’s sweat-damp hair near the base of a horn, another tracing the jagged line of the healed chest scar with a possessive roughness, the third gripping Dante’s hip hard enough to bruise, the fourth sliding down the trembling muscle of Dante’s inner thigh.
"Gonna make you scream my name," Sukuna growled, his breath hot and damp against Dante’s neck. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin where horn met skull. Dante shuddered, a tremor running through his entire frame, but his visible eye, burning crimson through the mask of his transformed face, flashed defiance.
"Good luck with that, Princess," Dante rasped, his voice layered with that guttural resonance, but the Detroit sneer was unmistakable beneath it. He arched his back deliberately, pressing his ass harder against Sukuna’s groin, feeling the thick, insistent bulge of Sukuna’s cock straining against his own leather pants. "Seems like you’re the one tied up in knots trying to get a rise outta me." He threw his head back, baring his throat against the energy rope. "Or maybe you’re just rusty? Forgotten how to make a demon sing?"
Sukuna’s answering snarl vibrated through Dante’s bones. The hand on Dante’s hip tightened viciously. The one tracing his scar dug a thumb into the healed tissue, a sharp, deliberate reminder of vulnerability. "Fucking brat," Sukuna hissed. He leaned in, sinking his teeth hard into the dense, sensitive flesh at the very base of Dante’s left horn.
White-hot lightning seared Dante’s nerves. His back arched violently off the bedpost, a choked cry ripped from his throat. His wings flapped uselessly against their restraints. The sensation was electric, overwhelming, bypassing thought and striking directly at the primal core of him. Sukuna knew. He always fucking knew where the wires were buried. He bit down harder, grinding his teeth, drawing a ragged groan from Dante that sounded perilously close to a whimper. At the same moment, Sukuna’s lower hands yanked Dante’s leather pants down just enough. There was no finesse, no preparation. Sukuna spat roughly onto his own palm, slicked his thick cock once, twice, the head glistening obscenely, and then drove forward.
The breach was brutal. Dante’s body, still tender and raw from their earlier coupling, clenched like a vice, unprepared for the sudden, tearing invasion. Sukuna sheathed himself to the hilt in one relentless thrust, burying his monstrous length deep inside Dante’s clenching heat. Dante’s scream was raw, guttural, echoing off the high ceiling. His claws scraped futilely against the wood grain. Sukuna groaned, a deep, satisfied rumble against Dante’s horn. "Fuck… still so fucking tight," he panted, grinding his hips, forcing himself impossibly deeper, stretching Dante wide around his girth. "Like you were made for this cock."
Pain warred with a sickening, undeniable thrum of pleasure. Dante gasped, his vision swimming. "That… that all you got?" he forced out between clenched teeth, his voice trembling despite the bravado. He pushed back against Sukuna, meeting the invasion with a defiant roll of his hips. "Feels like a fucking toothpick." He threw a glance over his shoulder, his crimson eye blazing with challenge through the haze of pain. "Maybe Balial loosened me up more than you thought, huh? Left me nice and gaping for–"
Sukuna’s roar cut him off. The cursed king slammed forward again, a punishing thrust that drove the air from Dante’s lungs and made the bedpost creak ominously. He released Dante’s horn, instead grabbing both with two powerful hands, using them as leverage to yank Dante’s head back sharply. "Shut your fucking mouth," Sukuna snarled, his voice thick with fury and lust. He began a relentless, jackhammer rhythm, pistoning his hips, each drive forward a deliberate assault designed to punish, to dominate, to silence. The wet slap of skin on skin, the groan of wood, and Dante’s ragged, involuntary cries filled the opulent room. Sukuna’s other hands roamed possessively – one squeezing Dante’s throat just shy of cutting off his air, the other roughly palming Dante’s hard, leaking cock trapped against the bedpost.
Dante rode the storm, his defiance fueling Sukuna’s aggression. He met each brutal thrust, arching back, taunting through gasps and moans. "Harder! Is that the fucking best?" he goaded, his voice cracking on a particularly deep plunge. "Thought the King of Curses could fuck! Feels like getting poked by a– AH!" Sukuna’s hand on his cock squeezed viciously, cutting off the insult. Dante’s hips jerked, a fresh wave of agonizing pleasure-pain shooting through him. He was close, teetering on the edge, the coil in his gut tightening unbearably with each savage stroke inside him. His cock throbbed painfully in Sukuna’s punishing grip.
Suddenly, Sukuna stopped. Dead still. Buried deep, his cock a solid, burning presence inside Dante. The abrupt cessation was jarring. Dante whimpered, a high, desperate sound he instantly hated. His body clenched instinctively around Sukuna, seeking friction, release. "Wha…?" he gasped, confused, frustrated.
Sukuna leaned close, his lips brushing Dante’s ear. His voice was a low, dangerous purr, devoid of its earlier rage, chillingly controlled. "Not yet, Prince." He withdrew slowly, agonizingly, dragging his thick length out until only the head remained, stretching Dante’s rim. Dante shuddered, a sob catching in his throat. The denial was exquisite torture. Sukuna’s hand tightened on Dante’s cock, preventing any relief. "You want to come?" Sukuna whispered, his breath hot. "Beg for it."
The command hung in the air, thick as the musk of their exertion. Sukuna remained buried deep, his cock a punishing brand inside Dante, the cursed energy ropes humming against his throat and limbs. Dante’s transformed body trembled, every nerve screaming for the friction Sukuna had just denied him. His cock, trapped and weeping, throbbed with agonizing need against the cold wood.
"Fuck yourself," Dante spat, the guttural resonance cracking under the strain, the Detroit sneer sharpening the edges. He strained futilely against the crimson bonds, his purple-tinged muscles corded, wings flapping uselessly. The emptiness where Sukuna’s brutal fullness had been was a fresh torment. "Think I’d fucking beg? After Balial?" The name tasted like ash, a goad he knew would land.
Sukuna’s response was a low, dangerous chuckle. The hand that had been palming Dante’s cock vanished. Instead, two of Sukuna’s upper hands gripped Dante’s horns again, not for leverage, but with cruel precision. His thumbs found the ultra-sensitive nerve clusters where horn met skull and pressed hard, grinding in a circular motion. Dante’s back arched violently, a strangled cry tearing from him as blinding white electricity shot down his spine, searing pleasure-pain that liquefied his knees. "You’ll beg," Sukuna promised, his voice a dark caress against Dante’s ear. He pulled out another fraction, leaving only the swollen head stretching Dante’s rim, the denial exquisite. "Or I’ll edge you ‘til you fucking weep."
Dante gasped, shuddering as the sensation in his horns dulled to a deep, needy throb. The emptiness was worse now, his hole clenching desperately around nothing. "Asshole," he managed, trying for defiance, but his voice hitched. "Your dick’s not worth the spit to slick it. Feels like a fucking–" Sukuna’s hand clamped back on his cock, squeezing the base brutally, cutting off both the insult and any hope of release. Dante choked, his hips jerking, a bead of precome smearing the wood. "Nngh!"
"Wrong answer, Prince," Sukuna purred. He thrust shallowly, just the tip, a maddening tease that scraped Dante’s oversensitive inner walls. Then he stopped again. The hand left Dante’s cock. The pressure on his horns increased slightly, a constant, threatening reminder. Dante panted, sweat stinging his good eye. The need was a physical ache, a void howling to be filled, obliterated. Sukuna’s thick heat was right there, yet maddeningly withheld. He ground his ass back, seeking friction, contact, anything. "Suku–" he started, the name escaping before he could bite it back.
"Beg," Sukuna commanded, his voice an iron fist. He flicked the head of his cock against Dante’s stretched rim, a fleeting, torturous touch. "Properly."
The defiance warred with the overwhelming tide of need. Dante swallowed hard, the energy rope biting at his throat. He hated this. Hated the vulnerability, the loss of control Sukuna always ripped from him. But the emptiness was a physical agony, the pressure in his balls a white-hot vise. The phantom touch of Balial’s violation warred with the visceral, grounding reality of Sukuna’s brutal presence. He needed the latter to scour away the former. He needed to come. "Please," Dante grated out, the word ripped from him, raw and reluctant. It wasn't enough. Sukuna remained still, a statue of pure, controlled dominance. Dante bucked, a desperate, frustrated sound escaping him. "Fuck! Sukuna, please!"
Sukuna slid back in, just an inch, a brutal stretch that punched a gasp from Dante’s lungs. It wasn’t enough. It was worse. "Please what, Prince?" Sukuna prompted, his voice dangerously soft. He twisted his hips, grinding the thick head against Dante’s prostate. Dante saw stars, his thighs trembling violently. "Use your fucking words. What do you want?"
The dam broke. Shame, need, and sheer desperation flooded him. "Fuck me!" Dante cried, the defiance finally shattering. "Please, Sukuna, just fuck me! Need your cock! Need it hard, deep, please! Make me fucking come! Stop teasing, just fuck your goddamn hole! Please! I need it!" The words tumbled out, ragged and broken, each 'please' a surrender that burned his throat but flooded him with perverse relief. "Please!"
A low growl of pure satisfaction rumbled in Sukuna’s chest. "Good boy," he breathed, the praise rough, possessive, and utterly devastating. He didn’t tease. He slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke that punched the air from Dante’s lungs and drew a ragged scream. Sukuna’s hands clamped hard on Dante’s hips, fingers digging into purple flesh, as he set a punishing, relentless pace. No finesse, no mercy. Just deep, jackhammer thrusts that hammered into Dante’s core, the wet slap of flesh echoing off the stone walls, the bedpost groaning in protest.
Sukuna leaned over Dante’s arched back, his breath hot on the nape of Dante’s neck. "That’s it," he growled, each powerful drive punctuating his words. "Take it. Take every fucking inch, you desperate little cunt. This is what you begged for." His fingers found the base of Dante’s horns again, not to punish this time, but to anchor, to intensify the sensation surging through Dante’s core. Dante screamed, a sound ripped from his soul, as Sukuna’s cock battered his prostate relentlessly with every deep plunge. The tight coil deep in his gut wound impossibly tighter, the pressure building beyond endurance. His own cock, trapped and ignored, jerked violently against the bedpost. "Sukuna!" Dante sobbed, the name dissolving into a guttural cry as his body seized, back bowing impossibly. His climax ripped through him with volcanic force, untouched, spasming around Sukuna’s driving cock as pure white heat erupted from him, splattering the velvet drapes and carved wood.
Sukuna roared, his rhythm stuttering. Feeling Dante convulse around him, impossibly tight, triggered his own release. He slammed home one final, brutal time, hilting himself completely as he erupted. Hot, thick pulses flooded Dante’s clenching channel, filling him, marking him deep. Sukuna ground his hips, emptying himself in deep, guttural groans, his grip on Dante’s horns and hips iron-tight. Dante shuddered through the aftershocks, pinned between Sukuna and the bedpost, Sukuna’s release still pumping inside him, his own spend dripping down the wood. Sukuna stayed buried, panting heavily against Dante’s back, the only sound their ragged breathing and the crackle of the distant fire. He nuzzled the sweat-damp skin beneath Dante’s horn. "Good fucking boy," he murmured again, the possessive rumble vibrating through Dante’s ravaged body.
The aftershocks still racked Dante’s transformed body, pinned between Sukuna’s crushing weight and the unforgiving bedpost. Sukuna’s thick cock pulsed lazily inside him, a final, possessive echo of his climax as his hot breath puffed against the sensitive base of Dante’s horn. "Good fucking boy," Sukuna murmured again, the rumble vibrating through Dante’s ravaged flesh, deeper than the fading tremors. Dante gasped, his purple-tinged chest heaving, wings twitching weakly against their restraints. Every nerve felt flayed raw, overloaded by the brutal claiming and the blinding release Sukuna had finally granted. He felt utterly spent, hollowed out, the defiant fire momentarily banked.
Sukuna shifted. With a low grunt, he slowly pulled out, his thick cock dragging against Dante’s oversensitive, stretched rim with a wet, obscene sound. Dante winced, a shudder running through him, feeling Sukuna’s spend immediately begin to trickle down his inner thighs. The cursed energy ropes binding Dante’s wrists, ankles, and throat dissolved like smoke, their humming threat vanishing instantly. Dante slumped forward, his forehead hitting the cool wood of the bedpost, his horns scraping grooves in the finish. His knees threatened to buckle, muscles trembling violently from the strain of being held rigid for so long. He sucked in ragged breaths, the sudden freedom almost as disorienting as the confinement.
Strong hands caught him before he could crumple. Not roughly. Firmly. Sukuna’s lower arms slid under Dante’s thighs and around his waist, lifting him easily despite Dante’s transformed size and weight. The upper arms braced his back. Sukuna carried him the few steps to the massive bed, the plush rugs muffling his footsteps. He didn’t dump Dante down; he lowered him carefully onto the rumpled silk sheets stained with their earlier sweat and spend. Dante landed on his side, the spectral purple hue of his skin looking bruised in the firelight, wings sprawling awkwardly. He curled instinctively, tail wrapping around his thigh, the exposed, used feeling returning with a vengeance now Sukuna wasn’t filling him. He felt wrecked. Used. And terrifyingly exposed.
Sukuna didn’t climb back on top. He stretched out beside Dante, his large body radiating heat that Dante’s chilled skin craved despite everything. One powerful arm slid beneath Dante’s neck, a solid bar of heat. The other draped possessively over Dante’s waist, pulling him back flush against Sukuna’s broad, tattooed chest. Sukuna’s warmth seeped into Dante’s back, a stark contrast to the lingering chill of violation and the Dungeon’s memory. Sukuna’s breath stirred the sweat-damp hair at Dante’s temple. He didn’t speak immediately. Just held him. Solid. Present. An anchor in the swirling storm of Dante’s fractured psyche. The possessive grip on his hip was grounding, not confining.
"You did good," Sukuna rumbled, the words low and surprisingly devoid of mockery, vibrating against Dante’s spine. His thumb rubbed a small, slow circle on the sharp jut of Dante’s hip bone, just above the livid marks left by his fingers. "Took it like you were made for it. Took everything I gave you." The praise was blunt, raw. Not gentle, but fiercely acknowledging. An affirmation in the aftermath of degradation. Dante felt a confusing knot tighten in his chest, part shame, part desperate, unwanted gratitude. He stayed rigid in Sukuna’s hold, his good eye squeezed shut, unwilling to acknowledge the treacherous warmth spreading beneath the exhaustion. He could still feel Balial’s phantom hands, but Sukuna’s heat was a fire against the lingering frost.
Sukuna shifted slightly. The arm beneath Dante’s neck moved. Large, calloused fingers, surprisingly gentle, slid beneath Dante’s chin. Sukuna applied the barest pressure, turning Dante’s head towards him. Dante resisted for a fraction of a second, the instinct to bury himself warring with a deeper, terrifying pull. He yielded, turning his face. The deep scar sealing his left eye felt tight, grotesque. His remaining eye, the crimson glow dimmed to a smoulder, met Sukuna’s intense, four-eyed gaze. There was no pity there. Just a watchful, ancient intensity, a dark mirror reflecting Dante’s own fractured state. Sukuna studied his face – the sweat, the tear tracks cutting through grime, the defiance still flickering beneath the exhaustion in his visible eye.
Sukuna leaned in slowly. No urgency. No demand. His lips brushed Dante’s forehead, just above the root of a horn, a touch so light it was almost imperceptible. Then, with infinite care, Sukuna tilted Dante’s face up a fraction more. He lowered his mouth to Dante’s. It wasn’t the brutal claiming of before, all teeth and possession. It was a slow, deliberate press. Gentle. Searching. Sukuna’s lips were surprisingly soft against Dante’s battered ones. He kissed him with a quiet intensity, a deep, resonating connection that bypassed words and violence. His hand remained cradling Dante’s jaw, his thumb resting softly on the pulse point beneath Dante’s ear. There was no tongue, no invasion. Just the warm, solid pressure of Sukuna’s mouth on his, a silent communication that spoke of something far more complex than lust or dominance. Recognition. A fragile, terrifying truce written in breath and skin. Dante’s rigid posture softened incrementally. He didn’t kiss back, not actively, but he didn’t pull away. He breathed against Sukuna’s lips, the simple act feeling monumental. The taste of salt – sweat or tears, he didn't know – mingled. Lucifer’s healing power hummed faintly beneath Dante’s skin, a counterpoint to the deep ache Sukuna had both inflicted and momentarily soothed. The kiss lingered, a grounding point in the wreckage, a fragile bridge thrown across centuries of betrayal and pain, before Sukuna slowly, reluctantly, broke it. He rested his forehead against Dante’s, his breath mingling with Dante’s shaky exhale, holding him close as the fire crackled and the Prince of Hell finally surrendered to bone-deep exhaustion. Dante’s eye drifted shut. The darkness behind his lids felt different this time. Not the abyss, but the quiet, guarded space between breaths held by the King of Curses.