Chapter 89: Cursed Technique
The low throb of distant bass vibrated through the floorboards, a muffled heartbeat from the Inferno Club pulsing three stories below. Dante swam towards consciousness, the deep, exhausted sleep of the recently ravaged clinging to his limbs. The scent of sex, Sukuna’s unique blend of ozone and ancient spice, and the lingering warmth of silk sheets registered first. Then, the heat. Wet, insistent heat enveloping the head of his cock.
He groaned, a low, sleep-thickened sound, his hips instinctively twitching forward into that delicious pressure. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim firelight still casting dancing shadows across the opulent bedroom. His transformed state had receded sometime during the deep sleep – skin its usual tone, horns and wings vanished – leaving only the deep ache in his muscles and the ghost-stretch of Sukuna’s possession. Below the rumpled sheets, Sukuna’s dark head was a shadow between his thighs.
“Fuck… Su’na?” Dante rasped, his voice wrecked. He tried to lift his head, but a firm hand, one of Sukuna’s lower ones, pressed flat against his belly, pinning him gently but implacably to the mattress. Another hand, an upper one, slid under his ass, lifting his hips slightly, granting Sukuna deeper access. Dante’s breath hitched as that hot mouth sank further down his length, Sukuna’s tongue swirling expertly around the sensitive ridge beneath the head. Blissful friction shot up Dante’s spine.
Sukuna hummed around him, the vibration traveling straight into Dante’s core, making his balls tighten. He bobbed his head slowly, deliberately, hollowing his cheeks to create a devastating suction that pulled a ragged moan from Dante. Fuck, yeah. Dante’s head fell back, fingers digging into the silk sheets. “Just like that, baby,” he slurred, hazy with sleep and building pleasure. “Suck me fuckin’ dry.”
Sukuna obeyed, for a blissful minute. His pace was languorous, deep, wet pulls that had Dante’s hips stuttering off the mattress, held down only by that steady hand. Dante could feel the tension coiling low in his gut, the familiar, welcome pressure building. He was hurtling towards release, still half-dreaming, when Sukuna abruptly stopped.
He pulled off with a wet pop, leaving Dante’s cock jutting hard and flushed, glistening in the low light. Precome beaded at the tip. Dante gasped, eyes snapping open fully now, glaring down the length of his body. Sukuna met his gaze, a smirk playing on his damp lips. He didn’t say a word. He simply licked a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip with the flat of his tongue, a maddening tease, before lowering his head again.
Dante growled, the sound tinged with frustration. “The fuck you stoppin’ for? Get back on it, asshole.” Sukuna ignored him, resuming that same torturously slow rhythm. He sucked, he licked, he used the tip of his tongue to flick rapidly beneath the crown. He used his lower hands to knead Dante’s inner thighs, pushing them wider apart, exposing him completely. Dante grunted, thrusting shallowly upwards, seeking more. The pressure built again, even hotter this time, fueled by the interruption. Just as Dante felt the crest approaching, that point of no return, Sukuna stopped again. Pulled off. Blew a cool stream of air over Dante’s wet, straining cock.
“Goddamn it, Sukuna!” Dante snarled, bucking his hips uselessly. “Why the fuck–”
Sukuna finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against Dante’s inner thigh where his lips brushed. “Patience, Prince.” That infuriating smirk was back. “Gotta savour it.” His upper hand trailed fingertips over Dante’s abs, tracing the lines of his tattoos, deliberately avoiding his cock. “You were so desperate last night… begging so pretty.” He leaned in, his breath hot. “Gonna make you desperate again.”
Before Dante could retort, Sukuna’s mouth was back on him. This time, he didn’t tease. He took Dante deep into his throat, swallowing around him, the tight, wet pressure making Dante cry out. He set a faster, more ruthless pace, bobbing furiously. Dante’s back arched, a choked gasp escaping him as the pleasure surged, overwhelming, immediate. He was there, teetering on the edge–
Sukuna ripped his mouth away again, panting slightly. Dante’s cock pulsed angrily in the cool air, untouched. “FUCK!” Dante roared, fury and unbearable need warring in his voice. He slammed a fist down on the mattress. “Do not fucking stop again, you bastard! Finish me!”
Sukuna chuckled, the sound dark and amused. He reached out with a lower hand, not touching Dante’s cock, but circling the tight furl of his entrance with a thick fingertip. Dante tensed. “I’ll finish you,” Sukuna promised, his eyes gleaming in the gloom. “When I decide.” The fingertip pressed in slightly, just past the rim, a fleeting intrusion that made Dante gasp. Then Sukuna’s mouth descended again.
The pattern continued. Relentless. Cruel. Masterful. Sukuna would bring Dante to the very brink with his mouth – slow and teasing, fast and brutal, varying the torment – only to pull away at the last possible millisecond, leaving Dante gasping, cursing, his cock leaking and throbbing with denied release. Each time the denial came, the frustration coiled tighter inside Dante, hotter than the pleasure itself.
After the fourth denial, Dante was trembling. Sweat slicked his skin. His knuckles were white where he gripped the sheets. Sukuna knelt between his spread thighs, idly swirling a finger around the flushed head of Dante’s cock, smearing the copious precome. Dante’s hips jerked helplessly. “Please,” the word slipped out, rough and broken. It wasn’t the begging Sukuna had forced last night, but it was close. “Sukuna… fucking… please.”
Sukuna regarded him, his expression unreadable except for the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Please what?” he prompted, his voice dangerously soft. He dragged the pad of his thumb slowly down the underside of Dante’s shaft, making him whimper. “What do you want, Dante?”
“Suck me off,” Dante rasped, the words tasting like surrender. “Make me come. Please. Just… fuck, need it.” The defiance was gone, stripped away by the repeated, agonizing edge.
Sukuna leaned forward, his lips brushing Dante’s ear. “Gonna swallow every fucking drop.” His breath was hot. “Now be a good boy… and scream for me.”
He didn’t hesitate. Sukuna engulfed Dante’s cock to the root in one smooth movement, his throat working powerfully around the thick shaft. At the same time, two of his lower hands gripped Dante’s hips, holding him down with brutal strength. The other lower hand slid back, fingers pressing firmly against Dante’s perineum. His upper hands? One fisted in Dante’s hair, yanking his head back sharply. The other clamped over Dante’s mouth, stifling the initial cry.
The combined assault was catastrophic. The deep, wet heat of Sukuna’s throat, the perfect, rhythmic suction, the pressure on that sensitive spot beneath his balls, the sharp pull on his hair, the inability to even scream – it detonated the pent-up tension instantly. Dante’s entire body convulsed, arching off the bed with a violence only Sukuna’s iron grip could contain. An inhuman, muffled roar tore from him against Sukuna’s hand. It wasn’t just an orgasm; it was a seizure of pure, white-hot ecstasy erupting from his core.
Rope after thick rope of come surged into Sukuna’s waiting throat. Sukuna swallowed relentlessly, audibly gulping, his throat muscles working, pulling even more from Dante with every powerful suck. The intensity was blinding, obliterating thought, sensation overwhelming Dante in relentless waves. His vision whited out, his muscles locked rigid, every nerve ending firing at once. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel the volcanic release tearing through him, prolonged far beyond normal limits by Sukuna’s refusal to let up. It felt endless, torturous, utterly shattering.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the violent pulses subsided. Sukuna slowly, gently, released Dante’s softening cock with a final, obscene suck. He lifted his hand from Dante’s mouth. Dante collapsed back onto the sheets, utterly boneless, gasping like a drowning man. His body trembled uncontrollably, aftershocks jolting through him. Tears, unbidden, streamed from the corners of his eyes, tracing paths through the sweat on his temples. He felt eviscerated, hollowed out, trembling from the sheer, overwhelming force of it.
Sukuna wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, his gaze fixed on Dante’s wrecked form. He didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak. He simply slid his hands – all four of them – onto Dante’s trembling body. One on his heaving chest, one smoothing sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, one resting possessively on his hip, the fourth idly tracing a circle on his inner thigh. The silence stretched, thick with the aftermath, punctuated only by Dante’s ragged breaths and the muffled thump of the club below. Sukuna’s touch was strangely grounding amidst the sensory wreckage. Dante shuddered again, a full-body tremor, and closed his eyes, surrendering completely to the exhausted void.
Dante shuddered again, a full-body tremor, and closed his eyes, surrendering completely to the exhausted void. Sukuna’s hands remained, a heavy, possessive warmth anchoring him to the real world. Downstairs, the muffled thump of the Inferno’s bass felt like a distant echo of his own frantic heartbeat finally slowing. He drifted, boneless, aware only of the slick heat between his thighs and the fading tremors in his muscles.
Three floors below, the Inferno Club pulsed like a living thing. Strobe lights sliced through swirling fog, catching the sweat-slicked skin of dancers pressed tight on the floor. The air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume, spilled liquor, and the ozone crackle of latent magic from the more dubious patrons. Adam leaned against the polished black bar in the VIP section, swirling a glass of amber liquid, his gaze distant, fixed on the chaotic swirl below. Dabi stood beside him, nursing a beer, his blue eyes sharp, scanning the crowd with habitual wariness. The plush velvet booth behind them was empty, a silent island in the sensory storm.
"Still think it was a good idea?" Dabi asked abruptly, his voice rough, cutting through the music’s throb. He didn’t look at Adam, his gaze tracking a potential threat near the stairs. "Leaving him up there? With him?"
Adam took a slow sip, the whiskey burning a familiar path down his throat. He watched the desperate gyrations on the dance floor, a spectacle Dante usually orchestrated with detached amusement. "Yeah," Adam finally said, his voice low and gravelly. "Yeah, I do." He turned his head slightly towards Dabi, the dim light catching the hard planes of his face. "That part of Dante… the raw, fucked-up part Balial ripped open? It needed to bleed out. Or get cauterized. Sukuna… fucked-up as he is… somehow a small part of Sukuna’s old self chiselled its way out."
Dabi’s head snapped around, his scarred features etched with skepticism. "Old self? What the fuck does that mean?" He took a long pull from his beer bottle. "He’s a walking curse with extra limbs. Nothing old or sane left in that mess."
Adam stared into his glass, the memory vivid, unsettling. "That day," he began, his voice dropping even lower, forcing Dabi to lean in. "When Dante was… gone. Lost inside his own head after Balial. Walls crumbling. I went up to the penthouse. To check on him." He paused, the image clear: the grand bedroom door slightly ajar, the oppressive silence within. "Sukuna was already in there. Just… sitting by the bed. Dante was out cold, breathing ragged." Adam’s knuckles whitened on the glass. "I heard them. Well, I heard Sukuna." He met Dabi’s intense gaze. "He was talking. To Dante. Quiet. Like he thought he wouldn’t hear. Said…" Adam swallowed. "Said even after everything he’d done, everything he was… there was still a part of him that loved Dante."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the club's relentless pulse. Dabi looked stunned, his beer forgotten halfway to his lips. Adam let the weight of it hang. "I know Dante needed to hear that," he added, his voice thick. "Even if he was unconscious. Dante…" Adam shook his head, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "Dante rarely fucking loves people, Dabi. He stops." He locked eyes with his companion, the intensity stark. "You’re one of the lucky few he has loved."
Dabi visibly flinched, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The carefully maintained cynicism on his face cracked. Adam didn’t let him recover, turning his gaze back towards the chaotic dance floor, back to the story. "Dante and Sukuna… before the Curse really sank its claws in deep? They weren't just fucking. They were insanely in love. Burning brighter and hotter than anything down here." His jaw tightened. "Sukuna just got… consumed. Eaten alive by that fucking thing inside him. Piece by piece." Adam paused again, the memory of that final day a cold knife in his gut. He looked back at Dabi, his expression bleak. "The day Dante had to kill him… a big part of Dante died right alongside him."
He held Dabi’s shocked gaze. "You," Adam stated, the word heavy with unspoken significance, "were the first person he loved after Sukuna." Dabi just stared, his beer bottle lowered, forgotten. His usual sardonic mask was completely shattered, replaced by utter, wide-eyed flabbergasted disbelief. The chaotic energy of the Inferno seemed to recede, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of staggering revelation, the implications crashing over Dabi in relentless, cold waves. He was still staring, speechless, when Adam turned fully back to the bar, signaling the tender for another drink, the weight of centuries pressing down on them both.
He was still staring, speechless, when Adam turned fully back to the bar, signaling the tender for another drink, the weight of centuries pressing down on them both. The ice clinked loudly in the fresh glass. Adam downed half of it in one go, the burn barely registering.
"Sukuna might be an aggressive asshole now," Adam stated flatly, staring straight ahead at the rows of expensive bottles glittering under the bar lights. "A walking disaster with extra arms and a curse for a soul." He traced a finger through the condensation on his glass. "But that part of him that’s still clinging on in there? Used to be relatively gentle. Well, gentler."
Dabi finally found his voice, rough. "Relative to fucking what? A landslide?" He took a swig of beer, trying to regain his composure after the revelation about Dante. "Did you even know him? Before that curse fucked him up completely?"
A harsh, humorless sound escaped Adam. "Yeah." He paused, the memory flickering behind his eyes like distant lightning. "Yeah, I knew him." Another pause, longer this time. He swirled the remaining whiskey. "He was still a prick back then," Adam conceded, a ghost of something almost fond in his tone. "Arrogant, powerful, didn't suffer fools. But… when it came to people he actually cared about?" Adam met Dabi’s gaze squarely. "He was the sweetest person on fucking Earth. Genuinely. Dante liked both sides – the fucking wildfire energy and that soft, protective core. Savored the contrast."
He stopped again, looking past Dabi towards the staircase leading to the penthouse. "I kind of miss when Dante was like he was back then," Adam admitted, the words low, almost lost in the bass thump.
Dabi raised a scarred eyebrow. "How was he?" The question held genuine curiosity now, cutting through the earlier shock.
Adam sighed, a heavy exhalation. "After Balial… after that monstrous fuck murdered Azazel and his sons…" He grimaced, the name tasting foul. "Dante finally just… chilled the fuck out. Took hundreds of fucking years but, the raging stopped, the endless screaming at the void." Adam shook his head, still bewildered by the memory. "He somehow became the most calm, chilled out, sweetest dude. Found some fucked-up kind of peace inside that hurricane of grief. Don't ask me how he did it, but he fucking did. It wasn't weakness," Adam added quickly, seeing the question form on Dabi's lips. "Don't get me wrong. If he needed to unleash Hell, he would. Rip and tear with the best of 'em. But his baseline? Gentle. Patient. Not like he is now – constantly uptight, pissed off at the whole fucking cosmos, miserable underneath the swagger."
"Dante seems good at hiding that shit now," Dabi observed, watching a group of overdressed mortals stumble towards the dance floor. "The misery. The cracks."
Adam nodded grimly. "He definitely got good at hiding it. Masterclass level. He won't show weakness. Ever. Nothing gets through that armor he welded shut." He took another sip, his expression hardening. "The other day? When you saw him… the way he was?" He didn't need to specify; the image of Dante broken against the bedpost was seared into both their minds. "Something was picking at him bad. Gnawing deep. It’s rare as fucking hellfire diamonds for that man to be shattered wide open like that."
Upstairs, the muffled bass was a distant ache in Dante’s bones. Sukuna’s hands were anchors, heavy and warm on his trembling skin – one broad palm flat against his racing heart, another cradling the back of his sweat-damp head, a third resting possessively on his hip, the fourth tracing idle, soothing patterns on his inner thigh. Dante gasped, the world slowly swimming back into focus, every nerve ending still singing from the brutal overload Sukuna had wrung from him. His spent cock lay soft against his thigh, slick and sensitive. The tears drying on his cheeks felt like cold tracks of shame.
Sukuna shifted. He leaned down, his lips brushing Dante’s temple, then his cheekbone, catching a stray tear. Not a kiss of passion, but something quieter. Absorbent. Dante flinched minutely, the unexpected tenderness a different kind of shock after the raw intensity. Sukuna didn’t comment. He just settled back, pulling Dante tighter against the solid heat of his chest. One large hand slid down Dante’s side, fingertips lightly skimming the sharp ridge of his hip, the defined curve of his ass. The touch wasn't demanding, wasn't seeking more. It was… grounding. A silent claim. Mine. Here. Safe. The possessive grip on his hip remained firm, a constant pressure Dante couldn’t shake, but within it was a strange sense of containment, not confinement.
Dante exhaled, a long, shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The frantic pulse under Sukuna’s hand on his chest began to slow, synchronizing gradually with the deep, steady rhythm of Sukuna’s own heartbeat against his back. The trembling in his limbs subsided, replaced by a profound, liquid exhaustion that seeped into his marrow. He felt scraped raw, hollowed out by the orgasm that had felt less like release and more like an exorcism, yet wrapped in the unexpected, almost alien tenderness of Sukuna’s hold. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just surrendered to the heavy warmth, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, and the muffled, distant pulse of the world continuing below, letting the exhaustion pull him back under. Sukuna’s thumb rubbed a slow, rhythmic circle on his hipbone, a silent lullaby in the firelit gloom.