Chapter 90: Anchor
The muffled thump of the Inferno’s bass was a dull, distant ache, a world away. Dante surfaced from sleep like a drowning man breaching icy water. His eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing in the firelit gloom, lungs seizing. The air felt thick, suffocating. Not the familiar, comforting scent of sweat, sex, and Sukuna, but something else – the cloying stench of burnt feathers and ozone, sharp and metallic, like the aftermath of a lightning strike on rotting flesh. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, each beat echoing the phantom crackle of Balial’s laughter.
He sat bolt upright, sweat chilling instantly on his bare skin. A choked gasp tore from his throat, raw and ragged. The silk sheets tangled around his legs felt like binding chains. He clawed weakly at his own chest, the intricate tattoos rippling as his muscles corded with panic. Azazel. The name was a silent scream in his shattered mind. The image wasn’t clear – just fragments: a flash of vibrant wings turning to ash, a choked-off cry swallowed by the void, the unbearable wrongness of absence carving a fresh hole in his ancient soul. Centuries, and the wound still bled.
Movement beside him. Sudden, sharp. Sukuna, jolted awake not by the bass, but by the violent shift in the atmosphere, the choked sounds Dante made. Dante flinched hard as a heavy, warm hand landed on his sweat-slicked back, between his shoulder blades. He instinctively recoiled, nearly scrambling off the bed, still caught in the spectral grip of the nightmare.
"Hey." Sukuna's voice was rough with sleep, but immediate, cutting through the panic-fog. No hesitation. No groggy confusion. He didn't ask. He simply sat up fully, the shadows deepening the lines of his powerful torso. Dante’s frantic breathing hitched, another gasp catching painfully. Before Dante could fully register the movement, Sukuna’s arms – all four of them – were around him.
One powerful arm wrapped across Dante’s heaving chest, pinning his upper arms gently but firmly to his sides. Another slid around his waist, pulling him back firmly against the solid wall of Sukuna’s chest. The third hand pressed flat, warm and heavy, against Dante's pounding heart, a physical counterpoint to its frantic rhythm. The fourth hand cradled the back of Dante’s head, fingers tangling in the sweat-damp strands of his hair, guiding Dante’s face down, in. The scent of ozone and ancient spice, uniquely Sukuna, flooded Dante’s senses, overwhelming the lingering phantom stench.
"Easy," Sukuna murmured, his voice a low rumble against Dante’s ear, vibrating through bone. "Easy, Dante. Breathe." He tightened his hold incrementally, not trapping, but containing. Anchoring. "It's okay. Just breathe. I got you."
The words were simple. Absurdly simple against the centuries of horror Dante carried. Yet, the raw, undeniable presence of Sukuna, the sheer physical reality of him holding Dante with a strength that could shatter mountains but was currently used solely to contain his tremor, acted like a grounding rod. The desperate tension in Dante’s muscles didn't vanish, but it fractured. A shuddering sigh escaped him, rattling against the arm across his chest. His head, guided by the hand at its back, sank forward. His forehead pressed against the hard curve of Sukuna’s shoulder, then slid lower, seeking the heat and solidity of his neck.
"It's okay," Sukuna repeated, quieter now. His lips brushed against Dante’s temple. Not a kiss, exactly. A point of contact. Reassurance. His hand on Dante’s chest pressed more firmly, feeling the frantic gallop begin to slow beneath his palm. "Just breathe with me, yeah? In…" Sukuna took a deliberately slow, deep breath, his chest expanding against Dante’s back. "...and out." He exhaled long and slow.
Dante tried. His first inhale was a ragged, broken thing, catching in his throat. He focused on the warmth of Sukuna’s skin beneath his forehead, the scent of him, the impossible, terrifying aliveness of him after believing him dead for so long. The hand on his heart was a steady weight. He breathed in again, deeper this time. Held it. Sukuna’s chest rose and fell against him, a metronome. He exhaled, shaky but longer.
"That's it," Sukuna murmured, approval warm in his voice. The hand that had been on Dante’s heart slid down, palm flat and broad, smoothing over the damp skin of his abdomen, feeling the tight muscles gradually softening. The other arms remained locked around him, a fortress against the specters of the past. Dante nuzzled deeper into Sukuna’s neck, breathing him in, the ozone and spice now the only scent that mattered. He felt the strong pulse beating against his lips, a steady drum chasing away the echo of Balial’s laugh. He didn't speak. Words were shattered glass in his throat. He simply existed within the circle of Sukuna’s arms, the terror receding like a foul tide, leaving behind only exhaustion and a profound, desperate need for this anchoring warmth. Sukuna didn't demand anything. Didn't ask about the dream. He just held him. Solid. Present. His head rested against Dante’s, his breath stirring his hair, a low, continuous hum vibrating in his chest – a wordless comfort against the muffled thump of the world below.
His head rested against Dante’s, his breath stirring his hair, a low, continuous hum vibrating in his chest – a wordless comfort against the muffled thump of the world below. The frantic drumming beneath Sukuna’s palm slowed, Dante’s trembling subsiding into exhausted stillness. He breathed deep, the scent of Sukuna’s skin filling his lungs, chasing the last phantom tendrils of sulfur and burnt feathers. A profound quiet settled over the firelit room, broken only by their synchronized breathing and the muffled bass heartbeat of the club.
Then, without warning, a hot tear spilled over Dante’s lower lashes, tracing a slow path down his cheek and onto Sukuna’s neck. Another followed. Silent. Relentless. Sukuna felt the dampness against his skin, the slight hitch in Dante’s next breath. He didn’t stiffen, didn’t pull back. His arms, all four, simply tightened their hold almost imperceptibly. The hand cradling Dante’s head applied the faintest pressure. The one on his back began a slow, rhythmic stroke from shoulder blade to the dip of his spine.
“Easy,” Sukuna murmured again, his voice rough gravel smoothed by the predawn quiet. He pressed his lips once more to Dante’s temple, a grounding point of contact. Dante didn’t sob, didn’t wail. He just lay utterly still against Sukuna, tears leaking steadily, dampening the skin beneath his cheek. The weight in his chest wasn’t just grief; it was a physical ache, a sharp, stabbing pressure behind his ribs as the memory crystallized.
It wasn’t Balial this time. It was Sukuna. Sukuna as he’d been centuries ago, before the Curse hollowed him out. Sukuna holding him just like this, after a different nightmare, a different horror. Sukuna’s voice, low and gentle, guiding his breathing: "In… hold… out. Just like that, Dante. Good. I've got you." That tender patience, that unwavering, protective sweetness Dante had loved with a ferocity that scared even him. Feeling that echo now, wrapped in the arms of the brutalized, cursed incarnation of that same man, was a knife twisting in an ancient wound. The loss, the before, felt suddenly raw and vast, a chasm opening beneath him.
Sukuna didn’t understand. He felt the tremors return, different this time – deeper, sadder shudders wracking Dante’s frame. He felt the hot tears and the rigid tension locking Dante’s muscles anew. He didn’t know the source, only the profound distress radiating from the man in his arms. “Shhh,” he breathed against Dante’s hair, a sound like distant thunder. “Here. I’m here.” He focused on the rhythm of his own breath, deep and steady, willing Dante to match it once more. His lower hand slid up from Dante’s abdomen, palm pressing flat over his heart again, feeling the frantic beat beneath. “Breathe with me, Dante.” He inhaled slowly, deliberately, his chest expanding against Dante’s back. “In…”
Dante gasped, a wet, ragged sound. He tried to follow, the air catching. Sukuna held his own breath for a beat. “…and out.” He exhaled long and slow. Dante shuddered out a breath, matching the rhythm. Out. Sukuna kept it steady, the hand on Dante’s heart a warm, heavy anchor. The tears kept falling, silent rivers carving paths through the sweat and tension on Dante’s face. Sukuna’s thumb brushed along Dante’s jawline, smearing a tear track. He didn’t wipe it away; the touch was acknowledgment. Presence.
Slowly, painfully, the iron band around Dante’s chest loosened. The stabbing ache receded, leaving a hollow, bruised feeling. The tears slowed, then stopped. He felt scraped raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in centuries, curled against the chest of the man who embodied both his deepest love and his most profound loss. Sukuna’s solidity, his unwavering hold, was the only constant. The hand on his heart shifted, sliding upwards to cup the side of Dante’s neck, thumb stroking the pulse point. Sukuna tilted his head, lips finding the damp skin of Dante’s temple again, then his cheekbone, tracing the path of a drying tear. This time, it lingered. A kiss. Soft. Absorbent.
Dante turned his head minutely, seeking the contact. Sukuna’s lips moved lower, finding the corner of Dante’s mouth. Salt. Heat. Dante’s breath hitched, a different tremor running through him now. Not fear. Need. Raw, aching need for connection, for proof of life, for something to fill the hollow. He turned fully, capturing Sukuna’s lips with his own. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, a silent plea. Sukuna met the hunger instantly, his mouth opening, his tongue sliding against Dante’s with possessive heat. The hand on Dante’s neck tightened, holding him close for the kiss. The lower arms pulled Dante tighter against him, one hand sliding down to grip his ass, pulling their hips flush.
The kiss deepened, turning filthy. Teeth scraped lips. Tongues dueled. Dante moaned into Sukuna’s mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. Sukuna growled, the vibration traveling straight to Dante’s core. The hand gripping Dante’s ass kneaded the firm muscle, fingers digging in. Sukuna rolled them suddenly, pinning Dante beneath his larger frame on the rumpled silk. He broke the kiss, staring down, his dark eyes blazing with possessive fire, pupils blown wide. Dante stared back, chest heaving, lips swollen, the tracks of tears still glistening faintly on his cheeks.
“Mine,” Sukuna rasped, the word thick with primal claim. Dante didn’t argue. He reached up, tangling a hand in Sukuna’s dark hair, pulling him down. “Yours,” Dante breathed against his mouth, the admission raw. “Fucking prove it.”
Sukuna needed no further invitation. He kissed Dante again, brutally possessive, while his lower hands moved with ruthless efficiency. One shoved Dante’s thighs apart, spreading him wide. The other slid between them, fingers finding Dante’s already slick entrance – the aftermath of his earlier brutal orgasm making the passage slick and yielding. Sukuna didn’t tease. One thick finger pushed inside, deep and sudden, knuckle-deep. Dante arched off the bed with a choked cry, not of pain, but of overwhelming sensation, his cock jerking hard against his belly.
“Fuck!” Dante gasped, breaking the kiss, head thrown back. Sukuna watched him, eyes dark, as he added a second finger, scissoring ruthlessly, stretching him. He crooked his fingers, searching, finding the bundle of nerves deep inside. Dante shouted, back bowing off the mattress. “Ah! Sukuna! Right there! Fuck, right fucking there!” Sukuna hammered that spot, fingers pistoning in and out with relentless precision, the wet, filthy sounds loud in the quiet room. Precome leaked freely from Dante’s cock, pooling on his stomach.
Sukuna withdrew his fingers abruptly. Dante whined at the sudden emptiness, hips lifting off the bed, searching. Sukuna grabbed his own thick cock, already fully erect and glistening at the tip. He lined up the swollen head against Dante’s stretched, slick hole. He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. He looked Dante straight in the eyes, his gaze holding Dante captive. “Look at me,” he commanded, voice guttural.
He pushed forward. Slow. Inexorable. The blunt crown breached Dante, stretching him impossibly wide. Dante gasped, eyes locked on Sukuna’s, seeing only the fierce, possessive hunger reflected back. Sukuna pushed deeper, inch by searing inch, the thick ridge of his cockhead dragging against Dante’s inner walls, filling him completely. Dante felt split open, owned. He moaned, low and continuous, his hands scrabbling at Sukuna’s back, nails digging into hard muscle.
Sukuna bottomed out, hilting himself fully with a grunt, his balls pressed tight against Dante’s ass. He held there for a breathless moment, buried to the root, letting Dante feel every throbbing inch. Dante panted, overwhelmed, stretched impossibly full, the earlier tears replaced by a sheen of new sweat. Sukuna leaned down, his lips brushing Dante’s ear. “Say it again,” he demanded, voice rough.
“Yours,” Dante gasped immediately, the word torn from him. “All yours. Fucking yours, Sukuna.” He clenched down hard around the thick shaft buried inside him, pulling a ragged groan from Sukuna’s throat.
Sukuna pulled back, almost all the way out, the drag exquisite torture. Then he slammed back in, hard and deep, setting a punishing rhythm right from the start. No slow build. Just relentless, deep fucking. Each powerful thrust rocked Dante up the bed, the force driving the air from his lungs in harsh gasps. Sukuna’s lower hands gripped Dante’s hips, holding him in place, fingers digging into flesh. His upper hands braced on the bed beside Dante’s head, caging him in. Every snap of Sukuna’s hips drove his cock impossibly deep, hammering against Dante’s prostate with unerring accuracy.
“Fuck! Yes! Just like that! Harder!” Dante babbled, lost in the brutal pace, the sheer fullness. He wrapped his legs around Sukuna’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, trying to pull him even deeper. “Fill me up! Fucking wreck me, Sukuna! Make me feel it!” The obscenities tumbled out, filthy and desperate.
Sukuna grunted with each thrust, the sounds primal, animalistic. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped onto Dante’s chest. The wet slap of skin on skin, the guttural grunts, Dante’s ragged cries – it was a symphony of raw need. Sukuna angled his hips, driving deeper still. “Take it,” he growled, his voice strained. “Take every fucking inch. Mine.”
Dante felt the coil tightening again, impossibly fast this time, superheated by the relentless assault on his prostate and the visceral claim in Sukuna’s words. “Gonna… fuck… Sukuna…!” he choked out, his cock leaking steadily, untouched. “Gonna come! Fuck, make me come!”
Sukuna fucked him harder, faster, his thrusts becoming almost brutal, the bed frame groaning in protest. He reached down with one lower hand, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around Dante’s leaking cock. He didn’t stroke, just squeezed, tight and possessive, thumb pressing hard into the sensitive slit. The dual assault was too much. Dante’s vision whited out. He came with a shattered cry, back arching violently off the bed. Thick ropes of come shot across his stomach and chest, splattering Sukuna’s hand and his own heaving torso.
The rhythmic clenching of Dante’s inner muscles around his cock pulled Sukuna over the edge moments later. He slammed deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt with a roar that vibrated the air. Dante felt the hot, liquid pulse deep inside him, Sukuna’s cock jerking as it emptied, filling him with seed. Sukuna held himself there, shuddering, his release seeming endless, painting Dante’s insides with his heat.
He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his upper arms, his forehead dropping to rest against Dante’s. He panted, hot breaths mingling. Dante felt the heavy thud of Sukuna’s heart against his own chest, the slick mess between them, the thick cock still twitching inside him. He felt utterly claimed. Utterly shattered. Utterly filled. Sukuna shifted slightly, pulling out slowly, the drag making Dante gasp. He settled heavily beside Dante, pulling him instantly back against his chest, tangling their legs. One arm wrapped possessively around Dante’s waist, a lower hand resting low on his belly, over the mess. The other hand cupped Dante’s jaw, turning his face towards him. Sukuna’s gaze, still intense, but softened by the aftermath, searched Dante’s face.
Dante met his eyes. Exhaustion warred with a fierce, desperate ache that had nothing to do with the physical. He lifted a trembling hand, touching Sukuna’s cheek, tracing the lines of the markings under his eyes. “Mine,” Dante whispered, the word thick with a terrifying vulnerability. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea. A fragile claim staked on ruins. Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned in, capturing Dante’s lips in a kiss that was surprisingly tender, sealing the word between them. He didn’t say it back. He just held Dante tighter, his silence a heavy, unreadable weight in the firelit silence. Dante closed his eyes, the muffled bass below now a ghost of a pulse against the much louder, more vital one thundering in Sukuna’s chest against his ear.