Chapter 93: The King is Back Part. 2
The silence after Sukuna’s words wasn’t quiet. It roared. It vibrated with the echoes of raw confession, scraping against the polished marble and expensive furnishings of Dante’s bedroom. Sukuna’s grip on Dante’s arm remained iron-tight, anchoring them both amidst the emotional earthquake. His chest still heaved slightly, the fury banked but the intensity undimmed, his eyes locked onto Dante’s, demanding acknowledgment, demanding belief.
Dante stared back, utterly still. The molten gold had vanished, leaving only wide, stunned blue. Sukuna’s torrent of brutal honesty – the spoon-feeding, the bathing, the nights spent wrestling panic attacks – had ripped through his defensive rage like shrapnel. It wasn’t just Sukuna’s words; it was the sheer, undeniable truth radiating from him, a truth Dante had been too wounded, too cynical, to even consider possible. His lips remained slightly parted, breath shallow. The carefully constructed armor of indifference, the belief that Sukuna only stayed for the friction of their bodies, lay shattered at his feet.
"Are you…" Dante’s voice emerged hoarse, barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, the sound harsh. "Are you serious?" The question hung fragile, loaded with disbelief and a desperate, terrifying hope.
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. His gaze didn’t waver. "About which part?" The growl was low, rough-edged, but devoid of mockery now. It was a challenge, pure and simple.
Dante swallowed, the movement visible in his throat. The vulnerability felt like standing naked on a precipice. "That you…" He faltered, the words sticking. "That you still care about me?" It sounded absurd spoken aloud, impossible after everything – after the betrayal, the loss, the years of believing Sukuna dead, the bitterness of his return.
Sukuna didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look away. "Yes." The single syllable landed like a hammer blow.
A tremor ran through Dante, starting where Sukuna gripped his arm and radiating outwards. He felt unmoored. "Why?" The word was a breathless plea. "After… after everything? After I thought you were gone… after you thought…" He couldn’t finish. The chasm of those lost years yawned between them.
Sukuna’s expression shifted, the fierce anger softening fractionally into something older, deeper, infinitely more painful. His grip on Dante’s arm loosened, not releasing, but shifting, his thumb brushing almost unconsciously against the bare skin. His voice dropped, losing its edge, becoming thick with a raw honesty Dante hadn’t heard in centuries. "You were the only person I’d ever truly loved, Dante." He paused, the admission hanging heavy and sacred in the charged air. "Why the fuck would I not still care about you?"
The precipice vanished. Dante didn’t fall; he surged forward. The space between them evaporated. His free hand tangled in the fabric of Sukuna’s tank top, fisting it tight, pulling him impossibly closer. Their mouths crashed together with bruising force. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was a collision, a desperate claiming fueled by years of grief, fury, longing, and the seismic shock of Sukuna’s confession.
Dante’s tongue plunged into Sukuna’s mouth, hot and demanding. Sukuna met him with equal ferocity, his own tongue tangling with Dante’s, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. The kiss was messy, teeth clacking, lips mashed hard. Dante tasted the faint bitterness of espresso, the salt of sweat, and beneath it, the unique, dark spice that was purely Sukuna. It flooded his senses, obliterating thought. His other hand flew up, gripping the back of Sukuna’s neck, fingers digging into the short hair at his nape, holding him locked in place.
Sukuna’s hands were everywhere. One slid from Dante’s arm to his lower back, pressing him flush against the hard lines of Sukuna’s body. The other gripped Dante’s hip, fingers digging in possessively through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The heat radiating off Sukuna was immense, a furnace Dante craved to be consumed by. He ground his hips forward, the hard ridge of his own erection pressing insistently against Sukuna’s thigh, drawing another choked groan from Sukuna’s throat.
"Fuck," Sukuna gasped against Dante’s mouth, breaking the kiss for a ragged breath. His eyes were dark pools of hunger, pupils blown wide. "Need you. Now."
Dante didn’t need words. He shoved Sukuna backwards, hard. Sukuna stumbled a step, catching himself against the heavy oak footboard of the massive bed. Dante was on him instantly, hands tearing at the black tank top. Fabric ripped at the seams. Sukuna didn’t protest, just arched his back to help, the ruined garment joining Dante’s discarded towel on the floor. Dante’s gaze raked over the exposed torso – the powerful muscles, the intricate cursed markings swirling across his skin like living tattoos, the faint scars that were testament to battles fought long before Dante knew him. Possessive heat flared white-hot in Dante’s gut.
He dropped to his knees, fingers hooking into the waistband of Sukuna’s loose pants and underwear, yanking them down in one rough motion. Sukuna’s cock sprang free, already fully hard, thick and flushed dark, the head slick with pre-come. Dante didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his tongue lashing out in a broad, wet stripe from base to tip. Sukuna hissed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Dante’s hand wrapped around the base, squeezing firmly, holding him steady as he took the swollen head into his mouth.
He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, swirling his tongue around the sensitive ridge. Sukuna’s groan was guttural, primal. His hands flew to Dante’s head, fingers tangling in the damp strands, not pushing, just holding on as Dante worked him. Dante took him deeper, relaxing his throat, swallowing around the thick intrusion. He bobbed his head rhythmically, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room. He looked up, meeting Sukuna’s blazing gaze. The raw need, the undisguised lust staring back at him, sent a jolt of pure power through Dante. He sucked harder, dragging his teeth lightly along the underside, making Sukuna curse and buck.
"Christ, Dante… gonna fucking come…" Sukuna warned, voice strained.
Dante pulled off with a slick pop, leaving Sukuna’s cock glistening and throbbing. He surged back up, kissing Sukuna again, tasting himself on Sukuna’s tongue. His own sweatpants were tented obscenely. Sukuna’s hands were already there, shoving them down Dante’s hips, freeing his aching erection. Their cocks brushed, hot and hard against each other, a jolt of electric friction that made both men gasp.
Sukuna spun them, pushing Dante backwards onto the bed. Dante landed with a soft thud on the silk sheets, scrambling back as Sukuna climbed over him, knees bracketing Dante’s hips. Sukuna’s hand, slick with spit and pre-come, wrapped around both their lengths, squeezing them together. He started pumping, a rough, urgent rhythm that had Dante arching off the bed instantly. The friction was exquisite, brutal. Sukuna’s cock slid hot and heavy against Dante’s, the ridge catching, the slickness easing the delicious burn.
"Yeah… fuck… like that," Dante gritted out, his hands grabbing Sukuna’s ass, pulling him down harder, grinding their hips together. He could feel the thick vein pulsing against his own shaft. Sukuna leaned down, capturing Dante’s mouth again, his thrusts into his own fist becoming more frantic. His other hand braced beside Dante’s head, muscles straining.
The air grew thick with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the wet slap of skin on skin, Sukuna’s low grunts, Dante’s bitten-off moans. Dante could feel the coiling tension building low in his belly, a familiar pressure nearing its breaking point. He reached between them, his fingers finding Sukuna’s balls, rolling them roughly in his palm. Sukuna cried out, his rhythm stuttering.
"Inside," Dante demanded, voice thick with need. "Fuck me, Sukuna. Now."
Sukuna didn’t need telling twice. He released their cocks, his slick hand sliding down Dante’s inner thigh, pushing his legs wider apart. He spat into his palm, a crude, necessary lubricant, and slicked his cock hastily. Dante lifted his hips, presenting himself. Sukuna’s fingers, thick and calloused, found Dante’s entrance, pressing against the tight ring of muscle. Dante pushed down, forcing one finger in with a sharp gasp. It burned, a welcome stretch. Sukuna worked it roughly, adding a second finger almost immediately, scissoring him open with ruthless efficiency. Dante writhed, the dual sensations of pain and intense pleasure short-circuiting his thoughts. "Enough… fuck, enough… just get in me!"
Sukuna withdrew his fingers. He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against Dante’s stretched entrance. He locked eyes with Dante, his gaze burning with an intensity that went far beyond lust. "Tell me," he growled.
Dante understood. He met Sukuna’s stare, breathless. "I’m yours. Fucking take me."
Sukuna drove forward in one powerful thrust. Dante’s back arched off the bed, a choked scream tearing from his throat as he was filled, stretched impossibly wide. The burn was intense, bordering on agony, but it was instantly consumed by the overwhelming sensation of being full, claimed, connected. Sukuna bottomed out, his hips flush against Dante’s ass, both of them frozen for a heartbeat, panting.
"Fuck… so tight…" Sukuna groaned, his voice strained. He pulled back slowly, almost completely out, then slammed home again. Dante cried out, nails digging into Sukuna’s back. Sukuna set a punishing pace from the start, no gentle build-up. Each deep, brutal thrust punched the air from Dante’s lungs, jolting his body up the bed. The slap of Sukuna’s hips against his ass was loud, rhythmic, obscene.
Dante wrapped his legs around Sukuna’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper with every plunge. He met each thrust, rocking his hips up, taking Sukuna impossibly deeper. The friction was electric, igniting every nerve ending. Sukuna’s cock dragged against his prostate with every inward stroke, sending blinding sparks of pleasure up Dante’s spine. He could feel Sukuna trembling above him, hear the ragged edge to his breathing.
"Harder," Dante gasped, his voice wrecked. "Fucking wreck me."
Sukuna obliged. He shifted, bracing his hands on either side of Dante’s head, driving into him with even more force, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, piston-like. The bedframe groaned in protest. Dante could only hold on, his own cock trapped between their sweat-slicked stomachs, leaking profusely with each jarring impact. He reached down, fisting himself roughly, matching Sukuna’s brutal rhythm. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. He was hurtling towards the edge, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.
Sukuna’s rhythm faltered. His thrusts became erratic, deeper, harder. "Gonna come…" he warned, his voice a raw scrape.
"Inside," Dante gasped, tightening his legs around Sukuna, pulling him impossibly deeper. "Fill me up. Mark me."
Sukuna’s control shattered. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural roar, his body locking rigid as his orgasm ripped through him. Dante felt the hot, thick pulses deep inside, triggering his own climax instantly. His back arched violently off the bed, a wordless shout tearing from his throat as his cock jerked, spilling hot stripes of come across his stomach and chest in pulsing waves. The intensity was blinding, wiping his mind clean, leaving only the sensation of Sukuna’s cock pulsing inside him and his own release shuddering through him.
Sukuna collapsed forward, catching himself on his forearms, his forehead resting against Dante’s shoulder. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body still trembling slightly with aftershocks. Dante lay beneath him, boneless, spent, the only sound his own harsh breathing and the frantic hammering of his heart against his ribs. Sukuna’s weight was heavy, anchoring, real. The scent of sex, sweat, and Sukuna filled his nostrils, replacing the lingering stench of the Pit.
Slowly, Sukuna shifted, pulling out gently. Dante hissed at the sudden emptiness, the oversensitivity. Sukuna rolled onto his side beside him, propped up on an elbow. His gaze traced the mess on Dante’s stomach, then lifted to meet Dante’s eyes. There was no triumph there, only a profound exhaustion and something else… something vulnerable, raw. He reached out, his thumb brushing away a smear of come high on Dante’s abdomen. The touch was unexpectedly tender.
Dante watched him, the adrenaline fading, leaving him hollowed out and strangely clear-headed. Sukuna’s confession echoed in the silence between them, louder now than the fading echoes of their coupling. You were the only person I’d ever truly loved. The words weren’t just spoken; they’d been etched into the air with Sukuna’s body, his desperation, his raw need. Dante searched Sukuna’s face – the sharp lines softened by exhaustion, the ancient eyes holding a vulnerability Dante hadn’t seen in centuries. The cynical voice inside him, the one that had screamed he only wants the fuck, was silent. Utterly silenced.
He reached up, his own hand trembling slightly, and touched Sukuna’s cheek. Sukuna didn’t flinch. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly. The simple gesture held more weight than any declaration.
Dante’s voice, when it came, was rough but quiet. "You meant it." It wasn’t a question.
Sukuna opened his eyes. Held Dante’s gaze. "Every fucking word." His hand covered Dante’s where it rested against his cheek, pressing it there. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken history and the terrifying fragility of this new understanding. Outside, the city hummed, oblivious. Inside the opulent cage of the bedroom, Dante Morningstar finally let himself believe the impossible: Sukuna Ryomen, the cursed king, his second love, his ghost, his furious protector… cared. And that changed everything.
The silence stretched, thick with the echoes of Sukuna’s confession and the fading tremors of their coupling. Dante’s hand remained against Sukuna’s cheek, the skin warm and real beneath his fingertips. Sukuna’s eyes held Dante’s, the ancient fury banked, replaced by a raw exhaustion that mirrored Dante’s own. The vulnerability there, stark and undeniable, was the final chisel fracturing Dante’s remaining defenses. Centuries of cynicism, the ingrained belief that love was a weakness exploited, crumbled to dust. Sukuna’s words weren’t just spoken; they were etched into the charged air between them, confirmed by the desperate claiming of his body moments before. You were the only person I’d ever truly loved. The truth of it resonated deep within Dante’s bones, a seismic shift altering the landscape of his existence.
He leaned in slowly, deliberately closing the scant inches separating them. His lips brushed Sukuna’s, a tentative press, starkly different from their earlier collision. It was an exploration, a silent question asked against Sukuna’s mouth. Sukuna didn’t pull away. His breath hitched, a soft intake of air. Then he yielded, his lips softening, parting slightly under Dante’s. The kiss deepened gradually, a slow, searching glide of tongues replacing the frantic clash. Dante tasted salt, sweat, the faint metallic tang of his own blood from split knuckles forgotten, and beneath it all, the dark, familiar spice that was uniquely Sukuna. It was a communion, fragile and profound, sealing the terrifying vulnerability they’d both laid bare. Sukuna’s hand slid from Dante’s to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of hair at his nape, anchoring him. The kiss lingered, a quiet counterpoint to the earlier violence, a promise whispered without words.
They broke apart slowly, foreheads resting together, breathing mingling. Sukuna’s thumb traced the sharp line of Dante’s cheekbone. "Still smell like brimstone and blood," he murmured, his voice rough but devoid of accusation.
"Occupational hazard," Dante rasped back, a flicker of dark amusement in his tired eyes. He shifted slightly, the movement causing Sukuna’s softening cock, still slick with their mingled release, to slide against his thigh. A fresh spark ignited low in Dante’s belly, cutting through the bone-deep fatigue. The hollow ache Sukuna had left inside him throbbed insistently. He needed that fullness again, needed the obliterating sensation to drown the lingering echoes of Damien’s screams and the terrifying fragility of this new understanding. His hand drifted down Sukuna’s sweat-slicked flank, fingers tracing the intricate cursed markings swirling over his hipbone, feeling the powerful muscle beneath. He hooked his leg over Sukuna’s thigh, pulling him closer. "Still hard enough for another round, Dead Man Walking?" The nickname, dredged from their shared past, held a new weight now.
Sukuna’s answering growl vibrated against Dante’s skin. His hand slid down Dante’s spine, over the curve of his ass, fingers pressing possessively into the muscle. "Always hard enough for you, Morningstar." His cock, responding instantly to Dante’s proximity and the possessive grip, thickened against Dante’s thigh. Sukuna rolled them, pinning Dante beneath him with effortless strength. His knee nudged Dante’s legs wider apart. "Turn over." The command was low, thick with renewed hunger.
Dante obeyed, rolling onto his stomach, presenting himself. The cool silk sheets felt alien against his overheated skin. Sukuna’s hands gripped his hips, hauling him up onto his knees. Dante braced his forearms on the bed, arching his back, offering himself shamelessly. Sukuna’s gaze burned over him – the sweat-sheened skin, the intricate tattoos, the marks left by his own hands and teeth earlier, the stretched, glistening entrance still leaking traces of his come. A possessive thrill shot through Sukuna. He spat crudely onto his palm, slicking his rapidly hardening length. The thick head nudged against Dante’s entrance, still loose and slick from their first coupling. Sukuna pushed forward without preamble, breaching him in one smooth, deep thrust.
"Fuck!" Dante gasped, his fingers clawing at the sheets. The stretch was immediate, intense, a delicious burn chasing away the lingering emptiness. Sukuna bottomed out, his hips flush against Dante’s ass, groaning deep in his chest at the tight, wet heat clamping down on him. "Christ, you feel good… still fucking tight." He pulled back slowly, almost completely out, savoring the drag, then slammed home again, harder. Dante cried out, pushing back against the invasion, meeting Sukuna’s thrust with desperate need. Sukuna set a relentless, driving pace, each powerful stroke punching the air from Dante’s lungs, jolting his body forward. The slap of Sukuna’s hips against his ass filled the room, a rhythmic, obscene counterpoint to their ragged breathing.
Sukuna leaned forward, his chest pressing against Dante’s sweat-slicked back, his mouth finding the juncture of Dante’s neck and shoulder. He bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to mark, to claim. Dante hissed, arching harder. Sukuna’s hand snaked around Dante’s hip, fingers wrapping around his neglected cock. It was thick and hard, dripping pre-come onto the silk sheets. Sukuna fisted him roughly, his grip tight, his strokes matching the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. The dual assault was overwhelming – the deep, stretching fullness, the relentless friction against his prostate, the rough hand on his cock. Pleasure coiled tight, a white-hot wire in Dante’s gut, threatening to snap.
"Gonna come…" Dante choked out, his voice wrecked. He pushed back frantically onto Sukuna’s cock, fucking himself on it. "Make me… make me fucking come!"
Sukuna’s rhythm grew frantic, piston-like, driving impossibly deep. His hand tightened on Dante’s cock, thumb swiping roughly over the leaking slit. "Come for me, Dante," he growled against his neck, his own control fraying. "Spill it… fucking mark these sheets."
The command, the sheer possessiveness in Sukuna’s voice, tipped Dante over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him with brutal force. His back arched violently, a raw, guttural shout tearing from his throat as his cock jerked in Sukuna’s fist, spilling thick ropes of come onto the already stained sheets beneath him. The convulsive clenching of his ass around Sukuna’s buried cock triggered Sukuna’s own release. Sukuna buried himself to the hilt with a feral roar, his body locking rigid as he emptied himself deep inside Dante in hot, pulsing jets. He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Dante into the mattress, his breath coming in ragged gasps against Dante’s shoulder. They lay tangled, spent, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the frantic drumming of their hearts.
Sukuna shifted his weight slightly, pulling out gently. Dante hissed at the sudden emptiness, the oversensitivity. Sukuna rolled onto his back beside him, one arm flung over his eyes. Dante stayed on his stomach, his face pressed into the pillow, breathing in the mingled scents of sex, sweat, Sukuna, and silk. The silence returned, heavy but different now. Less charged, more… settled. Exhaustion pulled at Dante’s limbs, a deep, bone-melting weariness. He felt scraped raw, emotionally and physically. Sukuna’s hand found his, fingers lacing through Dante’s with surprising tenderness. Dante didn’t pull away. He squeezed back, a silent acknowledgment.
The heavy bedroom door burst open without warning. Adam stood silhouetted in the doorway, breathing hard, his usual sardonic expression replaced by stark urgency. "Dante! Sukuna!" His eyes scanned the dim room, taking in the wrecked bed, their tangled, sweat-slicked forms. He didn’t flinch at the scene. "Fuck me sideways, you two pick your moments." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "We got a fucking problem. Downstairs. Now." His gaze locked onto Dante’s. "It’s Balial’s crew. They’re at the Inferno. And they ain’t here for cocktails."