Fire & Brimstone Short: Use Your Words - Uriel x Jesse
Use Your Words
I didn’t remember starting the fight. Well, I remembered that I was the one to start it, but the details were fuzzy. I’d insulted the human’s mother or maybe his woman back home? Or maybe I’d made some scandalous insinuation about how nicely my cock would spread that big mouth of his, and I’d make sure he liked it. Yeah, something like that.
But the details didn’t matter. Not really. All that mattered was that we were outside in the light rain, and the pain from his fists was crystal clear and sharp. My blood was metallic and hot in my mouth, and I spat it onto the ground with a laugh.
“That all you got?” I goaded the burly man, and he bared his teeth at me. The next fist caught me in the jaw, and my teeth rattled. Pain crackled through my bones, flaring white and warm and glorious, even through the haze of ambrosia.
The drink dulled my senses, helping numb the pain deep inside from the broken bonds, those frayed edges that writhed and burned. Yes, it helped with that pain, but it didn’t erase it completely. The only way to focus on something that wasn’t the empty hole in my chest where my Committeds had been was to seek out other, more prominent forms of pain.
I’d never been a masochist before. A sadist, yes, but never one to revel in my own physical agony. But grief did strange things, even to angels.
So I’d pushed and prodded until the drunk human who was triple my size had finally lost his composure. And now, here I was, laughing into the mud as his foot connected with my side. Every breath was torture. My body wracked with pain, glassy and exquisite. In the face of the physical agony, the tattered bonds faded away. It was bliss. It was relief. It was—
“Hey, stop! Leave him alone. Stop.”
“Fuck off, kid.”
My foggy brain dimly took in the sounds of a scuffle.
“Leave him alone.”
“Fine. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the ugly fucker outta here.”
The mud was thick and cool against my unscarred cheek, and I sighed. I felt more than heard someone standing over me. I cracked my eye open, but it was dark and the rain was heavier now. I couldn’t see.
“Master Uriel?” The voice said.
“Oh fuck,” I muttered. It was an angel. Depths of Sheol.
“Here. Let me…” Hands lifted me gently from the ground, slight calluses on the palms. Holy shit, he had big hands. I loved a man with big hands. Obie had big hands.
“No,” I whimpered at that, shoving aside the thought of those big, dark hands digging into my thighs as I rode his cock, my fingers around his neck, limiting his air supply. Those endless eyes, staring at me with adoration as I choked him. “No.”
“It’s okay,” the soft voice said. “I’m just getting us out of the rain. It’ll be okay.”
I allowed his big hands to half-drag, half-carry me from my bed in the mud. My body protested, but my stupidly perfect angelic DNA was already healing the superficial wounds the human had given me. The pain was lessening, and I grasped at it desperately. Because this pain was so much better than the inner torment that haunted my every waking step.
“Let me go!” I tried to snarl but it sounded more like, “Lllemmego.”
“Almost there,” he said, and I slumped into a lean but solid body. I smelled… Riley? No, not Riley. It was close, though. That summery smoke that all hybrids carried on their skin. But this one was sharper, darker. Like sap and peppercorns.
I heard the smile in his voice as he said, “You said I smell like peppercorns.”
“Did not,” I grunted as the rain sprinkling over my head diminished to just a few stray drops here and there. My back met a wall, and I hissed as I slumped down onto my ass.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Blinking through the ambrosia and rain, I met a pair of molten gold eyes. For a minuscule slice of time, fear and rage roared through me, and I nearly summoned my swords. Because Lucifer was the reason I had lost everything, and I wanted to watch the life bleed from him as my fingers crushed his heart.
But Lucifer was long dead, and the face looking back at me—though it looked so similar—was not the face of the Fallen prince. This one was longer, with a square jaw and thicker brows. And those eyes, pure gold, were wide and sweet and innocent. No, this wasn’t Lucifer.
“Jesse?” I said, and the hybrid’s thin lips pulled into a shy smile.
“Hello, Master Uriel.”
“I’m not your teacher,” I grumbled, “or your master.”
At the word master, Jesse’s cheeks flushed pink, and he looked away. “I know.”
Bowels of Hell, I did not need this right now.
“Leave me. I’m fine now.”
With a furrowed brow, Jesse shifted on his knees, shrugging out of his jacket. He wore a loose singlet underneath, showcasing his toned biceps and broad shoulders. I liked guys with broad shoulders. Broad shoulders. Big hands. Innocence that begged to be corrupted. I wondered briefly what the kid would sound like if I used my belt to make him cry.
No! That was dangerous. I hadn’t played that way since… just since. And in the times I had stomached a quick fuck, it had been a ram-bam-thank you, ma’am for the sole purpose of having an orgasm not at my own hand. Even contemplating going there with this… this child, this hybrid kid who looked too much like his sire, was the epitome of bad ideas.
It didn’t matter that he had to be twenty years old by now. Compared to my too-long life, he was nothing but a kid. A kid I had no business imagining naked and bound.
“You’re bleeding,” Jesse said unnecessarily. Then he tugged that flimsy singlet over his head. His golden skin pebbled with gooseflesh, and I was momentarily distracted by the surprising amount of chest hair he had. It was thicker than I would have expected, tight blond curls smattering his pecs and circling his dusky nipples.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, angry and horrified as my cock twitched in my pants.
Faltering, Jesse blushed a deeper red. “I don’t have anything else.”
I said nothing.
He swallowed thickly. “I just wanna help. Can I… may I, please… s-sir?”
He stuttered on that word, but it made my chest tighten all the same. No one had called me that in decades. My throat felt tight.
“Sir?” he said again with more confidence.
When I did nothing but glare at him, he must have decided that was answer enough. He carefully reached out and pressed his shirt to my face. He wiped away the mud and blood that had started to dry, tacky on my skin.
He cleaned my smooth, unblemished cheek, then moved to the other side where my face was a mess of warped ridges and scarred flesh. After all these years, it didn’t hurt anymore. If anything, the sensitivity on the scarred parts of me was dulled. The skin pulled taut and stretched uncomfortably at times, and my ruined hand was stiff more often than it wasn’t, the fingers refusing the bend the way they should. But it didn’t burn. Not anymore.
As he cleared my face of blood and muck, his gaze jumped from my eyes to the places he cleansed. There was no hesitation, no disgust, not even when he cleaned what remained of the shell of my left ear. He was gentle and kind and… Maker, he looked awed that I was even allowing him to touch me.
Why I was allowing him to touch me, I didn’t know. I should be shoving him as far from me as possible. I should be cursing at him. I should be—
“Your fingers are broken,” Jesse interrupted the drunken raging in my head. He lifted my scarred hand carefully, bringing my attention to the bone-deep ache there. Two of my fingers were crooked.
“It’s not like they work right when they’re not broken,” I said, and the words sounded pathetic to my own ears.
Jesse grimaced but didn’t comment. Instead, he lay his now-stained singlet on his lap, then covered the top of my burnt hand so it was nestled between his big palms. Heat erupted, and red ripples sputtered and swirled to life. His power was a little abrasive, unnatural in a way an angel’s energy never could be.
I tasted ozone on the back of my tongue. Then those damn peppercorns, popping along my tastebuds.
“I’m not very good at this,” he warned. “But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anyone can ask of you, boy,” I said without meaning to, and Jesse inhaled sharply. His power burned brighter, sinking into my skin. It set my teeth on edge, the unnatural wrongness of it all. But I gritted my teeth and endured it.
“Fuck!” I barked the curse as my fingers snapped back into place. I couldn’t remember breaking them. Maybe the human had crushed my hand under his steel-toed boot at some point.
Jesse winced. “I’m sorry. I’m really trying—”
“You’re doing well, Jesse. So well.” I didn’t mean to croon the words at him, but when he shivered at the sound of my voice, I couldn’t regret it.
His cheeks were red again, and those broad shoulders were covered in goosebumps. An unsure smile teased his mouth, and when his eyes jumped to mine, he was looking at me in awe again.
“My fingers are fine now,” I said after almost a full minute of eye contact. “Jesse?”
Like it took extra effort, he grimaced and closed his eyes, pulling his energy back from where it had crept up my wrist to mid-forearm. “S-Sorry,” he said, snapping the connection between us rather abruptly.
I grunted at the suddenness. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, eyes wide and panicked at the thought.
“You did fine,” I said soothingly, and a lopsided grin spread over his face.
He looked young and innocent, and I had the irrational desire to see what he looked like with tears carving tracks through my cum on his cheeks. Would he beg to taste me? Would he be desperate to choke on my cock?
Oh, he would look magnificent secured in rope, shibari knots leaving beautiful bruises on that golden skin. Skin that would redden under my crop, my cane… my hand.
Like he could read my mind, his cheeks darkened a deeper red, his pupils expanding, threatening to overtake his golden irises. His sclera flickered red, then white, then red again. Back and forth, like a broken fluorescent bulb.
Maybe he could read minds? Lucifer had been, to a certain extent, gifted in mental manipulation. Had he passed that along to his hybrid spawn?
The thought of this kid rooting around in my head made my hackles rise, and I crooked an eyebrow at him. Impossibly, he blushed darker. I grinned, feeling loose and a little wild.
“Oh, little hybrid, I don’t think you want to go down that road,” I crooned, and his breathing quickened.
“I…” he swallowed thickly. “Sir, I—”
“Granted, you do look good on your knees. You enjoy that position, boy?”
This was dangerous. I was treading on thin ice, but I was drunk and shockingly pain-free. I felt floaty, like I’d smoked a blunt of salvia. And standing over the hybrid as he choked on my cock suddenly sounded like a great idea.
Jesse hadn’t answered, so I sat up straighter and glared at him. “I asked you a question. Do you enjoy being on your knees?”
Unable to meet my gaze, he nodded. Had he been my sub, I’d have slapped him for not answering audibly. But we hadn’t discussed consent or terms. We hadn’t discussed a thing. So instead of hitting him across the cheek, I snapped my unscarred fingers in his face. He startled, wide eyes latching onto mine.
“Use your words,” I said, slow but stern.
“Y-Yes, sir,” he stammered.
“You like being on your knees?”
“What else do you like, little hybrid?”
I’d heard rumors about Jesse, and I’d been in the lifestyle for over a century. It was almost too easy now for me to spot a submissive. But I’d been wrong before, and though I would never be ashamed of my desires, I wouldn’t force them on someone else. Unless they wanted to be forced, of course.
“I… Sir, I…”
He was trying, bless him, and I enjoyed every second of his floundering. So I remained quiet as he grew more flustered, tripping over words that weren’t even words. I considered how to proceed, and a tiny voice in the back of my head—that sounded suspiciously like Riley—chided me for not putting a quick end to this.
I was drunk. Jesse was… young. Neither of us were in a place to play responsibly. But none of that was going to stop me. Not tonight.
Shifting my foot, I pressed my muddy boot between his legs, and he yelped. He curled inward, but he didn’t remove my boot from his crotch. He stared down at it, then at me. His pupils were blown, his cheeks and neck red. He panted choppily
“Do you want what I can give you?” I asked, pushing my boot harder against his stiffening cock.
Tight fists rested on his thighs, bracketing my leg. Still, he didn’t push me off. He nodded.
I dug my heel into his erection, and he whined. “The next time you don’t use your words, I’m going to punish you. Is that understood?”
“Oh fuck,” he breathed before his head bobbed up and down. “Yes. Yes, Sir.”
“Do you want what I can give you, boy?”
“Yes, Sir,” he said.
“If I shove my dick in your worthless mouth, will you like it?”
His eyes fluttered shut. “Yes, Sir.”
“If I push it so far down your throat that you can’t breathe, will you take it like a good boy?”
His response was strangled, but I could make it out. “Y-Yes, Sir. P-Please.”
“And if I hurt you for no other reason than because I want to, will you worship me for it?”
“Fuck!” He shuddered, and I felt him kick against me through my boot. He’d come. From nothing but my words and the heel of my boot crushing him. Oh, he was perfect.
Well, almost perfect. He’d come without permission. I’d have to teach him better.
Except… no. I wouldn’t. Because I didn’t play like this anymore. And I was too tweaked out of my head to even be teasing the hybrid this way. Fuck. Fuck! What was I doing?
Scrambling to my feet, I wobbled with uneven balance as Jesse blinked his golden eyes open. He looked at me dreamily, a dopey grin on his face. A wet patch was leaking through his skin-tight jeans where he’d come. I watched it expand.
“Thank you, Sir,” he breathed the words, gaze dropping to my hips.
I followed his stare and balked. I was noticeably hard. He licked his lips, and my brain said, “Run, run, run as fast as you can.” But then my feet said, “The ground is undulating,” and my cock said, “Fuck his mouth until he cries.”
“Master Uriel?” Jesse remained on his knees, hands resting demurely in his lap. He looked at my erection, then at my face, then back again. “Sir, I—”
“You didn’t ask permission,” I snapped at him, and he jumped.
Eyes wide, he glanced down at the mess he’d made of himself, and his cheeks splotched with embarrassment. He pressed a hand to his jeans, as if to cover up the evidence, and I chuckled.
“Look at what you’ve done. And without even asking.” I tsked. “Pathetic little hybrid.”
“I’m sorry,” he gasped out the apology, eyes watering in shame. But his pupils were blown, breaths coming in, choppy and desperate. And even though I was humiliating him, he leaned toward me, straining, silently begging for more. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Fisting my good hand in his hair, I yanked his head back and smiled down at him cruelly. “Not yet, you’re not.” I forced my stiff, scarred hand to unfasten my pants. “Open your mouth, boy.”
“Oh fuck,” he whispered, eyes rolling back into his head.
I shook him, and his eyes flew open, Adam’s apple leaping under his skin. “You want it?”
I freed my aching cock. “Are you sure?”
“Please,” he whimpered.
“Then beg me.”
He hesitated, and I waited. He warred with himself for a moment, and I allowed it. Because, according to society, we weren’t supposed to beg for anything. We weren’t supposed to crave submission or offer control to someone else. We weren’t supposed to revel in our own humiliation purely for the sake of another.
But that was why it was such an incredible gift. Trust and submission, handed over willingly, was beautiful; it was a heady thing to accept. And something I would never forcibly take. So I waited, watching every emotion flit over Jesse’s face as he fidgeted with nerves.
Then he said, “Please.”
I arched an eyebrow. “What was that, darling?”
“Please, Sir. Please, let me suck your cock. I want it. I want you to use my mouth. I need—” His hands rose and gripped my thighs, fingers digging in. “I need it. Please. Oh fuck, please let me.”
“Beautiful,” I cooed, giving his hair a hard tug.
He gasped, lips parting. I slipped my cock inside his hot, wet mouth without warning, and he made a surprised, strangled noise. Then he moaned. Or maybe the moan was mine because, fields of Elysium, his mouth was perfect.
“I’m going to fuck that pretty throat of yours until you choke,” I told him, and he moaned, eyes sliding shut as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. I smacked his cheek, just hard enough to sting, and those golden eyes were on me again, wide as saucers. “If I wanted you to suck my cock, I’d tell you to. Relax your throat and take it like a good little hybrid.”
I barely gave him a chance to whimper before I pulled back and snapped my hips forward. He gagged. I withdrew long enough for him to cough and gasp in a breath before I was shoving my cock back into his mouth. His fingers grasped at my thighs, but he wasn’t fighting me or pushing me away. He clung to me and, if I wasn’t mistaken, tried to haul me closer, to quicken my pace, to fuck his mouth harder.
I did none of those things because he wasn’t in control, and he apparently needed to learn that the hard way.
Driving into his mouth again and again, I tightened my grip on his hair and pulled every few seconds. Every time I thrusted into his throat, he choked and gagged. Spit slicked his mouth and chin, and—oh yes, there were the tears. Brilliant round droplets leaked from the corners of his eyes.
“So beautiful,” I moaned as my rhythm faltered, my orgasm teasing the base of my spine. “Taking my cock so good. So fucking good.”
Jesse’s eyes closed, his groan vibrating up my dick and settling in my balls. His jaw went slack as he surrendered completely, letting me use him like a toy. My good hand tangled in his hair as my ruined fingers loosely circled his throat. I added just enough pressure that he would feel it but it wouldn’t impede his breathing.
Pliant and perfect, he continued a stream of moans as I brutally fucked his hot, wet mouth. Lost to the high of pleasure, my thoughts faded and my brain short-circuited. All that mattered was the tightness of his throat around me and the slickness of his tongue on the underside of my dick.
My orgasm caught me off guard. One second, I was praising Jesse for his gorgeous tears, and the next, I was burying my cock so deep in his mouth that his nose touched my pubes, emptying my cum down his throat.
Vision white with pleasure, I threw my head back and groaned my release. Jesse tried to swallow—honestly, with how deep I was in his throat, he didn’t have much of a choice—but a fierce satisfaction rolled through me when my cum leaked out the corners of his mouth.
When the aftershocks faded, I finally released my death grip on his hair and eased my cock from between his lips. His saliva and my cum slicked his lips and chin, and he was blinking slowly, like he was waking from a wonderful dream. He looked utterly used and debauched, and it made my orgasm all the more fulfilling.
A tentative finger raised to his mouth, touching the slick mixture surrounding his lips. He smiled, shy and blissed out, and my own lips responded. I smiled down at him, petting his golden hair.
“Good boy,” I praised him, and he preened. “Such a good boy. You always are, Obie.”
The name escaped without thought, and ice slid through my veins, freezing me in seconds. Jesse frowned and blinked again, shaking off the haze of pleasure. He looked up at me, hurt and confusion in those metallic eyes, and I… I…
My vision blurred, and my eyes stung. The oxygen around us wasn’t enough. I couldn’t breathe. Maker, I couldn’t breathe!
Because Obie wasn’t here. Neither was Delilah. They’d been blown to bits and hacked to pieces. They’d left me to somehow survive eternity alone. They were dead, and how had I honored their memory? By mouth-fucking Lucifer’s spawn in an alley?
My stomach rebelled, and I tasted bile on the back of my tongue. “Fuck.”
It was the first time Jesse had used only my name. He sounded so small and unsure, and the immense guilt crushed my shoulders. I should have reached for him. I should have apologized. I should have told him that it wasn’t his fault, that I was just too fucking broken inside to ever be what he needed.
But I was a coward. My heart was breaking, and the shattered bonds in my chest were burning. A lone tear snaked down my cheek, and Jesse stretched out a comforting hand, expression stricken.
The second before his fingers touched my hand, I squeezed my eyes shut and did the most deplorable thing. I called upon the fishhook, feeling it dig deep into my spine and tug. Then I disappeared with a crack, spiraling through time and space, leaving Jesse alone in the grimy alley, the evidence of my orgasm still smeared on his cheek.
Copyright Ⓒ 2021 by Nikole Knight