Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13274178.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Satan_and_Me_(Webcomic)
  Relationship:
      Jericho_Fluffle/Hell
  Character:
      Jericho_Fluffle, Hell_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      wow_jericho_how_come_your_mom_lets_you_get_sucked_off_by_the_entire
      concept_of_hell, anyway, Minor_Violence, Blood, oof_also, Blood_Drinking,
      Just_a_small_bit, Praise_Kink, Begging, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Kinda?, Blow
      Jobs, Come_Swallowing, fuck_i_forgot, Masochism, 16_is_the_aoc_somewhere
      guys
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-05 Words: 2179
****** One Hell of a First ******
by SoftSinner
Summary
     basically jericho and natalie are chillin and then hell decides to
     take over and it gets jericho off basically. its a pretty basic fic
Notes
     hi everyone once a boy said he wanted to have sex with me for a power
     trip & also ive liked this concept for a while & those are the
     reasons this fic exists basically
     i only went over this once so there might be a mistakes here and
     there. i need to learn how to be patient enough to yknow properly go
     over something 2-4 times before posting like im supposed to. jericho
     might seem like a little bit of a pussy here and there but tbh this
     is hell were dealing with so calm down and thinking about this
     logically.
     also . i dont very clearly remember a lot that happens before raguel
     skewers titus because my adhd memory is shit so uhhh HHH
See the end of the work for more notes
 
He met Hell a few times, yes. It would slip out and talk to him while he was
alone with Natalie sometimes. It had things to say to him, and even if there
had been no other goal in mind, the time he spent talking to it was enough
motivation to continue wasting his time on the girl he pretended to be
interested in. Since that wasn't the goal, it was an extra treat that Jericho
always liked getting.
Hell was never so touchy, though. It would leer, taunt, threaten, leaving him
scared and feeling helpless, but he was never touched much. It would grab his
wrists and pin them down with a strength that wasn't Natalie's, give him
bruises there that made him have to pull at his sleeves around his parents to
keep them from noticing and asking questions about. Hell didn't care if he got
in trouble. It was probably putting fun first and Jericho's adrenaline high was
just a result of it.
But now Hell has Natalie's hand slowly ghosting up his arm, and it grabs his
shoulder as it smirks at him. It's looming over him now, his lower back against
the floor as he props himself up with his elbows. His breaths are shallow and
rushed.
“What are you doing?” he asks, almost lost for words but needing to say
something. He draws in a deep breath, squirming uncomfortably.
Its hand goes up to cup his cheek; he sucks in a deep, sharp breath and a
shiver goes down his spine. He is terrified. There has been nothing he's
enjoyed more than talking to Hell and feeling that sense of vulnerability when
it got too close or when it made certain threats. But now its hand is on his
face with such a false sense of gentleness and care. This is what he is
enjoying most up to this point.
“Isn't this what you want?” Hell asks. It doesn't even try to sound innocent,
its several different voices blending together has always been enough to this
point to send him into panic mode. Hearing them all now, mixing in a way that's
so threatening, makes him forget how to breathe for several seconds until a
desperate inhale fills his lungs. “This is exactly what you want. Don't claim
you've never thought about it.”
What is it implying?
He already can't think straight, but almost every conscious thought is wiped
from his brain as Hell leans forward and kisses him. It's a flavor that's not
Natalie's, and one he doesn't even no where to begin trying to pinpoint. It
tastes good and so dangerous, and it sends a thrill through him in the form of
a full-body shiver.
When Hell pulls away, Jericho breathes out, “Christ.”
“This is almost the furthest from Heaven a mortal can get without dying,
Jericho.”
It's always breathtaking on its own to hear Hell say his name, but this time it
feels different, so much better. It prompts a question that he can only barely
manage to formulate and get out of his mouth. “What do you mean by almost?”
“We'll get there. Be patient.”
Jericho can't wait and his patience is already prepared to shatter.
Hell kisses him again, more of that intoxicating taste that he can confidently
say he will never be able to get enough of. This time, it bites him. He wants
to bite back for half a second, but doesn't both because Natalie would probably
have several questions and because he doesn't want to test if Hell would stop
if he returned the favor.
He gasps as the skin of his lip is broken, and as Hell keeps kissing him, the
flavor of blood hits his tongue. Hell gets to work sucking at the small injury
right afterward, swallowing all it can get from the minor split in the soft
skin.
“This has only begun,” Hell says with a grin. It's too wide for Natalie's
features and doesn't look right.
His lip starts burning. Maybe the bite goes deeper than he initially thought,
or maybe it's because Hell was the one who gave it to him.
It's not a word he thought he'd say so easily in a situation like this, but his
chin tilts and his voice is unsteady as he says, “Please.”
Hell laughs, and it's dark, threatening, frightening. “Oh, Jericho.”
Jericho is planning on seeing everything it wants to do, but even with that
goal in mind, it takes a great deal of effort not to be pushed over the edge
immediately. His composure slips too far to be recovered immediately as his
head falls back and he lets out a moan.
His parents are too religious and care far too much about certain things—he's
never been given an opportunity for anything like this, and Hell is about to be
his first. It's almost a wonder the fear mixed with the intoxication of the
kiss wasn't too much for him, but he's determined to last as long as he needs
to.
“You love this, don't you, Je-ri-cho.” The way it breaks up the syllables of
his name and stresses the last one leaves his mouth dry. Hell laughs in turn,
cataloging all of his reactions.
“Y-yeah.” His immediate thought is to ask to get fucked, but he finds that he
has a bit of dignity left over. He hasn't thrown it all out yet, and he's
thankful, at least, for that.
Jericho almost expects to have something forced out of him, but instead, Hell
settles down on his lap, leans in, and pulls the boy's shirt to the side so it
can bite down where his neck meets his shoulder. It hurts and his body jerks as
pleasure twists in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, fuck.”
He can feel droplets of blood bead on his skin when Hell bites too hard. This
serves as a sharp reminder that it is in charge, it is the one in control. It's
stronger, more clever, and more cruel than Jericho could ever hope to be. Hell
is, by definition, brutal and unmerciful. He wonders why it's toying with him
like this, but even more, it inspires fear—it could rip him to shreds in an
instant if it truly wanted to.
Jericho almost argues as it tears through his shirt as though the fabric is
nothing more than paper. He bites his lip and holds back what he wants to say,
but he forgets what it is when Hell's nails run down his chest and stomach. He
expected its nails to be sharper than that, but they're just as blunt as
Natalie's always are—Hell just presses hard enough to leave barely-bleeding red
lines against his skin.
Hell gives him a hard shove to the floor, elbows braced beneath him sliding
against the carpet and feeling mildly rug-burned from the sudden, hard motion.
Jericho breathes out harshly against the pain, tensing up hard but relaxing as
soon as it registered that this is nothing short of what he's gotten off
thinking about.
It must know. Of course it does. This must just be a power trip for it.
“Jericho.” It cups his face again, and the softness of the touch with the
malicious look in Hell's mismatched eyes inspires more fear and he swallows
hard. “This is what you want, isn't it? Aren't you grateful?”
He doesn't trust his voice to support the his next words, but he says them
anyway. “O-of course. Please, I need this.”
Hell moves its palm away from his face slowly and allows it to hover there for
a moment. Jericho doesn't have an opportunity to flinch from the anticipated
strike as it pulls its arm back and slaps him hard across the face. His
response isn't a yelp, it's a surprised noise that borders on a moan.
Jericho wasn't aware that it would like to mess around with him so much this
way, but he isn't complaining.
Hell whispers his name softly with all those mixed, interlacing voices, and it
makes him once again nearly come. The effort it's taking to last as long as he
should was tiring him out and making his head hurt.
“Good boy, Jericho. You're doing such a good job. It'll pay off, just let us
have a little more fun. You can wait, can't you?”
“Of course. I can wait as long as you want me to.” The words are barely audible
even in his own ears. He doesn't know what else to say.
That seems like an impossible task as Hell runs its fingers over the scratches
on his chest, and when it works its way down to the marks on his abdomen, his
instinctively sucks his stomach in a little. It burns to have them touched and
they feel worse than they look. It was Hell who inflicted the damage, so it's
no surprise.
“Good boy.”
Jericho closes his eyes and tilts his chin up. “Don't say that right now,” he
groans, more of a desperate plea than anything else. “Please, please, not yet.”
Hell laughs at him, and before he opens his eyes to see what's coming next,
he's crying out as he's hit with the pain of a punch to the stomach. He chokes
on his air, but the tenseness in his body leaves quickly.
He wonders if Hell went to far with that. His parents aren't going to want him
staying over at a girl's house overnight, but maybe if he told them he was just
sleeping on the couch...
He doesn't have time for thoughts like that. He's existing purely in the
moment, and he chokes on something in the back of his throat. He sits up the
best he can, and when he does, he tastes blood and he thinks might puke. He
coughs against the feeling he has in his throat and blood spews from his mouth,
spilling on his discarded shirt and a bit on his side. It's not much, but it
thrills him.
Jericho is pushed down roughly, hands clasped hard against his wrists. Hell's
blunt fingernails dig into his skin and draw blood. There's a popping sound
from beneath its grip on both sides. No more blood is coming up, but his
breaths are short and quick now. There's a cold sweat starting to form, and
when he feels spit pooling in the back of his throat, he's not thinking enough
to keep from panicking. It feels as though, in the moment, he is going to
drown.
What dissolves the panic from his active thoughts is the hard motion over his
clothed cock. He lets out a moan, the forefront of his mind being clouded with
desire. He swears and bites his lip, but that doesn't stifle him when Hell
roughly grinds its palm against his erection.
“Please, fuck, please, I need—”
He doesn't get a chance to continue as Hell pulls his cock free and smirks at
him. That alone pulls a heavy exhale from him.
Hell settles between his legs and takes him into its mouth, so agonizingly
slowly, and he lets out a loud moan. He isn't sure of what he's saying, but
he's pleading, begging, asking for what's already intended for him.
His head is clouded and this is the best thing he's ever felt, the pain from
where he was hurt and the pleasure of having a skilled mouth around him. He has
no sense of volume control—he's not even thinking enough to hope they stay the
only ones in the house for a while.
He's been close for a while and it's been all he could do to keep himself from
getting too close to that line, but this is all too much for him. The tight
coil of pleasure and need in the pit of his stomach comes undone, and he spills
down Hell's throat.
It doesn't seem to mind, swallowing down everything Jericho has to offer before
pulling away and standing up. It briefly looks somewhat disinterested, and it
sits down on Natalie's bed. “Go clean yourself up before she comes back. Maybe
this will give you something to think about.”
Maybe? There's no doubt.
Jericho swallows hard, throat feeling a little bit dry. He pushes himself up
into a sitting position, pulls his pants back up, and looks down at the torn,
bloodstained fabric of his shirt on the floor, briefly wondering what to do
with it. He still has his sweater, so he'll be fine.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. He can't level his voice out, and how Hell is leering at
him again doesn't help.
His legs are so shaky that he almost falls when he gets to his feet, and he
stumbles a couple of steps.
“Careful, Jericho. Don't fall.” It knows he loves the way all those voices
sound when they say his name—it says it so much on purpose.
Jericho nods weakly, still feeling dumbstruck and shocked, and he gets the
feeling that isn't going to be the only time he gets off tonight.
 
End Notes
     thanks for reading this tbh. i kind of have this idea that jericho
     has a lot of weird kinks so next up is probably gonna be like
     "jericho thinks those mismatched eyes are pretty af and gets
     permission to lick them" and yknow hell isnt gonna be deterred
     because oculolinctus is an incredibly tame subject in the grand
     scheme of things. or maybe itll be something genuinely gross
     unfortunately for me, my closest friend and his roommate now know my
     ao3 and thus the kind of content i produce so if one or both of them
     hate me enough to have payed attention this then im probably getting
     kinkshamed. unfortunately for them, i have a degradation kink so
     we'll see who wins if they find this!
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