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Young Gods

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Even as Jack's fingers curled into the blank canvas of Rhys's neck, there's a soft noise beneath where he stood. His eyes lock onto the image of his affections, the Hyperion employee looking paler than usual. There was a heat of pink brushed over his bottom lip from where he had been biting it, nearly hard enough to break his porcelain skin. Jack almost wished he had.

"I want to worship you." Rhys gasped, his throat convulsing beneath the feather touch of Jack's calloused hand. "I need to… to… obey you, Jack."

The wind outside howled. Glass windows shook wildly in their steel frames, mirroring the energy Rhys felt trapped in his body as he knelt on the floor at Jack's feet.

"Is that so," He responded slowly, absently petting the unblemished skin at Rhys's neck with his thumb. The droning sound of an oil rig being worked to its absolute limits played on in the background, somewhere outside, somewhere irrelevant to the pretty little thing Jack held in his hands now.

"I think you should then, pumpkin– worship me, that is."

Rhys whimpered, pressing harder into the subtle curve of Jack's hand at his neck. The space between his knees grew by a small amount – Jack certainly noticed with growing relish.

"H-how… should I…"

Jack threw his head back and laughed, an obnoxious bout of uproarious laughter that made Rhys want to disappear in shame, despite how the front of his boxers stretched uncomfortably a little more than a moment ago.

"That's rich, kiddo. Absolutely rich. You can't just say you want to fucking worship me, and then ask how." Jack was having a hard time getting the words out between shuddering fits of laughter. "You want to worship me, Rhysie baby? Get on your fucking hands and knees for daddy. Show me how badly you want to worship me."

Rhys blanched. He'd never been so violently humiliated in his life; while everything in his body told him to bare his teeth and snarl in response, his traitorous cock grew in excitement between his spread legs. His palms hit the floor unceremoniously while his eyes followed suit. Jack was still fully clothed, contrasting the fact that Rhys was sporting only his boxer-briefs.

"Look at me."

Jack's command was hardly affected by the scene before him – his voice was as smooth as silk, his goal of completely dominating Rhys refused to budge despite the erotic scene. That was something Rhys absolutely despised. No matter how heated their exchanges became, Jack held his ground and didn't succumb to his urges until it was when he wanted to succumb. Struggling to keep ahold of his blooming curiosity and frustration, Rhys looked up, his ECHO eye's pupil a different size than his other.

That's how Jack knew he truly had Rhys wrapped around his finger.

"You want to worship me, right, cupcake?" Before the question had even completely left Jack's vocal cords, Rhys was nodding, his lips parted while quivering, shallow breaths squeezed in and out of his lungs. "Tell me what you want, sweet cheeks. Use your words. That's what daddy wants."

Rhys swallowed. He was ready to talk ten minutes ago, but now? On his hands and knees, his erection straining against the front of his underwear while he stared up at the object of his untamed lust and long-term admiration… Next to impossible.

"I… Want to be your devotee," He started carefully, eyes not leaving the expressionless mask attached to Jack's face. That was another thing – how could Jack do that? Just… stare at him like that. Rhys made a small noise of pent up desire, his cheeks flushing with a fresh layer of color. "I w-want to forget everything besides you."

Jack kept staring for a long moment – perhaps even a few – before he smiled, making Rhys's heart leap into his throat. "Even Hyperion," He stated, curiously on the edge of becoming a question although it was an extension of what Rhys was assuring him. His offering was well received, of course, as Rhys nodded, gasping into the quiet room a noise of simple confirmation.

"Everything."

The room stayed quiet, despite Jack's expression looking like he was positively purring in satisfaction. Rhys slowly lowered himself to his elbows, letting out a soft noise of surprise when his clothed cock bobbed against the floor. Able to steady himself more easily, he lifted a hand hesitantly, fingers quivering in the air as he reached for contact against Jack's slacks.

"What… do you think you're doing?" Jack snapped, his boot immediately rising off the floor and falling down on Rhys's hand. "Darling, ah ah ah… How could you?" He ground his foot down, crushing Rhys's hand under his weight. There was a heavy moment where Jack paused, as if expecting some kind of clever response from his partner.

Instead, Rhys was desperately trying to stay silent throughout this exchange, but when Jack's sole bit down harder against his hand, he let out a sharp cry of pain. Now was not the moment he wanted to acknowledge the fact that the floor had to be swept in short order, as granules of sand dug into his flesh with the pressure Jack was exerting on him. It just added to his swelling discomfort, biting gaping wounds in his pride. He almost wished he wasn't in this situation to begin with, although he knew that he would be a fool to say he wasn't without blame here.

"I don't think you should be touching your god without permission, Rhysie. You know what I mean? That's just–," Jack laughed, running a calloused hand through his hair, shaking his head like someone had told him a worthy joke. "That's just fucked up!"

It was… Hah. Rhys almost had to laugh as well.

It was, without a doubt, insanely fucking hot how this got to Jack's head. A little frustrating at first, but when Rhys really let his pride go for the evening, there was nothing stopping him from becoming putty in Jack's hands. He wanted to build him up higher and higher, to see how prideful his god would become for him. It was like a drug, to see Jack's pride grow while his withered away to nothing. A well-cooked drug, and he was a terrible, relapsing addict. 

He fucking needed this right now.

Rhys finally whimpered, not certain it was okay for him to speak. When Jack quirked an eyebrow quizzically at him, he opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, y– you're right." His eyes cast downward, Rhys could see the way the blood beneath his skin fled from where Jack had pinned his hand, the flesh looking ghastly on the edges. He absently noted that he couldn't quite feel his fingers anymore. 

He also noted he didn't care.

"Oh, pumpkin. I know I'm right. I'm always right."

Jack grinned wickedly, and with one final twisting grind of his heel, he released Rhys's hand, pushing his obnoxious throne of a chair back in the process, enough so he was inaccessible to the man desperate for his affections. Whether it was intentional or not, Rhys did not know, but he knew it wouldn't curb his itch to touch Jack's skin.

The damage to his hand was minimal, so Rhys paid it no mind, flexing his fingers a bit to get the blood flowing properly again while his eyes eagerly followed Jack's form. He would go to any lengths to please this man. With the heat from his cock kissing the lowest regions of his abdomen, Rhys tried to ignore the fact that his pooling lust made him as thoughtless as he cursed Jack for apparently being on a daily basis.

"Yes, Jack," He breathed into the empty space between his face and Jack's legs, "My mistake."

Jack's expression had rarely been more wild, the smile of a maniac stretched across his face in his pleasure. He swallowed thickly, known to Rhys only due to the bobbing of his Adam's apple, the muscles quivering beneath delectable skin along his neck.

Ashamed, Rhys tried to hide the fact he had started rutting in the slightest against the floor, but Jack's eyes flickered over his flexing ass; nothing could escape him. Certainly not when it came to Rhys. His expression remained the same, save for the quirk of an eyebrow. "How's the floor feel, baby? Better than my hand?"

Rhys sobbed weakly and, unable to even try holding any semblance of a tough facade at this point, dropped his hips down completely against the floor. It was cool against his thighs, and the chill nipped at his skin beneath his boxers. It was a mindless acknowledgement in the very back of his mind credited to his body's need to respond to possible extreme temperatures. Truly, nothing would dare cross his mind save for the need to bow beneath Jack’s will. 

Not quite able to spit out the words, Rhys bitterly acknowledged that nothing could feel better than Jack's hand against his cock. Perhaps his mouth. Or—and Rhys choked on his breath at the thought—his gloriously tight ass, so tight it was considered mind-altering by Rhys. No, he was simple-minded in that he just wanted two things right now. To touch Jack, and for Jack touch him.

It's an uncomfortably long moment before Rhys realized he hadn't responded, so he shook his head in exasperation. Jack knew the answer. He usually did during these kinds of games. To be in control, one had to be in possession of the answers, and Jack – he was the game master. Every action, every movement, every breath Rhys took was because he allowed it. The gun on Jack's hip made everything about this fucked up game seem all the more real, and when Rhys's eyes slid to glance over the holstered Hyperion branded weapon, his ECHO eye was quick to tell him it was fully loaded.

Oh.

Rhys felt his cock swell when another rush of sweet, sweet arousal hit him, settling in his nether regions. Every time he thought he couldn't get harder, his cock surprised him. Even now, aware of his aching need, he knew his cock had been thicker and hotter before. Still unable to process much beyond the pleasurable scene playing out with him in it, Rhys didn't that his boxers had begun to drag down with the slight humping of the floor, and the waistband was slipping below his hips.

"Oh, pumpkin. Don't tell me this," Jack purred, his keen eye noticing Rhys's shift in attention before drawing his gun, "is what you're really craving right now?"

He has to keep from crying out in disagreement. The gun made his skin prickle in a way that few objects could, especially in the hands of Handsome Jack, but his goal hadn't changed in the least. "Please, no, I– I–… Let me touch you."

Jack's grin seemed to widen even further. Rhys felt like a frantic, trapped animal realizing it was on the menu.

"Not yet, cupcake."