Jericho dipped his head, pressing his lips to Atticus’s ear. “I know that’s what I’m getting.”
“So, I just give you all the power. Let you make my decisions for me?”
“You want so badly to be upset about it,” Jericho said, running his tongue along the shell of his ear. “But I can feel how hard you are just thinking about it. You don’t want to make decisions. You don’t want to do the hard things. You want to play mad scientist in your lab while somebody else takes care of you. I’m offering to be that somebody.”
Atticus felt a strange pang in his chest at the idea of leaving the hard stuff to Jericho. Did it make him a bad person? Shouldn’t he be rising to the occasion, doing his best to grow as a person? What was he talking about? He was a psychopath who murdered people. Who cared if it was the right thing? Who cared if letting Jericho baby him made him a bad person? He’d never thought of himself as same sex oriented, but there was no denying he was Jericho-sexual. He just did it for him in every way.
“Don’t get quiet on me now,” Jericho rasped, still nibbling on his ear in a way he found pleasantly distracting.
“I’m thinking,” Atticus managed.
Jericho laughed softly before biting down hard enough to make Atticus hiss. “Think all you want, Freckles. But we both know you’re already mine.”
Atticus fought to find a way to make this feel like his decision and not just some foregone conclusion. “We could… I could try…on like a temporary basis. Just to see if I’m even capable of being with someone like you. It could be like a…business arrangement.”
“What kind of business are we talking about here?” Jericho teased.
“It has to bother you that we barely know each other,” Atticus said.
Jericho shook his head. “We live very dangerous lives. If we don’t jump on the things we want when we want them, we might never get to.” Jericho had a valid point. He could feel himself wavering. “I’m not letting you go, Freckles. I’m just not. You can call it a business arrangement, an affair, a kidnapping, some kind of midlife crisis. But whatever you call it, you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
Atticus flushed. “I can protect myself.”
“Yeah, but we both know you don’t want to.”
Atticus hated that Jericho was right, hated that he saw through him so easily. “Let’s just figure out who hurt your sister and then we’ll…and then we’ll see.”
“Whatever you say.”
Jericho hopped off the bed before grabbing Atticus, pulling him up, too. “Grab your laptop. I’m going to order dinner.”
Atticus frowned. “You don’t know what I want.”
Jericho grinned. “What do you want?” Atticus’s brain ground to a halt, indecision stopping him in his tracks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll pick. Anything you don’t like?”
“No mushrooms,” Atticus said, tone sullen, even to his own ears.
“On it. I’ll meet you back in bed in ten.”
Was this normal? Was any of this normal? He really wanted to talk to Noah or even Lucas. Atticus froze. He identified with Noah and Lucas. He identified with the two of them more than he did his own brothers.
What the fuck did that mean?
Atticus insisted on paying for dinner, rolling his eyes when Jericho protested. He’d assured him he had more money than he could ever spend in five lifetimes. It wasn’t said with any sort of ego, just a statement of fact. He had a valid point. Jericho gave in. He wasn’t poor, but he wasn’t stupid enough to compare their financial situations.
After they ate, Atticus made popcorn—something he seemed genuinely surprised to find in his own kitchen—and Jericho convinced him to watch a movie in the bedroom. He propped himself up on a few of Atticus’s overstuffed, but insanely soft, pillows, then patted the space between his open legs. Atticus hesitated for a minute before sitting where Jericho wanted him. He hooked his chin over Atticus’s shoulders to watch the laptop propped on his thighs but found he liked the smell of Atticus’s shampoo and the subtle scent of his cologne far more than watching the movie. Cologne he’d clearly put on for Jericho after his shower.
If Jericho had expected Atticus to take the movie seriously, he was mistaken. He kept a running commentary as they watched, none of it particularly kind. Maybe it should have annoyed Jericho that Atticus wasn’t enjoying the movie, except he was enjoying it in his own way. Mocking it clearly made him happy, and Atticus happy was such a singularly bizarre experience that Jericho watched him more than the screen.
“This is not even remotely possible, medically speaking. No wonder children are so stupid,” Atticus said around a mouthful of popcorn, eyes wide as he watched a group of muppets volley their heads back and forth. “This is a kid’s movie?”
“The eighties were wild. But you should know that, right?” Jericho teased. “You’re the elder millennial.”
Atticus frowned. “You act like I’m ready for the retirement home. I’m not that much older than you. What? Ten years, maybe? I get enough of that from my brothers.”
Jericho laughed. “Well, you are the eldest, right? Comes with the territory.”
“Yes, well, sort of,” Atticus hedged.
