Fuck.
Atticus held Jericho’s hand the whole ride back to his fancy apartment, even though he stayed mostly silent. It was a comfortable silence, with Atticus absently drawing circles onto the back of Jericho’s hand with his thumb.
Silence didn’t bother Jericho. If anything, raising and running a crew of teens—some of which had come to him as young as twelve—had taught Jericho to value the quiet. Still, to amuse himself, he turned on the radio and sang along, singing all the dirty parts directly to Atticus, which made him all flustered and flushed, Jericho’s two favorite looks on him.
When Jericho reached the valet, the kid with the car obsession—who he’d learned was named Diego—jogged over and opened the driver’s side for Jericho. “Hey, J. What’s good?”
Jericho grinned. “Everything, D. Everything.”
“Did you catch the game the other night?” Diego asked.
They’d briefly bonded over a love of soccer. “Nah, man. Work has me super busy lately. I’ve got it recorded, though. Don’t tell me anything,” Jericho said as he walked around the truck.
He opened Atticus’s car door for him just as Diego slid into the front seat, both of them stepping out of the way before he sped off in the direction of the valet parking lot. As they walked into the building, Atticus asked, “What was that all about?”
Jericho frowned. “What was what all about?”
“You and him. Do you even know him?” Atticus asked, tone sour.
That shouldn’t have made Jericho smile, but he couldn’t help it. He loved jealous Atticus, and seeing that side of him twice in one day was almost too much. “I know him as the kid who likes my Bronco and who I talk to whenever I’m here to visit you. It’s called being friendly, Freckles.”
Atticus stiffened when Jericho placed a hand on his lower back, stepping away from him. “Well, I don’t like it.”
Jericho chuckled. So prickly.
Before he could formulate any kind of response to sooth Atticus, the elevator in the lobby dinged and the doors opened. He walked to the back of the empty car, turning to lean against the wall, facing the mirrored doors. Atticus stood just in front of Jericho, his back to him, a good two feet between them. Yeah, he was definitely mad. Why did Jericho love that so much?
As the doors began to close, he fished two fingers into Atticus’s belt loops, dragging him back so his ass was nice and snug up against Jericho’s now half-hard cock. When the doors were less than an inch from each other a tiny, withered hand shot between them, triggering them to open once more.
They both watched as a little old lady stepped inside with a tiny white dog stuffed into her Balenciaga bag. Atticus tried to pull away, but Jericho held tight, hooking his chin over his shoulder to whisper, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Freckles. We don’t want to scar Nana for life with the hard-on I’m sporting right now.”
Jericho watched Atticus startle in the reflection before relaxing against him. Fuck, Jericho wanted to do dirty things to him. “You look sexy as fuck when you pout, Freckles. It makes me want to do very bad things to you,” he rasped.
Atticus shifted, his hands not so subtly trying to hide his own erection. The woman made no eye contact. She turned up her nose, staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge them at all. At the third floor, she floated off the elevator, never looking back.
Once the car began moving again, Jericho let his mouth explore Atticus’s neck, up to his ear, his hands sliding around his hip to palm over his cock.
“There are cameras in here, you know,” Atticus said, voice raw.
“Good. We’d look so hot on film together,” Jericho teased. “I bet you’d love watching me fuck you. Maybe we should put a mirror over your bed.” Atticus snorted but still pushed his ass back against Jericho, head dropping to the side to give his lips better access to the spot where his neck and shoulder met. “Yeah, you’d definitely like that.”
Jericho settled a hand around his throat as he ran his tongue along the shell of Atticus’s ear, continuing to fondle his now rock hard cock. “Maybe I’ll just fuck you bent over the bathroom counter so you can watch me driving into you, so you can see the way your eyes get all cloudy and your mouth goes slack. So you can watch how you make these breathy little ‘uh uh’ sounds each time I thrust into you, letting me know just how deep I am inside you. What do you think, Freckles?”
Jericho felt Atticus’s Adam’s apple bob beneath his hand as he swallowed audibly. The elevator slowed, dinging before the doors slid open. Atticus was off like a shot, practically speed-walking the short distance to his door, fumbling as he seemed to momentarily forget his key code.
Jericho caught up just as Atticus gave a surprised grunt, pitching forward, almost tripping over an enormous cardboard box. Jericho caught his arm, righting him once again, staring in confusion at the minefield of boxes waiting just inside the door. “What’s all this?”
Atticus flushed, mumbling, “A television.”
Jericho’s heart tripped in his chest, his mouth going dry. “You bought me a television, Freckles?”
Atticus looked anywhere but at Jericho. “I boughtmea television. But you can use it when you’re here.”
Usually, Jericho would tease him but this didn’t seem like a ha-ha moment. This meant something. It had to. Like a way for Atticus to let Jericho know he wanted him to feel comfortable in his space. “I thought you didn’t like TV?”
Atticus shrugged stiffly. “I don’t. But you do. It’s not a big deal.”
Jericho turned Atticus towards him, cupping his face. “It’s a big deal to me.”
