Atticus wrapped a hand around his flushed, leaking cock, and Jericho couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight as heat pooled in his belly, electricity arcing along his spine, letting him know he was dangerously close. “Fuck, yeah. God, that’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot. I want to watch you come for me, Freckles. Let me feel it.”
Atticus gave three more hard strokes, and then was spilling over his belly and chest. Jericho groaned, hips falling off-rhythm as Atticus spasmed around him, milking his orgasm from him with an intensity that had his vision going black at the edges as he emptied himself inside before collapsing on Atticus, boneless.
They were both sweaty and sticky, but Jericho couldn’t bring himself to move, or even pull free from him. He just lay there, feeling Atticus breathing just as hard beneath him. Jericho was surprised to feel Atticus wrap his arms around him, and even more surprised when he started to scratch his back, his blunt nails following the lines of Jericho’s shoulders, down his back, almost to his ass and then back up again.
This time, it was Jericho who had goosebumps, his lids heavy. He worked his arms beneath Atticus, holding him tight as he drifted to sleep.
* * *
“When did you have time to do all this?” Jericho asked.
They were both freshly showered and wrapped in towels, staring down at Jericho’s non-present.
Atticus looked at the sea of boxes. “I bought it on my phone and paid a courier to drop it off. When they arrived, my doorman placed the packages inside.”
Packages. More than one. Jericho had noticed earlier but was far too preoccupied to question it. “Why is it in so many boxes?”
Atticus looked like he’d swallowed a cactus. “It’s a sound system and some other things.”
Jericho’s heart squeezed. “Some other things?”
Atticus wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I just told the guy at Best Buy to set me up with whatever he thought I needed and to put it on my AmEx card. They’ll be here in a day or two to install it.”
Jericho scoffed. “We don’t need to pay for installation, Freckles. Need something handy done, then I’m your man. Where do you want it?”
Atticus looked around his weirdly cozy apartment, clearly panicking. “Where would you put it?”
Jericho grinned. Atticus really did hate making decisions for himself. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take care of dinner? Do you wanna cook? If not, we could order something.”
“I could cook…” After a minute, he asked, “What should I cook?”
Jericho studied him for a long moment. “What’s your favorite thing to cook? Is it something fancy? Like roast duck?”
Atticus did that thing where his gaze floated away from Jericho, like he had some shameful secret. “My favorite thing? Chicken and dumplings. My mom used to cook it for me when I was a kid. When she was lucid, anyway.”
That was so not what Jericho had anticipated. “Do you have the ingredients?”
“No.” Atticus looked disappointed, then hopeful. “I could have them delivered, but then dinner won’t be ready for about three hours from now.”
Jericho glanced at the boxes. Installing the television and whatever else was in those boxes was going to take a while. “Are you starving?”
Atticus shook his head. “No, I can wait. I’ll call downstairs and ask them to run and get me what I need.”
“They do your grocery shopping, too, Freckles? What kind of magical building do you live in?”
Atticus rolled his eyes. “One with concierge services.”
Jericho shook his head. “You’re so spoiled. Have you ever seen the inside of a grocery store?”
“In real life?” Atticus asked without a trace of humor. “No. The lighting looks so…anemic. Kind of like something out of a horror movie.”
“You’re adorable. I’m stealing some shorts.”
“You should just bring some of your clothes here,” Atticus said, then froze as if he’d proposed marriage.
Jericho didn’t react, just dropped a kiss onto his lips and turned on his heel, throwing over his shoulder, “That’s a good idea, Freckles. I’ll do that.”
Installation was not an easy task. Mostly because Atticus hated the black speakers that needed to be mounted on the walls for the sound system to work properly. When Jericho offered to just skip the sound system so he could return it, he scowled and shook his head. Jericho made a mental note to find a way to hide the speakers to fit in with Atticus’s default decor. Did Atticus even know what spaces he liked?
