Atticus was leaking into his underwear, his cock aching to the point of physical pain. Nothing got him worked up like Jericho’s voice, his filthy words, his utter devotion to making his husband do depraved things with him.
“You wanna come, baby?” Jericho purred knowing full well Atticus couldn’t answer with his mouth full. “Why don’t you slide your hand into those sexy undies and jerk yourself off for me? Hmm? Think you can come before I make you swallow this load? Cause I’m so close. This slutty little mouth of yours has me on the brink.”
Fuck. Atticus took himself in hand, using the precum leaking from his cock to slick his grip. It wasn’t much help, but it didn’t matter. The raw sticky catch of his grip was just this side of painful and had him fucking up into his hand, ready to spill anysecond. His other hand was on Jericho’s ass, trying to force his cock deeper into his throat, craving that lack of oxygen, chasing that same high from earlier.
Jericho gave it to him, gripping his hair and fucking his mouth with the same brutal efficiency as before, forcing himself into the tight squeeze of Atticus’s throat again and again until he was so gone he couldn’t think, just feel.
Jericho pulled back, until only the head of his cock was inside. “Oh, fuck, Freckles. I’m gonna come. Open up for me.”
Just hearing those words were enough for Atticus’s own orgasm to drag him under as Jericho’s bitter seed filled his mouth. He loved the feel of it, the taste, everything. He loved the way Jericho looked down at him while he used him. Atticus’s whole body shuddered as he shot his own load over his stomach and chest, the pleasure making his vision go black momentarily.
When he came back to himself, Jericho was sitting on the sofa once more, Atticus’s head in his lap, his soft cock in his mouth. Atticus sighed, content. This was his idea of heaven.
They lay there for a long while, Jericho petting him—his hair, his face, his ear…anything within reach—as Atticus nursed at his cock until he was half-hard on his tongue again. He only stopped when he realized if he took it any further, Jericho was going to want round two and Atticus was getting hungry. For food.
“Do you wanna just order something for dinner?” he finally asked.
“Whatever floats your boat, Freckles.”
“Do you want me to get the names of some child therapists for you? I can ask Lucas?” Atticus asked as thoughts of Ever came back into his head.
Jericho sighed. “Yeah, that would be good. I think the kid definitely needs to talk to someone about what happened to him.”
“Should we…try to figure out who he is? What if he has a family like Noah? What if there’s some woman who’s been looking for him for years?” When Jericho didn’t answer right away, Atticus looked up at him, frowning at the look of distress on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I just keep thinking about that tracking device. On its surface, it makes sense that she was the one who chipped him. That way she could let him outside knowing he had to come back. Hell, she even put it between his shoulder blades so he couldn’t reach it to cut it out himself. But there’s something…familiar about it, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“You thinking slave trade?”
“Could be. There’s a huge Vietnamese and Thai pipeline in this area. The boy could easily be from either of those places. Or she could have purchased him in a black market slave auction… or just abducted him from his front yard in broad daylight. I don’t know, but we can’t very well take him to the cops and say we found him wandering around, they’ll have questions and they’ll all lead back to that bitch’s dead body.”
“I have an idea, but you might not like it,” Atticus said.
“Alright,” Jericho said, tone hesitant.
“What if you just let the boys handle it?”
“The boys?”
“Yes, your boys. The murder muppets. They’re not kids anymore. We’ll still help if they need us, but let’s maybe sit this one out and see how they go it alone.”
“And if they fuck up?” Jericho asked.
“Then we’ll step in and unfuck it up, but only then. It’s time we let the next generation do their thing.”
“I don’t think that boy can handle much more,” Jericho said. “Arsen has his own scars and baggage. I’m worried the weight of Ever’s trauma might crush them both.”
“It’s not your decision to make. They’ve…trauma bonded. However that plays out for them is solely up to them. Traumatized or not, they’re both adults.”
Jericho sighed, then played with Atticus’s ear. “You’re right, as usual, Freckles.”
“I know. But it's nice to see you so easily on board for a change,” Atticus teased then cried out as Boots landed smack in the center of his stomach. “Oof. Boots. You weigh a ton.”
“You should never comment on a woman’s weight, Freckles. You know that.”
“Don’t worry, Boots. We like our women curvy,” Atticus said, scratching behind her ears.
“What women, Freckles? You got a woman I don’t know about?”
