“You’ll take what I give you,” Jericho told him, voice low. Atticus made another frustrated sound, rocking harder. “Fuck, you look so good riding my fingers. Such a good little whore for me. You want another? Want me to stretch that slutty little hole, Freckles?”
“Yeah,” Atticus panted.
“Say please.”
“Please,” Atticus whined.
“You beg so easily now, huh?” Jericho teased. “Always so fucking hungry for it, so desperate to be all fucked out and sloppy, stuffed full of my come, huh, baby?”
Atticus buried his face in the pillow. Fuck, there was nothing hotter than Atticus when he was being shy. But Jericho would make him say it. He pulled his fingers almost all the way out. “Tell me. Tell me how much you love my cock. Tell me how much you love being used up.”
“I-I love your cock. I love you inside me. Fuck me, breed me, use me up. I want to feel you leaking out of me all night. Please. Please. I can’t take much more.”
Jericho was so hard he could probably have pounded a nail through a board with just his dick, but he wasn’t done teasing, He added more lube, then fucked three fingers into him. The sounds were obscene, just Atticus panting and moaning, and the wet squelching sound of Jericho violating his husband's increasingly sloppy hole.
“Enough. Please. We’re going to run out of time and I want you inside me. Stop playing.”
Jericho fought the urge to laugh. “Bossy, bossy, bossy,” he said, but he was already pulling his fingers free, wiping them on his dirty jeans, before yanking at his belt and zipper.
Just like Atticus’s pajama pants, Jericho didn’t bother to take them off. Instead, he just shoved them out of the way, yanking Atticus’s hips back, then slamming home in one deep thrust that had them both groaning.
“Oh, fuck, Freckles. You’re so wet for me. Is this what you needed? You needed to get fucked hard? Huh?”
Jericho gripped his hips, holding him in place as he pounded into him with purpose, the sounds Atticus was making letting him know he was hitting the right spot every time. He clawed at the sheets, his mouth slack, eyes shut. He was already so far gone.
Sometimes they would fuck for hours while Atticus just laid there body slack, come drunk from too many orgasms, letting Jericho use him, fill him up again and again. Atticus loved being used like Jericho’s personal fuck doll and Jericho was happy to oblige.
But tonight wasn’t going to be one of their marathon sessions where he took him apart all night long. There was no time. Atticus took himself in hand, fucking into his own fist in time with Jericho’s thrusts.
Jericho wanted to see, he wanted to watch his husband jerk off. “Ride me?”
Atticus nodded. “Yeah, okay, but hurry up. I need to come.”
“Who are you tonight?” Jericho said around a laugh. “Where did my sweet, submissive husband go?”
“Our kids chased him off. I’m what you get tonight.” Atticus pushed Jericho onto his back, then hurriedly did away with his pajama pants, slinging a leg over Jericho’s hips then lowering himself back on Jericho’s dick with a low moan. “You always feel so much bigger this way.”
“Yeah? Show me. Show me how much you love taking it. Fuck yourself. I need to feel you come on my cock.”
Atticus didn’t even hesitate, placing one hand on Jericho’s thigh to lean back, pistoning his hips up and down while he jerked his cock. He looked so goddamn good, riding him like a porn star with his head thrown back, mouth slack, these tiny little ‘uh, uh, uhs’ panting out of him each time he bottomed out.
Jericho groaned, eyes rolling behind his lids. “Oh, fuck, Freckles. That’s it. Goddamn you're so fucking wet. You look so fucking hot riding my dick.”
Jericho was so deeply entranced watching his husband, that he was surprised when Atticus said, “Touch me. I want to feel your hands on me.”
Christ. “You don’t need to tell me twice, Freckles. You know I can’t get enough of you.”
Jericho could feel his own release building, but he tried to stave it off. “Come on, baby,” Jericho coaxed, rough, calloused hands sliding up Atticus’s chest to tease at his nipples.
That did it. It always did. Like some kind of pressure release valve. Atticus gave a hoarse shout, then was painting his cum across Jericho’s stomach and chest, grinding himself down on Jericho’s cock as the last tiny spasms shivered through him.
Jericho barely noticed, too caught up in his own climax, waves of pleasure dragging him under as he emptied himself inside his husband.
Jericho winced as Atticus pulled off him almost immediately, then rolled onto his side of the bed, breathing hard as they both stared up at the ceiling.
“Well, that was…” Jericho started, but was too winded to continue.
“Yeah,” Atticus agreed, his fingers finding Jericho’s and threading them together.
