“You know there are, like, ten people on the other side of that window,” Jericho teased, already reaching for the buttons on Atticus’s pants, freeing his cock, before going to work on the buttons of his shirt.
“Then you’ll have to keep me quiet,” Atticus rasped, eyes rolling back as Jericho scraped teeth along his shoulder, tossing his shirt towards the desk.
“Lube?” Jericho asked, already knowing what Atticus would say next.
Atticus looked him dead in the eye, making Jericho’s stomach flip in a not unpleasant way. “No, I’m good. I’m…ready.”
Ready. Prepped and ready. That was Atticus, always prepared. “Fuck, Freckles. You are gonna be the death of me.”
Jericho dumped Atticus on the couch. “Face the back. That’s it, on your knees, hands on the back.” He shoved Atticus’s pants and underwear down until they pooled at his knees. “Open your legs for me, Freckles.” Jericho hummed in appreciation at the picture Atticus made.
Jericho unzipped the coveralls he was wearing, pushing his underwear out of the way, rubbing the head of his cock over Atticus’s slick hole. “Fuck, Freckles. I love when you’re already wet for me.”
“I know,” Atticus managed.
“Arch your back for me. That’s good. Just like that.” Jericho didn’t enter him, just continued to rub the head of his cock between his cheeks. “This what you came for?” Jericho asked. “You want me inside you?”
“Yes,” Atticus said, voice raw.
Jericho smacked his ass, admiring the single handprint that appeared on that creamy pale flesh.“Yes, what, Freckles?”
“Yes, please,” Atticus whispered, pressing back on Jericho, making a frustrated sound when he pulled away.
“You know what I want,” Jericho taunted. “Tell me. Let me here the words and I’ll fuck you just how you like it.”
Atticus didn’t hesitate. “Please, Jericho.”
“Good boy.” Jericho slapped a hand over Atticus’s mouth, capturing his cry of surprise, as he impaled him in one hard thrust.
Jericho didn’t give him a chance to adjust. He couldn’t. He was suddenly desperate to fuck him just how Atticus liked it. He snapped his hips into him in hard, deep thrusts that had Atticus moaning behind his hand.
Fuck. He knew Atticus’s body inside and out, knew exactly what it took to make him shiver, sigh, whimper, moan…beg. Atticus always claimed that Jericho used sex as a coping mechanism, a way to blow off steam when he was too emotional or too tense.
But Atticus was the opposite. Atticus used sex as a way for them to feel physically connected. Atticus initiated sex when he was feeling anxious or untethered. Or unloved. Not by Jericho. Jericho loved him more than he loved anyone, more than he could ever put into words, even though he tried to say it every day. Atticus was fussy and closed off and easily embarrassed, and Jericho loved every single solitary thing about him.
He let his hand slide from Atticus’s mouth to his throat, craning his head back to give him a dirty kiss as he pounded into him from behind. “This better, Freckles? Is this what you drove all the way across town for?”
Atticus’s head bobbed as he nodded frantically. “Yes.”
“That’s my boy. Such a slut for this cock you left work early? Did you just need me inside you? Need me to use you, fill you up?”
The words were just as much for Jericho as they were Atticus. It wasn’t always like this, rough and raw and lacking in even the slightest of romantic gestures. No, sometimes, Atticus wanted Jericho to go nice and slow, to tease and torture him for hours until he was sobbing with need. Sometimes, Jericho would fuck him awake, hold him tight as he rocked into him until Jericho’s nightmares disappeared.
August constantly went on about love languages. If he and Atticus had a love language, it was sex, touch, joining their bodies together into one. They had sex daily, sometimes more than once. Adam teased they were like horny teens, unable to get enough. He was right, though. Jericho couldn’t get enough. When it came to Atticus, he was insatiable.
Jericho gripped his hips, increasing his tempo, changing his angle in a way that had Atticus muffling himself with a cushionto keep from alerting everyone outside that he was getting dicked down by his husband in the middle of the day. “Fuck, Freckles. I’m not going to last.”
Atticus looked back over his shoulder, his expression needy. “Good. Fill me up. I want to feel you inside me for the rest of the day.”
“Christ,” Jericho muttered through clenched teeth.
Three more solid thrusts, and then his hips fell off rhythm and he ground himself against Atticus, sinking teeth into his shoulder to muffle his own hoarse shout of release.
Jericho took a minute to savor the aftershocks of his orgasm before saying, “Turn over, Freckles.”
Atticus complied, sliding himself towards the end of the couch like he knew just what Jericho was about to do. He went to his knees, taking his flushed cock and swallowing him down until his eyes watered and his throat convulsed. Both of Atticus’s hands threaded in Jericho’s hair as he started to fuck into his mouth, his head thrown back, lips slack as he abused his throat.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Atticus chanted, then he was flooding Jericho’s mouth, forcing him to swallow or choke. Jericho kept sucking him until Atticus gave him a gentle shove.
