“Do you wanna go for round two or do you want me to rewind the movie so you can drool over the idea of you sandwiched between two Michael B Jordan’s first?” Jericho asked after a bit.
Atticus rolled off of him onto his belly, stretching with a groan. “If you have to ask, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Jericho spanked him hard enough to drag another throaty moan from him. He laid on top of him, lips against his ear. “I’ll let you drool over Smoke and Stack if you promise when it’s over you’ll recreate that video you sent me this afternoon in person.”
Atticus glanced at the lube on the side table, then at the clock, heart sinking as he realized how late it had gotten. “We both have to be up early.”
“The lift is broken in the garage and you work for yourself? We can fuck all night, get the kids off to school and then sleep all day.”
Atticus started to protest but realized that—technically—Jericho was right. “Can we?”
Jericho arched a brow. “Who’s gonna stop us, Freckles?”
There were a million reasons why Atticus should say no. Tomorrow was the Villains & Vigilantes party to kick off the weekend. And before that, there were stacks of grants to be filed, clinical reviews to finish, even a meeting with the CDC he was supposed to zoom into tomorrow afternoon. But all of that paled in comparison to the thought of spending all night and all day wrapped up in his husband.
“Okay. I’m in. Let’s do it,” he finally said. “But at some point, we will have to get our costumes.”
“I had Adam grab them when he grabbed his and Noah’s with the twins,” Jericho said. “I cannot wait to see you in that Captain America costume.”
“I can’t wait to see you in yours either, but no funny stuff until the party’s over. I can’t imagine how hard it is to get someone’s jizz out of spandex.” Jericho barked out a laugh so loud it startled him. “What?” Atticus asked, offended without really knowing why.
“I just never expected to hear you utter the word jizz. You’ve been spending too much time with our older children, I think.”
Atticus flicked him on the shoulder, then pinched his nipple until he hissed. “Start the movie before I change my mind and it's you and a cold shower tonight.”
“Mean,” Jericho muttered, rubbing his nipple, even as he reached for the remote.
“You love it,” Atticus said as his husband’s weight settled on top of him like a weighted blanket.
“I love you,” Jericho countered with a kiss to his cheek.
Atticus didn’t say anything, just knocked his head against Jericho’s softly as his husband—finally—hit play.
Thomas had thrown hundreds of parties in his nearly sixty years. Charity galas. Fundraisers. Political dinners. Each one meticulously planned, flawlessly executed, designed to achieve a specific outcome. Planned…by someone else. Party planners. Event coordinators. Noah. But never by Thomas personally.
Until tonight.
Because the specific outcome of tonight’s event…was a murder.
“You’re doing that thing,” Aiden said, adjusting his Crowley costume, a perfectly tailored three-piece suit in shades of gray and black, complete with snake-eye contacts that made his blue eyes look unsettling.
“What thing?” Thomas asked, though he knew exactly what thing.
“That thing where you mentally review every possible variable to ensure nothing goes wrong.”
Aiden turned to straighten Thomas’s collar, his Aziraphale costume, cream and tartan and absurdly fussy, working perfectly on him. “Relax. Everything’s in place.”
“Relaxing is how mistakes happen.”
“Tommy.” Aiden cupped his face, forcing him to focus. “This has been a long time coming. You said it yourself. He can’t take much more. We’ve planned this down to the minute. The perimeter is secure. Elite has thirty plus people monitoring the grounds. Calliope has every camera feed live. The children will be locked down with Ever, Cricket, and Charlie. The guests have been..warned of what might occur.” He kissed him softly. “This will go off without a hitch, just as all your plans do.”
Thomas took a deep breath and let it out. He knew that their victim had suffered more than enough to meet the code. Hell, Thomas had given orders months ago. But what had happened six weeks ago had sealed his resolve, changing the entire trajectory of the party. This had to happen. It had to. Did Thomas need to make this such a…spectacle? Maybe not. But he thought it might soften the blow. Even if it was risky.
He’d never liked the messy kind of justice, too impulsive, too undisciplined. Tonight wasn’t chaos. It was choreography. Every detail, every guest, every locked door designed to serve a purpose.
Thomas allowed himself a moment to lean into Aiden’s touch, drawing strength from his husband’s steady confidence. “And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we adapt.” Aiden’s smirk was sin incarnate. “In the grand scheme of things, this is less a mission and more a…party game.” He released him, voice low and gleaming. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? They survive? Unlikely.”
