Gingerbread Justice League - A Jericho & Atticus Micro-fic (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/UneditedJerichoSince having kids, Jericho was prepared for almost anything when he came home. Most evenings were pretty tame. He’d find Atticus cooking in the kitchen and the kids sitting on the couch or at the counter either coloring or playing on their Switch’s. Sometimes, if Freckles was truly at his wits end, he’d let them watch Bluey or some other kid-friendly cartoon. Most of the time it was organized chaos. Most of the time. Like anyone with kids, they had their moments. Grilled cheese in the Playstation. Sure. Waterboarding a Cabbage Patch doll with their cousins.  Manageable. Coating themselves in Vaseline. Fine. Licking the windows. Less fine, but better than licking the cat so…little victories. Having kids was amazing, everything Jericho had ever wanted, really. He had the perfect family. That said, having little humans around was kind of…gross and surprisingly sticky. Kids were far more unpredictable than any criminal Jericho had ever encountered. Atticus handled the ick much better than Jericho. He said doctors couldn’t afford to be squeamish. Jericho did his best to assist with the other things. Laundry. Cleaning. Bath time. Vigilante justice. That was all him. Atticus liked to tease him. He couldn’t understand how Jericho could rip someone’s teeth or toenails out with pliers but got faint watching his husband remove a lego from Jagger’s nose with an alligator clamp. Jericho didn’t understand it either. He could wade through blood but one well-timed juicy sneeze could have his stomach heaving. Still, he did his best to rally through bathroom atrocities, nightmares, panic attacks, all manner of counselors.But for as long as they’d had children, Jericho had never come home to a totally silent house. Until today. It was so eerily quiet that Jericho found himself practically tiptoeing inside like he was breaking into this own house. He frowned when he saw that the house wasn’t empty. Nobody was speaking. They didn’t even move to greet him. In fact, for a full minute, nobody acknowledged him at all. The Christmas tree was lit, the orange, gold and silver decorations gleaming beneath the white lights. Holiday music played softly on the surround sound and, thanks to their brand new air freshener, the house smelled like butter cookies. It was warm and cozy, but his family looked anything but. His husband sat on the larger part of their sectional, wearing a pair of black pajama pants and one of Jericho’s hoodies. Just the sight of his husband stirred something in him. He somehow still hadn’t noticed Jericho there, maybe it was that he had his head cradled in his hands, the heels of his palms dug into his eyeballs. His two children sat on the sofa, in their matching Christmas pajamas from Cricket—Navy with red and white candy canes—staring at their father with concern and trepidation. Had Atticus done bathtime this early? Oof. That wasn’t good. They were little but not so little they still sent them to bed when the sun was up. It was Jagger who broke the silence, timidly saying to Atticus, “Daddy-” Atticus held up a finger, cutting him off. “Not a single word until your other father comes home. Just…shh. Please.” “Okay,” Jagger whispered. “But…I have something important to tell you.” Atticus raised his weary head to glance at his brown haired boy. “Yes?” “I have to poop,” he said in a whisper, sounding apologetic at least. The neighbors could probably hear his husband’s sigh of resignation. “Fine. Go. Then come right back here.” “Freckles?” Jericho asked, hesitantly, closing the door behind him. His husband’s gaze snapped upwards, a look of relief washing over him. “Oh, thank God.” “Gosh,” Jett corrected. “Yeah, that,” Atticus muttered, looking at Jett. “Why don’t you take a bathroom break too?” Jett frowned. “Cause I don’t have to go?” Atticus gave him a tight smile. “Try. For me.” Jett’s sigh matched Atticus’s for pitch and volume as he slid off the couch and went into the spare bathroom. The moment the door closed, Atticus crossed the room and fell into his arms, burying his face in his neck. Jericho did the same, inhaling his scent on Atticus’s skin. He loved when he smelled like him. It stirred something deep and primal within him. “Rough day, Freckles?” Jericho asked, unable to hide his amusement. “Our kids are monsters,” he muttered, words muffled against his skin. Jericho scoffed. “What? Our adorable, angelic little cherubs. Surely not,” he mocked. Atticus ignored him to ask, “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? I called you three times?” Jericho frowned, slipping a hand into his pocket to find his phone. “Shit, sorry, baby. Looks like someone—” Jagger— “got into my phone again and put my calls on silent.” “I told you that you should use face ID or biometrics. Your codes are so easy our preschoolers figured it out.” Jericho chuckled. “Sorry, Freckles. I was so engrossed in finishing up that job for Coleman that I didn’t even notice how fast the day flew by. I finally got that piece of shit running and out of my garage though.”“That’s nice,” Atticus said, trying—and failing—to sound like he meant it. “Okay, Freckles. What’d I miss?” Atticus sighed, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Oh, just a trip down to the school to have a chat with the school psychiatrist.” “Again?” Jericho said, frowning. Atticus shook his head. “No, no. Not the counselor. Not the clinical social worker. A whole ass psychiatrist, called in special, with MD after her name. They brought her in. Special. Just for our kids. She insisted that I come to the school immediately after today’s incident.” Jericho’s stomach grew slippery. They’d had plenty of problems with the two boys since their adoption, but things had been improving so much lately. They were still working through their massive trauma—most of which even Atticus and Jericho weren’t privy to—and that left them acting out sometimes, trying to inadvertently push their parents and even teachers and other students away. What could they have done this time that warranted calling in an actual medical doctor? “Explain.” Atticus gave him a humorless smirk. “Oh, no, baby. This is more of a show and tell.” He slipped from Jericho’s arms and took his hand, walking him into the kitchen. There was a metal tin decorated with the typical holiday fare…snowmen, Christmas trees, nutcrackers, the usual. Atticus leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, gazing pointedly at the container. “What is it?” Jericho asked, the tiny hairs at the back of his neck standing at attention. Atticus nodded towards it, a look of grim anticipation on his handsome face. “Go ahead, look for yourself. You should be proud, our sons have some…natural artistic talent it seems.” Atticus’s expression did nothing to quell his fear. With a final deep, calming breath, Jericho popped the top on the tin and froze, staring down at the cookies in horror. “What…and I cannot stress this enough…the fuck is that?” “That would be the boys’ contribution to the gingerbread baking and decorating contest.” “Baking and decorating contest?” Jericho echoed. “They are four and five years old. We just got them to stop eating paste. Now they’re teaching them to cook?” “Bake,” Atticus corrected, crankily. Jericho opened his mouth and then closed it again several times, trying to decide exactly what to say about the situation. He finally settled on, “That is a gun in that gingerbread cookie’s hand…right?” “Oh, you mean gingerbread Adam? Sure is,” Atticus said. “Note the attention to detail. It’s so well decorated, in fact, that there was no mistaking what it could possibly be. But even if I had been able to come up with some kind of plausible explanation for a gingerbread version of my brother holding a tiny gun, there were six other people whose likeness your sons thought to immortalize as cookies.” “Why are they always my sons when they’re misbehaving?” Jericho asked, tilting his head. “You were there, too.” “They get their hooligan side from you,” Atticus said, primly. “They get their brains from me.” “So what did you say to her?” Jericho asked softly, closing the gap to press a kiss to his husband’s tightly shut lips. “I said we’d been watching a lot of superhero movies and even a few of the villain ones and that they must have been trying to emulate those.” Jericho was actually impressed. That was actually a pretty plausible explanation. “Did she buy it?” “Enough to lecture me on the effects of cinematic violence on the malleable minds of children,” he muttered. “Oh, that’s why you’re so cranky. You got lectured. You hate being talked down to.” Atticus took each cookie from the tin and set it before Jericho with an almost reverent delicacy. One or both of their children had created what Jericho could only assume was their uncles, each holding their ‘favorite’ weapon of choice. “Of course I got lectured. Look at them,” he said, sweeping a hand across the counter. “Someone needs to wipe my butt,” Jett shouted from deep within the recesses of his bathroom. Atticus scrubbed both hands across his face. Jericho made to head towards their child, but Atticus shook his head. “No. I’ll handle the butt wiping. You sit here and try to find a more plausible explanation for why our entire family is sporting gingerbread weaponry. Just in case we get a visit from CPS.” Jericho stared at the figures. He was…oddly impressed. Atticus was right. There was an exceptional level of detail. He glanced up when he heard the scraping of the stool, then he was looking at Jett’s solemn face. “Hi, daddy,” he said. Jericho smiled at him, leaning his forearms on the counter. “Hey, kid. Rough day at school?” He nodded. “We made other daddy sigh again…a lot.” “Yeah? Do you know why other daddy was sighing a lot?” Jericho asked. “Because the mean lady in her cheap hooker heels said that we showed dis-dis-I don’t remember the word but it meant we’d grow up to be bad people and might have to leave school.” Jericho bit his lip, partially to keep from laughing, but also partially because he wanted to find this woman and beat her ass for putting that look on his baby’s face. “Cheap hooker heels?” he finally echoed. Jett nodded, looking very serious. “Daddy said he refused to take parenting advice from a lady in cheap hooker heels and last season’s Prada.” Jericho snorted out a laugh, that he turned into a cough so his child didn’t think he condoned that type of behavior. If Atticus had resorted to quoting Legally Blonde, that woman had been real close to turning her case files into Jesus Christ himself. His husband was, in most ways, one of the most patient, docile men that had ever lived. It’s what Jericho loved about his prickly mate. But when it came to their children, Atticus had no problems taking the low road, even if it meant backpacking through hell. “Are we bad, daddy?” Jett asked, his tiny brow furrowed. Jericho physically flinched. It was like someone had just curb stomped his heart. “Of course, not. You are two of the sweetest, kindest, gentlest boys I know. That lady just doesn’t understand our family.” Boots hopped up onto the counter to lick her own butt like she was showing off that she did not, in fact, need their help. Jett giggled. Boots sneezed, then left as quickly as she came. She was probably reminding them that she required her fancy overpriced gourmet cat food. Spoiled brat. He didn’t look convinced, his pale skin pinkening just like Atticus’s, blue eyes anxious. “Will we have to leave school?” “No, baby. She’ll leave that school—” And possibly that plane of existence— “before you do. That’s a promise,” Atticus said, carrying Jagger from the bathroom, even though he was getting far too big to carry. He plopped the boy onto the stool beside his brother then walked behind the counter to drape himself over his husband’s back. “Are we in trouble?” Jagger asked, staring up at Jericho with those big, brown boba eyes. He hated the anxious expressions on their faces. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, it was Atticus and Jericho’s fault for not being thorough enough, not stressing enough, the importance of avoiding suspicion. The two boys blamed themselves for everything. No matter how much they reassured them, they always acted like they were just visiting, like a day would come when they’d be told they couldn’t stay anymore. That they had to leave. Jericho and Atticus had sat them down both separately and together, explaining that they’d adopted them legally. That this was their home forever. They would always smile and nod, but it was clear they still didn’t quite believe it. “You’re not in trouble,” Jericho assured them. “But why did you make these?” Jett shrugged. “Cause Ms. Kelly said that we could give them as presents. We wanted to wrap each one up for the uncles cause you guys say they’re hard to shop for.” That was so cute it made Jericho want to squeeze them until they popped. “That’s very sweet. But why exactly are they holding weapons?” Jericho asked patiently. “Not just weapons, daddy,” Jagger said excitedly. “They’re holding their favorite weapon. Cause its their favorite.” His face fell suddenly. “I wanted to do uncle Noah with his favorite thing too but Jett couldn’t figure out how to make a dog.”“Which of you…uh, decorated these? Was it both of you?” Atticus asked, hooking his chin over Jericho’s shoulder, strong arms wrapping tight around his waist. Jett’s eyes lit up. “Jagger did the frosting but I made the shapes. Not the man. That was a metal thing that made everyone’s cookies look the same shape. But I used the leftover dough to make the little weapons.” Jericho could feel Atticus’s smile in his words. “And you guys did such a really good job. But do you remember what we talked about at the Fourth of July party a year or so ago?”“And again at Halloween?” Jericho added. “And a couple of weeks ago, at Thanksgiving when Arabella’s Bratz doll drowned under suspicious circumstances in grandpa’s pool?” They both blinked at him. “How we don’t talk about the family secrets? Do you remember that?” They both nodded, expressions serious. “We didn’t, daddy. We swear. We didn’t talk to anyone about it at all.” Jericho chuckled as Atticus pressed his forehead to his shoulder with a soft groan. “To be fair, Freckles. It’s our fault for not being way more specific.” He felt him nod against his shoulder. For a moment, silence fell over the four of them. Jericho’s gaze floated back to their Christmas tree. This was the first year the kids had helped decorate. FTheir house was cozy, lived in. Like a family lived there. Jericho wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with said family and watch something. They just had to get through this slight bump in their day. “Its true. We weren’t clear enough with you. So, in the future, we need you to promise that you won’t say or do anything that might let people know about our family secret. No weapons. No drawings of blood or knifes or torture devices,” Atticus said.  “Just happy pictures of Boots and flowers and suns. Okay?” “Okay, Daddy,” they said in unison. Jericho reached out and squeezed each of their little hands. “Most people don’t understand that we’re helping the world. And if they find out what we do, we can’t keep people safe. We don’t want to make anyone unsafe, right?” The shook their heads. “Good,” Jericho said. “Why don’t you guys go get your pillows and blankets and we’ll watch The Grinch before bed. I’m sure daddy won’t mind ordering pizza while I’m in the shower.” “Yay! Pizza,” Jagger cried. He loved pizza. He’d eat it for every meal if he could. They wiggled off their stools and ran to do as they were told. Jericho knew they’d get distracted and give him a few minutes to talk alone to his husband.The moment they were alone, Jericho snorted, rounding on his husband. “Cheap hooker heels? That’s not very nice. Freckles.” Atticus scoffed. “She’s lucky I didn’t say anything about that wig of hers. She looked like she’d skinned a golden retriever and wore it on her head like a trophy.” Jericho laughed, his hands sliding down to the swell of Atticus’s rounded ass. “I swear, sometimes you’re cattier than Felix.” Atticus let Jericho draw him closer, letting him grind their hips together gently, making both of them groan softly. “I am not.” “Are too,” Jericho taunted. “You would be, too. She said our children showed signs of deviant and disturbing behavior. That we should have them evaluated. In front of them, Jer. She said it right to their faces.” “What a twat,” Jericho muttered. Atticus nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. I could have called her way worse.” “Yeah? Like what?” Jericho crooned against his ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Atticus muttered. “Actually, yeah, I would. You know how much I love it when you talk dirty to me, princess. Almost as much as you love when I do it to you, too.” Atticus made a tiny half-bitten sound, then reluctantly pushed him away. “Go shower. I’ll order dinner and then we can get them into bed and have a little alone time,” Atticus said, drawing him in for a kiss. “Yeah, Freckles?” he asked, voice dropping low. “What did you have in mind?” Atticus ran his top teeth across his full bottom lip, gaze scorching as he looked his husband up and down. “Well, first, I was thinking of taking these clothes off, then snuggling into our big, comfy bed…”“Go on…”“Then I’m gonna put that big, big—” Jericho could feel his dick taking an interest— “television of ours to good use. I’m talking the trashiest trash tv. I might even open a bottle of wine and dissociate for an hour or three.” Jericho grinned. “Sexy, can I join in?” “Maybe,” Atticus said, prissily. “If you promise to be quiet…and keep your hands to yourself.”Jericho knew for a fact that the second one was bullshit. Freckles loved making him work for it. He wanted Jericho to tease and taunt and beg him just a little, before finally just taking what he wanted. All the while, his little pillow princess would huff and puff and act like he was doing Jericho the favor. It was so fucking sexy. “If you don’t want me to talk then don’t put on Real Lives of Mormon Wives,” he added. “How do you expect me to stay silent when we watch that? They’re Mormon swingers, Freckles. Mormon swingers. Two years ago I thought that was an oxymoron…but now it's…a thing that lives rent free in my head.” Atticus snorted, tugging him forward to fuck his tongue past his lips, exploring lazily. When he pulled back, he said, “You talked through every season of 90 Day Fiance. And Love is Blind. And The Circle. You talked through Love Island. You even talked through Selling Sunset.” Jericho bit at Atticus’s bottom lip, tugging it before freeing it with a pop. “I talk through them cause you get mad when I fall asleep.” “It is possible to watch a show and stay silent while also staying awake,” Atticus pouted. “Not if you’re me. Besides, I let you talk through my favorite movies all the time. Hell, the first time we watched a movie together, by the end of it, you’d practically given me a powerpoint presentation about the exploitation of children and the numerous child labor violations happening within The Goblin Kingdom.” “I still maintain that using literal babies to run your kingdom is not only illegal and immoral but just bad business. Especially when you turn them into puppets. Also, his bulge alone should be grounds for a hostile work environment at least and a sexual harassment claim if nothing else.” Jericho cut him off with a debauched moan right in his ear. “Yeah, that’s it, Freckles, talk to me about David Bowie’s huge bulge.” Atticus snorted, shoving him away. “Go shower. You smell like motor oil.” “You love the scent of motor oil,” Jericho reminded him. “It gets you all hot and bothered.”“I do now,” Atticus said. “You’ve ruined me.” “Not yet, but I will later if you let me,” Jericho said, giving him a grin filled with promise. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Consider me turned on. Go shower so we can spend time with our children.” “What are you going to do with the Gingerbread Justice League over there,” he asked, nodding towards the cookies. “I mean, they worked so hard on them. I figured we’d let them wrap them up and give them to their uncles. They’ll get a huge laugh out of it if nothing else. I was-I was also thinking maybe we should bake some more over the weekend as a family. That way they can finish making the cookies they wanted.” Jericho loved him so much sometimes it felt like his heart might burst out of his chest and sear itself to his husbands. He briefly closed the distance between them one more time, grabbing his face and pressing quick little kisses over whatever skin he could reach. Lips, cheeks, nose, jaw, nothing was safe. Finally Atticus pushed him away for a second time, with more force, skin adorably pink and ears burning red. “Go. Shower,” he demanded, breathing a little heavier. “Okay. Okay,” Jericho said, sullenly. “But only if you tell me you love me.” Atticus rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upwards. “I love you.” “And that you’re mine,” he murmured. Atticus’s eyes roamed Jericho’s face as he said, “Don’t be stupid. You know I’m yours. Only yours.” Jericho leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Tell me how much you love my huge di-” “Daddy!” Jagger shouted, cutting him off. Jericho huffed. “I love our kids, but they’re such cockblocks.” “You weren’t gonna get laid anyway. Go shower, Go,” he said with a laugh when Jericho still hesitated. “I’ll go see what the kids need, then I’ll order the pizza.” Jericho groped Atticus’s ass one more time. “Promise me you’ll at least let me get you off later, as an apology?” “Fine,” Atticus said like he was doing Jericho another favor. “Now go or I’ll change my mind and blue ball you for a month.” “As if you could stay off this that long,” he said, palming himself through his pants. “Daddy!” Jett shrieked. “Duty calls,” Atticus muttered. “Be right back,” Jericho promised, giving him an encouraging slap on the ass. “Love you, princess.” Atticus glowered at him, but still mumbled. “I love you, too.” “I know,” he said with a grin, backing out of the kitchen before Atticus could throw something at him. He headed into their bathroom whistling a Christmas carol, once more feeling like the luckiest man to be alive.