The Movie - A Villains & Vigilantes Party Prequel with Jericho & Atticus (Patreon)

I was gonna do an afterparty fic but I just really needed to write some domestic smut with my boys. Unbeta'd/Unedited. I am taking out the poor four fic from the anthology to save it for a Jericho's Boys anthology but this and the other fics requested will be in the V & V anthology. This is mostly just smut and fluff.

Atticus

Atticus’s breath caught as the solid weight of his husband’s body trapped him against the counter. After years of this, maybe he should have gotten used to it. Maybe the way his head tilted to the side instinctively was him getting used to it. He bit his bottom lip as Jericho’s mouth explored the column of his neck. The kitchen around them was dim except for the warm glow from under the cabinets, the only light they’d bothered to leave on after getting the kids settled. It painted Jericho in amber, big hands, bigger shoulders, and that familiar heat rolling off him like a second skin. Atticus could still smell the sugary scent of the cookies he’d made with the boys after dinner, could see the dish soap drying in streaks on the counter, and the remnants of salt he’d missed from the twins' attempts at making ‘holy water.’

Which was, according to them, salt water. Atticus didn't feel the need to disavow them of this idea. The last thing he needed were the boys trying to find an old priest and a young priest.

“Are our little demon hunters finally asleep?” he murmured.

“Mm,” Jericho said, distractedly, his rough hands sliding around Atticus’s hips and under his pajama pants, squeezing in a way that made him want to groan.

 His palms were warm, the heat seeping through the thin cotton of Atticus’s shirt, grounding him in the most deliciously domestic way. His lips brushed along Atticus's neck. He tilted his head to give him more access, his cock already stirring with interest.

“Guess exorcisms take a lot out of you,” he said, his hand coming up to catch in Jericho’s dark hair, holding his mouth to his skin.

He could still hear faint echoes of the chaos from an hour ago, little feet pounding down the hall, a holy-water-soaked teddy bear hitting the tile, the twins arguing over whether demons preferred under beds or inside closets. Now, the house was calm, their world shrinking to the press of Jericho’s body and the low rumble in his chest.

“Think our boys will ever learn to say no to their cousins?” Jericho asked.

Atticus snorted. “Well, given that there’s only three other females in the family besides the twins, and those three women run all of our lives, it’s not looking good, statistically speaking.”

He felt Jericho smile against his skin. The Mulvaney’s and, by extension, Jericho’s boys, had learned long ago that letting the women make the decisions made all of their lives so much easier. He didn’t think the next generation would be any different. The only variable was that none of the women in their lives currently fell under any known psychopathy, unlike Adi and Ara who seemed to take after August. They were the wild cards. 

Atticus shivered as another soft kiss landed on his neck. “Still want to watch scary movies with me, Freckles?”

“Is that code for ‘do you want to try to concentrate on a bad movie while I fuck you?’”

Jericho huffed out a laugh. “You know me so well.”

“That I do,” Atticus admitted. “But you’re painfully transparent when it comes to motives.”

“I told you a long time ago, Freckles. I’m a simple man. Feed me, fuck me…”

“Financially support your increasingly expensive addiction to gourmet nut milks?”

Jericho snickered. “Nut milk.”

“How did I marry such a child?” Atticus asked fondly even as he ground his ass against his husband’s half-hard cock.

 Jericho’s groan vibrated through him, warm and sinful, and Atticus felt his own breath hitch. Jericho always reacted like Atticus was some kind of miracle he didn’t quite deserve, and Atticus never knew what to do with the way that made his chest ache.

“Nut milk is objectively funny at any age, Freckles. Besides, I believe my almond milk falls squarely under the ‘feed me’ category, thank you very much.”

“I’m tempted to crack a joke about having some ‘nut milk’ for you but I don’t want to encourage you.”

Jericho bit his earlobe. “This slutty little waist is encouraging me to put you on all fours so I can drill you until you sound like one of those scream queens.”

Atticus scoffed. “My waist is not slutty.”

“You’re shaped like a Dorito, Freckles. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, slutty, slutty, slutty little waist, perfect ass, great legs. I’m gonna start making you wear baggy clothes. Don’t want to share any of this.”

Jericho’s voice was a low growl, possessive and amused, the exact tone that always made Atticus’s knees feel shaky. He loved that Jericho never tried to hide the hunger in him. He loved even more that Jericho aimed every drop of it at him.

Atticus blushed. “You get more ridiculous every day.”

“Your ears are turning bright red.”

“Go find a movie,” he said, shaking off his husband like a dog might shake water off themselves. “I’ll make popcorn.”

Jericho groaned, like leaving Atticus physically pained him. “Fine. But you will be fucked full before the night is over. Just know that.”

Atticus had always known that. He could count the amount of nights they’d gone without sex on one hand. Jericho took both the ‘feed me’ and ‘fuck me’ part of their informal vows almost as seriously as the love, honor and cherish parts of their actual vows. Maybe moreso. Though Atticus admitted he felt plenty loved, honored and cherished when his husband was buried inside him. 

He watched Jericho retreat toward the living room, broad shoulders rolling under his worn black tee. Jericho paused once to glance back at him–hungry, affectionate, possessive–before disappearing around the corner. Atticus’s heart squeezed painfully. God, he adored that man. He adored their ridiculous life, their chaotic children, their messy, loud, perfect home. Sometimes it felt so surreal he worried he’d wake up and find it was all some coma-induced fantasy.

He rolled his eyes at the notion and tried to put the idea of sex away...at least for now.

He’d grown used to prepping himself as part of his daily routine, knowing that it paid to be…ready…at all times. Jericho’s “feed me, fuck me, love me” schedule was predictable in its own chaotic way, and Atticus preferred to be prepared rather than caught off guard with a lust-drunk husband. He made the popcorn, as promised, grabbing Jericho a beer and himself a sparkling water before heading back into the bedroom.

The hall was dim, the only light a soft glow from the sconces that the decorator had insisted were ‘ambience lighting,’ though were now used so the kids wouldn’t run into the walls during late-night bathroom trips. The house felt warm, lived-in, blankets everywhere, cat toys shoved under furniture, and a faint lavender scent from the twins’ diffuser drifting down the hall. It was impossible not to feel a little sad they were leaving.

When he entered the bedroom, Jericho took the beer he offered, then set the popcorn down on the bed before patting the space between his raised knees. He watched as Jericho cracked the beer with practiced ease, taking a long pull before setting it on their side table beside the very obvious bottle of lube.

Atticus hid a smile as he made himself comfortable, his back to Jericho’s firm chest, his head resting against his shoulder. He was bigger than Jericho in both height and weight, but in his arms he always felt small. Jericho had a way of folding around him like gravity, like Atticus’s body was the center point his own curved toward. Jericho was such a predatory creature, pulling him against him to nuzzle his neck within seconds.

“You could at least hit play first so we could pretend this isn’t all just part of some seduction scene.”

“Why pretend, Freckles?” he asked, dragging his hips back so Atticus could feel how hard he was already.

Jericho made no attempt to hide anything, not his desire, not his moods, not the way Atticus affected him. He was shameless, and Atticus secretly adored it. He’d spent far too much of his life secretly worried about the ulterior motives of others, what they thought of him, whether he was passing as a person convincingly, whether he was doing well enough for his father and brothers to acknowledge his part in the family. 

“Are you ever not horny?” he asked. 

Jericho scrunched up his face as if contemplating the question. “There’s usually a brief, thirty to sixty minute recovery period directly after we fuck where I feel temporarily sated.”

Atticus huffed a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jericho held him tighter, his mouth right against his ear as he murmured, “You love that I can’t get enough of you.”

“I can neither confirm or deny said allegations,” Atticus said, snuggling back into his arms.

 Jericho’s chest rose behind him in a pleased, smug breath, the kind that always gave Atticus a flutter low in his belly.

His breath hitched as Jericho’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging until he craned his head back to reach his mouth. Atticus opened for him without thought. He tasted like Guiness. Warm, dry, familiar. It mingled with Jericho’s breath and the faint aftertaste of buttered popcorn. God, Atticus loved this man, this big, rough, relentlessly affectionate menace who kissed him like they’d been apart for years rather than hours.

He let himself get caught up in it, so easily sucked under by his husband. He never got tired of kissing him; if anything, his need only seemed to grow. Something that would have scared him five years ago.

Jericho cupped his chin, holding him in the slightly uncomfortable position, before he whispered, “You seem awfully hungry for someone who was just complaining, Freckles.”

“Start the movie, or I’m going to bed,” he countered, nipping Jericho’s bottom lip.

Jericho laughed, then hit play. Atticus frowned, staring at the screen. This was not an ‘80s horror movie. The first strains of jazz music played over the credits, but Atticus was dazzled by seeing blue skies and fields of cotton in 4k. Everything looked so vibrant. Words appeared on the screen. Clarksdale, Mississippi, 1932. He frowned as he sat up a little straighter.

“What is this?”

“Sinners.”

“It’s a horror movie?” he asked.

Jericho shrugged. “So they say. Noah recommended it. He said there was something about it he was positive you’d like.”

Atticus frowned, watching the opening scenes in confusion. Was this some kind of zombie movie? Demons? He couldn’t imagine what it was that Noah thought he could possibly think was so great about–

“Are there…two Michael B. Jordan’s?” he heard himself say out loud. 

Jericho snorted, shaking his head with enough effort that Atticus felt it even without looking. “I guess Noah was right,” he said, his tone somewhere between amused and jealous. 

Atticus didn’t acknowledge his pouting husband’s words, just stuffed popcorn in Jericho’s mouth, before stretching out on his belly before him, resting his chin on his palms as he locked in on the screen.

His feet swayed idly in the air as he counted down the seconds in his head. Jericho was patient in many ways, but not when it came to Atticus’s attention on other men. Even ones he’d never meet face to face. 

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Jericho asked, sounding just huffy enough to stir something deep inside Atticus’s belly.

“Shh,” Atticus said, doing his best to sound annoyed. “This is probably important.”

He could feel Jericho’s eyes on him. 

"Is it hot in here," he asked, then wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it onto the floor, before returning to his previous pose, subtly adjusting so his back arched just so. 

He shivered when he felt the bed shift slightly. 

Atticus hid a smile. Yeah. They were absolutely not watching this movie to the end.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, Freckles." 

He bit his lip as Jericho lifted one of Atticus’s legs, kissing his ankle, gravity dragging his pajama pants to his knee. Atticus shivered at the warmth of Jericho’s mouth contrasted with the cool air of their bedroom, every nerve ending in his calf lighting up like it remembered this exact touch. His eyelids fluttered as Jericho began massaging the muscle there. Still, he pretended to give his undivided attention to the beautiful men on the screen.

Jericho slowly worked his way up his body. He used those rough hands with a gentleness that never made sense, hands that rebuilt engines for fun, kneading Atticus like he was something precious. When he hooked his fingers in Atticus’s pajama pants, he lifted his hips to help without a word, letting him strip him bare. 

When his mouth skimmed the back of his knee, he said, “You remembered to lock the door, right?”

Atticus froze, then glanced toward the lock, noting it was still unguarded. “Oops.”

Jericho heaved a sigh, then extricated himself from between Atticus’s thighs, slapping his bare ass hard enough to drag a sharp gasp from him. Atticus’s toes curled, a startled, molten shock rocketing up his spine. the handprint throbbing in time with his aching cock, now trapped between his belly and the mattress. 

The lock closed with a snick and then Jericho was back, laying his whole weight on top of him.

“Oops?” he asked, biting Atticus’s shoulder. The bite wasn’t hard, just enough pressure to make Atticus’s breath catch, to remind him who he belonged to. “Is that what you would have said if one of the kids walked in on us when I was balls deep inside you?”

“But they didn’t. Besides, you said we were going to watch a movie. How was I supposed to know you planned on defiling me?” he asked with a delicate sniff. “You lured me into bed under false pretenses.”

“False pretenses?” Jericho scoffed. “I told you what I planned to do to you earlier when you sent me that very dirty video while I was at work. It’s not my fault you got distracted by our children’s extracurricular demon hunting.”

Oh, right. Jericho had promised he would make good on fucking him later after Atticus had gotten the idea to send him a video of himself while home on his lunch break. He’d worked hard on that masterpiece, had even set up the ring light just to get the right angle before he crawled up onto their bed. 

He’d laid there, ass up, dick in one hand and vibrator in the other, loudly moaning his husband’s name as he fucked himself while pretending it was him. It felt like hours had passed since then. A very long, very inconveniently chaste number of hours, one of which had involved being chewed out by a nun. Talk about a mood killer.

“We also had a call from the builder, a call from Dad about our costumes for tomorrow, an apology from Lucas about the girls, getting the monsters to bed, a frantic call from Arsen about the lift at the garage not working. It’s been a long day. I’m sorry I forgot about letting you breed me.”

Jericho huffed out a shocked breath. “Wow,” he said, dragging out the word, “there’s never been a day so long that you forgot you promised to let me inside you before. I guess the romance is dead, huh?”

He rolled off him dramatically, mirroring Atticus’s position beside him suddenly pretending to be engrossed in the movie. Atticus tried not to laugh. He knew his husband’s antics well enough by now.

“Oh, don’t pout,” Atticus said, crawling over Jericho to blanket him like he’d done moments ago.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, their bodies aligning naturally, Atticus draping himself over Jericho’s back, chest to shoulder blades, warmth to warmth. He let him feel how hard he was, rutting against his husband’s perfectly muscular yet very clothed ass. Jericho went limp beneath him, letting Atticus kiss the back of his neck, fingertips sliding down his sides.

“It hardly seems fair that you’re still wearing clothes while I’m completely naked,” Atticus said. “I think we should fix that.”

“Oh, yeah? You in charge tonight, Freckles?” Jericho murmured, bucking up beneath him just enough to lift him up.

His voice dropped low, syrupy and amused, the kind of tone that always made Atticus’s stomach swoop. Jericho loved to pretend he wasn’t affected when Atticus took the lead, but his body always betrayed him first, hips rising, breath hitching, muscles flexing under Atticus’s hands like he was starving for it.

“Well I’m not gonna fuck you if that’s what you mean,” Atticus said, dryly. “We tried that once. You’re too bossy.”

Jericho snorted. “I think what you meant to say is you came too fast?”

Atticus huffed. “I said what I said.”

Jericho bucked his hips until Atticus lifted up on his knees, letting him roll over. “Okay, Freckles. You’re in charge then. That’s fine with me.”

Atticus bit his lip when he noticed Jericho staring at his–impossible to miss–erection. He slid his palms up under Jericho’s shirt, biting his lip at the smooth warmth of his skin. He tugged the material over his head and tossed it into the abyss, practically drooling over all that honey skin just waiting for his attention. He hooked his thumbs in Jericho’s sweats. The fabric peeled away slowly, catching on Jericho’s flushed cock and thick thighs, hissing like the cold air offended him.

Atticus fell forward, bracing himself on one hand as he licked into his husband’s mouth, his hand finding one hardened nipple and pinching. Jericho moaned into his mouth. For all his talk, he was so sensitive to touch. When Atticus scraped one blunt nail over the rigid flesh, Jericho’s whole body arched up like someone had hooked a wire to his spine, the sound he made low and involuntary, half growl, half plea, all Jericho.

“What did the builder want?” Jericho asked against his lips, hips restless beneath his, his cock pressing into the crease of Atticus’s thigh.

Atticus smiled. So that was how they would play it tonight–Jericho trying to pretend he was unaffected by Atticus’s attention? He could try, but his voice was already warm and unsteady, breath ghosting over Atticus’s mouth. He never lasted long.

Atticus pulled away, dipping his head to lick the flat of his tongue over the nipple he’d just been toying with. Jericho’s hand immediately found his hair, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, not pushing, just holding, anchoring, like if he let go his whole body might float away.

He scraped the tightened nub with his teeth. “They tried to paint our walls that hideous eggshell color.”

“Oh, the horror,” Jericho said, breath hitching when Atticus sucked his already reddened nipple. 

His laugh vibrated under Atticus’s lips, a deep rumble in his chest that Atticus swore he felt all the way down to his toes.

He pulled his head free, giving his other nipple the same attention only long enough to make Jericho grunt, before moving lower to dip his tongue into his belly button. “Listen, we move in less than six weeks. I don’t want to have to worry about repainting the house with two kids and a cat underfoot. Oh, and the puppy somebody promised them if they got straight A’s.”

Jericho’s breath broke sharply as Atticus dragged his tongue down his happy trail, stopping just above where his cock lay heavy and trapped, precum pooling beneath. His abs jumped under Atticus’s mouth, every muscle tightening like Atticus was drawing invisible shapes on him with electricity.

“In my defense,” Jericho said through a strangled exhale, “I didn’t think they’d pull it off.”

Atticus hummed against his skin, wicked and pleased. His hands slid up Jericho’s ribs, feeling every breath, every tremor. Jericho pretended to be the big scary one, but underneath the bravado he melted like butter under Atticus’s hands. It was one of Atticus’s favorite things about their marriage, that this man, all rough edges and blunt force, went soft only for him.

Atticus licked the sticky wetness from his stomach, letting his tongue graze the flushed head of his erection. “They’re in kindergarten. It’s pass/fail.” 

He took him into his mouth, tongueing at his slit. Jericho made a high sound that only Atticus’s mouth could pull from him. “S-See, loophole,” he managed. 

Atticus snorted, sucking just the tip, the sound obscene over the muted screams coming from their television, now all but forgotten. He pulled off to say, “Yeah, right. They’ll have the girls acting as their attorneys within an hour of that argument starting. And we’ll lose.” 

Jericho made another strangled sound, staring down at him as Atticus made a show of flicking his tongue all around the sensitive head of his cock. 

“Fuck, Freckles. I’ve missed this mouth.” 

Atticus caught his gaze. “Prove it.” 

Jericho’s pupils blew wide, nostrils flaring. “Oh, Freckles. You’re just begging for me to ruin you.” 

Atticus licked up the underside of his length, following the fat vein there, before letting his teeth scrape lightly. Jericho’s thighs flexed, tightening around Atticus’s hips, another harsh sound escaping his lips as he tightened his fingers still resting at the nape of his neck. 

“Think you can?” Atticus taunted.

He braced himself at the dark glint in his husband’s eyes. 

Jericho planted his feet, forcing Atticus’s head down as he thrust up, his cock hitting the back of his throat with enough force to knock tears from his eyes. Not even anticipation could keep him from gagging around him, saliva filling his mouth and dripping down his chin. Jericho gave him no reprieve, immediately fucking his throat like he wasn’t a person, but a toy to be used without thought. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look when you’re choking on my cock, Freckles,” Jericho growled. “I love making a mess of you. My perfect little cocksleeve.” 

Atticus moaned around him, rutting against the mattress, pleasure jolting through him at the friction as Jericho used him mercilessly, forcing his cock deeper with every stroke. “That’s it, baby. Gag for me. You’re so fucking filthy for me. Letting me fuck you like a whore, drooling all over yourself while you fuck our mattress like a desperate slut.” 

Atticus whined even as his jaw ached and his throat burned like he’d swallowed fire. He would take far worse just to know Jericho was pleased with him, to know that he was the only one who ever got to see him falling apart like this. He ground himself into the mattress, wishing it was his husband’s hand. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jericho panted, hips thrusting hard and fast like he was too far gone to stop. Atticus just took it. There was a time when the slick sounds of his throat being brutalized would have had him dying from embarrassment, now it only stoked the fire raging inside him. He could feel himself leaking into the mattress, couldn’t help but dig his nails into Jericho’s muscular thighs, just desperate for something to ground him.

“Gonna come,” Jericho panted. “You’re gonna take my load, right? You look so good with your lips wrapped around my cock. Gonna swallow every last drop, aren’t you, princess?” 

The sound that escaped Atticus was something between a wail and a scream, his orgasm ripping through him at Jericho’s words. He soaked the mattress, his brain scrambling as Jericho continued to fuck his cock past his lips, pulling back only enough to flood Atticus’s mouth with his bitter release. 

There was so much it was leaking from the corners of his mouth.  

“Don’t waste it, Freckles,” he growled. “Be good. Swallow it all for me.” 

Atticus did as he was told without thought, his whole body shaking with the aftershocks of his own unexpected orgasm. He continued to nurse Jericho’s cock through his release, truly not wanting to waste a single drop, just like Jericho said. 

Neither moved as they came down from their highs. Jericho let Atticus cock warm him as he combed fingers through his sweaty hair, belly heaving beneath his head. Atticus could fall asleep just like this. Hell, he had fallen asleep like that before. Jericho’s softening cock in his mouth, in his ass…he liked feeling they were still connected. There was something soothing about it. It made him feel safe. 

After a while, Jericho said, “Did you come untouched just from me calling you princess?” 

Atticus flushed, his whole body growing hot. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. He let Jericho slip from his lips before mumbling, “I can’t say that it was that specifically. It could have been any number of things.”

“Come here, princess,” Jericho teased softly, pulling him up until he could wrap his arms around him. “You’re so fucking sexy it kills me.” 

Atticus went willingly. Letting him manhandle him until he was tucked under one heavy arm, his head over Jericho’s heavily thudding heart. 

Jericho kissed the top of his head. “That was hot, baby. No lie. Your head game belongs in the Hall of Fame.” Atticus buried his face against his chest. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t put that award on your wall right next to all your others.” 

Atticus peeked his head back out, tone pouty even to his own ears as he said, “I’m extrinsically motivated. Is that a crime?” 

“Hell no. I’ll build you your own super-secret trophy case in the basement and you can collect all the achievements you want like a little sex-prize goblin.” 

“A sex trophy-case?” Atticus said, trying to sound exasperated, but sounding more…intrigued? 

“You can’t even fake your disgust. You love the idea of being rewarded for sex. God, you really are perfect, Freckles.” 

“Shut up,” Atticus muttered, lightly slapping his arm. 

“I won’t. I’m already visualizing the fake wall I’m gonna build to hide our own sex dungeon in our new house. Too bad we hadn’t thought to mention it to the builders in advance.” 

Atticus hid a smile, then gently bit his husband right over his scorpion tattoo. 

“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.