12 Days of Christmas - Day 5 - The Doctor is In - Jericho & Atticus (Patreon)

Unedited/Unbeta'd.

“Harder. Fuck.” 

“You’re the one in charge, Freckles. You want it harder, take it,” Jericho groaned, gripping Atticus’s hips as he dropped back down on his hard length. 

Atticus sucked in a breath as Jericho thrust up as he crashed down, driving him impossibly deep. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Wish we were in bed right now.” 

“You were born to ride me. I can’t believe you thought you were straight when you beg this hard for my cock.”

Heat lanced through him. “Like you could have handled the idea of me having been with other men before you. You want to kill Kendra and she’s never been inside me,” Atticus panted, leaning his weight against his husband, thighs burning from the exertion of working himself on him, the feeling of fullness making him crazy. 

This was the real reason he never skipped leg day. 

“I can’t help that I’m a jealous guy, Freckles. I knew you were mine from day one. I knew you were made for me. Your body is so shaped to my cock no other man could ever make you happy.” 

Atticus bit back a whine as Jericho’s blunt nails dug into his flesh. He bit his lip, keeping his gaze glued to the reflection in the rearview mirror even as he corkscrewed his hips. He bit back a smile as Jericho’s breath stuttered. His husband’s filthy mouth was lethal but seeing how wrecked he looked just being inside him made him feel powerful. 

They were being completely reckless. And stupid. They could be caught at any moment. They could already be caught. There were at least four cameras trained on them right now, likely being monitored by a staff of well trained security guards who weren’t getting paid enough to watch him get railed by his husband in the backseat of his Bronco. 

Yet there they were. 

Atticus didn’t care about the guards. He didn’t even care that any one of his brothers could take it upon themselves to park in their father’s garage any minute now, especially in the inclement weather raging outside. All it would take was just one of them opting for the warmth of the garage over the cold of the circular drive and Atticus would never live this down. 

That should upset him. It really should. The thought of his family finding him in Jericho’s lap, his jeans and underwear cutting into his thighs, his husband’s cock buried in his ass. But really it just turned him on. Was that wrong? Probably. He found he cared less and less the older he got. 

He leaned his weight back on Jericho’s chest and his hands slid under Atticus’s shirt to cup his chest, his panting breaths hot against his ear. “The others are gonna be here soon, Freckles. Any minute now, someone's gonna drive in here and see you getting bred in the backseat like a two dollar whore.” Atticus made a pathetic sound. “You love that don’t you. Love the idea of them all knowing how much you love my cock.” 

Atticus’s breath punched from him as fire licked through his core, that coil tightening. “If you don’t want us getting caught, then maybe you should come already?” he managed. 

He meant it to sound taunting but it came out as desperate as he felt. He was only waiting on Jericho. Atticus’s cock slapped his stomach every time he dropped down onto his husband, flushed and throbbing painfully from neglect. But he was way too keyed up. The second he touched himself, it would be over. For him, anyway. Jericho would likely throw him down—or worse, put him on all fours—and fuck him full no matter how overstimulated he was. He loved making him cry, loved listening to him whine and beg. 

“Maybe you should make me?” 

“Are you implying this isn’t doing it for you?” he panted, speeding up despite his burning thighs. 

“Oh, it’s doing it for me. But I can feel you getting tired.” 

“This is a lot of work,” Atticus grumbled. 

“My poor pillow princess, having to work for it for a change. Want me to take over?” 

He was too horny to protest. “Yes.” 

“Then say it,” Jericho taunted against his ear.

Atticus was too sex drunk to know what Jericho was asking. “Say what?” 

Jericho chuckled, even though he sounded winded. “Say you want me to fuck you, make you come, make you scream right here in your father’s garage.” 

“Fuck me, make me come, make me scream, I need it,” he panted without hesitation. “Need you to fuck me full of your cum.” 

“God, you’re such a fucking slut for me. I love how filthy your mouth is getting, Freckles.” 

One arm slid across Atticus’s waist, holding him in place so he could drive up into him with a low growl. 

Atticus gripped the seats in front of him, his husband’s noises sending jolts of electricity straight to his  cock, making him ache to touch himself. Still, he waited. 

Jericho groaned against his back. “God, your hole is just milking my dick. You’re so fucking needy. I can’t get enough of you. I love you so fucking much,” His whole body flushed at his confession, a choking sound escaping as Jericho’s hand appeared in front of him. “Spit.” 

Atticus didn’t hesitate, letting saliva drip into his palm, crying out as Jericho's fist closed around him. Atticus would have fucked up into it if Jericho wasn’t holding his waist in a death grip, his cock pummeling his prostate until his eyes were rolling back, sparks crackling behind his lids. 

“I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh, I know, Princess. I can feel how close you are.” 

Atticus couldn’t even answer, his own euphoria keeping him in a chokehold. Jericho knew just how he liked it, knew just how to touch him, how to fuck him, how to work him in his hand just so. 

“Do it, Freckles. Come for me. I wanna feel it.” 

Atticus cried out, pleasure crashing over him as he came, clenching down on Jericho’s cock still driving into him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” 

“There it is,” Jericho groaned, releasing inside him, grinding his hips up against him like he needed to come as deeply inside as possible. 

As they both sat there, coming down from their highs, reality slowly crept back in. The car was too warm, the windows fogged, the air thick with the scent of sex and leather and cold sneaking in through the cracks. Atticus leaned back against Jericho, forcing him to take the full brunt of his weight, a deliberate choice–anchoring himself, letting his spine rest where Jericho was solid and familiar. Jericho kissed his cheek, then his neck, his breath heavy and warm against his skin, lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment either.

Jericho held out his sticky hand with a crooked look until Atticus leaned forward and pulled the wet wipes from the pocket in the back of the driver’s seat, cleaning him up with practiced ease. It was a domestic little thing, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with what they’d just done. When it was clean enough, Jericho grimaced as Atticus pulled off of his husband’s softening cock, begrudgingly letting him finish cleaning up the mess he’d made. Jericho huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, the sound vibrating against Atticus’s shoulder.

They had just finished righting their clothes—shirts tugged straight, belts fastened, dignity mostly restored—when the garage door began to rise.

“Shit,” Jericho muttered.

There was no time to scramble into the front seats and pretend they’d been having a very normal, very innocent conversation, so they exited the car instead, standing awkwardly beside it with the kind of posture that screamed guilty to anyone paying attention.

Atticus frowned as he watched a familiar Mercedes pull into an empty space. The headlights cut through the dim garage lighting, illuminating drifting snow still clinging to the undercarriage. He and Jericho exchanged puzzled glances.

“She’s supposed to be with August and Lucas,” Jericho murmured.

Weird.

They walked toward the car together, Atticus’s unease growing with every step. He expected Cricket to hop out with some sarcastic remark already loaded, but instead she stayed put—white-knuckling the steering wheel, teeth bared, sweat slicking her hairline.

“What the fuck,” Atticus muttered, breaking into a jog toward the driver’s side.

He wrenched the door open, earning a wan, exhausted smile from a pale Cricket.

“Hey,” she said, blinking sweat from her eyes like it was no big deal.

“Hey?” Jericho echoed. “What are you doing here alone?”

“So,” Cricket said, voice thin but steady, “funny story. I went into labor at Callie and Lola’s. They were off rescuing Arlo and Dimitri so I just… drove myself here.”

“You drove yourself all the way here in active labor?” Atticus asked, already reaching for her, hands careful but firm as he helped her from the car. “Are you insane?”

“That seems to be the common consensus,” she said, managing a weak smirk.

They only made it two steps before she doubled over, a sound escaping her that was somewhere between a whimper and a grunt. She grabbed fistfuls of Atticus’s shirt, twisting the fabric as she panted hard through the contraction.

Atticus stayed still, braced, letting her use him without question, exchanging a worried glance with Jericho. When it passed, he waited until her breathing evened before asking, “How far apart are your contractions?”

“Every fifteen minutes or so,” she said, inhaling deeply, then exhaling with a shaky sigh. She glanced up at him, then her eyes slid from him to Jericho.

“Why are you both all red and sweaty?” she asked, gaze narrowing.

“Why are you all red and sweaty?” Atticus countered stupidly.

“I’m in labor,” she said dryly. “You?”

“Oh, Freckles was doing some heavy labor too,” Jericho offered with a smirk that absolutely did not help. 

Atticus shot him a look, then turned his attention back to Cricket. “We need to get you inside. Is your midwife on the way?”

He didn’t release her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door. Walking would help this early on, he knew that, and he stayed close enough that she could lean into him whenever she needed. They crossed into the drop-zone between the garage and the house, the cold air biting at their flushed skin.

Cricket gave him an uneasy look. “I still haven’t heard from her. She said she was on her way, but now she’s not answering.”

“There are dead zones everywhere tonight,” Jericho said, falling into step on her other side. “Storm’s knocked out half the city. There’s a blackout too. Thomas already sent someone to grab the other kids.”

Atticus nodded, though unease curled tighter in his chest. He didn’t say it out loud, but his brain was already shifting gears, doctor mode snapping into place whether he wanted it to or not.

“Okay,” he said gently, squeezing Cricket’s shoulder. “We’ve got you. One step at a time.”

Behind them, the garage door finished closing with a dull, final thud, sealing away whatever calm existed before tonight officially became chaos.

“Your kid’s about to have more people attend his birth than Jesus,” Atticus said, shaking his head as they navigated another turn of the hallway, the sound of voices echoing faintly through the house.

“Good,” Cricket shot back. “Maybe one of them can deliver this baby if my midwife no-shows.”

Atticus arched his brow. “I am a medical doctor. I may not be an OB, but surely I’m more qualified to deliver my nephew than a twenty-five-year-old mechanic or a hair stylist.”

Cricket shrugged, still looking pale, one hand braced against the wall as they paused. “I just figured it was too messy for you.”

“It’s not ideal,” Atticus admitted, “but I made it through an entire OB rotation. I can handle one night.”

Cricket patted his cheek, affection threaded through the exhaustion. “Thanks, Freckles.”

“Hello?” Jericho called once they reached the main portion of the house, his voice carrying easily through the open space.

“They’re upstairs,” someone answered.

Atticus frowned at the boy who’d spoken. He’d met him before. At least twice. Matty’s friend. His name started with a J. Jeremy? No–Jordan.

“Jordan, right?” Jericho asked.

Of course, he remembered.

The boy nodded. “Thomas and Aiden are in Cricket’s room. Matty took the kids to the nursery to play, to keep them out of their hair.”

“You didn’t go?” Jericho asked, his voice shifting into that tone, the one he used whenever a new kid drifted into the hostel by the garage. The one that said you’re safe talking to me.

Jordan grimaced slightly. “No offense, but growing up with five siblings made me kind of edgy around kids. Besides…,” he hesitated, “he should have some alone time with his… nieces and nephews?”

“Hi. Hello,” Cricket cut in. “Not to interrupt the bonding moment, but do you think someone could take me to my room?”

“Yes, right,” Jericho said quickly. “Let’s take the elevator up.”

As they moved, Atticus noticed Jordan lagging behind just a step, staring at Jericho with an expression Atticus recognized, but not in the way people usually looked at his husband.

It wasn’t hunger. Not quite admiration either.

It was… hesitation. Like there was a question caught behind his teeth.

Atticus slowed just enough to fall into step beside him. “You okay?”

Jordan nodded, eyes still tracking Jericho’s back.

“Did you need something?” Atticus asked again, gentler this time.

Jordan hesitated, then halted, finally looking at him. “You’re… kind of like Cree’s foster dad, right?”

Atticus stopped short, blinking at him. “What?”

“Like, I know you’re not really his foster dad,” Jordan rushed on, “but he’s no-contact with his adoptive parents, and he doesn’t know his real ones, and he talks about you and Jericho more than any other… adults.” He made air quotes around the word, like it tasted strange.

“Okay…” Atticus said carefully. 

“What is it with you people and that word?” he muttered under his breath.

Atticus genuinely had no idea where this was going. “Did you want to ask me something? Or tell me something? Are you okay?”

Jordan started to nod, then stopped himself. “Yeah–nevermind. It’s nothing. Well. Not nothing, but not important. Not when there’s a pregnant lady about to pop any second now.”

Oh. Ohh. 

“You like him,” Atticus said before he could stop himself.

Jordan’s eyes went wide. “No. Well–yes. But, like, I don’t really know him either. Just that he’s really quiet and likes movies and Lake and he’s really sweet and–” He swallowed. “And really pretty. So. Yeah.”

Atticus felt something click quietly into place, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t known he was holding. They’d all been focusing on whatever they thought might eventually unfold between Lake and Matty if they were ever in the same room again, but had failed to miss the ship sailing right in front of them. 

Atticus bit back a smile. “You’ve just summed up about all I’ve learned about him in the several years I’ve known him. If you managed to glean all of that from him in the short time you’ve been here, I’m guessing he likes you back.”

“Really?” Jordan asked, voice cracking just a little.

Atticus nodded. “Really.”

Jordan’s face split into a grin that transformed his whole expression, like someone had turned on a light behind his eyes. It was clear he wasn’t trying to be cool or guarded. It was true joy. Atticus could see why Cree liked him immediately. He was Cree’s opposite in almost every way, open where Cree was closed, expressive where Cree was reserved. Loud where Cree was quiet. Light where Cree was dark.

Cute.

“He’ll be here later,” Atticus added.

Jordan flushed, hugging himself and rocking slightly on his heels, like he was trying to physically contain his excitement. “I know,” he said. “He told me.”

Yeah. Very cute.

“Anything else you want to ask me?” Atticus asked gently.

Jordan shook his head quickly. “No–I’m–I’m good. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Atticus said, but he lingered, instinct kicking in, the same one that kept him hovering near kids who looked like they might bolt if left alone with their thoughts.

“I think I’ll just… go wait for the others in the kitchen,” Jordan said, pointing vaguely in that direction.

Before Atticus could respond, a voice rang out from the front door.

“Hello?”

Noah.

“We’re in here,” Atticus called back.

A moment later, Adam and Noah appeared in the entryway, snow clinging to their coats, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Noah’s brow furrowed as he took in the scene. “This was definitely not the we I expected.” His gaze flicked to Jordan. “Hey, man. Where’s your other half?”

“Huh?” Jordan croaked.

“Matty. Your bestie.”

“Oh, right,” Jordan said quickly. “He’s upstairs with the kids. I’m–uh–I’m gonna go to the kitchen now.”

“Alright…” Noah said, watching him go with a confused look on his face.

The second Jordan disappeared down the hall, Noah rounded on Atticus. “What was that all about?”

“I think someone has a crush,” Atticus said, still watching the space Jordan had vacated.

Noah’s eyes lit up. “Tell me it’s on Cree. Please.”

Atticus nodded. “Yeah. He was asking what Cree’s like. What he’s into. That kind of thing.” He paused. “But he already seems to know more about him than most of us do.”

Noah’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. That means they’ve been texting since Halloween.”

“It does?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, duh,” Noah said, shooting him a look that clearly meant don’t derail this. Then he turned back to Atticus. “Where’s Cricket? She’s here already, right? Safe?”

“Jericho just took her upstairs,” Atticus said.

“Is she gonna pop this baby out before midnight, you think?” Adam asked, sounding only mildly invested.

“This is her third delivery,” Atticus said. “Her contractions are still fifteen minutes apart, but that doesn’t mean much. Could be six hours. Could be thirty minutes. At this point, her body knows what it’s doing.”

Noah tilted his head suddenly, studying him more closely. “Wait. Did you guys just get here?”

“Yes,” Atticus said cautiously.

“Then why are you all flushed and sweaty?” Noah asked.

Atticus scoffed. “I’m neither.”

“Oh, no,” Adam said. “You totally are. Lucas said you were already on your way when he called us. Wouldn’t that mean you got here, like… thirty minutes ago?”

“What are you implying?” Atticus asked, his jaw tightening.

“That you let your husband bang you like a snare drum somewhere on the property before you came inside,” Adam said cheerfully. “Or before he did, anyway. Pool house? Shed? Coat closet?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. The garage.”

Atticus felt heat crawl up his neck and into his ears. “You’re just making shit up now.”

Adam grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself.

“Oh, it was totally the garage,” Noah said, cackling.

Atticus huffed out a breath through his nose. “It was not.”

“There’s cameras,” Noah reminded him in a sing-song voice, far too pleased with himself.

Atticus glowered at him. “If you’re so desperate to watch my husband fuck me, I’m sure he has a few recordings he could loan you.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the marble staircase, chin tipped up, dignity clutched in a death grip, feeling a little superior as he heard Noah say, “Damn, someone’s feeling feisty. You really think they record themselves?”

“The way Jericho can’t stop climbing on top of him?” Adam said, grumpily. “They could probably fill a Blockbuster.”

Upstairs, Cricket’s bedroom was controlled chaos.

She reclined on her queen-sized bed, having changed out of her street clothes into a black sleeveless gown with buttons down the front. It looked more like a dress than a hospital gown, soft and elegant in a way that felt very her, and loose enough to allow her to move freely throughout the room. She’d pulled her long blonde hair on top of her head in a bun, two pink pieces framing her face. She looked…ethereal. 

Thomas and Aiden hovered nearby, fussing in their own particular ways, handing her the remote for the television, then the Bose speakers, then arguing quietly over whether the playlist should be instrumental or something with lyrics. An ice machine hummed softly in the corner, and the temperature of the room sat in that careful middle ground, neither too warm nor too cold.

Noah breezed into the room not even thirty seconds after Atticus, immediately making a beeline for Cricket.

“Hey, girl, hey,” he called, perching on the edge of the bed. “So… what’s new?”

Cricket snorted. “Oh, nothing much. Just hanging around in my nightie with six gay men. The usual.”

Adam wandered in behind him. “You really will do anything to get out of wrapping presents.”

Cricket flipped him off, though a small laugh escaped anyway, the tension breaking just enough to make the room feel lighter.

“Mommy?”

Everyone turned to see Allister peeking around the doorframe, eyes wide and serious. Matty followed immediately behind him. “Sorry,” he said. “He was insisting he heard his mom… and he was right. Hi, Cricket.”

“Hey, Matty,” she said warmly. Then, to Allister, “Come here, baby.”

Allister didn’t hesitate, running to her and climbing onto the bed. Atticus felt something tighten in his chest at the sight, the instinctive pull toward the smallest ones, the quiet gravity they carried without knowing it. 

Allister snuggled into Cricket’s side and whispered, “Does it hurt?”

“No, baby,” she said softly. “Not right this second.”

He nodded solemnly, then rested his head against her, as if he’d appointed himself her personal guardian.

August and Lucas burst through the door moments later, both of them visibly deflating at the sight of Cricket settled in bed with Allister tucked against her.

“Oh, thank God,” Lucas breathed, shoulders sagging as if he’d been holding himself upright on sheer panic alone.

August glanced at Adam and Noah. “How the hell did you beat us here?”

Noah gave them a haunted look. “Adam drove.”

Lucas winced sympathetically. “Well… glad you made it in one piece.”

August’s brow furrowed. “Where’s Petra?”

Cricket shrugged, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Somewhere safe, I hope. I can’t get a hold of her.”

That must be the midwife. He’d never heard her name. 

Lucas’s gaze slid immediately to Atticus.

“I can do it if she doesn’t show,” Atticus said before Lucas could ask.

Relief softened Lucas’s expression instantly. He moved to Cricket’s side and gently combed his fingers through Allister’s hair. “Hey, baby. Why don’t we give Mommy a little space?”

He tried to lift him, but Allister clung tighter, shaking his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me.”

And just like that, no one argued.

Cricket looked down at her son, love bleeding from her eyes. It softened the hard edges of the room instantly. “He’s fine,” she said. “The girls are going to want to be here when their brother is born anyway just like they were with Allister.”

“I’ll be surprised if they don’t try to deliver the baby,” August said ruefully. 

“Speaking of, I’m gonna go check on our kids,” Jericho said.

Atticus turned to follow. “I’ll go with you.” He glanced back at Cricket. “Have someone come get me if you need me for anything.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Freckles.”

Atticus dipped his head in return. He used to hate the nickname, loathed it even. At least on anyone but Jericho’s lips. Now it tugged something warm and grounding out of him, even now.

“Weeeee’re heerrrrreeee,” someone shouted from the bottom of the staircase.

Levi? Nico? It was one of them. The sound carried with it the unmistakable energy of their older children, like a pressure change before a storm.

Matty caught Jericho’s eye from the door leading to the children’s wing. “Are you gonna be here for a few minutes? I–Uh–I just want to go check on Jordan.”

“Yeah, we’ve got them,” Jericho assured him. 

The playroom was utter chaos.

Jett and Jagger hurled foam blocks at each other with wild abandon while Ari and Adi launched oversized Squishmallows at Oscar, West, and Theo, knocking them down like bottles at the county fair. Every time the boys hit the ground, they dissolved into helpless giggles before scrambling back up and sending the plush missiles flying back.

“Hi, Daddies!” Jett called.

“Hello, littles,” Atticus said, his voice automatically shifting into that softer register he reserved just for them.

“We made cookies!” Jagger announced proudly.

Jericho took in their red-and-green-streaked fingers and faces. Their shirts were a crime scene. “Did any of the icing make it onto the cookies?”

Jagger narrowed his eyes in a way that looked so much like Jericho that Atticus had to bite back a smile. “Are you bein’ sarcastic?”

Atticus scooped him up, hugging him close. He smelled like sugar, vanilla and sweaty baby. The embrace lingered just long enough for Jagger to start squirming.

“Ignore him,” Atticus said. “He thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m very funny,” Jericho said. “Hilarious, even.”

Atticus set Jagger back on his feet, and the boy immediately darted back into the fray, joining the Squishmallow dodgeball game without missing a beat, his brother following a moment later.

Atticus found a spot against the wall, safely out of the line of fire, and sat down. Jericho joined him, shoulder brushing his. Without thinking, Atticus dropped his head gently against Jericho’s.

“Feeling sentimental, Freckles?” Jericho asked.

“They’re getting so big,” Atticus said quietly. “I miss when they were little. When they wanted to be carried everywhere. All the time.”

“Really?” Jericho asked.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Atticus said.

Jericho huffed out a soft laugh. “A little. You were so squeamish about having kids. Now you’re missing the stickiest part?”

Atticus watched the kids play, eyes tracking the familiar chaos. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Jericho admitted. “But like you said, we already have seven other kids. More if you count spouses. Soon they’ll be having kids.”

Atticus made a strangled sound. “Is that going to make us grandparents?”

Jericho snorted. “You should be more worried about Ever having his own kids and no longer wanting to help raise ours.”

“Ever and Arsen’s kids would be so cute,” Atticus mused.

As if summoned, the door flung open and Ever dropped dramatically to his knees. “My babies.”

The kids shrieked in delight and immediately swarmed him, the chaos intensifying instead of calming. Atticus leaned more fully into Jericho, smiling despite himself.

“Have they ever been that excited to see us,” Atticus asked around a smile.

Seven children launched themselves at Ever at once, barreling into him and taking him to the ground. Sharp peals of laughter filled the room as he went down under the combined weight of limbs and sugar highs. Arsen stood in the doorway, watching with open adoration as Ever was smothered in kisses by several frosting-stained children, his protests entirely unconvincing.

“Do you want another one, Freckles?” Jericho asked quietly.

“No,” Atticus said, too quickly, his heart twisting around the word even as it left his mouth.

Jericho hummed. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

“Everything is perfect as it is,” Atticus said, eyes still on the children. His voice softened, careful. “What if they felt like they were being replaced?”

Jericho reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “We could just ask them what they think of the idea.”

Atticus let out a slow breath. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger.” He hesitated. “Isn’t it irresponsible to have a baby at our age?”

“A baby?” Jericho echoed, sounding like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “You want a baby baby?”

“I don’t want anything,” Atticus said quickly. “We’re just talking. I’m about to deliver my nephew. Of course I’m thinking about babies. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t not mean anything,” Jericho said gently. “You know we can always talk about it. Besides, look at your Dad and Aiden. They have kids younger than ours and they’re both older than us.”

Atticus nodded, resting his forehead briefly against Jericho’s hair. 

“I can’t believe Cricket’s gonna have a Christmas baby,” Jericho murmured.

Arsen crossed the room, to where they sat. Jericho patted the space beside them. “What’s new, kid?”

“Cree is downstairs making heart eyes at our new boy,” Arsen said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Atticus smiled. “Yeah. He asked me what Cree was like.”

“He did?” Arsen perked up. “What’d you say?”

“The truth,” Atticus replied. “That he learned more about Cree in a couple of months than most of us managed in several years.”

“Is Lake here?” Jericho asked. “Has he seen Matty since… you know?”

“Since they hooked up?” Arsen filled in. “No. He’s still at work.” He snorted. “It’s weird not telling them who their mysterious hookup was…but also kind of fun watching them both pretend not to care.”

“Both of them?” Atticus asked.

“You’re becoming quite the gossip, Freckles,” Jericho teased. 

“I don’t see you leaving,” he said, then refocused his attention to Arsen. “Both of them?” he repeated. 

“Mmm,” Arsen said. “When we asked Lake, he said he barely thinks about it. That it was just a ‘crazy night’. But Cree says Lake brings it up all the time. That he finds reason to mention it–mention him.” He shook his head. “And–According to Cree–who apparently heard it from Jordan–Matty keeps insisting it was just a one-night stand, but he won’t stop ranting about how ‘weird’ Lake was and how he wouldn’t stop being nice to him.”

“That bastard,” Jericho mocked fondly.

It was so obvious how proud he was of how he’d raised them to be good men. 

“I know, right?” Arsen laughed. “What is it with people who want others to be mean to them in relationship? It is bizarre. Even Zane–who likes being bitten–demands Asa be nice to him outside the bedroom.”

“Like Aiden,” Atticus said thoughtfully. “Matty probably has Daddy issues.”

“Probably,” Arsen agreed.

Atticus didn’t know for sure, but it tracked—the push and pull, the resistance to kindness, the way Matty bristled at being included and then lingered anyway. He’d seen it before. Too many times.

Lucas appeared in the doorway, pale and tight around the eyes. “Petra was in a minor car accident,” he said. “She’s fine but she’s not coming. You’re up.”

Atticus inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Doctor mode slid into place with practiced ease. “Got it.”

“Go get ’em, Freckles,” Jericho teased, leaning in to kiss him when Atticus offered his mouth.

Atticus squeezed his hand once before letting go—then stood, already moving, already focused.

“Bet you never thought you’d have your hand in another woman again, huh, Freckles,” Arsen taunted, yelping when Jericho smacked him in the back of the head.

Atticus gave his husband one last longing look. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jericho’s smile had his stomach doing backflips. “We’ll be here waiting for you.”

We…

Atticus had so many people who loved him.

Enough to fill a house. 

Wild. Truly wild.