You Can Wait - Part 1 - Atticus & Jericho Valentine's Day (Patreon)

Majorly Unbeta'd/Unedited. I'll have Part 2 up before the end of the week.

Atticus was hiding something from him. Jericho didn’t know what or why, but for the last week, his husband had been showering alone, dressing and undressing in the bathroom, and refused to do more than cuddle…which felt like a punishment Jericho was almost positive he hadn’t earned. Not that Jericho was keeping score or anything. He just knew exactly what Atticus usually looked like when he was in the mood, and lately Atticus had been walking around like a locked door.

Jericho wasn’t mad about it. He trusted Atticus. His husband had never given him a reason not to and, if Atticus was this adamant about it, he had a good reason for it. He always put Jericho and the boys first, so Jericho was sure that whatever he was hiding would benefit him in some way eventually. Atticus didn’t keep secrets to be cruel, and a week without sex was hardly a burden to most people. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease him about it. When he’d confronted–whined–to Atticus about it the first time, he’d kissed his cheek and said it was nothing, but that he thought it might be fun to see if they could hold out until Valentine’s Day. Fun? His husband’s idea of fun had always been a bit different than his but this felt like torture. 

Jericho hadn’t signed on for this endurance trial, but Atticus was adamant and he’d never refused Jericho before, so he was inclined to play along. Not that he had any choice. Still, Atticus asked for very little of him. Which somehow made it worse. Jericho didn’t know how to fight someone who was being sweet about it. Atticus was usually more prickly about these things. 

His husband currently sat on the living room floor, Jett on one side and Jagger on the other, carefully filling out Valentine’s cards for their classmates. This was the first time they were truly old enough to write their names themselves with any level of legibility while understanding the significance. Their little brows were furrowed in concentration, tongues peeking out at the corners of their mouths like they were surgeons performing a delicate procedure instead of spelling out “To:” and “From:” on cheap cardstock.

He and Atticus were starting to realize that the navigation of Valentine’s Day–especially for a school full of wealthy people’s kids–was far more complicated now that they grasped the holiday. This wasn’t how he would have chosen to spend a Thursday night, but tomorrow was the class party even though Valentine’s Day wasn’t until Saturday. Atticus and Jericho had opted to celebrate the day on Friday night instead of Saturday as they were up on the holiday roster as babysitters for the rest of the families.

Jericho probably should’ve gone and helped but, instead, he just stood in their oversized kitchen, watching his boys instead. Leaning against the counter with his coffee growing cold, content to just…witness it, this family he never let himself believe he could have. 

And eavesdropping of course.

“This is stupid. Why do they have to sound so lovey-dovey? ‘You make my heart go beep beep beep,’” Jagger sneered, making a face exactly like Atticus would, before making smacking kissing noises that had Jericho biting back a laugh. “And why do we have to give them to girls anyway? They’re so annoying.”

Atticus leveled his patented dad look at them—the calm, reserved one he saved just for their kids. “You’ll give one to everyone because it’s the polite thing to do and you picked these out. Begged for them, even.”

They’d wanted Hot Wheels Valentine’s Day cards, had played their father like a cheap violin claiming that they wanted them because of the cars, just like the ones Jericho worked on. And they’d fallen for it. Like they always did. 

“They all say stupid mushy stuff. I thought car cards would be less gross,” Jett mumbled. “Why do we have to say mushy stuff to girls? We’re gonna marry boys.”

Oh Lord. Were they at this point already? Jericho was sure they’d have more time before these talks became commonplace. They were still missing teeth. Still obsessed with dinosaurs and sugar cereal and whatever cartoon was currently ruining Jericho’s sanity. How could they even be contemplating relationships?

Atticus was quiet for a minute. “Oh?” he asked carefully. 

His voice didn’t change, but Jericho heard the subtle shift anyway—Atticus filing the moment away, turning it over in his head like it mattered, like what he said next might somehow impact their entire lives. But that was just Atticus. Everything had weight, had meaning. His husband had never met a problem he couldn’t catastrophize in his head with enough time and effort. 

“Yeah,” Jett said. “I’m gonna marry Chase, Brandon, Caleb and Max. And Jagger’s gonna marry Kenny, Chris, Dion and Monty.”

“Four husbands each?” Atticus asked, his amusement obvious. “That seems a little greedy.”

Jagger looked crestfallen. “But we made a deal. We’d all marry each other and then we wouldn't have to marry girls.”

“What’s wrong with girls exactly?” Jericho asked, moving closer. “Cricket’s a girl, Calliope and Lola are girls, you love them.”

He stepped into the living room fully then, socks whispering over the hardwood, and Jett’s head snapped up like Jericho had materialized out of thin air.

Jericho threw his leg over Atticus’s shoulders, sitting on the couch behind him, inner thighs pressed to Atticus’s outer shoulders. It was a lazy sprawl, familiar, the kind of contact Jericho clung to lately like it was proof Atticus still belonged to him–even if he was being a little selfish about it.

Jett gave an olympic level eye roll that would have made Felix proud. “They’re not girls, they’re moms. That’s different.”

Atticus tipped his head back until his head rested on Jericho’s thigh, looking at Jericho from upside down. He leaned forward, kissing his lips briefly, watching with satisfaction as color flooded his cheeks and his ears turned red. God, it still got him. Still. After everything. 

Atticus picked his head up, returning his full attention to the boys. “Listen, who you marry is entirely up to you,” he said. “Well, except you’re only allowed to marry one person. You get one husband or one wife.”

“But what about Uncle Avi and Uncle Felix and Uncle Asa and Uncle Zane. They all love each other and have kids and a big house. Why can’t we do that?” Jett asked, a stubborn look on his face. His little brows pulled together like he was ready to fistfight the government personally.

Jericho had no idea how to answer that. It was obvious Felix and the others were in some kind of committed relationship. But the truth was, Jericho didn’t like contemplating his brother’s relationships, even the one with his own husband. Felix was biologically Jericho’s baby brother, but he was really just his first child. He’d raised him far longer than either of their parents had. 

Thinking about Felix in love still made something protective and feral twist in Jericho’s chest. He had long ago made peace with his brother loving Avi Mulvaney and even his brother. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stab either of them if they ever hurt him. Zane got a pass. It was easy to see why Felix loved Zane. Everyone loved Zane…except maybe Zane. 

“That’s…complicated. Legally speaking,” Atticus hedged, pulling him from his thoughts. “You can love as many people as you want but, legally, you can only marry one of them. For now, anyway.”

“Why for now?” Jagger asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy. He always looked like that when he was about to ask a question that made adults sweat.

Atticus shrugged. “Well, the laws can always change.”

Jett frowned. “Who changes them?”

“Politicians write laws but then people have to vote on them,” Jericho offered, trying to simplify a complex system that often worked against them more than for them. Trying to explain politics to a six-year-old felt like explaining astrophysics to a golden retriever.

“Then I’ll be a politician, whatever that is,” Jett said, like it was no big thing.

Well, with his last name, it probably wasn’t a big thing at all. If anything, they’d have to make sure Thomas didn’t hear about that wish or Jett would be a sitting member of congress before snack-time was over. Not that he could do any worse than the current congress. They already acted like children. Though his children were likely smarter than all of them. And far less corrupt. 

Probably. 

Hopefully.

Atticus laughed like he could read Jericho’s mind, but was most likely reacting to something the kids had said.

They finished up the valentine’s day cards and started their bedtime routine. An hour later the boys were showered and tucked in and Atticus and Jericho were in their own sleep clothes. Jericho was grateful they still let them put them to bed. They were getting so big now. Too big. Like someone had hit fast forward when Jericho wasn’t looking.

“You’re getting sentimental again,” Atticus teased when he saw Jericho staring at the boys' closed doors. 

“I just miss when they were little-little,” he admitted. “They’re fun at this age and they aren’t as…”

“Sticky,” Atticus provided with a shudder.

Jericho laughed softly as Atticus laid longways across the couch, setting his head in Jericho’s lap. Jericho’s fingers automatically found his hair, combing through it, rubbing slow circles at his scalp like his hands knew Atticus needed it even when he didn’t say so.

“We could just have a baby. Another baby. A baby baby,” Atticus said softly. 

So casually it almost sounded like he’d suggested ordering pizza.

Jericho stared down at him, half-expecting him to take it back or laugh it off, but Atticus was staring up at him with an intensity that had Jericho’s gut clenching and his body taking notice in a way that felt almost unfair, like he was asking him to get him pregnant.

“That’s the second time you’ve brought up us having a baby,” Jericho said, trying not to sound too excited. 

Trying—and failing.

Atticus took Jericho’s free hand, absently playing with his fingers as he said, “I know.”

“You never mentioned it until Christmas. Why now?”

Atticus shrugged. “We never had the room before. Now we have this big house in this weird ass neighborhood.”

Jericho snorted. “Did you say ‘weird ass neighborhood’? You are hanging out with Adam way too much now.”

Atticus shook his head. “Listen, there’s something weird about this place. I don’t know what it is, but Adam might be onto something.”

Jericho couldn’t hide his smile. Because, of course, Atticus would be the one to finally entertain Adam’s paranoia. It was the most Atticus thing in the world—quietly skeptical until he wasn’t. And once he’d made up his mind, good luck ever bringing him back down to reality. But that’s one of the many things he loved about Atticus. He was a study in contradictions.

Atticus scowled. “What?”

Jericho shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t say ‘nothing’. Are you making fun of me?” Atticus asked, sounding a little defensive. “It was you who told me that I needed to officially make peace with him. And now I have.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along, Freckles. I just think it's cute that you two have suddenly gotten so close now that you have a common enemy.”

“We don’t have a common enemy,” Atticus said, deadpan. “We have a common suspicion…and context clues. Keep it up and I’m canceling our plans tomorrow.”

Jericho gripped his chin just hard enough to get his attention and make his pupils dilate. It was a familiar hold—possessive. Intimate. “You will not. You promised that tomorrow night would be just the two of us. Here. At home. You’ve kept me waiting long enough. I haven’t gone this long without being inside you since the day we met.”

Atticus’s eyes flashed. Not annoyance. Not irritation. Something hotter. Something that said Jericho’s suffering was entirely the point but that maybe he was suffering a bit, too.

“It’s good for you,” Atticus said, sounding a bit smug.

Jericho’s thumb traced his lower lip, voice low when he warned, “You better have a good reason for making me wait.”

“I think you’ll be pleased,” Atticus said mysteriously.

Jericho narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like mysteries. Not from his husband. Not when his body was the one paying for it. “Not to put too fine a point on it…but it is after midnight?”

“You can wait,” Atticus said. “Unless you want to have to be quiet or risk waking up the kids.”

Jericho huffed out a pouty breath. “Fine.”

Atticus sat up suddenly, settling in Jericho’s lap. The shift of his weight, the heat of him, the way his thighs bracketed Jericho’s hips like he belonged there—it was enough to make Jericho’s breath catch.

“Do you want to have another baby with me?” Atticus asked with a look in his eye that made Jericho want to forget every promise he’d made to wait.

He was temporarily struck dumb by the look on his husband’s face, only able to nod. His chest felt too tight. Like the words had hooked into something deep and dragged it to the surface.

Atticus flushed, then nodded, resting his head against Jericho’s. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because I do.”

Jericho’s arms tightened around him on instinct, holding him there.“Okay,”he whispered. His voice cracked, traitorous. “Okay.”

Atticus’s mouth brushed his jaw, barely there, a touch more felt than heard. A kiss that wasn’t a kiss, it was barely even a tease. 

Jericho swallowed hard. “You’re serious?”

He needed him to confirm it. He didn’t want to get his hopes up then have them dashed. 

Atticus lifted his head just enough to look at him. “Have you ever known me to say something like that if I wasn’t?”

Jericho exhaled shakily. No. Never. Atticus didn’t do things on a whim. He did intention.

“I want it,” Jericho admitted. He hated how vulnerable it sounded. He hated even more that it was the truth. “I want you. I want more kids with you. As many as you want. I want…all of it.”

Atticus’s gaze softened and Jericho felt like he’d been caught doing something scandalous. He could feel his own face heating up.  

“Then we’ll do it,” Atticus said, then his tone grew teasing. “But let's start with one more and see how it goes.” 

Jericho stared at him, heart hammering. A question sprang to mind. “Why are you telling me tonight? Why now and not tomorrow?”

Atticus’s lips curved faintly. A smug little almost-smile that made Jericho instantly suspicious.

“Because,” Atticus murmured, sliding his hand up Jericho’s chest and flattening his palm over his heart, “I wanted to see your face when I asked…and I knew it would make you horny.”

Jericho let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “You’re a menace, Freckles.”

“I learned from the best,” Atticus said, and when Jericho tried to respond, Atticus leaned in and kissed him–slow, controlled, and just deep enough to make Jericho forget his own name for half a second. Like he was feeding Jericho crumbs of something he’d been starving for on purpose.

When he pulled back, Jericho was breathing harder than he should’ve been from a kiss that hadn’t even gotten started.

Atticus’s eyes flicked down to Jericho’s mouth. Then to his throat. Then back up, like he could see everything Jericho wanted and wasn’t getting.

“You can wait,” Atticus repeated, softer this time. “It’s only one more night. Then you can do whatever you want to me.” 

Jericho groaned in frustration, tightening his grip around Atticus’s waist, pulling him closer. “I hate you.”

Atticus hummed, amused. “No, you don’t.”

Jericho pressed his mouth to Atticus’s ear, voice rough. “I do right now.”

Atticus shivered. A small, involuntary tremor that made Jericho feel vindicated. “Good,” he whispered. “Hold onto that.”

Jericho’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

Atticus kissed his cheek. Then his jaw. Then the corner of his mouth. “Because I want you worked up.”

Jericho’s breath stuttered. “Freckles.”

“Jericho,” Atticus murmured back, clearly enjoying his power over him. 

Jericho swallowed, hands sliding up Atticus’s back, fingers digging in. He could feel Atticus’s heartbeat through his shirt, steady and calm like this wasn’t torture. Like he wasn’t ruining Jericho’s entire life on purpose.

“You’re playing with fire,” Jericho muttered.

Atticus leaned in, their foreheads touching again. “I know.”

Jericho’s eyes squeezed shut and Atticus rolled his hips down, making him suck in a sharp breath. He could smell him—soap and skin and that clean, crisp scent Atticus always carried that made Jericho want to bite every inch of him, mark him up like Asa did Zane.

Atticus’s hand slid down Jericho’s arm, fingers threading with his again. And then, quietly, as if it was nothing at all, Atticus said, “Tomorrow.”

Jericho opened his eyes, making no effort to hide his misery.

Atticus smiled, small and wicked. “Tomorrow night.”

Jericho’s jaw clenched. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enjoying you,” Atticus corrected, and his voice softened, the smugness fading just enough to let something real through. “And tomorrow night you can enjoy me. As much as you want. As often as you want. In any way you want.”

Jericho’s throat tightened again, traitorous, pulling Atticus’s hips down against his until they both moaned at the friction.

“Fine,” Jericho rasped. “But if you’re lying—”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Atticus asked. 

Jericho stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. Atticus didn’t make promises lightly.

“No,” Jericho said again.

Atticus rested his head against Jericho’s shoulder, eyes closing. Like the conversation was over. “Besides, you have almost an entire day to think of all the ways you can make me pay for all your suffering.”

Jericho’s eyes went wide as Atticus buried his face in his neck. “Careful what you wish for, Freckles. You’ve never left me this hungry for this long.” 

“I know,” Atticus said, sounding almost breathless at the idea. 

“Are you hoping I’ll lose control?” Jericho asked, staring down at the top of his husband’s head and his red-tipped ears. 

“Maybe,” he said, sounding like he was regretting his own plan. 

“I can’t believe there’s people out there whoever thought you were boring,” Jericho mused, biting gently at the bit of Atticus’s earlobe he could reach. “If they only knew what a little fucking tease you are.” 

“Do you really want them to know that?” Atticus asked, voice muffled against his skin.

Something locked up at the thought, this possessive instinct that always overcame him the second he had to think about sharing Atticus in any capacity, much less in any kind of intimate manner. “Hell, no. You’re all mine.” 

“Mm,” Atticus said, pressing his lips to Jericho’s throat. “I am. Always have been.” 

Jericho was so close to losing it. “Let’s go to bed, Freckles. Before I fuck you right here on the sofa and ruin your big plans.” 

“Carry me,” Atticus said, tone teasing. 

Jericho slapped his ass through his thin pajama pants, earning a gasp. “Do you think I can’t pick you up? The only reason I still go to the gym is because you keep packing on the muscle.” 

“Prove it,” Atticus countered sleepily.

Jericho had carried Atticus many times before, but he’d never had to stand from a sitting position. He did his best to hide the grunt of pain as his knees protested, but soon he was up. Atticus wrapped his legs around his waist as he carried him down the hallway to their new bedroom. 

They made it to the bed before he gracelessly dumped Atticus onto the mattress, then followed him down, collapsing on top of him, arms and legs starfished. 

When he didn’t move, Atticus poked his ribs. “Are you planning on going to sleep like this?” 

Jericho nodded against his chest. “Yeah. I’m comfy.” 

Atticus snorted, but shifted the two of them higher on the bed, his hands threading into Jericho’s hair. “And you say I’m the princess.” 

“You are a princess. My princess,” Jericho said sleepily. “My pretty pillow princess.” 

Atticus snorted out a laugh at Jericho’s drowsy mumbling. “Good night, crazy.” 

“Mm,” Jericho said, burrowing closer. “Night, Freckles.”