The Licking Situation - A Moonstruck Mini-Fic (Patreon)

This is raw, unbeta'd, unedited to the max. Just something fun for a friday night. Hope you like it and don't take it too serious. Jericho A

This is raw, unbeta'd, unedited to the max. Just something fun for a friday night. Hope you like it and don't take it too serious.

Jericho

As soon as Jericho walked in the door he felt a disturbance in the force. Usually, when he walked in, it was chaos. Atticus cooked while the kids played and Ms. Rachel sang forlornly about missing ducks. Or Atticus would be on the phone trying to order pizza while the kids sat in front of the television with video game controllers in their hands thinking they were playing Mario Kart.

Really, it was Atticus streaming videos of other people playing Mario Kart. Sure, it was a little dishonest, but the kids were terrible at the game and spent more time accidentally backing out of the screen than playing. And they only had a couple more years before they caught on to the ruse, maybe less.

But today, it was quiet. Too quiet. He found himself creeping around the living room on high alert, looking around like they might be hiding, waiting to spring from behind a door and scare him. But there was only Boots, sitting on the highest part of her cat tower, doing her best to avoid tiny hands.

“Freckles? Minis?” he called out, waiting for the maniacal pitter-patter of little feet barreling towards him, but there was nothing. What the fuck? This was weird.

He looked around the kitchen for a note, but there wasn’t one. His anxiety started to ratchet as he walked around the quiet apartment. “Where are they, Boots?” Jericho asked, she just gave him a haughty look then began to clean her leg.

He checked the kids room, and found it empty as well. It wasn’t until he entered his bedroom did he feel himself relax. Atticus lay starfished on the bed, on his stomach, in nothing but a pair of black and white checkered pajama pants. Since they’d had kids Atticus had gotten real lackadaisical about his wardrobe, at least at home.

Jericho approved. Anything that put less clothing between him and his fine as fuck husband was fine with him. And this situation looked promising.  “Freckles?”

Atticus didn’t stir, just said, “Mm.”

It was six in the afternoon? Was his insanely responsible husband napping at six in the afternoon? Was he sick? Another migraine? Jericho walked to the bed, running his hands up under his husband’s pajamas to squeeze well-muscled calves. “You sick, freckles?”

He didn’t raise his head, didn’t move a muscle. “Uh-uh.”

Jericho kneeled between his open legs, then smoothed his hands over pajama clad thighs. “Are the kids okay?“

Atticus scoffed like Jericho was asking the wrong question. “The kids are fine,” he muttered, then added,“No, scratch that. The kids are terrorists. Absolute fucking dicks. But they’re alive. And well. Adam and Noah took them to get dinner and ice cream.”

Jericho’s hands stopped moving about an inch from the curve of Atticus’s ass. “You gave our children to…Adam?”

“I didn’t give them to him,” he muttered. “I thought about it. A lot. But, for now, they’re on loan to him.”

“You…gave our children to Adam,” Jericho said again, hoping Atticus would understand why he was concerned. “On purpose?”

“And Noah,” Atticus emphasized, still unmoving. “And don’t you lecture me, Navarro. I tried the real adults, but they were all busy with their own children. It was either Adam and Noah or I started punting our adorable little offspring into the parking lot like t-shirts at a Taylor Swift concert. Which would you rather I did?”

Jericho’s lips twitched. “Navarro, is it?” Jericho asked, peeling off his t-shirt then laying down on top of Atticus, humming contentedly at the warmth of his skin. He immediately melted beneath him. God, he was perfect. “Are you divorcing me after one school holiday alone with the kids? They go to work with me every day.”

Atticus snorted. “Yeah, where you hand them off to Ever who takes them upstairs. Don’t act like you’re changing brake pads with a toddler on each hip. And if you’d had the day I did, you’d know why they’re with my brother. I think I deserve a little credit for not just putting them in an open box outside with a sign that says ‘free to good home’.”

Jericho smiled into his husband’s hair. He was so fucking dramatic, but God he loved that about him. Besides, he was all talk and they both knew it. He placed an open mouth kiss to the nape of his neck, cock hardening rapidly when Atticus made this tiny half bitten whine. “What happened, freckles? Out maneuvered by a couple of preschoolers?”

Atticus did move this time, lifting up to crane his head back, glowering at Jericho. “Laugh it up, chuckles. Your son has a new hobby.”

“Oh, now he’s my son?” Jericho teased, biting at his shoulder blade. “Why is it when they’re getting awards in Spanish class or handwriting they’re your kids, but when they are being tiny menaces, they’re mine?”

“I think we both know why,” Atticus said, canting his hips back to grind on Jericho’s cock. “You’re the one who said you’re a bad boy?” Atticus taunted, rolling his hips back distractingly. “Are you recanting that? Turning in your bad boy card? Hmm?”

Jericho chose to ignore that. “You are feisty tonight, freckles. You know I love when you’re all cranky…and horny. I can take care of that for you if you want,”Jericho offered, nibbling on the shell of his ear. “But first tell me how my son wronged you.”

“Jagger,” Atticus started, then paused, giving a dramatic sigh. “Jagger licks things.”

“Things?” Jericho asked, his confusion obvious.

“Windows. Your son is licking windows.”

Jericho barked out a laugh. “Like competitively? Or as a hobby?”

“It’s not funny,” Atticus said, tone sulky.

Jericho popped his head around to look his husband in the eye, grinning. “It’s a little funny,” Jericho said, before sitting up and hooking his fingers in the waistband of Atticus’s pants. “Lift that ass, freckles.”

Atticus obeyed without thought. “Weirdos lick windows. Do you want him to be the weird kid?”

“Oh, that ship has sailed, my love. They’re Mulvaney’s, they’re gonna be fucking weird. You’re all fucking weird.”

Jericho tugged his pajamas down to just below the swell of his ass, then stopped, kneading the flesh there. Atticus burrowed deeper into his pillow, going completely limp, letting Jericho use him however he wanted.

Atticus got more submissive with each passing year and Jericho had never been so fucking happy. Freckles let him do literally anything to him. Anything at all.

He spread him open, cock throbbing at the sight of that tight pink hole. He released him, watching his cheeks jiggle. He had a perfect ass. In every conceivable way. Jericho amused himself while he waited for Atticus to continue.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Atticus muttered.

Jericho lowered himself to his stomach between Atticus’s spread legs, kissing the globes of his ass. “I’m taking this very seriously,” he promised.

“Not that,” Atticus said, trying to sound serious. “Our son. You’re not taking this seriously.”

Jericho huffed out a laugh. “Am I supposed to take window licking seriously, freckles? Is this some hidden tell-tale sign of psychopathy or something?” Atticus once more canted his hips, trying to get Jericho’s mouth where he wanted it. “I’m getting mixed signals here, freckles,” Jericho teased. “Do you want me to fuck your ass with my tongue or do you want me to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with our son?”

“Both,” Atticus pouted.

Fuck, he was such a big baby. He loved it. He ran the flat of his tongue from his balls to his hole, smirking when Atticus moaned like a whore.

Better?” Jericho teased, massaging his entrance with his thumb.

“Partially. Now tell me how to fix our son. Does he need therapy or something? Are we screwing him up already? Am I screwing him up already? You can tell me. He’s three. Are three-year-olds supposed to be licking dirty windows?”

Jericho was happy Atticus couldn’t see the grin on his face. He should have known that he was going to be a total helicopter parent. “Babe, he hasn’t mastered wiping his own butt. I’m pretty sure licking windows isn’t even in the top ten of the problems we will be dealing with at some point. Hell, Felix ate craft supplies until he was in second grade. The boy literally shit glitter.”

Atticus snickered. “That explains so much.”

“Arch your back, freckles,” Jericho said, kissing each of his thighs. Atticus pushed up just enough for Jericho to snake his arms around his thick thighs, then spread him open once more, making an appreciative sound. “That’s good. You’re so fucking good for me.”

Atticus made another whiny sound, then buried his face in the crook of his arm.

Jericho was growing weary of the conversation. He wanted to stop talking about mundane things and focus on fucking the mad out of his husband. But he wanted to rile him up just a tiny bit more before he did. “Was that it, freckles? Jagger’s bizarre culinary curiosities had you giving our children to literally the lowest name on our parental telephone tree? Honestly, I would have preferred you’d just paid security to keep them downstairs.”

Before Atticus could answer, he speared his tongue against his hole, probing with intention, earning a low moan.

“You think that was what broke me?” he managed, sounding a little breathless “That was just the final straw. Let’s see. First Jagger hid the remote—which I still haven’t found. Then Jett dropped an entire gallon of orange juice. How did he get to the orange juice, you might ask. While I was on a phone call–with the head of the FDA, I might add–he convinced Jagger to get on all fours so he could use him like a stepstool. Then one of them–which one, I’m not sure–locked Boots on the balcony for who knows how long.” He looked back over his shoulder, his tone growing  smug as he said, “Oh, and they broke your Playstation.”

Jericho winced. He wouldn’t lie. That one hurt. “Damn. How?”

He buried his face between his husband's cheeks once more.

“He—um—Oh, fuck.” Atticus took a sharp breath as Jericho sucked and licked at him, then fucked his tongue past that first tight ring of muscle.

“He what, Freckles?” Jericho teased.

Atticus moaned like a whore, still trying to ride Jericho’s tongue. “He…force-fed it his very melted, very greasy grilled cheese.”

Gross.

“You tried to sneak swiss cheese onto his sandwich again, didn’t you?” Jericho asked, disapproving. “You know he doesn’t like food with holes in them.”

Atticus sounded somewhere between horny and irritated as he said, “He didn’t mind donuts last week, or the bagel he ate at the deli two weeks ago. Now all of a sudden he hates food with holes in them. You can’t just arbitrarily make up rules like that. Besides, it melted. There were no more holes,” Atticus said.

Jericho slapped Atticus’s ass, watching with satisfaction as it jiggled, a perfect handprint blooming pink on his snowy white skin. “But he knew. He’s smart. You can’t just trick him.”

“I trick them into thinking they’re Mario Kart masters every night,” Atticus muttered. “This whole conversation is absurd.”

Jericho laughed once more. “Welcome to having children. Speaking of, how long do we have, exactly, before said kids come home?”

Atticus picked up his phone and glanced at the time. “Forty minutes, tops.”

“Enough time for me to tongue fuck you and breed your greedy little hole. Damn, and it's not even my birthday.”

“Less talk, more action,” Atticus said, reaching back and pushing Jericho’s head down.

He laughed low, returning to the task at hand. “So greedy. From pillow princess to bossy bottom. I approve. Why don’t you just sit on my face, freckles, then you can just do all the work yourself.”

Atticus practically purred as Jericho tongued at his balls, then said, “The last time I did that, you almost died.”

“Fuck yeah, I did. And I’d do it again,” Jericho promised.

After that they fell silent with Jericho spending a good solid twenty minutes eating Atticus out until he started begging. “That’s enough. Please. I need more. Can I touch myself? Will you fuck me?”

Jericho smiled. Atticus only started asking for permission when he was too far gone to be embarrassed, when he would do literally anything Jericho demanded of him. He’d beg, plead, debase himself in any number of ways just to get Jericho inside him.

And it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Not yet, freckles. Throw me the lube.”

Atticus made a sad noise that almost had Jericho caving. He listened as the drawer opened, then a bottle hit the top of his head and rolled to land at his shoulder.

Before Atticus, Jericho could never have imagined a life as domestic as theirs. Even with two kids, their sex life was still hotter than ever. They just had to be trickier about it. Sex in the shower, bending Atticus over the bathroom sink, fucking in Jericho’s office at the garage or in any number of rooms at the annual Mulvaney holiday parties.

Jericho would happily spend the rest of his life cooking dinners, watching murder documentaries and raising two wild boys with his fussy, bowtie-wearing husband. He honestly couldn’t think of anything better.

He got to his knees and coated his fingers, then teased at his hole, without pushing in, watching as Atticus tried to get them where he wanted them. Only when he made a noise of frustration did Jericho relent, thrusting two fingers deep without warning. Atticus rewarded him with this breathy little cry he’d never admit to.

“Is that better, freckles? Feeling nice and full yet?”

Atticus fucked himself on Jericho’s finger. “I can take another.”

“You’ll take what I give you,” Jericho told him, voice low. Atticus made another frustrated sound, rocking harder. “Fuck, you look so good riding my fingers. Such a good little whore for me. You want another? Want me to stretch that slutty little hole, freckles?”

“Yeah,” Atticus panted.

“Say please.”

“Please,” Atticus whined.

“You beg so easily now, huh?” Jericho teased. “Always so fucking hungry for it, so desperate to be all fucked out and sloppy, stuffed full of my come, huh, baby?”

Atticus buried his face in the pillow. Fuck, there was nothing hotter than Atticus when he was being shy. But Jericho would make him say it. He pulled his fingers almost all the way out. “Tell me. Tell me how much you love my cock. Tell me how much you love being used up.”

“I-I love your cock. I love you inside me. Fuck me, breed me, use me up. I want to feel you leaking out of me all night. Please. Please. I can’t take much more.”

Jericho was so hard he could probably have pounded a nail through a board with just his dick, but he wasn’t done teasing, He added more lube, then fucked three fingers into him. The sounds were obscene, just Atticus panting and moaning, and the wet squelching sound of Jericho violating his husband's increasingly sloppy hole.

“Enough. Please. We’re going to run out of time and I want you inside me. Stop playing.”

Jericho fought the urge to laugh. “Bossy, bossy, bossy,” he said, but he was already pulling his fingers free, wiping them on his dirty jeans, before yanking at his belt and zipper.

Just like Atticus’s pajama pants, Jericho didn’t bother to take them off. Instead, he just shoved them out of the way, yanking Atticus’s hips back, then slamming home in one deep thrust that had them both groaning.

“Oh, fuck, freckles. You’re so wet for me. Is this what you needed? You needed to get fucked hard? Huh?”

Jericho gripped his hips, holding him in place as he pounded into him with purpose, the sounds Atticus was making letting him know he was hitting the right spot every time. He clawed at the sheets, his mouth slack, eyes shut. He was already so far gone.

Sometimes they would fuck for hours while Atticus just laid there body slack, come drunk from too many orgasms, letting Jericho use him, fill him up again and again. Atticus loved being used like Jericho’s personal fuck doll and Jericho was happy to oblige.

But tonight wasn’t going to be one of their marathon sessions where he took him apart all night long. There was no time. Atticus took himself in hand, fucking into his own fist in time with Jericho’s thrusts.

Jericho wanted to see, he wanted to watch his husband jerk off. “Ride me?”

Atticus nodded. “Yeah, okay, but hurry up. I need to come.”

“Who are you tonight?” Jericho said around a laugh. “Where did my sweet, submissive husband go?”

“Our kids chased him off. I’m what you get tonight.” Atticus pushed Jericho onto his back, then hurriedly did away with his pajama pants, slinging a leg over Jericho’s hips then lowering himself back on Jericho’s dick with a low moan. “You always feel so much bigger this way.”

“Yeah? Show me. Show me how much you love taking it. Fuck yourself. I need to feel you come on my cock.”

Atticus didn’t even hesitate, placing one hand on Jericho’s thigh to lean back, pistoning his hips up and down while he jerked his cock. He looked so goddamn good, riding him like a porn star with his head thrown back,mouth slack, these tiny little ‘uh, uh, uh’s’ panting out of him each time he bottomed out.

Jericho groaned, eyes rolling behind his lids. “Oh, fuck, freckles. That’s it. Goddamn your so fucking wet. You look so fucking hot riding my dick.”

Jericho was so deeply entranced watching his husband, that he was surprised when Atticus said, “Touch me. I want to feel your hands on me.”

Christ. “You don’t need to tell me twice, freckles. You know I can’t get enough of you.”

Jericho could feel his own release building, but he tried to stave it off. “Come on, baby,” Jericho coaxed, rough, calloused hands sliding up Atticus’s chest to tease at his nipples.

That did it. It always did. Like some kind of pressure release valve. Atticus gave a hoarse shout, then was painting his cum across Jericho’s stomach and chest, grinding himself down on Jericho’s cock as the last tiny spasms shivered through him.

Jericho barely noticed, too caught up in his own climax, waves of pleasure dragging him under as he emptied himself inside his husband.

Jericho winced as Atticus pulled off him almost immediately, then rolled onto his side of the bed, breathing hard as they both stared up at the ceiling.

“Well, that was…” Jericho started, but was too winded to continue.

“Yeah,” Atticus agreed, his fingers finding Jericho’s and threading them together.

“Think we have time for a shower?” Jericho asked.

Atticus’s phone began to vibrate beside Jericho’s head on the bedside table. Jericho looked at the screen and sighed. Adam. He handed it over so Atticus could answer.

“What’s up?” he said by way of greeting. Jericho could only listen to one side of the conversation. “What do you mean? What do you mean?” he said again, growing more agitated by the minute. “No, you will not tell us when you get here. What did you do to my children?” Atticus snarled into the phone.

Christ.

He snatched the phone back from him. “What the fuck is happening? Are you just trying to piss off my husband because if my children aren’t returned to me in the same condition as when they left I will literally dismember you, Adam.”

“Not Adam. Noah. It’s nothing bad,” Noah said, sounding like he was a million miles away. “The kids are fine.”

“Am I on speaker phone?”

“No,” Noah promised. “I have my headphones in. I swear your children are all in one piece. They’re fed and bathed and ready for bed. There was just…an incident but I don’t really want to talk about it in front of them, you know?”

Jericho grunted, his frustration building. “What’s your ETA?”

“Five minutes.”

“Fine. See you then.”

They both were dressed and waiting in record time. As soon as the doorbell camera alerted them of their presence, Jericho whipped the door open then dropped to his knees looking over each of his children, breathing a literal sigh of relief when he saw they were seemingly perfect.

“Daddy,” Jett said. “We got burgers and pizza and to play Pac-Man. Oh and two different ice creams.”

Jericho arched a brow at Noah who flushed, then shrugged. “What? We’re the fun uncles.”

“Why don’t you boys go brush your teeth and then get into bed. We’ll come read to you in just a few minutes. Okay?”

They nodded. “Okay, Daddy,” Jett said.

They raced off to the bathroom.

Jericho turned on them then. “What was this incident?”

“So…” Noah hedged.

“So…” Atticus prompted, irritated.

“Did you know that Jagger likes to…lick things?”

Jericho closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “What exactly did he lick?”

Adam scoffed. “Bro, what didn’t he lick? His tongue has now been on our light switches, our door knob, the refrigerator, his brother and…our dog.”

“What?” Atticus said, lip curling in disgust.

“Yeah, it’s gross,” Adam agreed. “Your kid licked my dog’s head. It’s fucking weird.”

“Adam…” Noah said, his name a gentle warning.

“What? Do kids lick things? Is that normal? It doesn’t feel normal.”

“It’s a…relatively new development,” Atticus said. “But we’ll handle it.”

Adam blinked at him. “You’ll handle it? That’s it?”

Atticus gave his brother a dirty look. “What were you hoping for? Financial compensation? You want a new light switch? A new dog? Honestly, as gross as your dog is, I should sue you. Who knows what he could have given Jagger.”

“Hey, do not talk that way about Dexter,” Adam said. “Only I can talk shit about my dog.”

“And only we can talk shit about our kids,” Atticus countered. “Now go home.” After a second, he said, “And…thanks. For watching them.”

Noah smiled. “It was fun. Anytime.”

Adam glowered at Noah. “If we get them some kind of muzzle.” Noah raised a brow at his husband. “What?” Adam said, tone pissy. When Noah kept staring he made an exasperated noise. “Oh, my God. Fine. You’re welcome or whatever. Can we go home now?”

They said their goodbyes. Once the door was shut, Atticus locked it, then fell into Jericho’s arms. “Do we…have a talk with him? About…tongue etiquette?”

“Not tonight, freckles. They’re tired and strung out on sugar. We will all get some sleep and revisit the topic in the morning when we’re all well rested. Okay?”

Atticus nodded against Jericho’s shoulder. “This shit is so hard.”

“The hardest.”

“I’m glad I’m not doing it alone.”

Jericho smiled, wrapping his arms around Atticus’s waist.

Their hug was interrupted by the sound of Boots hissing and growling, then screeching.

“Daddy,” Jett called. “Jagger tried to lick the cat.”

Atticus groaned, but Jericho kissed his head. “I got it. Why don’t you go lay back down.”

Atticus sighed, then shook his head. “No, they’re our kids. We’re in this together.”

“Even if we have weird kids who lick cats?” Jericho asked.

Atticus gave him a tired smile. “Yeah, even then.”