Kozy Kills - Jericho and Atticus Part 2 - Patreon Exclusive (Patreon)

This will not be in the newsletter. This is just for my patrons. As always unbeta'd and unedited. Hope you enjoy.

This will not be in the newsletter. This is just for my patrons. As always unbeta'd and unedited. Hope you enjoy. 

Atticus flinched, then grimaced as the car went over another rut in the road. He had once more let his mouth write a check his ass couldn’t cash. Literally. It was a crass saying—one of his husband’s favorites—but in this case it was painfully accurate. The plug had seemed like a good idea at the time. The idea of being open and ready when Jericho finished torturing the man who’d tormented Thomas had sounded sexy at the time.

Anything involving his husband couldn’t be anything but sexy, even murder. But he often let Jericho’s dirty mouth give him delusions of grandeur. These sex games had been much easier before they’d had children. Rambunctious children. Children that liked to jump and climb all over him. Children who demanded piggy back rides and wrestling matches on the floor. Even with Jericho doing his best to distract the kids, he’d barely made it out of the apartment alive.

He’d thought that his problems would be solved once they were in the car, the long drive to his father’s giving him ample time to just relax. He’d been wrong. So wrong. The long, lazy drive to Thomas’s proved to be anything but relaxing. And the drive felt longer with each passing second.

Jericho’s tires drifted over the line onto the ruts placed on the shoulder to alert people they needed to course correct. What it actually did was turn the plug into a temporary vibrator, causing Atticus to grunt and shoot a glare at his husband as he gently swerved back over the white line.

“Oops,” Jericho said, a smile playing at his lips.

“You did that on purpose,” Atticus muttered just loud enough to Jericho to hear.

“Daddy, that was fun. Do it again,” Jett begged.

Jericho’s barely there smile became a devious smirk, like he was contemplating it.

Atticus swayed into Jericho’s space, pressing his lips against his ear. “I swear if you drive so much as a centimeter over that line again, Navarro, this plug is going to be the last thing you put inside me for a month.”

Jericho’s chuckle was low and dirty. “I love when you think you’re in charge, freckles. It’s adorable. But I’ll stay in my lane. Don’t worry.”

Atticus scoffed. Jericho’s tone let him know he should most definitely worry. He sounded far too satisfied with himself.

It was his own fault. Atticus should have known something was up when Jericho decided to take the back roads. He’d given Atticus a flimsy excuse about late afternoon traffic, but now Atticus knew that his husband had decided to use the drive just to torment him. It had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with the potholes, speed bumps and rough roads between them and the Mulvany Mansion.

It only took another moment for Atticus to realize why his husband was acting so fucking smug and why he’d so quickly agreed to behave. Up ahead was a two-lane bridge that ran over the river. He knew that bridge. He’d forgotten about it until now, but he knew it. He could recall with great detail the raised strips that marred the surface of the road to remind drivers to slow down, strips that would rhythmically drive that plug into Atticus. He couldn’t stop the way his face contorted or the whine that left his lips as they passed over the first ridge.

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Atticus muttered, keeping his voice down so the children didn’t hear.

Jericho threw back his head and laughed like some super-villain out of a comic book. The boys chimed in, delighted, having absolutely no idea what was happening. Atticus dug his blunt nails into his husbands arms as the toy jabbed against his prostate over and over. Atticus bit down on his bottom lip, swallowing the moan that was clawing its way up his throat.

Yeah, he was going to kill Jericho.

Slowly.

Painfully.

“You good, freckles?” Jericho asked, like he was asking about the weather.

“Yeah, Daddy, what’s wrong?” Jagger asked from his booster seat. “Do you have to poop?”

“You shoulda gone before we left da house,” Jett added, parroting what Atticus and Jericho said to them every time they left the house. “Aleister pooped all over his car seat on the way home and Cricket had to roll the windows down,” Jett said. “It was yucky.”

“Yes, you’ve told us…several times,” Atticus grunted, keeping his death grip on Jericho’s arm until they made it to the other side, sagging with relief once they were back to the relatively smooth asphalt, panting like he’d just survived passing a kidney stone, or a baby.

“Aleister poops a lot. So does Theo. They smell really bad,” Jett confirmed.

Jagger nodded along solemnly. “Oscar and West don’t smell like poop but they smell like bad milk cause they throwed up on themselves a lot. It’s yucky.”

Everything was yucky to Jagger lately except the things they needed him to understand were in fact yucky, like licking the cat or the windows, or the door knobs. Like finger painting the fridge with grape jelly or picking his nose.

Hell, before they’d left they’d had to give Jett a long talk about why you couldn’t put cheese puffs in your underwear to eat later.

“We do not eat things that have been in our underwear,” Atticus had said, exasperated.

Jericho had snickered and whispered, “Well, now we both know that’s not true,freckles.”

Atticus had elbowed him hard in the ribs, hissing back, “Play time’s over, Navarro. Get your head in the game.”

Jericho had patted Atticus on the ass just hard enough to remind him that play time was not, in fact, over, but merely at half-time.

Jericho snickered from the driver’s seat, bringing Atticus back to the present, his husband giving him a fond smile. “Play times over, freckles. Get your head in the game.”

Right. The game. The game that involved soiled car seats and spit-up. Atticus had forgotten how much of boys' lives revolved around bodily functions. He’d kept himself a bit removed from all of that growing up. As the eldest, it was easy to ignore the younger boys when they were going through this phase. But now he was in the thick of it and honestly, he was enjoying all of it. Even the gross stuff.

Despite Jett and Jagger’s slow start, they were frighteningly smart, absorbing knowledge like little sponges. All knowledge. And not all of it was good. It’s why Atticus wanted them in private school. He wanted them to have an education that could keep up with them.

They’re lives had been so hard before they’d been found. So bad they still hadn’t revealed all the horrors they’d endured. Maybe they never would. Atticus had never told Thomas or his brothers the full extent of his abuse as a child. Only Jericho. Whatever it was that had brought them to him and Jericho was bad enough to have left Jagger still struggling with his speech and had caused Jett to fear being away from them for too long.

Except when they were with family.

Like tonight.

Atticus didn’t push them to talk about it. They had a therapist who knew how to deal with children’s trauma in a way that wouldn’t make things worse. And if anyone could make them worse, it would be Atticus. He truly didn’t understand how emotions worked. Especially in children. Jericho swore Atticus knew far more than he thought, but Jericho always saw the best in Atticus, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“How much longer until we get to grandpa’s house?” Jett asked.

“Five minutes less than the last time you asked,” Jericho assured him, taking Atticus’s hand and threading their fingers.

“Is grandpa Aiden gonna be there?” Jagger asked.

Inside, Atticus recoiled at the honorific. That was never not going to be weird. It had been so long and yet Atticus’s knee-jerk reaction was always to correct them to Uncle Aiden. But he wasn’t their uncle. He was their…step-grandfather. Atticus knew it was true but his brain rejected the notion that the guy he’d once thought of as his aloof, recluse of a brother was now the man sleeping with his father. And breeding with his father. They had a baby together.

“Yes, of course, Aiden lives there, just like your grandfather Thomas and Theo,” Atticus reminded

The Mulvaney’s family tree was the talk of many, many tabloids. They were quickly becoming the Kardashians of the East Coast with entire documentaries made about their explosive family history and their recent exploits. Thomas and Aiden’s marriage had taken up more than a hundred bylines since their wedding, but recently the attention had shifted to Asa and Zane.

Just when Thomas had been at his wit’s end and starting to panic about what life would be like for Theo under this magnifying glass, Zane had gone on camera without his usual cover-up on and suddenly Thaiden—yes, his father and brother had a ship name—weren’t nearly as interesting as the prospect of domestic violence within the Mulvaney home.

That had led to Asa and Zane going on live television and putting their sex lives right in the public eye. Explaining their whole sordid, kinky, often violent sexual exploits. Atticus would rather die than go on television and talk about his bedroom activities with Jericho. Luckily, it seemed Asa and Zane liked the world knowing what freaks they were. Probably another kink.

Whatever it was, they had effectively steered the conversation away from Thomas and Aiden and over to them, giving them some privacy where Theo was concerned. Then West and Oscar were born and Theo seemed dull in comparison to whatever insanity was going on between his brothers and their spouses behind closed doors.

As much as Atticus hated to admit it, what Asa and Zane had done was to protect Thomas and Aiden. And for that, Atticus was grateful. His father deserved some kind of peace and normalcy.

“Why do you ask?” Jericho inquired, once more dragging Atticus from his thoughts.

“Cause last time we were there he taught us how to make a-a gillatun,” Jagger said excitedly.

“A gillatun?” Atticus repeated, looking at Jericho, who shrugged, then mouthed the word again as if it would somehow jog their memories.

Atticus watched the boys in the safety mirror as the two bobbed their heads in unison. “Yeah,” Jagger finally said. “It lets you chop things up. He let us chop up a cucumber.”

A sick feeling slid around in Atticus’s stomach as Jett giggled, then said, “And we had to say ‘off with her head’ like in Alice in Wonderland.”

“They used to use it to get rid of bad peoples and princesses,” Jagger informed them.

The muscle in Atticus’s jaw started to tic and he blew a harsh breath out through his nose. “Do you mean a guillotine?”

“That’s what I said. A gill-o-teen,” Jagger repeated as if Atticus was stupid or hard of hearing.

“For fuck’s sake,” Atticus snapped, only catching himself after the boy’s gasped dramatically.

“Daddy said a bad word. Does he have to put money in the swear jar?” Jett inquired.

“Yeah, will Daddy get a spanking?” Jagger asked.

“Since when has anyone in our house gotten a spanking?” Atticus asked. Jabbing a finger in his husband’s face. “You shut your mouth.”

Jericho chuckled darkly. “Yes, Daddy will have to pay for his bad language.”

“He means I will put money in the swear jar,” Atticus assured them, widening his eyes at Jericho who simply winked at him.

“And we thought it was the twins we had to worry about,” Atticus finally said.

Jericho squeezed his fingers. “Don’t stress, Freckles. Think of it like a history lesson.”

Right. Atticus stared at the side of Jericho’s face, snorting when he looked at him and flashed him a smile that made Atticus clench on the toy inside him. How did Jericho take all of this in stride? Nothing ever rattled him. He was so good at handling…everything. Steady where Atticus was shaky. Calm when Atticus was nervous. Always rolling with the tides while Atticus was bashing into the rocks.

It made him grateful Jett and Jagger had Jericho. They needed one steady person in their little family and Atticus had learned quickly that it wouldn’t be him. He loved his children but they stressed him the fuck out. Truthfully, everything did. Thomas said Atticus was like that even as a child. At least until he learned masking, which made him borderline tolerable to most normal people.

Atticus still couldn’t believe Jericho not only tolerated him, but seemed to love every negative quality Atticus had…and he had so many. Jericho liked him prissy, fussy, finicky, cranky, hangry, sleepy…somehow Atticus could do no wrong in Jericho’s eyes and it was more than Atticus deserved.

“He’s teaching our kids how to create medieval torture devices and sentencing vegetables to death. That doesn’t alarm you?” Atticus whispered under his breath.

Jericho shrugged. “They’re going to have to learn sometime. We’re raising the next generation of Mulvaney’s. At some point, when your brothers are all too old to make the kill, it will fall on them.”

Atticus glanced in the mirror once more. “Kids put your headphones on.”

The boys didn’t question it. They just put their headphones on and turned on their iPads. Once he was certain they couldn’t hear, he allowed himself to voice his fear. “Are we bad parents?”

“What? Why? Because Aiden taught our sons how to behead a cucumber?” Jericho asked, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, yeah,” Atticus said. “That’s not fucking normal. We’re teaching our kids about murder.”

“It’s not murder, freckles. It’s karma. We’re teaching our kids that actions have consequences and causing harm to innocent people has consequences. Look at Adelyn and Arabella. They fell into all things dark and spooky with no help from August and Lucas and even they understand the code. Right or wrong, we either teach them young like Thomas did you or we try to shield them entirely and then what? They hear about it from their cousins and they hate us. It’s better we’re just honest.”

Atticus felt a weird pang in his chest. “They really never stood a chance at a normal childhood. No Mulvaney ever will.”

“Freckles, they’re the grandson of a billionaire who’s on the news twice a month at the least. Their uncles make headlines daily. Before us, God only knows what they endured. They were never going to be normal, killers or no. But they’re safe and happy and loved and so well-protected.” At Atticus’s miserable look, Jericho squeezed his hand. “Relax, babe. The kids are alright.”

Atticus deflated against the seat, relief flooding his system as they rounded the bend. He’d been so involved in their conversation, he hadn’t realized where they were. He’d never been so excited to see the iron gates of the Mulvaney compound.

As always, getting the kids from the car took entirely too long. They always seemed to travel with so many unnecessary things. Not just their iPads but their comfort objects, monster trucks, action figures…etcetera.

Walking into the mansion used to mean traversing a giant empty house trying to divine where Thomas might be within its walls. That…wasn’t a problem anymore. The moment they opened the front door, they were met with a wild shriek, Ady and Ara running through the foyer as fast as their little legs could carry them, before sliding to a halt in front of the massive staircase.

“Come on,” they called to Jett and Jagger, then took off up the marble stairs.

The boys were off like a shot, not even asking for permission. Atticus shook his head. How was Thomas going to keep his eye on eight children?

“Should we be concerned that our kids are running wild in this maze of a house?” Jericho asked, sounding genuinely concerned for the first time all day.

Atticus scoffed. “Finding all the passages and secret tunnels in the mansion was one of our favorite things to do when we were kids. They’ll be fine. They can all swim. The weapons are all out of reach, and there’s no way off the property without help.”

Jericho gave him a thorough once over. “You seem to be feeling better all of a sudden.”

Atticus narrowed his eyes at him. He had no intention of forgetting the hell he just went through. “Do I?”

Jericho’s look could melt solid steel. Atticus’s insides shivered when he purred, “Oh, don’t pout, Freckles. It wasn’t my idea to plug you up. It was yours.”

“It was your idea to torment me for almost an hour on back country roads,” Atticus said, definitely pouting.

“Is that what’s wrong, baby?” Jericho said right up against his ear. “Why don’t you just ask for what you want instead of sulking?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Atticus said, already half-hard.

Jericho rolled his eyes, then took Atticus’s hand, dragging him throughout the house to one of the smaller bathrooms on the first floor.

“What are you doing?” Atticus asked, knowing fully well what his husband intended.

“Don’t play dumb, freckles. I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been whining for.”

Atticus wished he didn’t like this so much, wished he didn’t get hard every time his husband degraded him. The bathroom door closed behind him and the lock turned with a click. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to fuck me in my father’s bathroom?”

Jericho snickered, his hands already undoing Atticus’s pants, pushing them and his underwear down to his ankles. “I was going to blow you, but if you want me to fuck you instead, who am I to say no? Now shut up and bend over before I change my mind and pretend you mean it.”

Atticus’s gaze met Jericho’s in the spotless mirror over the sink, watching as his husband raised one dark brow in challenge, calloused hands already teasing their way between his cheeks to press on the plug making him moan like a porn star.

“Yeah, that’s it. So easy for it, huh?” Jericho’s fingers threaded through Atticus’s hair, yanking his head to the side, sucking a mark into the space where his neck and shoulder met. “Tik-tok, freckles. You want me to fill you up one more time before we go kill this guy or do you want to just spend the rest of the day whining about the consequences of your own actions?”

Atticus flushed. “You can. Just-Just do it.”

“Oh, I can?” Jericho asked, voice deliciously condescending, slowly pressing the plug deeper until it was grinding against his prostate. “How gracious of you.” He reached around and pinched one of Atticus’s nipples hard. “Is that how you ask for things?”

“I-I didn’t ask,” Atticus said, knowing he was being a brat, especially considering he was rock hard and they both knew it.

Jericho slapped his ass hard. “Okay, freckles. Have it your way.”

He took a step back, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms, cocky expression meeting Atticus’s flushed one in the mirror. Jericho would wait him out. His husband was nothing if not patient. Fuck.

Atticus shook his head, then closed his eyes, bending over the sink until his forearms pressed against the cold marble countertop. When Jericho made no move to come closer, Atticus spread his legs wide.

“Oh, did you want something, princess?” Jericho taunted, rubbing his cock through his jeans in the reflection.

“Don’t be mean,” Atticus muttered. “You’ve been torturing me for an hour. I’ve-I’ve earned this. Haven’t I?”

Atticus met his gaze in the mirror, giving him his best fuck me eyes.

Jericho took a step forward, hand trailing up Atticus’s spine, then dropping a surprisingly gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Fuck, you look so hot like this.”

Somehow, that made Atticus flush more than the prospect of his husband railing him in a guest bathroom in his father’s house, currently occupied by a number of staff and several children. “Please?” he begged, knowing that was the key to getting Jericho to give him whatever he wanted.

The sound of Jericho’s buckle opening was music to his ears. He was desperate to feel Jericho inside him again. He really could never get enough of him. Was it possible to get addicted to getting dicked down by your own husband? If it was, Atticus was in trouble.

Jericho was petting his sides, squeezing his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. “Fuck, freckles. I love it when you beg for my cock. Such a good little whore for me, aren’t you?”

Atticus’s dick ached from where it pressed painfully against the cold edge of the sink. He pressed his ass back, shaking it in what he hoped was an enticing manner. “Yes,” Atticus hissed.

Jericho gave an appreciative growl, then there was a tug at the toy. Atticus hissed as Jericho pulled the plug out, then fucked it back into him a couple of times slowly.

“I’m just going to jerk myself off if you don’t put your cock in me right now,” Atticus said, petulant.

Jericho yanked the plug out harshly, robbing Atticus of his breath. He watched as Jericho tossed it into the sink in front of him, then slapped his ass hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the room. It burned like fire and Atticus knew he’d have a perfect handprint on his ass.

“Such a fucking brat,” he growled, then the blunt head of his cock was pressing against Atticus’s over-sensitive hole.

Before Atticus could even prepare, Jericho slammed all the way in until his hips were flush against him, ripping a gasp from Atticus. “Fuck.”

“This what you needed, freckles?” Jericho grunted.

“I need you to move,” Atticus countered, his hand already wrapping around his own cock and stroking it roughly. The precum leaking from his cock was alright but not enough to ease the slide the way he needed. He made a noise of frustration then spit in his hand, before going back to it.

“Damn, baby. Okay, okay,” Jericho said around a laugh, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back home, driving Atticus up onto his tip-toes.

He groaned,  bracing himself with his free hand to keep from having Jericho fuck him head first into the sink. He set a brutal pace, fucking Atticus like he had something to prove. It was fine with Atticus. The angle of his thrusts had Jericho’s cock dragging just right across his prostate with every other thrust, until he couldn’t stop the moans forming in the back of his throat. They fell from his lips like water.

Jericho laughed breathlessly, then forced three fingers into his mouth, the tang of his skin making Atticus feel warm all over. “Your need to get this slutty hole filled over and over again is going to get us busted, baby. You know how much I love you whining on my dick but you need to keep it down, our kids are around here somewhere.”

Atticus was far too gone to even be embarrassed by the way he sucked on the fingers, tonguing between his fingers until it was Jericho groaning, the sound of skin slapping skin loud and jarring.

“You just love being stuffed at both ends, huh? Need something to fill up every hole. So desperate. My perfect little whore,” Jericho said, his other hand digging painfully into Atticus’s hip.

There would definitely be finger shaped bruises after this. Likely overlapping the ones from earlier. Zane wasn’t the only one who liked to see proof of being owned. Atticus just wasn’t public about it. This was just for them. He would never want anyone knowing the power Jericho had over him.

He stroked himself faster, that heat tightening in his lower belly, closing his eyes at the pleasure building on itself inside of him. Jericho’s fingers slipped from his wet lips and Atticus panted, “Are you almost…”

“Yeah, baby. Are you?” Jericho said.

“Yeah, yes. Yes, totally.”

“Open your eyes and look at me,” Jericho demanded. Atticus did as he was told without thought, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Good. That’s good, freckles. Now come on my cock. I want to feel you.”

Maybe it was the combination of Atticus’s hand and Jericho pounding into him, maybe it was his husband's dirty mouth and raspy tone. Or maybe Jericho had just trained Atticus to come on command. Whatever it was, his words sent him cresting over the edge, painting his release over the sink and cabinets below with a muffled shout.

Jericho gripped Atticus by the hair, yanking him back against him until his head rested on his shoulder as he continued to drive into him. It was too much, wincing at the oversensitivity. But that was part of the game. Letting Jericho use him even when it hurt, even when it brought tears to his eyes. He fucking loved it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m gonna come, gonna…gonna fuck you full again, freckles.”

Jericho bit down on Atticus’s shoulder, his hips grinding against his ass as his orgasm hit. Atticus couldn’t help but watch in the mirror, his husband’s blissed out expression was the sexiest thing in the world and it was all because of Atticus. He did that. He made Jericho an absolute panting mess. Just him.

Atticus winced as Jericho slipped free, then replaced the plug. He tucked himself back into his jeans then helped Atticus dress again. Atticus leaned against the wall as Jericho cleaned up their mess.

When he was done, he turned and placed the softest kiss on Atticus’s lips. “Feel better?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Am I forgiven for torturing you the whole way here?”

Atticus’s expression soured, remembering why they were there in the first place. “Not yet, no.”

“Aw, okay. I’ll just have to keep trying until you forgive me,” Jericho said, then slapped his ass directly over the plug as he unlocked the bathroom door, giving him a satisfied look.

Atticus swung the door open, “Don’t look so smug,” he managed. “I seduced you.”

Jericho’s hand slid from his lower back to his ass, patting it gently. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, freckles.”

“The plug was my idea,” Atticus reminded him as they rounded the corner to enter the foyer, stopping short when he came face to face with Asa and Avi.

“The what was your idea?” Avi asked, clearly delighted at hearing something so scandalous.

For a second Atticus thought his husband had fucked him into a hallucination. At least he’d hoped so, but no, it was his asshole brothers, likely there to drop off their own children for the impromptu Mulvaney slumber party.

“Mind your own business,” Atticus muttered, not missing the smug look Jericho threw the twins way.

“We were minding our own business. You’re the one talking about your deviant sex life in the hallway,” Avi said, pretending to clutch his pearls.

“You misheard me,” Atticus said primly, stepping around his brothers, intent on finding his father. Jericho was still beside him, and still smirking.

“Is that why your walking like you just fucked a cactus?” Asa shouted, voice reverberating through the large space like he’d screamed it into a microphone.

“Asa Mulvaney,” Thomas snapped, from where he stood in the hallway just in front of them. “We have a house full of kids. Watch your mouth.”

“He started it,” Asa whined.

“Well, I’m finishing it,” Thomas countered.

Atticus gave them a superior look, flipping the twins off just out of Thomas’s line of sight.

“That is the most dad thing you’ve ever said,” Avi barked, delighted.

Thomas gave them all a baleful glance. “Have I acquired all of my grandchildren?”

“Jett and Jagger are playing with Ara and Ady,” Jericho supplied.

“Oscar and West are in the nursery with Aleister and Theo,” Aiden said, jogging down the staircase and coming to stand beside Thomas. He looked rumpled, his shirt misbuttoned. Atticus ignored it.

Thomas smiled at Aiden, taking his hand. “Excellent.” He looked at his sons. “Get out of my house. You cause too much trouble whenever you’re here.”

Asa had the nerve to look insulted. “You have eight tiny snot faucets under your roof and we’re the problem?”

“Yes,” Thomas and Aiden said together.

“Wow, I’m starting to think you just used us so you could ‘acquire’ more children,” Avi muttered.

“Oh yes, you’ve caught on to my master plan,” Thomas said with an eye roll. “Now, if you don’t mind...” he said, steering them towards the door.

“Look at this, herding us like sheep,” Avi cried.

Atticus took Jericho’s hand. “Send us the details. We’re heading out now.”

Thomas’s expression faltered, like he’d almost forgotten why he was watching the children in the first place. “Yes, right. I’ll do that. Please be careful.”

“We always are,” Jericho promised.