Chapter 8
Atlas parked the Kawasaki in front of his apartment building. Miraculously, it was still standing, without any obvious structural damage. He kicked the bike stand down and planted a foot on the asphalt. Being out here by himself was right up there in his top-five most impulsive decisions, right next to joining the military.
If anything ambushed him, he was dead, no matter how much firepower he’d brought with him. He’d known that before he’d set foot outside the base, and it hadn’t changed his decision. He’d wanted to go home too much to let it stop him. If this was how he went out, so be it.
The elevator was still in service, which… Atlas at least wanted to give the little electronic hot box credit; that was impressive, considering the state of the world. The buttons were even lit up. He still wasn’t going to use it, of course, but good on it for keeping on keeping on. Too bad the donut shop down the street didn’t have the same go-getter attitude. Atlas really could have gone for a bear claw, or a raspberry glaze, or a pink sprinkle. Hell, he’d take a regular old plain cinnamon donut. At this point, as long as it was round and full of sugar, he’d be happy. Even oblong. The sugar part was key. Maybe he still had something edible in his cupboards.
He moved slowly up the five flights of stairs, carefully checking every area as he went, head on a swivel and weapon pointing to each corner. Maybe he’d be dead if anything found him, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
Most of the stairwell doors were gone, in pieces nearby. Blood spilled out onto the hallways, apartment doors swinging open. Some floors had decaying bodies, others were hauntingly empty. A ghost town littered with the dead. A hand peeked out from the front entryway of an apartment on the third floor.
Atlas didn’t bother checking for signs of life. It was clear there was none. The Demons had ripped through this place, just like they had everywhere else.
Was anywhere in the world free from them? They had contact with a few other countries and the pockets of resistance that were valiantly fighting. He’d spoken to prime ministers and presidents, some from before the world had ended and some that had been elected afterward. Given the job? It wasn’t like Atlas had earned his rank either. There were fewer than a million people left in the world if current counts were correct.
His own apartment door was wide open, and he faltered on the threshold, nails digging into the doorframe. His mouth curled up in a snarl. He could see hints of damage inside, and he hung his head so he didn’t have to look at it. The idea that someone uninvited had come into his home sat heavy in his gut. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet somehow, there had still been some semblance of hope that his own personal space had been left untouched. Why, he had no idea. Nothing was sacred to the monsters that haunted the world.
Were they fighting for nothing? Was Conquest right that they should just give up? What hope was left when their population had dwindled to all but nothing?
He clenched his fist. No. There was always hope, and it wasn’t in his nature to sit down and wait to die. He would fight until there was no one left to save. He would fight until the very end, and when he went down, he would make them work for it.
He took a deep breath and braced himself as he stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Nothing could prepare him for the heartache at seeing his haven so thoroughly messed up. Broken furniture, holes in the walls, inner doors off their hinges. Drawers in the kitchen all open and his shit all over the floor. Shattered plates, utensils spread across the dark linoleum. Fridge door wide open and a distinct smell of rotten food in the place.
In his bedroom, the dresser had been rummaged through, clothing spread over the floor. Closet doors flung open, the inside with the same treatment. They’d left the bed alone, the cover made up just as he’d left it all those weeks ago, with no idea he wouldn’t return for so long. Why had they just pulled everything out? Had they been looking for something in here?
He smoothed his hand over the cover on the bed. A nap sounded pretty fucking good right now. Seeing the damage had exhausted him until his bones felt tender and raw, his flesh ripped open and left to bleed at the loss. The apartment hadn’t been much, but it had been his .
The only thing out of place on the bed was a ripped-up sweater. Atlas frowned. He picked up a piece of the dark-green fabric and rubbed it between his fingers. It looked familiar. Except he didn’t own a single sweater. He wore baggy hoodies, backwards caps, three-quarter tops, and cargo pants. When he was out of uniform anyway. He didn’t do sweaters.
He dropped it as though burned. Fucking hell. Matty . It was Matty’s. He’d left it here the last time he’d stayed the night. They’d slept through the alarm the next morning, and Matty had rushed out half-dressed because he needed to get home and get his uniform before heading on base. He’d tripped on his way out the front door, and Atlas had worried he wouldn’t make it to the ground floor without doing permanent damage.
Atlas spent the next half hour tidying his room: putting his clothes away, righting the closet, changing the sheets for reasons even he couldn’t explain. He left the washing machine running and stacked all the dishes in the kitchen, putting anything that wasn’t broken on the sink to wash and dumping anything that was into his recycling bin to take downstairs. Were the bins downstairs still intact? Guess he’d find out.
He needed something to fix the lock. Maybe in the bathroom, where he stored his tools.
He froze with one knee on the tiling, head peering into the cupboard under the sink. Had that been a noise? He pulled out the combat knife strapped to his thigh and slowly pushed to his feet.
“I know you’re in here,” a raspy voice lisped.
Something to be said for announcing himself, Atlas supposed. He slid the knife back into place and grabbed his rifle instead, checking it out of pure habit.
“Come out and play,” it sang.
Atlas doubted they liked the same games. And he had no intention of playing theirs. He held his breath, waiting for it to come to him. The second the Demon’s footsteps came close enough, he ducked out through the doorway, firing two shots. They hit center mass and would have dropped anyone else. Except this wasn’t some random intruder in his home. The Demon walked right through it, smiling with sharpened teeth and a forked tongue slipping out between them.
Atlas didn’t get a chance to fire again before it grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Atlas groaned, pain shooting down his spine and a leg. He rolled out of the way of the foot that came down to crush him and hooked his rifle around the Demon’s calf, tugging it so he unbalanced and fell. He used the second of reprieve to get back to his feet and fire a couple more rounds into it.
It was on its feet too fucking quickly, and Atlas was put on the defensive again before he had a chance to prepare himself. A tail come out of fucking nowhere —seriously, had it just grown it between one step and the next?—and he was thrown through the doorway and into his kitchen. Fucking hell, this was worse for his back than frequent ejections from his fighter jet.
Atlas discarded the gun and pulled out his combat knife, rolling backward to get on his feet quicker and put distance between them. The Demon circled him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. The move might have been sexy as fuck on Conquest’s ridiculously handsome, rugged face. This asshole? Super creepy and unnerving in a whole different way.
If he was going to die by the hands of someone from their world, he’d prefer Conquest be the one to do it. Not this slimy motherfucker.
It came at him, and Atlas was ready. He sidestepped and slashed out, cutting deep across its chest. That only made it grin wider. The sight of it boiled Atlas’s blood, rage swamping him. He was so fucking sick of these assholes thinking they were at the top of the food chain .
With an enraged cry, Atlas charged. Its eyes widened as if it wasn’t prepared for that. Atlas hit it head-on and took them both to the ground. Before it could recover from the shock, he stabbed the Demon in the throat, over and over again, then in the chest, its shoulder, through its cheek, wherever he could reach, as deep as he could go. Blood splashed everywhere: across him, the floor, all over his clothes.
The tail thumped against his back as the Demon struggled underneath him, sharp pinpricks over his skin like tiny needles jabbing him. Atlas slit its throat and jammed the knife into its heart. That made it stop moving, and he left it there.
Fucking finally .
He shoved the tail off him and resisted—barely—the urge to cut it right off and make the dead Demon eat it. Should have done that before he killed it.
He groaned and slapped a hand against the fridge, using it as leverage to get to his feet. His back felt like it was on fire, and his limbs were like jelly, exhaustion a heavy weight. The Demon twitched, and Atlas tensed. Was that not enough to kill it? He didn’t have the energy to keep going.
No. It was going to fucking stay down, and Atlas would make sure of it. He stomped his boot down as hard as he could on the Demon’s head, the skull crunching under him, blood, brain, and other fluids squeezing out with a sickening squelch . Atlas did it again, and a second time, and then once more for good measure. He’d make sure it didn’t get back up.
He panted heavily when it was done, bending and bracing himself with hands on his knees. Fucking hell . He had an urge to crawl into his bed and stay there for an eternity.
The washing machine signaled that it was done with a loud beep. The absurdity of it made Atlas laugh, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He sat heavily on a dining chair as he vibrated. It slid from his weight and hit the wall, and he leaned back, laughing so hard that his head bounced off it.
What the fuck had his life become? There was nothing but death and destruction every direction he went, and he was so alone he could taste the despair at the back of his throat.
There was a goddamn Demon lying dead on the floor, head crushed from his boot—with some of its brain matter still on it. It was so far from where his life had been only a few months ago that he couldn’t even comprehend just how much everything had changed. It would never again be what it was. He could never get back what had been taken from him.
The laughter subsided, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to track down his cheeks and around the curve of his ear. Twice in as many days. He didn’t have time for grief to take him down. He was still alive, and that meant his fight wasn’t over.
He swiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and stood, kicking off something that might have been tissue or cartilage that had stuck to a lace. “Fucking disgusting,” he muttered. He needed a shower.
He took his time under the spray, his knife and rifle close by in case someone decided him being naked was the best time to come at him again. The heat of the shower against his back burned like flames flickering on his skin until it finally settled, and he could relax into it. He bet he looked like he’d been put in a cheese grater. At least he wasn’t damaged elsewhere. The small pricks would heal quickly.
Instead of putting his uniform back on, he went for something more casual. Full-length black cargo pants and a white T-shirt. It had a short collar that couldn’t be folded over, buttons halfway down his chest that were open, and a dragon design over the left breast. He rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and went in search of a cap. All the ones he could find were damaged, which was bullshit and felt like a pointed attack. Assholes. He shoved the last one he’d found into a drawer in disgust and slammed it shut, almost jamming his fingers. Maybe there was a shop on his way back that had some he could take. He replaced his watch with a spare, a silver analog with a black leather strap, and found some sturdy black-and-white sneakers. He shoved his uniform and dirty boots into a duffel bag to take back with him.
It felt strange to be wearing casual clothes after so long being the “airman.” Even on deployments, he’d spent more time in casuals than he had lately.
Weeks being unable to shed the skin and get downtime. In charge of almost the entire USAF as if he had any idea what the fuck he was doing.
The milk in the fridge was off, and he grimaced, tipping it down the sink and washing it away. He’d clean out the rest later. Right now, he was looking for—there. Honey Nut Cheerios. Unopened too. Which meant there was a chance it wouldn’t be stale. Fucking jackpot .
Atlas found a bowl that wasn’t broken and a clean spoon—he ran them under the tap anyway, just in case—and then righted the kitchen table so he could sit at it. He propped a foot up on the other chair and leaned back, enjoying his bowl of dry cereal. Would be better with milk, but he was pretty fucking pleased with it, nonetheless.
That was how Conquest and Raziel found him, appearing in his small kitchen through a sudden whirl of fog like a mini tornado.
He didn’t say a word as he watched them look around the space, using his tongue to scrape off bits of the chewed-up cereal from his teeth. Raziel’s eyes widened as Conquest’s darkened. Atlas knew what they saw. Blood everywhere. His red handprint on the fridge like something out of a horror movie. The dead Demon spread out on the floor.
Conquest’s face twisted angrily. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Was that not obvious? “I’m eating.” He pointed at the opened package in front of him—conveniently left there because he always had more than one bowl, and he didn’t want it to go to waste. Wasn’t like he was coming back here to finish it. “Want some?”
“No, we do not fucking want some,” Conquest growled. “Why are you eating?”
Another obvious answer. “I was hungry.” Killing Demons was hard work. He deserved some sugary cereal.
“You were hungry.” Conquest said it like he was giving Atlas a chance to change his response. He wouldn’t.
Atlas chewed absently, unable to take his eyes off the way Conquest’s eyebrow twitched. He looked like he was about to blow a gasket. “Calm down. I handled it just fine.” Still breathing, wasn’t he?
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have survived that? That there was only one of them to tangle with? If there were more, we would have found you in pieces.”
Atlas snorted, almost choking on his next mouthful. “Are you expecting me to believe that you were worried about me? Fuck off.” More likely he was upset that the Demon hadn’t finished him off. Well, too bad. Atlas had no intention of going anywhere. Not until every Demon lay dead at his feet.
Conquest flung the table away, and it splintered against the opposite wall from the force of it. The bowl broke on the linoleum, the flakes mixing with the wet blood on the floor, his spoon in the middle like a depressing piece of art. Red soaked into the cardboard container, ruining the rest of it. Atlas sighed heavily. “I wasn’t finished.” What a waste of perfectly good cereal. He didn’t have another box. Was he supposed to just take a stroll down to the nearest grocery store and get some more?
“You think I give a fuck if you were finished or not?” Conquest snarled.
“I think you need to watch your fucking tone.” He didn’t have to take that bullshit, and especially not in his own home. He wasn’t in the mood for Conquest’s passive-aggressiveness. What was he even doing here? Didn’t they have somewhere else to be, someone else to fuck with?
Atlas was ready when Conquest came for him. He ducked under the hand and rolled off his chair and out of the way. He came up on one knee, knife in his grip. If the asshole wanted to end up on the floor with the Demon, then Atlas would be happy to oblige. Conquest’s size didn’t intimidate him. Not in that way anyway. His other thoughts were intimidating in a wholly different way, and there was no space for that here.
He pushed to his feet in a burst of speed and swerved around Conquest to where his rifle was on the floor near the bedroom door. Still wet with blood, but it would fire.
“Are you going to shoot me again, Atlas?” Conquest asked menacingly.
“I haven’t decided yet.” He would if he had to. It wouldn’t be permanent, it would make Atlas feel better, and if it stopped Conquest killing him? Then fuck, yes, he would.
“Might want to decide quickly before I lose my patience.”
“What patience?”
Atlas didn’t get a chance to pick up his weapon before Conquest was behind him, cold hand squeezing Atlas’s nape.
“You think I don’t have any?” Conquest whispered into the curve of his neck. “I think I’ve been very patient with you thus far.”
Atlas’s heart skipped a beat as noise thundered in his ears. “Is that what you call it?” He twisted the knife sideways in his palm and then jammed backward, aiming for whatever he could to get free. Conquest’s hand wrapped around his wrist before it made contact. He squeezed until Atlas’s fingers went lax, pain lancing up his arm, and the blade clattered to the floor.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Conquest rumbled. “Your rude behavior is becoming a habit I don’t much like.”
That deep baritone was going to be the death of Atlas. It curled in his stomach, tucked itself under his ribs, and fluttered against his heart.
“Good thing I ‘don’t much’ care,” Atlas said, throwing his words back at him.
Atlas winced when Conquest slammed him up against the fridge, the handle digging uncomfortably into his back. “Get the fuck off me.” He struggled, but there was nothing he could do against the full might of the Horseman. He kicked out anyway because he wasn’t one for docility. “You have no right to—”
“To what? Interfere when you’re being a stupid fucking idiot? Who knew you were out here?”
“You don’t own me!” Atlas tried to knee him in the side but couldn’t get his body twisted enough. Frustration coursed through him. He hated feeling so helpless, unable to do anything.
“ Who knew you were out here? ” Conquest bellowed.
Atlas gritted his teeth, refusing to answer. It was none of Conquest’s fucking business what Atlas did with his own time.
Conquest tossed him to the side like a rag doll, and he landed on the floor right beside the Demon and destroyed table. He heaved, glaring as he sat up, bracing himself on his hands.
“Con—” Raziel began warily.
“Stay out of this.”
Raziel stood nearby, flattened against the wall with his wings open, green dripping from the tips of the feathers. He glanced wildly between them like he was unsure what to do, or who to turn to. “Please don’t hurt him,” he whispered. It was obvious who “him,” meant. Laughable to think that Atlas could ever do damage to Conquest.
“No?” the Horseman questioned. “Is that what you want, Atlas? You don’t want me to hurt you?”
The threat—and the mocking—in those words couldn’t have been clearer. It should have done anything but make Atlas shiver in intense pleasure. He didn’t want Conquest to hurt him. Pain had never been his thing. Did a craving to be wrecked by a man twice his size count as wanting pain? Conquest wouldn’t be gentle, and Atlas didn’t want him to be.
“I want you to go fuck yourself,” he bit out. Atlas didn’t bottom, and with Conquest, it was all he wanted to do. What had they done to him? Turned him into nothing but a needy, pathetic mess, vying for scraps of their attention.
Conquest bent and lifted him by his throat so tightly that Atlas had to take shallow breaths to calm the panic fluttering wildly in his chest. Heat flushed over him, and the ache in his groin deepened. Why this was making his dick hard was not something Atlas was prepared to examine. Ever. It had happened too many times now to be coincidence.
“Do you?” Conquest asked, leaning closer.
He wanted Conquest to tear him apart and then put him back together. He wanted to feel something besides the misery and cloying despair that he couldn’t escape from. He wanted to focus on something that was about living , not survival.
Their eyes met in a clashed battle of wills. Conquest’s gray was like molten silver. In the next second, Conquest’s lips slammed down onto his, and everything in Atlas erupted into flames. Fuck . Atlas moaned low, hands automatically finding their way to Conquest’s hair. Christ, it was so much better than he could have imagined. Conquest kissed like he did everything else: commanding, overbearing, and all-consuming. His tongue swept into Atlas’s mouth like it had every right to be there. The hand around Atlas’s throat didn’t let up, and soon white spots appeared behind Atlas’s closed eyelids. He couldn’t even say when he’d closed them. He didn’t care.
Conquest bit across his jaw, leaving harsh marks that would take time to heal. Atlas gasped and clawed at Conquest’s shoulders, bit any part of him he could reach—his neck, below his ear, over his throat—as he squirmed, desperation choking him. Rough hands stripped him, only parting from him long enough to lift his T-shirt up and over his head. He bloodied his fingers ripping Conquest’s armor off until there was nothing between them but skin on skin.
Fucking yes .
Their lips met again in a clash of teeth and tongue. Conquest bit down on Atlas’s bottom lip at the same time he lifted him further, slamming him against the wall and bringing their hard cocks together. Fucking Christ, he was big. How would he fit? Did Atlas care? A resounding no. He wanted it however he could get it.
Conquest’s fingers fluttered over the tattoo that covered Atlas’s left side, a question in his gaze. He didn’t ask it, instead dropping him to his knees between one breath and the next. He didn’t give Atlas a chance to recover, instantly forcing his huge cock into his mouth. Atlas groaned loudly as Conquest thrust all the way to the back of his throat, choking him. He struggled, and Conquest didn’t let up, keeping him there.
“You wanted this,” Conquest groaned. “This is what you wanted, and now you’re going to fucking take it.”
Atlas dug his fingers into Conquest’s thighs, bracing himself against the harsh thrusts.
“Raziel, come here.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Touch him. That’s what you wanted, and I’m giving it to you.”
Atlas moaned, swallowing around the massive head of Conquest’s cock. His mouth was so fucking full it was the only sound he could make.
“Con…” Raziel said hesitantly.
“ Now .”
Atlas shuddered when small hands glided down his back and over the curve of his ass. Slow, tentative. Learning. Fucking hell, it was enough to have him leaking all over the floor.
Conquest pulled out, giving him a moment of reprieve so that he could suck in hasty breaths. He hadn’t even had half of his cock in his mouth. Could it go down his throat? He’d never done that before, wanted to try. Wanted Conquest to fuck him so hard he couldn’t speak properly for a week.
Conquest bent and licked up Atlas’s cheek. None too gently, he tugged at his ear, pain rippling over his scalp. “If I fucked you, I could kill you.”
That couldn’t be true. Raziel was smaller than Atlas, and he’d seen them together. There had been penetration. Conquest hadn’t even been gentle.
“Raziel is still an Immortal,” Conquest said, answering his unasked question. “Still has innate power you could never hope to have. Being Angel-born isn’t enough. You’re too human .” He said it like it was something dirty, and Atlas glared, taking offense. The smug curl of Conquest’s lips didn’t help.
He pressed fingers into Atlas’s back hard enough to bruise, and Atlas snarled wordlessly, raking his fingernails down Conquest’s thighs in retaliation. Two could play that game, and Atlas wanted to mark him up until all that was left were his scratches.
Frustratingly, the damage healed too quickly. Atlas wanted to permanently mark him, put them where everyone could see. The human who had been given permission to touch a Horseman of the Apocalypse.
Raziel continued his soft exploration with hand and mouth on Atlas’s lower half. When he spread Atlas’s cheeks and a wet tongue slid over his hole, his lips parted on a choked groan. Fucking hell, that was so good. Conquest used the opportunity to force his cock back inside, filling his mouth. Atlas ached almost painfully at the sharp contrast in how they both made him feel. Raziel feasted on him like it was his last meal, and Conquest gave no quarter, thrusting hard into him.
He wanted to touch himself, but he couldn’t let go of Conquest, needing the hold for balance. And because the feel of him under his fingers was too fucking good.
Conquest gripped his chin painfully, pausing with his cock nudging against Atlas’s gag reflex. “You’re close, I can smell it. Are you going to come untouched for us, Atlas? Is that how much you’re gagging for it?”
Fucking yes , he was. They were perfect, and they hadn’t even started. Were there rules about that? If Conquest said he had to hold, there was no fucking way. A light wind would push him over right now. Raziel took him in hand, squeezing tight as he stroked him, hard and fast. That was all it took.
He moaned loudly, muffled by the cock in his mouth, and spilled all over the floor as he emptied himself, muscles tense and quivering. Raziel’s hands on his hips and Conquest’s hand around his throat kept him upright through the tremors.
Raziel’s cock pushed into him while he was still in his delirious state. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. It hurt while at the same time the most intense pleasure he’d ever experienced washed over him, radiating out from his ass. Was every Immortal just inhumanely big? It was like he was being split in two. His hands clenched into fists on Conquest’s thighs as he attempted to breathe through it.
Maybe it felt bigger than it was because Conquest was taking up so much fucking space. Larger than life in more than just sheer bulk. The light kiss on his hip, almost in apology, as Raziel worked his way in almost undid Atlas, and he struggled to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him, mixed in with all the physical reactions to their decimation of his body. Raziel was the light amongst the dark, softness to ease the pain, love to mend his broken pieces.
Conquest pulled out and then lifted Atlas’s upper half, straightening his chest and bringing their faces close together. “How does he feel?”
He knew that Conquest was asking so much more than that. The darkness in his features twisted the words, and they settled heavy in Atlas’s stomach. He couldn’t lie. It felt like if he did, it would be a betrayal of everything this might be.
“Perfect,” Atlas said hoarsely. Perfect . Inadequate to describe the things that they both made him feel. They’d barreled into his life when he’d been at his darkest and made things worse.
And so much better. Conquest kept him standing strong when he might have fallen, and Raziel breathed life into everything that had died inside him, giving him hope.
Conquest kissed him, a vicious undertone to it as he nipped and licked and destroyed Atlas in so many ways. “How does it feel to take something that doesn’t belong to you?” he growled before diving back in for another soul-sucking kiss, with Atlas nothing but a passenger on this roller coaster.
“I didn’t—I wasn’t—” He moaned low as Conquest smothered him with his lips again. He scratched at Conquest’s chest, unable to settle as Raziel’s cock bottomed out. He could feel every inch of it, stretching his muscles and forcing his body to accommodate the intrusion.
“Yes, you were,” Conquest said harshly. “From the moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted him, wanted what belongs to me .”
Atlas shouldn’t be getting off on Conquest being an asshole and making him feel guilty for being here, but he was. He fucking was because he needed this Horseman so badly that he couldn’t breathe properly. He would let Conquest say and do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t stop touching him.
Conquest abruptly pulled him off Raziel and then turned him around. Raziel’s flushed cheeks, mussed-up hair, cock jutting up and eager, slick with lube, was a sight to behold. Raziel’s gaze flicked over Atlas’s shoulder, and then he was crawling, spreading Atlas’s legs as he settled between them. He ran his hands up the sensitive insides of his thighs and then up to his tattoo.
“Clocks,” he murmured. He tilted his head and read the top banner, above the large clock, with two smaller ones behind it. “ I am the master of my fate. ” He moved down to the bottom banner. “ You are the captain of my soul. ” He smiled, a small, wistful expression. “What do they mean?”
“It’s—private,” Atlas choked out. And he couldn’t think straight with them holding him like this, let alone explain the complexity of his ink choices and the poetry of William Ernest Henley.
“More private than this?” Conquest drawled. He pulled Atlas flush against his chest, his own hard cock pressed into the groove of Atlas’s spine. Fucking hell , he was so goddamn big. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fit it all in his mouth and why Atlas’s jaw had a twinge of an ache.
“It’s—later,” he gasped out as Raziel leaned forward and licked around the edges of the top clocks. He closed his eyes, tipping his head and arching into the wet slide.
“Look at him.” Conquest fisted Atlas’s hair and forced it forward so he could see what Raziel was doing. As if he needed to be forced; he would never tire of looking. The only time he would want to look away was to look at Conquest himself. They were both stunning and held all of him in the palms of their hands. “Look how badly he wants you.”
Red spread over Raziel’s chest, rapidly rising and falling. His fingers dug into Atlas’s thighs, and his dick twitched, smearing lube and pre-cum over his stomach.
Atlas brought his knees up, spreading wider in invitation as his hole pulsed with anticipation. He wanted them to finish what they’d started. What Conquest had started, the sexy, arrogant motherfucker.
Conquest squeezed Atlas’s throat, and he automatically moved to cover it as if he had any hope of removing it if Conquest truly wanted to kill him. Dying sandwiched between these absolute gods wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.
Raziel teased Atlas with the head of his cock, and Atlas rotated his hips in an attempt to angle himself so it could slip back in. Conquest’s free hand pressed against his stomach and held him down, keeping him there.
“I could stop this right here,” Conquest whispered against his ear before biting none too gently on his lobe, rolling it between his teeth and tugging. “Leave you wanting, craving, knowing how it feels and never finding fulfillment.”
Atlas exhaled, his arousal so close to reaching the tipping point even after he’d already come so fucking hard. His cock, already well on its way to being fully hard again, jumped and slapped against Conquest’s hand.
“What would you do, I wonder, Atlas Brandt, Angel-born, if I left you here to die?”
What the hell was Angel-born? The thought disappeared before he could take hold of it, too consumed by Conquest and the need to throw his words back at him. “You think being alone means I would die?” Atlas moaned. “I’d live, just so I could tell you to go fuck yourself one more time.”
“Would you?” Conquest fisted Atlas’s cock and squeezed hard enough that a lance of pain accompanied the pleasure. Atlas’s knees fell further apart from the show of power that spread through him like wildfire.
“And right now,” Conquest asked, “would you tell me to go fuck myself?”
Atlas panted harshly, canting his hips. “Never a bad time for it.” Fuckfuckfuck. Conquest’s hand was just as big as the rest of him, and the calloused palm against his silky skin was pushing him toward insanity.
Conquest bit down on the curve of Atlas’s neck and sucked. His entire world shifted, zeroing in on the patch of skin being marked. Christ, that mouth should be illegal. He dug his fingers into Conquest’s hand, nails biting and breaking skin as he arched and panted. More .
“Baby Angel, come here.”
Raziel climbed into Atlas’s lap, straddling his hips before twining his arms around Conquest’s shoulders. Atlas strained his neck so he could see them, their connection a beacon for him.
Conquest covered Raziel’s mouth, kissing him until small sounds were a constant melody pouring from the Angel, and he was squirming against Atlas, leaving streaks of pre-cum over his chest. Atlas fisted his hands against his sides, itching with the need to touch the gorgeous Angel sitting on him like the cruelest temptation.
“I want—Conquest—” He dragged the words from the lowest depths of his chest. He couldn’t believe that he was asking for permission while at the same time knowing it was the only way forward.
Conquest lifted his mouth from Raziel, and their attention turned to him. The air thickened as he faltered under their intense focus.
Conquest’s large hand cupped the back of Raziel’s head and then lowered him until his lips were so close to Atlas’s that all it would take was the slightest movement to bring them together. They were already wet from Conquest, and Atlas had never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted to close the distance.
“How much will you take, Atlas?”
The question cut across Atlas’s chest like a knife. A physical touch filled with anger, challenge, and hurt.
How much will you take, Atlas?
Everything. Both of them. This wasn’t about Atlas taking Raziel. He didn’t want pieces: he wanted it all.
“You,” Atlas said, drowning in those beautiful gray eyes. “I’ll take you.” It all started with Conquest. And it ended with the three of them.
It must have been the right answer because Raziel’s soft lips parted against his own. Thunder roared in Atlas’s ears as he took his first taste of this Angel who had bewitched him from the moment they’d met. He was so goddamn sweet and tentative as his tongue dipped out to play with Atlas’s. Nothing like the raw, demanding presence of Conquest and just as intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough, wanting to swallow all of him whole, soak up every inch and consume him. No wonder Conquest guarded him so carefully. The fact that he let Atlas in, let him have even this much, was a weight against Atlas’s heart. No one else should be allowed a single glimpse of this.
Atlas drew his fingers through the soft hair at Raziel’s temple, cradling him while simultaneously running his other hand through Conquest’s beard, the thick hair grazing his palm like a brand. The moment Raziel lifted his head, Conquest was there to take his place, rough following the soft. The Horseman didn’t ask, he took. They went back and forth like that until Atlas couldn’t breathe, until the only thoughts he had were of them. He lived only for the next kiss, the next slide of heat.
Raziel moved back down Atlas, kissing his chest and licking up his own smeared pre-cum as he went. Atlas’s stomach shuddered under the attention, everything aching so badly it bordered the line of pain. He’d always known they were going to kill him; he just hadn’t anticipated it would be like this.
When Raziel pushed back into Atlas, filling him, he groaned and clung to Conquest’s forearm. Raziel gripped his hips, concentration lines across his forehead as he stared down at where he was plunging into Atlas’s body, like he would be tested on it later.
Atlas pushed down on every upward thrust, frustration increasing as Raziel took his time, a tiny frown on his face as he worked himself in and out. “Raziel, please,” he rasped. “Harder. I need it harder. Faster. I need—” So much more. He couldn’t take the slow edging, his entire body screaming at him like it had run out of oxygen.
A breathless whine he would never admit to fell from his lips when Raziel pulled out of him. “No, don’t—”
Raziel peppered kisses across his stomach and chest as he climbed back into his lap, cocks rubbing together.
“I can’t give you what you need,” Raziel whispered almost apologetically, caressing Atlas’s skin with agonizingly featherlight touches. “But he can.”
“Yes,” Atlas moaned. Right now as something dark overtook him, that was exactly what he needed. He needed to be split open, made to feel. He wanted Conquest’s dick in him, fucking him so hard he wouldn’t be able to sit properly for weeks . Raziel’s size had stretched him, and now he wanted Conquest to wreck him.
Raziel kissed him, softer and sweeter than Conquest could ever hope to be, nothing like the rough hands pulling his ass open. Atlas needed both: sweet with the harsh, soft with the hard, two sides of the same coin, completing him.
A thumb shoved into him without warning, and he trembled, kissing Raziel harder. Fuck, yes .
“I already told you that you couldn’t have this,” Conquest said in his ear.
He told Atlas a lot of things. That meant nothing. “When have I ever listened to you?”
“This will hurt you.”
“You think humans have never fucked themselves with a monster cock?” The guy obviously hadn’t watched enough porn or the right ones. Or any. Did they watch porn? “I can take it,” he said, twisting his head enough to catch Conquest’s gaze. “Or are you scared you can’t handle it?”
Two big fingers pushed in beside Conquest’s thumb, and Atlas hissed. Even with Raziel having loosened him, it still stung. And Atlas still wanted more.
“Hurt me,” he begged. Conquest had better deliver on his promises. He wanted to know what it felt like to have Conquest own him that completely.
“Oh, it’s going to hurt,” Conquest promised him. “Then it won’t.”
Atlas didn’t care what that meant. Just needed that thick cock in him. He raised his hips, seeking more, opening his mouth wider as Raziel licked and tasted, still exploring.
Raziel’s soft hands stroked his cheeks, over his shoulders, down his shaking arms. He took everything the Angel offered, feasted on it as Conquest fucked him with his fingers so hard his entire body shook from the force.
“I want to—” Atlas moaned low as Conquest added another finger, and it stretched him so fucking wide that pain mingled with the pleasure, threatening to make him come a second time in an hour. “Raziel,” he managed to get out. “I need—you—fuck, I need you.”
“What do you need?” Raziel asked, kissing the corner of his mouth as he rolled their hips together.
“I don’t know,” Atlas replied truthfully. Them. Just them. He had no illusions about how this would end: they wouldn’t stay here for him even if he survived. Whatever he had left, he would keep close.
Atlas screamed in a mixture of ecstasy and agony as the head of Conquest’s cock breached him. He’d thought he’d been stretched before, but that had been nothing compared to the all-consuming pain that blanketed him. How did Raziel take him? Was his Immortal body just better at accommodating him? He needed one of those. Where did he find one?
His knees shook, and he held tight to Raziel as an anchor and because he liked holding him. Raziel’s cock jumped, sliding against Atlas’s chest as he settled further into Atlas’s lap, Atlas’s own hardness sliding between his cheeks.
“In—me,” Raziel gasped. “Please. I need—” He wriggled as if to emphasize what he needed.
Fuck. Yes. That was—yes.
He twisted his head, lips brushing Conquest’s chin, the hairs of his beard rough. “Conquest,” was all he said, knowing that he would understand what Atlas was asking.
Conquest pushed in further, and Atlas whimpered, a full-body tremor running over him. Was he even all the way in? How much more of him was there? He dug his fingers into Conquest’s hip, silently begging for more at the same time he wanted to pull him out and get away from the pain. He would take the pain, uncaring if it split him open and killed him, so long as Conquest gave him everything, without holding back.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Conquest asked, kissing behind his ear and then grazing teeth down Atlas’s neck.
“No,” Atlas said truthfully. “But I want it anyway.”
“Do you?” Conquest asked mildly. He thrust up, and Atlas groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he came too close to orgasm. Fucking hell it hurt; why was it so good? His back arched, and his mouth found Raziel’s in a too-harsh kiss. Raziel eagerly responded to it and lifted his hips, teasing Atlas’s cock with the muscles of his entrance.
Conquest fisted Atlas’s cock, stroking it and stopping him from getting inside Raziel. “There’s no coming back from this. If I give this to you, there will never be anyone else for you.”
“Yes,” was all Atlas could think to say.
“Think very carefully about this,” Conquest warned. “If we leave you here alone—wanting and needy and aching for release—you still won’t allow another person to touch you.” He pressed his lips to Atlas’s ear. “You will never again know the touch of another person, whether we’re here or not.”
It wasn’t the threat Conquest seemed to think it was. The thought of anyone but them touching him no longer computed. How could it? They sucked up everything around them until a black void surrounded him.
“What are you waiting for, then?”
Conquest lifted Raziel further, and then the Angel sunk down onto Atlas. His eyes locked with Raziel’s beautiful blues until hip pressed against hip, and Atlas was effectively trapped between them. No one moved once Raziel settled, a stillness in the air, somehow both uncomfortable and the most comforting thing in the world.
A door unlocked inside Atlas, an almost physical click now that he’d found the right key. The emptiness he hadn’t even known he’d been holding suddenly filled, and he felt lighter than air. Like he could fly without wings, swim without gills, traverse the galaxy in the blink of an eye. Everything impossible made possible as long as they kept touching him, kept him with them.
Raziel kissed him so softly their lips barely touched, and yet it fluttered against his heart like Raziel had reached inside him and wrapped a hand around the organ. Then he was moving, and all Atlas’s thoughts fled.
They both retreated at the same time, Conquest pulling all the way out until only the barest hint of his fat head was at Atlas’s entrance, and Raziel rising until Atlas was in the same position as Conquest, bereft of them. It gave him a reprieve from the feel of being pushed to his limits, one that he didn’t want.
He didn’t get a chance to protest, because in the next second, they trapped him in their tight heat. The pain still mingled, but it no longer mattered. The intensity of each thrust, each push closer to the cliff face they’d had him on for longer than he wanted to admit, was too much and not enough. Never enough.
When Atlas thought he couldn’t take it anymore, clinging to them both with only the energy for the needy desperate sounds spilling out of his mouth, Conquest tipped them all over, taking them to the floor. Raziel spread out beneath him, legs wide to give Atlas room. Conquest covered them like a hot blanket. He smoothed a hand up Atlas’s back, briefly touching his tattoo on his way up, and then gripped his shoulder. He thrust into Atlas so hard he saw stars, his scream echoing in his small apartment.
“This is only a fraction of what I can do,” Conquest hissed in his ear, not letting up on his brutal pounding as Atlas held onto Raziel and took every perfect second of it. “I’m holding myself back, and you have no idea how hard that is. How close you are to death.” Every time Conquest brutally speared him, his own cock forced itself into Raziel. Conquest fucked them both without mercy, nothing but the harmonic sounds of Atlas and their Angel’s begging accompanying it.
Atlas couldn’t find actual words, only babbling noises and what he hoped were pleas to not stop don’t ever stop keep going just like that . Raziel had the same problem, neck stretched as he arched, fingers buried in Atlas’s hair with his legs lifted, knees bent and holding tight to Atlas’s sides.
Their mouths found each other, and they kissed hungrily, greedily, while Conquest tore them apart.
“You like this, don’t you?” Conquest said in that deep baritone voice that tore Atlas up. “Like that I’m destroying your insides. Using you like a hole to get myself off.”
Conquest changed his angle, stabbing viciously against that spot inside Atlas that made him see stars again, like he was floating in space and unable to come back down to Earth.
Atlas came immediately, coating Raziel’s walls, pulsing and emptying himself dry. He was sure he blacked out for a delirious second. Conquest continued to use him like a doll, fucking into him, and Atlas could only whimper and take it.
The sensitivity caused constant shudders, pleasure heightening to a degree that was like being rubbed raw and still so fucking good he never wanted it to stop. He didn’t know how long Conquest continued to hammer into him. Time was meaningless, and he was lost in a sea of euphoria that drowned him while simultaneously revitalizing him.
Somewhere in between it all, Raziel came, crying loudly and coating himself and Atlas. Atlas came for a third time, muted but no less intense. Conquest flipped him around, pulling him away from Raziel. He lifted his lower half off the ground, back against the cold tiling and half in the Demon blood spread over the floor. The slippery wetness would have caused him to slip if Conquest wasn’t holding him so tightly, stretching him so completely on every snap of his hips that Atlas was sure he was doing damage.
Atlas clutched at the ground, his right hand finding Raziel’s, their fingers threading together. His spent dick slapped against his stomach as Conquest pounded into him, keeping him in place so he could continue to use him. How had Conquest not come yet? Atlas could barely keep his eyes open, exhaustion just as strong as the pleasure riding him. He met Conquest’s gray eyes, the heat in them scorching. The strangled cry from his lips came unbidden when Conquest fisted his cock. He was sore, and spent, and unbelievably sensitive.
Conquest rocked into him, stroking in time with his harsh thrusts until Atlas’s toes curled and a fourth, dry and spasming orgasm rushed over him. His gut clenched, and he dropped, nothing left in him, a rag doll in every way. Conquest kept him where he wanted him, those big hands spanning his hips.
When he lifted Atlas into his arms, Atlas collapsed against his large chest, head in the curve of his shoulder. He couldn’t move, body depleted completely, nothing but a vessel for Conquest to use.
Conquest grunted and ripped Atlas’s head back, tight enough his scalp would be tender later. He kissed him brutally, demanding more from Atlas even when he had nothing left to give. He shoved inside Atlas a few more times, bouncing him on his cock so hard it rattled Atlas’s bones, and then he stilled, warmth flooding Atlas.
Soft hands stroked Atlas’s back, mixed in with peppered kisses that were like finding water in a dessert. A soothing balm against the numbness. Atlas was too out of it, his mind and body barely conscious, to acknowledge the touches that brightened his heart in dangerous ways. He hoped Raziel knew just how special he was.
He fell asleep somewhere between Conquest standing and taking him to the shower, waking only long enough to feel the hot water cascading over his tender skin. Hands carefully washed him while he stayed nestled and content in Conquest’s arms.
The next time he woke he was between Conquest and Raziel in his bed, blankets covering them and his head on Conquest’s large, not-so-soft and yet strangely comfortable chest.
“Awake?” Conquest asked, chest rumbling under Atlas’s ear.
“Mmph,” was all Atlas could manage. Not really. Caught in that in-between where he could have been lucid dreaming. He managed to open his eyes long enough to glance over Conquest’s large form, and the black feathers covering himself and Conquest, before they drooped closed again, too lethargic to manage more than that. He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping, but it wasn’t nearly long enough.
Black feathers .
Oh. Not blankets covering him; Raziel’s wings were, stretched over his body and keeping him warm. No wonder they felt so silky. Nothing could compare to the extraordinary feel of the soft feathers against his skin. The finest fabric in the world couldn’t measure up, he was sure of it. They were perfection. Brilliance. Heaven. His.
A small smile spread on his face, and he caressed the soft feathers, sliding his fingers against the warm cartilage underneath. He fell back asleep, keeping hold of the two men he knew would eventually break him irreparably.