Atlas #2
As I stare back into his dark eyes, Julian sighs.
“It held me down and stared at me with those terrifying, lifeless eyes and sharp teeth, and I knew what it was telling me, Atlas,” he explains. “But I couldn’t stay in bed when I knew it’d come up here. When I knew what it’d be doing to you.”
Oh. He’s trying to show me that he defied the creature, all in the name of protecting me.
My stomach warms, my palms begin to sweat, but the confusion I feel takes the front seat to all other pleasant and horny things rampaging through my body.
“To protect me?” I clarify, cocking my head slightly.
Julian’s warm palm stays situated on my face, but the other falls away, moving to trace lazily over my waist.
He laughs gently. “No, not necessarily; you told me you liked it, after all. And if I’m honest, I waited at the bottom of the staircase until… until it was over. I was too afraid to face it again.”
I can see the shame in his eyes, how embarrassed he is that he let his fear outweigh his desire to come up here and see me. But he shouldn’t feel ashamed, not when the threat of physical damage was at stake, and he knows I enjoy the twisted things that befall me.
“But when it was quiet, and I’d waited long enough, I snuck up here and picked that ancient lock,” he continues. “I had to… I had to see you, to make sure you truly are happy.”
“Happy?” I murmur, brows furrowing as I take in the entirety of Julian’s expression, feeling the way his fingers continue to caress me so sweetly.
I want to sob suddenly, suffocating under the weight of my own conflict and embarrassment.
Am I happy? No. I haven’t been truly happy in so long that I wonder if I’ll ever feel that kind of peace again. But I do feel pleased, and more often than not, contented. I guess that’s enough.
I guess that’s as much as I deserve.
“Can I speak freely?” Julian suddenly asks, his eyes searching my face for something I don’t know how to portray, how to give him.
“Sure?” I respond hesitantly. In truth, he’s already been speaking freely.
Julian takes a large breath, his body shifting slightly closer as he grips my hip, his fingers tightening their hold on my cheek.
“You’re allowed to enjoy being torn apart, piece by piece, and still resent the means that pleasure you,” he says, and I all but stop breathing. “You’re allowed to hungrily lap up every bit of attention you receive and then turn around and bite the hand that feeds it to you.”
No words leave me in response. Instead, a harsh, heavy breath is forced from my lungs and pushes against his carefully neutral expression.
“W-what?” I finally ask, my mind reeling in every possible direction accessible to me. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My voice is far too high, far too thin. He can read it on my face, in my tone, that I’m lying. I know this because he grins, resting his forehead against mine.
“Come on, sweet boy. Stop lying,” he demands gently.
“I see you. You want to be dismantled, loved like you’re worth more than life and fucked like you mean nothing—but not at the hands of that thing.
Tell me it’s true; tell me you love how good it feels, but you’d rather it be someone else giving you that pleasure. ”
As I feel his warm skin press into mine, as my dick hardens and my heart rate skyrockets, I find myself desperate to tell him yes. Because it seems as if he’s trying to pull the memory of every time I’ve ever been pleasured out from inside of me, and his expression is not one of disgust.
But then again, I am easily fooled, and I am so desperate to keep feeling the warmth of his touch, to hear his kind words, that I will believe anything.
Even if that anything is something I’ve made up.
Like this moment—I could very well be conjuring this expression of longing he’s wearing so beautifully.
And it will hurt me—it pains me to be the person to potentially place such disappointment and despair over his features, but there is no other choice. Not when his livelihood could be at risk, or I could condemn his soul with a single touch.
I’ve already seen what could happen to him, just by interacting with me.
And maybe if I had any reassurance that Father would let Julian stay after learning the truth, I wouldn’t insist on lying or pushing him away.
But the fact of the matter is, I’m not sure what Father would do, or worse, what Atticus would do if they were to find out that Julian has involved himself this way.
So, I’ll have to lie. I’ll have to continue to push and push until he gives up on this, on me, and his disgust becomes clear again. Until the reality of my situation settles back in.
“Tell me,” Julian whispers, bringing me out of my own thoughts as our eyes connect. “Say you’d rather it be me, Atlas.”
My breath catches, my wide eyes watching him in terror. Oh, god. He’s read me like an open book. Am I still asleep? Could this be a very, very vivid nightmare?
“I…” But nothing else leaves me.
Julian leans over my body, pushing me down onto my back as he hovers over me. He seems unbothered by the streaks of dried come on my chest and stomach, or the red marks I’m positive are placed precariously on my skin. Instead, he watches me with heated, desperate eyes.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmurs, his legs tangling with mine as his elbows rest on either side of my head.
“You’re watching me as if you’re a startled little bunny, but I’m not stupid.
I know you’ve imagined all the different ways I’d take you, if only this stupid curse weren’t in the way.
Such a vicious appetite for such a sweet boy. ”
My blood is boiling. He’s right. He’s so fucking right that I’m sick with need and embarrassment, my cheeks flaming in the moonlight.
“Julian,” I say, and I mean for it to sound like a warning, to get him to go away, but instead, it comes out like a soft, defeated whimper.
“Mhm,” he hums, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as if he’s been waiting so patiently to hear me call out to him like this.
“Say it, little bunny. Say you’d rather it be me who fucks into you so harshly that you can’t even breathe, who whispers such sweet things to you while taking you like a whore. ”
I groan, my eyes clenched shut as his words coat my entire body in a strong aphrodisiac. But even as I want nothing more than to tell him yes, yes please, and have him take me right here—I can’t help but run myself in circles.
“I thought I disgusted you,” I blurt, my cheeks flushing even further as my hands grip the duvet beneath me, anything to keep me from reaching out to touch him.
Julian stifles a laugh. “What? Why in the world would you think that?”
“Because you said you wished you hadn’t seen what you did… because you avoided me. You acted as if liking what I did was horrific.” In the silence following my explanation, I open my eyes, peeking up at him.
Julian is staring down at me, brows furrowed, and I can see the conflict in his expression. The confusion and the slight panic.
“I said I regretted seeing what I did because I was envious, because I wanted it to be me who made you cry that way. There is nothing wrong with your preferences, and if you’re able to find some kind of relief from this hell you’re being forced to live, then good for you.
” He’s panting by the time he finishes speaking, and I stare, mouth hanging open, unsure of what to say.
He… he wasn’t grossed out? He doesn’t think that the way I crave sex is disgusting? I’m still trying to decide what to do with this information when another question rears its head.
“Then why did you avoid me?”
He sighs. “I was unsure of what to do, what to say. How was I meant to be around you when I knew the truth, but you wouldn’t let me help you? And this… this desire I have to touch you; I can’t stifle it. Even now, I’m crossing too many boundaries. Saying too much.”
“No,” I interrupt, surprising not only Julian but myself as the next words leave my mouth. “It’s not. It’s not too much. I… keep talking.”
Julian begins to grin. “So, you’ll stop lying then? You’ll let me help you?”
Could I do that? Could I admit the full reality of my condition to him and accept his assistance? What assistance could he even offer me?
“What if my father or Atticus finds out, and they make you leave?” I ask, voicing my number one fear.
“They won’t,” Julian says confidently. “We’ll be very discreet in our time together.”
“Then… what about the days in which I’m… when I’m having a flare-up? And I’m too hot and pent up to be around anyone without making a fool of myself?” I voice my other fear, thoroughly embarrassed.
Julian grins even harder, lowering his hips to rest over mine, where I can feel the outline of his erection press against my thigh.
“Then I’ll help you cool off,” he whispers, eyes bright in the moonlight that is pouring in from the skylight.
A small, defeated sound leaves me, and I’m so tempted to give in to him and accept what he’s offering me—but there is one more concern. A glaring, dangerous concern.
“And what happens when the incubus gets angry again? If it doesn’t like how close you get to me, and it tries to hurt you?”
Julian’s face twists in confusion. “Incubus? Is that what that thing is called?”
I nod.
“Well,” he continues. “I’ll just have to shoulder the consequences.”
I can see the fear in his eyes—the panic he’s trying to conceal at the thought of it retaliating again. But his warm fingers have returned to tracing my skin, and his cock is pulsing from behind layers of cotton.
“You’d risk the wrath of a demon just to help me? To… touch me?” I ask quietly.
Julian considers my question for a moment, his dark eyes tracing the lines of my face. Then he pushes his thumb to my lips, breaching the seam and pressing its tip to my tongue, the length of his body shuddering.
“I’m finding that I’m willing to face just about anything to get my hands on you, sweet boy,” he says.