Julian #3
“I… I think I can do that.”
We watch each other in silence for a moment. There is so much more to talk about: there is so much more to this condition of his that I do not understand, that I’m sure he’s yet to tell me.
But Atlas looks so soft and sweet sitting in front of me, asking me to fill him up. And I can’t very well think of anything else. Actually, the only things I can think of are how good it’s going to feel to finally push inside of him, and how it felt for him to lie under that demon.
“Can you tell me what it was like?” I ask. “With the demon.”
“Um,” Atlas begins quietly, considering the question for a moment. His fingers trace the blanket between us. “I used to hate it. I wouldn’t be able to get hard, and I could tell that the demon hated that. But over time, my body seemed to… adapt. And I started to enjoy it.”
Big blue eyes water slightly as he watches me, and I can feel the shame and guilt he’s projecting.
He continues. “I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.
At some point, I began to crave the release it offers me.
And I don’t mind it, you know? How rough it is.
The incubus takes what it wants, but requires I finish, too, so it makes sure I feel good.
Doesn’t that mean it targets my desires? What I like?”
I shrug. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I like it when it holds me down or limits my breathing. When it slams into me and takes and takes. I feel small; I feel needed.”
It’s almost sad—how simple the desire is. Atlas wants to feel important, and he wants to feel pretty. The incubus makes him feel that way when it feeds on his energy. That, and climaxing feels good. But I wonder…
“Have you ever experienced release in another way? Has anyone ever touched you softly?” I ask.
Atlas stares back at me, wide-eyed and jaw slackened. But he recovers quickly, his eyes darting to watch anything but me.
“N-no, I haven’t. They haven’t.” He clears his throat. “But I like it how I get it. It feels good.”
“Right,” I placate quietly.
I have a feeling that if Atlas experienced being worshipped sweetly, he’d be just as obsessed as he is with rough sex. But I also have a feeling that he’s too terrified to admit that; to acknowledge it and not have it.
“You never answered my question,” Atlas says softly, interrupting my analysis.
“What question?”
His gaze returns to mine, hesitant and scared. “If you fully understand; if you’re willing to taint yourself by sleeping with a condemned man.”
A slow, sly smile takes over my lips, and I watch as his eyes follow the motion. After a moment, as if he can’t resist, Atlas begins to smile as well.
“For one, I do not think you’re condemned.
You’re far more religious than I am, and even if I were to be a saint, I would still think you’re making the best of a terrible situation.
” At my words, his shoulders sag in relief, but I continue to speak.
“But more importantly, I’m pretty sure I already told you that I would do or endure just about anything for the chance to touch you.
That is how badly I’ve wanted you, for far longer than I believe you realize. ”
Atlas’s eyes darken to a shade of blue that belongs deep beneath the waves crashing against the cliffside, his hands twitching against the duvet under us. A small huff of air, hot and sweet, passes from behind his full lips, and I breathe it in greedily.
“Really?” he asks.
“Really.”
“Then… then I think I’d let you. Touch me, I mean.” Before I can respond, he continues in a rushed voice. “But only if you swear you understand the danger and the risk that you’re—”
“Atlas,” I interrupt. He stops speaking, stops breathing. “Are you in a flare-up right now?”
“No,” he answers breathlessly.
“How unfortunate. I mean, that’s good for your health, but I was fully prepared to help you through it.” I’m leaning forward again; all my weight is being supported by my arm, where my palm is resting by his thigh.
With wide, slightly terrified eyes, Atlas nods.
“I-I still… I wouldn’t… I mean, we could still… if you wanted to.” His chopped, fragmented sentences leave him in a rush once again—jumbled and meaningless. But I understand.
He wants it. Even now, when he’s not in a wicked flare-up, he needs me to fuck him how he likes it.
“You want it, sweet boy?” I purr, leaning in further, until I’m hovering just over his lips with my own. “You want to be filled up with something warm?”
Atlas groans softly, his lashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes locked onto mine.
“Y-yes,” he whispers.
“Say please,” I demand gently, lifting a hand to brush it over his high cheekbone where a delicate blush has risen. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll fuck you like a whore.”
“G-god,” he breathes, leaning into my touch just slightly, almost subconsciously. He inhales deeply. “Please, Julian. Please fill me up. I’ll be good.”
I think the stars have just aligned; I fear that for the first time in either of our lives, all of our pieces have found a home, fitting so beautifully together.
And it’s perfect.