Julian #3
“I love this sensitive little spot,” I ramble. I desperately need to tell him now that I’m finally able to touch him again. What if it’s the last time? “I can feel it so clearly. I wish I could taste it—I wish I could feel it on my tongue as you come. That I could sink my teeth into it and suck.”
“P-please,” Atlas cries.
“Please, what, baby?”
“I want to come. I need it.”
“Aww, my poor boy,” I coo. “Come whenever you want; come as hard as you want. And if you need to do it again, I’ll make you. I promise. I’ll always take care of you.”
“Julie,” he gasps. “I feel so good. I… I think I’m going to come.”
It’s like music to my fucking ears.
“Yeah? You gonna come on my cock, all from me fucking you nice and slow?” I kiss his cheek, his ear, his jaw. “Show me how pretty you are, how well you listen. Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good. Sound so good.”
“Julie, Julie,” he pleads, and it’s so desperate, so raw, that I can’t stop the low groan that leaves me.
Unbelievably, my hips don’t speed up, but instead they keep this same slow, firm pace as I abuse his prostate. He’s squeezing me so tightly now that it borders on pain.
“That’s it, little bunny. Let me see it. Let me see how pretty your cock looks while it’s exploding.”
I look down just in time. He leans back, eyes clenched and mouth unhinged as a broken, drawn-out moan leaves him. I watch as he squirts all over both of our chests, my chin, and the bed.
He’s letting me observe him—letting me see how pretty it looks.
I have never seen a man squirt without his dick being touched.
Atlas convulses, gripping tighter and tighter as I slowly fuck him through it.
“Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Hngh, Julie, please!”
I have no idea what he’s begging for, but as I release my grip on the base of my shaft, I blow immediately. My balls have been drawn tight for so long that I feel delirious, and as I fill him up, Atlas groans even louder, grinding down onto me.
“More, give me more,” he pleads. “Deeper. I want it deeper inside.”
He sounds so wanton for it that I can’t help but listen, dropping him onto his back and pushing my hips as far into him as possible. I doubt I actually achieve deeper, but the angle changes, and that seems to convince him.
“Yes!” Atlas screeches, pushing down onto me, eyes completely unfocused as I stare down at his face.
Not once, this entire time, has he stopped crying.
“Look at me, baby,” I tell him. “Focus on me.”
Slowly, he comes around, his blue eyes focusing on my face. I roll my hips, drinking in his little whimper.
“There you go,” I praise. “You did so well, Atty. You’re such a good boy. Do you feel good? Do you need more?”
Atlas nods, his hair glued to his skin, though I know that otherwise it would be bouncing with his excitement.
“M-more, Julie. Please. I need more.” He sounds guilty, as if asking for it is burdening me somehow.
“It’d be my pleasure,” I tell him, leaning down to capture his lips with mine.
And it truly will be my pleasure. I’ll eat my own come from his ass until I’m hard and ready, and then I’ll fuck him again, alternating between giving it to him like the whore he pretends to be, and slow and sweet, how the good boy I know he is deserves.
And to think I was wallowing in self-pity just this morning.
As I wake, the first thing I notice is that it’s still nighttime.
I’m not sure when Atlas and I finally fell asleep; I fucked him until his skin eventually cooled, and he practically passed out moments after his last orgasm.
I can’t recall how many times either of us came, only that I have never been so thoroughly, physically pleased in my entire life.
I try to make heads or tails of the time and why I’m suddenly awake, feeling Atlas’s trembling body in my grasp.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s ready to go again, pent up and in need of release.
But his skin is at its normal level of warmth, and his hands are clenching my sides to the point of pain, so I’m certain this is not the case.
My eyes fight to adjust to the darkness around us, and from where my arms are wrapped around his small body, I rub his back.
“Atty?” I whisper, my voice rough with sleep.
As my eyes begin to adjust, I can see his trembling, how he’s gripping onto me. Then I see his face.
Big blue eyes are wide with terror and panic, lips parted as he pants quickly. All the color has drained from his cheeks.
And I know. I know before I look what he is seeing for the very first time. I can feel it in the way I become aware of the heat in the air around us, or how I can smell smoke and burning wood. In how my intuition is screaming for me to run.
But I’ll look. Isn’t it funny how we can know exactly what is there, without a doubt, and still have to look anyway?
Slowly, I turn my head, and there it is: at the foot of the bed stands the incubus.
It must be at least 7 feet tall, its limbs unnaturally long. Black voids stare back at us, though I’m uncertain who it’s staring at, and its jaw hangs open just far enough to reveal those sharp teeth.
And lower, between its legs, stands its hard, ridged cock, tall and proud.
I hug Atlas tighter to my chest, his shoulder digging into my pecs.
I want him to know that I’m here, but I’m unsure of what to do.
Going hand-to-hand with this thing probably isn’t the best move, and I’m pretty sure that the last time I encountered it in Atlas’s room—and I demanded it leave—it only worked because I startled it.
Now, it is prepared. It is angry.
I take a deep breath, ready to yell at it once more.
Unfortunately, I do not get the chance.
The incubus growls, a low, guttural sound, before its hand snaps out and snatches up Atlas’s bare ankle. Then, it tugs.
Atlas screams, his blunt fingernails clawing at my arms. I tighten my hold around him, locking him down, but inevitably, this just means we’re both dragged a few inches down the bed.
The demon is strong.
“Let go! Leave!” I shout, kicking at its wrist. This is a mistake.
The incubus grins. Or I believe it grins. The corners of the hole where its teeth are slotted tilt up, revealing more of those sharp teeth, and it hisses right at me.
I shiver, fear locking up my muscles. Then, in a flash, it’s next to the bed—my side, thankfully—and leering down at me.
“Julian—” Atlas is cut off as the incubus reaches down and wraps its large hand all the way around my throat, picking me up off the bed and dangling me in the air in front of it.
I’m so close to it that I can smell the heavy scent of smoke; I can see the drool escaping from between its canines. The skin on its face and stretched over its chest is so pale it borders translucent, showing no veins.
I can’t breathe anymore. I’m flailing and kicking and punching as best I can—and I’m a big, muscled man—but it’s making no difference. The incubus sneers, shaking me wildly.
I’m a glorified rag doll.
I think I’ll die here. Right in this moment, I’m certain that this monster will choke me to death and take Atlas.
My vision begins to darken. The damned thing shrieks.
Suddenly, I’m being dropped to the floor, gasping and coughing as I claw at my neck. Relief floods through me, but it only lasts a few seconds, as I hear:
“No! S-stay back! Stop!”
My eyes lift from where I’m lying on the floor, massaging my tender flesh, to see Atlas tumbling off the bed and backing away, toward his mirror, absolutely petrified.
The incubus takes another step toward him, turning its back to me as if I’ve never once been a threat.
I want to get Atlas away from here. He should never have been subjected to seeing the wretched thing. He’s too soft, too sweet to handle it.
Tears fall over his cheeks in a consistent stream, his hands trembling as he grips the standing mirror behind himself.
If I were unsure originally of what I must do, I am, without a doubt, completely positive of my next move now.
I have to protect him. I have to preserve what is mine. The person I care for and cherish in a way I never have before.
I like him. And I won’t let this fucker take him from me.
On shaky legs, I stand, each inhalation I take sounding raw and broken around the bruising I can feel forming over my throat.
I can see my own reflection in the mirror behind Atlas, how terrified yet determined I look. My dark hair is a mess, my skin marked—and it appears I’ve also been crying. I wasn’t aware.
Without a second thought, with no time to chicken out, I slide myself between the demon and Atlas, shoving its hard chest with all the strength I can muster.
It does not move an inch.
Over the sound of my own heartbeat, I can hear Atlas speaking.
“Julian, run,” he says, and I can hear the terror in his voice.
I shake my head. “No. I’m going to protect—”
A flash of hot pain registers in the flesh of my face, and I’m airborne. Atlas is screaming again.
A loud crashing noise resonates around the room, and more of the searing pain shoots throughout my entire body as I crumble to the floor.
I peel my eyes back open, but half of the room is painted red. I groan, attempting to adjust my own limbs but unable to move. There is so much pain, so much fear, that I’m locked in place.
I wanted to protect him. I wanted to take him away from this place, from this bastard. But I am weak. I am useless. I am crumpled on the floor and half-conscious.
“A-Atlas,” I murmur, using whatever strength I have left to reach out to him.
And as I do—and I see the blood coating my outstretched fingertips—the world around me starts to fade.
As I lose consciousness, the last thing I’m able to comprehend is the sound of Atlas’s sobbing and my own self-loathing.