Page 17

17

Henri

Atlas just licked my neck. A couple of months ago, I would have found the thought of that slightly abhorrent, but today I am very much seeing the appeal. Slowly, I tilt my face to the side to try and wordlessly get him to nibble elsewhere. He’s not making any noise, just gently kissing along the lines of my tendons and bones as though creating a map of my body with his lips. It feels good. It feels really good.

Carefully, I put my hand to the back of his head. He makes a small noise of approval, so I slide my fingers through the silky dark strands of his hair. I don’t want to hold his head down, but now that I’ve got contact, I don’t want to lose it.

My skin buzzes as Atlas slides a hand down my flank—ribs to thigh—and his chest brushes my stomach. He’s treading a very clear path toward my only half-hard dick, and I feel a momentary flutter of panic. I have a hard time becoming aroused, and there is no guarantee that it will happen no matter how much I like Atlas and what he’s doing. I will be incredibly embarrassed if my body doesn’t cooperate.

“Atlas,” I mutter, meaning to apologize for my uncooperative dick. When he lifts his head, I let my hand slide from his hair and back to the bed.

“You done?” he asks, and it takes me a second to work through what he’s asking. Warmth, which has nothing to do with the temperature of the room, saturates my body.

“Oh, no. I was only wanting to tell you that I might not…” I gesture vaguely at my waist. He looks down and back up at me.

“Get hard?” he clarifies, and I nod.

“I am sorry.”

His face scrunches up like he’s got something distasteful in his mouth, and scoots up far enough to drop a kiss on my lips.

“Fuck that,” he says. “Don’t be sorry. I’m hard enough for both of us.”

“That is not the way anatomy works, Atlas,” I tell him seriously, hoping to tease out a laugh as well as another kiss. I get both, so I smile against his mouth and relax further into the bed.

When he trails gentle fingertips over my cock, it feels no different than when I do it myself. But it is different. If I tuck my chin, I can see the top of Atlas’ shiny head, and the pale slope of his shoulders as he continues kissing my stomach. He wraps his fingers more firmly around me, thumb teasing the tip before sliding away to explore elsewhere.

When his fingers dip lower to my balls, I spread my legs a little wider to give him more room. He doesn’t sit all the way up, but speaks against my skin, breath tickling the inside of my thigh .

“Can I suck you?” he asks, which makes me blush furiously.

“If you’d like.”

He laughs, and I gasp at the puff of warm air against my balls. Every cell in my body is waking up and tingling in awareness. My nerves feel so delicate, it’s as though they’ve been sandpapered, and my skin has never been so sensitive. As his hand strokes slowly over my length, I have the strangest desire to thank him.

By the time he wraps tentative lips around me, I’m wondering why I ever worried about being aroused. In fact, I am now worried that I will be having the opposite problem.

“Atlas,” I mumble, startled by how scratchy my voice sounds. “Atlas, I am going to come very quickly.”

He laughs, and because he does it with his mouth on my dick, I feel it in my pelvis. Biting my lip, I tangle one hand in the sheets and reach the other for his head. I have never touched anything as soft as Atlas’ hair.

I’m trying very hard to be quiet and not make any embarrassing noises, so I hear it very clearly when Atlas gags. Pulling away, he reaches up to wipe the back of one hand over his mouth while slowly continuing to jack me with the other. Before I can ask if he’s okay, he grins at me. It’s an impish sort of grin, particularly when paired with his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he asks, before leaning over and sucking me so deep I hit the back of his throat.

I come so quickly, it takes even me by surprise. Atlas makes a startled noise and jerks his head back, but immediately hollows his cheeks and slides back down, sucking in earnest. Eyes squeezed closed, I press myself into the mattress in a fight against my body to thrust upward. I have never felt so out of control of myself as I do in this moment.

Atlas sits up, but doesn’t take his hand away. Instead, he idly strokes me as I soften, his other hand resting on my thigh. When I open my eyes and meet his, he smiles at me.

“Okay?” he asks.

“I am very sorry. I did not mean to ejaculate so quickly.”

“Oh my god, don’t say ejaculate ,” he scolds me, mimicking my accent. I grin. He doesn’t seem mad, and is joking and smiling. Blowjob Atlas is apparently a happy Atlas.

“Shall I?” I ask, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his waist while maintaining polite eye contact.

“Oh, no.” He snorts. “I was too worked up to wait. Jacked myself the whole time. I already came—all over your leg, in fact.”

I sit up, surprised. There is most certainly cum on my leg, and I didn’t even notice.

“I can grab a towel, if you want,” Atlas offers, stepping off the bed and pulling his underwear back on. “Or you could take a shower. Whatever you want.”

“Do you think you might come over here and kiss me?” I ask, and am immediately worried by the look that crosses Atlas’ face. I hope we did not trade blowjobs for kissing. If I am only to pick one, I will choose kissing every time. But just as soon as the shadow was there, it’s gone, and he is putting a hand on my cheek and pressing his mouth to mine.

“Thank you,” I say as he pulls away. “And now, I do think I would like a towel.”

I’m not overly fond of being dirty, and the cum is already starting to dry and pull on my leg hair. I also feel like I need a few moments alone to collect myself. Having sex is probably not meant to be a world-shattering experience, but it is feeling that way for me. I do not want Atlas to see something in my eyes that might frighten him away.

“Bathroom is across the hall,” he tells me. “Help yourself to whatever.”

I only take a few minutes in the bathroom, eager to keep riding this wave of good cheer from Atlas. When I walk back into his bedroom, he’s sitting against his headboard waiting for me. Still clad only in his boxers, there is so much smooth, pale skin on display that I stop and enjoy the view for a minute. He notices and it makes him scowl.

“What?”

“I like to look at you. You are very beautiful. I am not sure if you know this.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He scoots over so there is room for me to sit beside him on the bed. “Give me compliments like that. We’re just fucking around. I don’t need you to pour honey in my ear.”

I stare at him mutely. I have no idea what that is supposed to mean.

“I am not sure about the honey,” I tell him slowly, sliding up a little closer to him in bed and touching my fingertips to his rib cage. He has lovely skin. “Although, it might be good to have with the stollen, yes? And I like complimenting you. It is the truth.”

“Pouring honey in someone’s ear is an idiom for sweet-talking,” he explains.

“Oh yes, this makes sense.” I trail my fingertips down the inside of his forearm, enjoying the way goose bumps follow after. “But I think I shall continue with the honey talk. I like it when you make this face.”

I touch his cheek and he rolls his eyes, as I knew he would. Slowly—giving him a chance to move away—I lean in and kiss him.

“I am thinking the stollen is ready,” I tell him, before coming back in for another kiss. “We should put shirts on and go eat. After that, perhaps we can come back here?”

“You angling for round two?”

“Well,” I say seriously, holding out a hand to help him off the bed, “I believe we shall get better each time. Just like the kissing, yes? We must practice.”

He snorts a laugh as he bends over to grab his shirt.

“All right, Henri,” he mumbles softly, sounding as though I’ve made him sad. “Sounds good to me.”

My phone rings less than five minutes after I receive a notification from my banking app that a deposit has been made. Tucking my pen into the textbook to save my place, I close the cover and bring the phone to my ear.

“Jakob,” I greet my brother with a smile. “Guten Abend.”

“Bruderherz,” he replies fondly. “Kein Deutsch mehr. Wir haben darüber gesprochen. Du musst dein Englisch verbessern.”

I sigh. He’s right. Jakob picked up English quickly—speaking it with the ease of a native. Even his accent disappears when he’s on the phone with clients.

“Yes, you are right.”

“Of course I am. Big brothers know best,” he says stoutly. “Did you get the money I sent you? I don’t trust the banks here. I put in five hundred, but if that is not enough, I can always transfer more.”

“Jakob, I do not need so much.” Scuffing my foot along the floor, I shake my head even though he can’t see it. I rarely spend the money he sends me, but it doesn’t stop him from sending it. My brother lives in fear of me needing help but being caught up in the red tape of wiring money from my parents in Germany to me in South Carolina.

“Nonsense. Everyone needs money. Buy some new clothes—I know how you are, Bruderherz.”

“My clothes are fine,” I say weakly, glancing at my wardrobe and immediately thinking of Atlas. He would probably faint if I ever showed up to class not wearing a polo shirt.

“Well, it’s your money. Spend it however you wish. How are things going otherwise? Did you hear back about that internship?”

“Things are well. I am struggling with some of the English classes—I am not so smart as you.” Jakob makes a disgruntled noise, but doesn’t interrupt. He is my staunchest supporter and doesn’t like it when I say things about myself he doesn’t agree with. “I did get the internship, though. I am thinking Coach Mackenzie is why.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs. “You got the internship because you are incredibly smart, talented, and hardworking. Also, devastatingly handsome.”

I laugh happily. “I am looking exactly like you. You are putting honey in your own ear, I am thinking.”

Jakob scoffs, but I can hear his smile in the noise. I am lucky to have a brother like him. We never wanted for anything growing up, with two hardworking and successful parents, and we spent so much time together that the age gap never mattered much. We were brothers and best friends, and that bond has only gotten stronger in adulthood.

“That was pretty good. I’ve never heard you use a saying like that before,” he notes. I practically puff up with pride at the words. Atlas is apparently teaching me more than sex things.

“Yes, I am learning that from my friend Atlas. He tells me I pour honey in his ear when I call him beautiful.”

Jakob chuckles a little. “Well, I’m not sure friends often use that word choice. Unless—is this Atlas a special kind of friend?”

“Yes.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. I’ve never talked to my brother about this sort of thing before. Will he care that Atlas is a man? “Is that okay?”

“Bruderherz, stop. Of course that’s fine. Mama will give you a sex talk when you tell her, though. Be warned. She won’t care how old you are. When I got married, I even got pamphlets . I know everything there is to know about childbirth, Henri.”

“Goodness. I do not think I want pamphlets for sex.”

“I hate to break this to you, but it doesn’t matter what you want. My advice would be to avoid any packages she sends you after you tell her about your Atlas. God only knows what sort of medical literature might be in there.”

Sighing, I bite my lip again and spin my chair in an idle circle. “Atlas is not mine, Jakob. We are only friends.”

“Ah.” He makes a stern, disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. I can practically see him waving a hand through the air, scattering my words. “You are so young. Give it time. Friends is a good place for a relationship to start. Now, let’s talk about this internship. None of my clients play for South Carolina, but I know your coach?—”

Opening my French notebook to a fresh page, I jot down notes as I listen to him talk. My mother is whom you would go to for questions concerning your health, and my father knows everything there is to know about foreign affairs and policies, but the sports world belongs to Jakob. We talk for an hour, before he has to go and meet up with a new potential client. Before we hang up, he reminds me once more to check my bank account and to do something fun with it.

“Take Atlas to dinner,” he recommends, which makes me feel like I was walking down a staircase and missed the last two steps.

“Yes,” I mumble. “That is a good idea. I shall do that.”

True to my word, I log in to my account and see a fresh deposit of five hundred waiting for me. Also, because I told Jakob I would, I text Atlas to see if he would want to grab something to eat. I type out the message and delete it several times. No matter how I write the words, I can’t make it sound less date-like.

Henri

Hello, Atlas. I am thinking I will go get dinner off campus. If you are hungry, you could join me.

Atlas

no dates

Sighing, I rub a hand over my face. I should have known he’d be too clever for that. I should have waited and asked him in person. He’s easier to convince when I can smile at him and ply him with my accent. He pretends not to like it, but I know that he does.

Henri

Just one will not hurt, yes?

Atlas

what restaurant

Henri

Your choice, of course.

Atlas

seafood?

Henri

Shall I pick you up in an hour?

Atlas

k

not a date tho

Smiling, I put my phone down and replace all my school things where they belong. I’m already showered, so there’s nothing to do but change clothes and wait. I text Carter while I do so, asking if he has any recommendations for good seafood restaurants locally. Carter loves taking Zeke out to dinner. He’ll know all the good spots.

Carter

You could go to the one we went to together. The Pearl. Or, if you don’t mind a drive, you could try Maiden Catch. I’ll send you the location. It’s on the water. Low-key. You can sit outside on the deck. Zeke said he’d eat there every day if he could.

Henri

That is perfect, thank you. My brother is wanting me to have fun.

Carter

Are you going alone? Ask Zeke to go with you. I’m in fucking Indiana.

Henri

I am going with Atlas, my friend from communications class. He likes seafood.

Carter

Wait a second, Zeke told me that guy was a dick. Fuck that guy.

Henri

Oh no, he is not so bad. And yes, I think I will.

Carter

I can’t believe you just made that joke.

I laugh out loud in my empty room, picturing Carter glaring down at his phone. It’s time to go pick up Atlas, though, so I don’t respond. When I pull up to Atlas’ place, he’s sitting outside on the front step smoking a cigarette. Burning it out on the concrete when he sees my car, he stands and walks toward me. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black T-shirt. With his pale complexion and dark hair, the black clothes make him look striking and a little bit dangerous.

In comparison, I fear that I may look like a door-to-door salesman with my khaki pants and green polo shirt. I know Atlas prefers it when I wear more casual clothing, but I certainly can’t wear sweatpants to a restaurant.

“Hello, Atlas,” I greet him when he slides into the car. He grunts, clicking his seat belt into place. “You look handsome in black.”

He sighs and trails his fingers over my thigh. “I’m going to have a ceremonial burning of all your khaki. Sacrifice them to the fashion gods.”

“You are funny,” I tell him. He takes his hand off my leg, which makes me sad. Putting the car in drive, I check the map app on my phone and get us on the road. Glancing over at Atlas, I decide I should probably remind him exactly what this is, in case he’s already forgotten. “You should keep your hand on my leg, because this is a date, yes?”

He shoots me an acidic look, and I smile cheerfully back. We’re a few miles down the road before I feel the weight of his palm on me once more. Pleased, I smile, but keep my eyes on the road and my own hands on the wheel.

It’s a nice night—perhaps a little on the cooler side, but still similar enough to the rainy winter weather I’m used to in Germany—so we opt to utilize the outside seating at the restaurant. Lights are strung up overhead, and the outdoor heating lamps are burning bright. As we’re led to a table next to the railing, Atlas curls his fingers over the wood and looks down into the dark water. I thank the hostess and turn back to Atlas, nervous.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening and walking over to me. He touches my cheek and leans up to drop a quick kiss to my mouth. Shocked, it takes a few seconds for me to follow him to the table and sit down. I cannot believe he just did that. Usually, I can’t even get him to smile at me in public, let alone kiss me.

The table we’re at is a little too big for only two people, which means there’s a choice as far as seating goes. Instead of sitting across from him, I take the corner seat, right next to where Atlas sat down. This way, if he gets it in his head to kiss me again, he won’t have to reach too far. When we take a look at the menus, Atlas’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and his eyes widen. He lets out a low whistle.

“This is expensive,” he mutters, eyes flicking upward to mine.

“Yes, I thought it might be. Carter recommended it to me,” I muse, leaning down and starting the arduous task of reading so many strange English words. “But that is okay. I will like spending money on you.”

He taps his finger against the wood of the table, eyes narrowed as he tries to decide whether he wants to argue or not. Below the table, I hook my ankle over his.

“What is this, do you think?” I put a finger on the word and hold my menu out for him to read.

“Cremini—it’s a mushroom.”

“Cremini,” I repeat, but must say it wrong because Atlas’ mouth twitches like he wants to smile.

We go through the menu together, and several times I get him to laugh at the way we try to pronounce some of these unpronounceable words. I should have just asked Carter what to order—he would have known. But this is fun, and Atlas is relaxed; the lights hanging above us shimmer on his hair and the water laps gently against the deck below us. I’d sit here all night with him.

Our waiter is a tall, fit-looking man with a tattoo of a snake curling up his forearm. He introduces himself as Ty, before taking Atlas’ order. When it’s my turn, he comes to stand by me, leaning on the table close enough that I can smell his cologne.

“Nice night,” Ty comments mildly, scratching down my order and grinning at me. “Where are you from? Can’t say I’ve heard an accent like that around here before.”

“I am from Germany, but am going to school at the university.”

“Yeah?” Ty steps a little closer, pen tapping against the palm of his other hand. He’s staring at me very intently, which makes me wonder if I need to use the men’s room and check my appearance. “Well, this place closes down around ten most nights, if you’re still around?— ”

Atlas’ fingers on my wrist distract me. When I look over at him, his grip is tight on my arm and he’s staring venomously at our waiter.

“No,” he interrupts him firmly, and then doesn’t take his eyes off of Ty until he leaves with a promise to bring our food out soon.

“What is wrong?” I ask him. I haven’t moved my hand, and neither has he. His hold feels almost proprietary. Atlas’ eyes track Ty across the patio and back into the main restaurant before meeting mine.

“He was asking you out.”

“Oh, no, Atlas, I do not think so.” I shake my head, making him scowl at me. His fingers tense incrementally on my wrist. I wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

“Yes,” he says firmly, “he was. He was telling you what time he gets off of work in case you wanted to hang around. He was hitting on you.”

I shake my head again. People do not come on to me like that. Probably, Ty was just being friendly. He works for tips, after all. I imagine he chats with all his customers the same way.

“I think he was only doing his job.”

“Oh? And that’s why he didn’t say a single word to me, but felt the need to comment on your adorable accent and let you know what time he gets off of work?”

I perk up at that. “My accent is adorable, yes?”

“Henri,” Atlas huffs, annoyed.

“Aye, okay, perhaps you are right. But that seems very rude to me, to do that when I am on a date.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Not so handsome as you,” I tell him truthfully. “Probably, he will spit in our food now, yes? Because you were giving him mean looks.”

Atlas snorts, sitting back in his chair. I half expect him to let go of my arm, and am surprised when he uses his grip to pull my hand into his lap. When he threads his fingers through mine, I nearly fall out of my chair.

“Can’t even blame him for trying,” he says about our waiter. “You’re so damn nice, would you even have said no if he asked you out?”

“I am only wanting to be here with you, B?rchen. I will be saying no to everyone who is not Atlas.”

He squints his eyes at me, and I take the opportunity to trail the pad of my thumb over his knuckles. Atlas has very smooth hands, without any of the rough calluses that pepper my palms.

“B?rchen?”

“It is…little bear? Kleiner B?r. Because you are cute, and a little bit mean, yes?”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t tell me not to call him that. I smooth my thumb over his hand again, enjoying the fact that he’s letting me get away with such an obvious display of affection.

“Are you excited about starting the internship in a few months?” he asks.

“Yes. Also, nervous, but that is to be expected. I am not wanting to let down Coach Mackenzie, who wrote a nice letter about me.”

“You won’t let him down. You’re the hardest worker in any room, don’t even pretend otherwise. They’re going to try and offer you a job at the end of the summer, just wait and see.”

Uncomfortable with the sudden surge of support, I shift a little in my chair. I am not one who seeks attention, and Atlas isn’t usually one to give me any. He notices my discomfort and smirks.

“And now you know how I feel when you call me beautiful,” he says.

“That is the truth.”

He’s saved from answering by the reappearance of Ty carrying our food. Atlas’ eyes snap toward him and narrow dangerously when he comes to my side to serve us. I watch him, amused with this new side of him. Even though it’s unnecessary, I’m not unhappy to see him so jealous. Thanking Ty, I wait for him to be out of earshot again before squeezing Atlas’ hand to bring his eyes back to mine.

“I am not interested in other people, in this way,” I tell him. “I am not attracted.”

“But you’re interested in me that way,” he muses. I nod. “Wow, you’ve got terrible judgement.”

Laughing, I pick up my fork and look down at my plate, trying to figure out a way I can eat one-handed. If I cannot manage it, I will just go hungry. I do not want to let go of Atlas’ hand. I worry if I do, I’ll never get it back again.

Seeing my dilemma, he squeezes my fingers before gently extracting his hand from mine. He must see the disappointment in my face because he chuckles softly.

“Eat your food,” he says testily, before muttering, “I’ll hold your hand later.”

The evening becomes steadily darker as we eat, the temperature dropping with the light. I make Atlas smile no less than four times, and after he finishes his food, he puts his hand on my leg the same way he did in the car. I’m unsure whether this is for Ty’s benefit or my own, but I feel as though I’ve won either way. He watches as I slowly eat my dinner, probably picking up on the fact that I am in no rush for the evening to end.

“Thanks for this,” he says, apropos of nothing. Frowning, he fiddles with his fork, clinking it gently against the side of his plate. “I, uh…it was my birthday, yesterday.”

“What?” I ask, abandoning my last piece of fish and looking at him incredulously. I must have misheard him.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. It’s not a big deal. Nobody even remembered.”

“Atlas, what are you saying?”

“My dad and his family—I guess they forgot. My stepmom is usually the one who keeps track of that sort of thing, because my dad just can’t be bothered, but.” Another shrug. Atlas is such a good liar, I cannot decide whether the nonchalance is real or practiced.

“I am sorry,” I say on an exhale, feeling rotten even though I didn’t know until now it was his birthday.

“It’s okay. You must have some sort of sixth sense, since you asked me to dinner the day after.”

“No, I was only being selfish. Also, my brother said I must have some fun.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Oh? I’m fun?”

“Yes,” I agree solemnly, and then try for a joke. “Especially when we are not wearing any clothes.”

Chuckling, he pats my leg. “Well, let’s pay the check and go back to your place. It’s my birthday, and I mean to cash in on that.”