Atticus Barlowe

This kid is dangerous, deadly, only moments ago Logan had been on the hunt, he’d been looking for entertainment, he’d been looking for a good time, and now that he’s got his arms full of it, now that Atticus is as wrapped around Logan as Logan is wrapped around Atticus, that danger just reasserts itself.

Dangerous because he’s a weakness, dangerous because Logan wants.

Wants. Needs. Pours every ounce of himself into that connection with Atticus. Digs his fingers into that lush hair, bites at his lower lip, drags his nails up over Atticus’ back.

If Logan could, he’d crawl into Atticus’ skin, just to be that much closer to him.

It takes a second to break away, Logan makes attempts, plural, but each time he pulls back, each time he sees those kiss swollen lips or the brightness in those eyes he can’t help but going back for more.

Another kiss. Another press against that plush pout. Another taste of the trace of vodka.

Finally, finally, Logan regains some control, finally he’s able to pull back, pressing up on his toes enough to lay a kiss at the center of Atticus’ forehead.

With is own senses heightened having the loss of one each sensation against his skin sends a jolt up his spine, chills down his arms, and a pang to his heart that tells him to yearn for more, to relish the moment. Every touch, fingers in his hair, bites to his lip, nails down his back, he lives for each. 

He returns the kiss with a feverish desire, catching his breath only in those quick flashes of a second when Logan attempts to break away. 

Except Atticus moves forward. It isn't so much full on motion as it's like they swayed together. As Logan made to move away, Atticus came with him, causing Logan's confusion to only increase.

Just like Atticus' joking tone. Logan's not quite irritated, but he is frustrated. He thought that they were going on a good thing and then Atticus was all talking about some big-bad dealbreaker.

But then there's laughter. There's that curve to Atticus' speach and suddenly Logan gets that, too, gets the accent, gets that it's because he's deaf.

"I like your ears," Logan grumbles, voice low, soft even, but he likes the fact he doesn't have to speak up to be heard and he likes that fact that Atticus is reading his lips, not hearing him.

It's just for them, then.

"That'll be a little difficult to figure out later," Logan drawls, easing himself into the notion that he hadn't done anything wrong, that Atticus isn't put off with him.

He just can't hear. And someone, somewhere, made Atticus think that was a problem.

Which is a problem for later. A problem that Logan thinks he could fix with time. And no, he knows that he shouldn't be thinking about shit like time and effort because he just met this damn kid less than an hour ago.

But.

But.

"How 'bought you read this." Logan makes sure to ennuciate clearly, makes sure that Atticus can get each word before he's stepping closer, stepping back into that space, wrapping an arm around Atticus' waist and pulling him close.

He smells even better closer, smells like heat and leather, smells like cologne and vodka. Smells good. Smells right.

But the youthful optimism slowly starts to fade and the confidence in his exterior expression falters slightly, his lip turning down when he can see the shift, the frustration on the other mans face. Even still he carried on, laughing at his own expense. 

“Makes one of us.” He teased, in truth it’s the only world he’s ever known, the only he will ever know, it’s just how he was born and he doesn’t understand why other people tend not to understand that. 

“It’s really not hard to figure out.” He shrugged as he responded. 

After all he was adaptable even if the world gave up on him. 

His eyes move over the way Logan’s mouth forms the words, he’s speaking clear now than before, Atticus doesn’t have to make sense of bits and pieces, of missed words or vague letters that would result in a sentence that makes sense, no this was clear, intentional even. 

His lip curls back into a smile as he lets himself be pulled without even the slightest hesitation to it, his heart rate increases as he takes a somewhat shaky breath, god why does this man make him act like he’s never been held close before, why does it feel so right? 

“Okay,” Logan replied, trying to figure out what to say or how to proceed, but he still had one hand firm on Atticus’ waist, and it wasn’t like Atticus was pulling away.

Which was good.

Logan wanted him to stay right. There.

Well, not exactly right there. But exactly still attached to Logan in some way. Logan sure as hell wasn’t ready to let him go.

But as Atticus sighed, Logan prepared himself. He was running back over everything that had happened, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong, and feeling this huge and unexpected wave of disappointment. Except it was more than that. Sadness, maybe? On missed out possibilities?

“Yeah,” Logan replied, letting go of Atticus, ready to step back, away, to give him space if he needed it. “I just though,” he shrugged his shoulders.

Except.

Atticus’s head tilts just slightly to the side Logan replied okay to his statement saying he danced, surely that meant he’d assumed correctly what the older man had asked him. He can almost see Logan’s thought process which likely mirrored much of his own, wondering if this moment was the last of the moments they’d share, the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach reminding him he’d be alone. 

Damn, He thought he was rejecting him, that step back… Atticus shifts just slightly so that he pushes himself back into Logan’s space a silent hey don’t.

But Atticus was different.

And that was upsetting. Not enough to derail Logan, not enough to stop him from nipping at the lobe of Atticus’ ear briefly, growling low and deep and close.

Except. Except for even with the scent of arousal that Logan could smell stirring up between the two of them, the scent of something deeper like interest and connection twinning between them too, Logan was confused about what Atticus had to say.

His brows drew together, knitting in a furrow as he backed up so he could look at Atticus, so that he could see the shift of the features on his face. “Because you don’t dance?” Logan asked, half-joking, fully out of his depth. Things had been going real, real good and now they weren’t. “I mean, not a deal breaker on my part? We can go get dinner or drinks somewhere else. Anything you want.”

But that uptick of excitement, the chills that had cascaded up his spine slowly seemed to ebb, of course, it always went this way, that otherwise sexy move of whispering in an ear would have gotten likely 99 percent of the room but Atticus, well, it only meant he had to explain missing it. 

When you’re born into a world that doesn’t accommodate you learn to adapt and fairly quickly, it meant he read expressions equally as well as he read lips even if that was a bit of a struggle in such low light instances as this. “I dance?”  There’s a puzzled look written into his own expression for a moment as he realizes what was likely to have been said into his ear.

They were close, so close, but not quite touching. The anticipation was making Logan’s head spin, but he didn’t want to push too fast or too hard. He huffed a laugh at Atticus’ response, dipping in so they were almost nose to nose.

Craning his neck, Logan turned, dragging hot breath over the line of Atticus’ jaw. He hesitated for a moment, before he pressed his lips to the skin there, before baring teeth and bitting down lightly, teasing.

He can feel the heat from Logans breath, smell the musk that he let off, he felt everything and the little laugh sent absolute shivers down his spine. 

The breath over his jaw resulted in his breath catching and the softest of moans follows the little bite, damn, oh damn he had him. 

"Might night have picked it," Logan shrugged, "but you wear it well."

Had they really spent this long talking about this kid's name? Was Logan really so caught off guard that he was acting like some heart eyed teen?

But Logan's not the only one that's affected by this whole damn situation, because there goes that heartbeat, cranking up ever so.

Logan moves closer.

He does what he thought of earlier, he figures he's already well past any place he expected to be, and he reaches out to hook one of Atticus' belt loops, tugging on it lightly to bring him closer. It isn't a fierce movement, there's nothing harsh about it, it's smooth and slow and if Atticus wanted to, he could refuse closing the space between them.

“Yeah? Thanks.” He grinned, genuinely. 

It’s not something he anticipates and yet he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t move to push space between them, when Logan’s fingers hook into his bel loop to pull him closer he lets him, even angles his own body into it. 

There's a laugh that springs up in Logan's throat, probably lost within the noise of it all. "That one goes a little beyond tradition. Unless, of course, you're actually from Attica." Why Logan has stuck on that point, he doesn't know. Honestly, all the sudden he realizes he's out of his depth.

This kid, Atticus, is interesting. There's something to him that's more than cheekbones and smelling good. Normally, Logan would just drag someone to a dark corner, or the bathroom, or an alley. Normally, he'd be tangled up in them by now, even there, pressed up against the bar.

But Logan wants to know more. Wants to talk more, for all that he also wants everything else. And because of that, a little warning bell goes off in his head.

A warning Logan decides to ignore.

“Well I didn’t pick it did I?’ He toyed with the other one, “was great grandfathers name.” He explained not that it helped his case all too much it was a fairly old school name were he being honest, and it with his last name just scream pompous prick. 

For once he was throughly enjoying himself here and the prospect of maybe leaving with the man next to him.