Atlas had pulled Jack aside, “Just for a mo’ boyo.” But that had been ten hours ago, and Jack was getting… uncomfortable.
The opportunity to stay in Atlas’ safe hideout for a bit was godsent rest, of course. And Atlas’ careful study of the screens in front of him, displaying grainy images in black and white, was also appreciated. Atlas was doing this to keep him safe, after all.
Problem was, Jack didn’t actually have any Eve hypos on him. Not that he was exactly using his plasmids left and right in here, but. Well. Eve was a drug, and as any splicer could tell you, going without a fix for too long was positively maddening. It would be one thing if all Atlas was doing was watching the screens, but no, he was also smoking.
Plush lips wrapped around the cigarette, lit the tip up in a bright orange that threw warm shadows over a face washed out both by the screens and the dim, water-filtered light coming in the window. Then two fingers came up to cradle it, delicately removing the cigarette so that Atlas could release curling wisps of smoke, which rolled over his cheekbones prettier than a picture, almost like a tangible touch.
Jack wanted to touch too, but more than that, he wanted a cigarette. Just one would slow the shake in his fingers, dim the halos glowing around everything more and more and more -
Shaking his head, Jack resolved to say something. “Atlas?”
“Yeah boyo?” The Irishman didn’t even turn his head, so Jack swallowed hard, sat up a bit in the worn armchair Atlas had lent him.
“May I have one of your cigarettes, please?”
“Hmm? Why - oh, the Eve?”
Relief flooded Jack, slumping his head down in a nod almost against his will. Of course Atlas figured it out immediately, he was so smart.
“Well y’see, I’d love to give you some, but there ain’t exactly that many left in Rapture. And it ain’t like I can just leave this room here at will to go fetch more.”
“Oh,” at once Jack went from rather limp to looking up at Atlas, beseeching. “Are you sure? We shouldn’t be stuck down here that much longer, should we?”
He seemed to be carefully considering his options, returning Jack’s begging with a considering look. Weighing the material cost against the benefit of keeping Jack happy. Even before he answered, Jack was confident which decision he’d come to; after all, he’d chosen to slow Jack’s progress just to keep him a little bit safer, the moment he’d opened up the safe room.
“Alright, how about we try this? You give me something, and I give you something.”
“What do you want?” Jack couldn’t think of anything he had that Atlas might need.
“Would you kindly start by getting on the ground?”
Obediently, Jack slipped from the couch and kneeled in front of it. He had to crane his neck to watch while Atlas stood, the screens all but abandoned. Blue eyes glittered down at him, reflecting the warm light until they might have been green or even hazel. An approving smile curved his cupid’s bow lips, sending shivery, happy feelings up Jack’s spine.
Then Atlas nudged Jack’s knee with the tip of his shoe. Though he was somewhat confused, Jack was happy enough to move his knee to the side. The same happened with his other leg, until they were spread wide enough that his considerable muscle strength was straining a bit from the unnatural position.
Puzzlement turned abruptly to a burning embarrassment when Atlas nudged his shoe forward, directly into Jack’s crotch.
“Atlas, w-what’s…?” Jack fought not to grab Atlas’ ankle and pull it away. That would have felt too presumptuous, somehow.
“Now now, boyo. You might be inexperienced, but you’re not dumb, are you?” How could Jack do anything but nod? Especially when Atlas looked so proud of him, or when he inhaled, removed the cigarette from his mouth, and leaned down.
This increased the pressure on Jack’s crotch immensely, pushing it over the edge to where it was definitely painful. Somehow, though, he didn’t flinch away from the feeling. In fact a piece of him wanted to push into it, which was odd enough to delay his reaction when Atlas exhaled directly into his face.
So much of the smoke dissipated before Jack could breathe in, almost frantic. Junkie-like desperation flooded his veins. Like the splicers, Jack thought shamefully, but Atlas had a proud little quirk to his lips that caught up in Jack’s lungs like that much more sweet, buzzing Eve.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Atlas started. “You ask your Da nicely for a smoke, and I’ll give it to you. Until then, we’re gonna stay right here. Just like this.”
Opening his mouth, Jack found himself letting out a long groan rather than the question he’d intended. Atlas was grinding his heel down, letting up a bit on the pressure in favor of a back and forth motion that had Jack’s dick fighting to harden. It was humiliating, but, was it what Atlas wanted? Because, if Atlas wanted Jack hard, did that mean Jack could… they would…
But Jack needed to know, if he was going to please Atlas at all, “M-my Da?”
“Papa? Father? Dad?” Atlas took another drag from the cigarette. “I suppose you couldn’t go ‘n call me Daddy, all things considered.”
“You’re not m-my Da,” Jack said, shakily.
For a minute Jack’s blood went cold as it seemed like Atlas was pulling away, was going to remove that point of contact that felt like it’d nailed Jack in place and leave his pants obviously straining in the front, but no. Atlas was only shifting onto his back foot, leaving the front touching Jack so lightly - moving up and down with the ghost of a touch, still too hard and unforgiving, through too many layers of clothing.
Either way, it felt nice, and Atlas said, “Of course I’m not, boyo. And you’re no son of mine, I mean, look at where we are right now.”
Jack didn’t understand, really. Worse, when he opened his mouth, the words wouldn’t come out.
Why not? Atlas had done so much for him, so what did it matter if he had one strange request? And yet Jack couldn’t do it, just gaped dumbly while Atlas breathed in and out, slow and unhurried. Once again his attention was divided (Atlas had been right about Jack being inexperienced, and oh it must be so obvious, but with someone else touching his dick he couldn’t focus), and when Atlas next exhaled smoke like some great mythical dragon, Jack tried to inhale it without thinking.
Before he could so much as blink, Atlas had caught his upturned chin in a strong grip. “No, none of that,” he admonished.
Neck straining, Jack whimpered. Atlas tilted his head in apparent thought, “I suppose I can give you a bit of help, then. You do want to be a good boy for me, don’t you Jack?” Jack hummed a (desperate, pathetic) affirmative. “Then would you kindly not go for the smoke ‘til I give you permission to?”
“Yes, Atlas.” Jack’s mouth was practically watering, but he could do it. He could.
This time, Atlas really did take his foot away from Jack’s crotch. “Ah-ah, what are you supposed to call me?”
He wanted to say it. He did. He wasn’t sure what the roadblock was. Not wanting to disgrace the memory of his own father, back on the surface? The niggling thing in the back of his mind trying to recall Atlas’ son’s name? What was it, again?
All of that was blown from his mind with another puff of smoke from Atlas. Jack opened his mouth without thinking, for a brief second panicked at the possibility of disobeying again, and then realized he wasn’t breathing at all.
It was as though his lungs were frozen. He could taste the smoke, sweet and sultry, but couldn’t inhale until it had dissipated into nothing.
Tears pricked in Jack’s eyes. Atlas was still touching him, keeping him moored with that one solid hand, so real in the haze of want that was building up in his veins. He could feel himself becoming lightheaded, until he fought to breathe for reasons other than the visceral pull of the drug. Finally, he inhaled, a deep, desperate thing interspersed with coughs.
“P-please,” he gasped. “Please, I don’t, I c-can’t, At-At-Atla- ”
Jumping, Jack cut himself off. Atlas’ foot was back. This time, with no shoe, and the soft fabric of his sock was positively heavenly. “Come on, boyo,” his benefactor purred. “You’re doing so well. It’s just one little word.”
One little word. One little word. “I c-can’t, I, I, ah!” Little clicks underlined each of those broken syllables, the sound of Atlas dexterously pulling down Jack’s zipper with his toes.
“Didn’t learn this one in the fisheries,” Atlas mumbled.
As much as he wanted to huff a little laugh, Jack could barely breathe. He couldn’t look down, was just left staring into Atlas’ face while the man carefully watched what he was doing. That slight furrow in his brows, knowing that all his attention was on Jack’s cock - as though Jack was as important as the monitors backlighting him, as though Jack’s pleasure was his greatest concern right now, as though Jack mattered. In some grand, meaningful way.
Where had Atlas learned this? Who had he learned it with?
But Jack was forbidden from asking until he said that one. Little. Word.
After he blurted it out there was absolute silence. Well, there was the endless white noise of rumbling water, and the slight crackle from the monitors, and the distant thunk, thunk, thunk of metal on metal. A Big Daddy’s footsteps, or more pieces of Rapture come breaking free to join the detritus of the ocean floor. All while Jack and Atlas stood interconnected at two points.
“Good job boyo,” Atlas said, finally. His smile showed all his teeth. “Again.”
Lightheadedness took over again; this time, Jack thought it was because he must be blushing furiously. “D-Da,” he tried it out on his tongue. It felt more natural than it should’ve. What had he called his father, again? “Da, please, l-let me smoke.”
Releasing Jack’s face, Atlas instead scrubbed a hand through Jack’s hair. The movement was rough, unpracticed, a father who wanted to show affection but wasn’t sure how. “That’s the ticket. Stand up, Jack, let’s get you back on that couch.”
His name, said in that rough, pleased tone, was so much better than ruminating on questions Jack didn’t really need answers for. Certainly not right now.
They settled down side by side, on equal ground this time. Still Jack felt completely at Atlas’ mercy when those broad, calloused hands directed him, turned his shoulders sideways. It was harder to meet Atlas’ gaze like this, when it was left up to him and the choice wasn’t taken away, but Atlas didn’t seem too fussed about that. He was focused on taking another drag from his damned cigarette, though it was burning worryingly low now.
And Jack’s pants were still undone. His dick was still uncomfortably half-compressed, straining out of his underwear enough that he was sure Atlas could see it. He even felt a bit sticky. Atlas just ignored it, which was a blessing but felt like a curse.
“Mouth open, now, that’s my boy,” Atlas said, little puffs of smoke escaping. Jack did as directed, for a brief moment thinking of medical inspections with his mouth so wide.
Thoughts like that were blown from his head the moment their lips sealed together. Thankfully, Jack retained enough presence of mind to inhale when Atlas let go of all that sweet, leathery smoke, but only just.
A little bit escaped out the corners of their mouths as warmth flooded down Jack’s throat. His fingertips felt a bit tingly, so he fisted them against his knees. Atlas gently stroked Jack’s neck when he pulled away, so Jack was certain he felt the hard swallow that followed the smoke.
“What do you say when I give you what you want, Jackie?”
Embarrassment curled with the dissipating white in Jack’s lungs, even after everything. Still, saying, “Thank you, Da,” didn’t feel… bad. In fact there was a little bit of pride to it.
Even more so when Atlas took another drag, tilted his head, and locked their mouths. Wet warmth washed from Atlas to Jack, delicious enough that Jack wanted to lick after it, though he hesitated at the last moment.
Stroking Jack’s neck, Atlas coaxed him into swallowing once again. While it was wholly unnecessary, it felt nice, and Jack noticed his breathing deepening and falling into rhythm. “Does this feel nice?” Atlas asked, confident enough not to need an answer.
“Mhmm,” Jack hummed anyway, eyelashes fluttering.
“Touch yourself. Let’s make it feel even better.”
Eyes shooting wide, Jack stared open-jawed at Atlas’ smirk. He didn’t make a sound, couldn’t think of a single appropriate response.
Despite everything his hand was creeping up his inner thigh. It was still a fist, and he could’ve sworn he hadn’t intended to do it, but it was undeniable. At the first brush of his knuckles against his underwear, he gasped, and his eyes rolled back.
“You’re positively drooling for it,” Atlas said, brushing a fingertip over Jack’s lips (presumably to collect that drool). “Aren’t you a pretty thing like this?” His hands disappeared completely, so everything was just darkness in the instant between him letting go and Jack stilling his hand. When next he opened his eyes, he saw Atlas considering the burned out stump of his cigarette.
Blue eyes turned green by the light, but when they flicked to Jack they turned icy. All the approval just dropped away. “Did I tell you to stop?” Atlas asked.
Voice a deep, dangerous rumble, Atlas asked with that beautiful lilt, “Do you think I should let you get away with disobeying whenever you feel like it, then?”
The thing was, Jack could’ve gotten away. Not only was he taller and broader than Atlas, but he also saw the “punishment” coming from a mile away. Atlas didn’t exactly telegraph his blows the way a splicer did, but he was hardly a trained and subtle attacker. The only reason that the cigarette butt even made it to Jack’s collarbone was because he wanted it to.
It stung, of course, and he hissed and cringed away a bit. Ash fell onto his pulled-aside sweater collar. There was a weird kind of relief, though, cousin to the thing he felt when Atlas let go and lit another of his precious sticks of nicotine. The promise of more Eve and Jack put in his place.
“Now I’d hate to have to ask a third time, boyo, so. Would you kindly touch yourself while I give you your Eve?”
Like last time, Jack’s hand moved before he thought about it. Unlike last time, rather than just lightly grinding the back of his hand against himself, Jack fully took his dick in hand. Through one layer of cloth, still, but that didn’t stop his hips from jumping forward eagerly. Jack was still gasping when Atlas gripped his hair and pulled him in for another kiss.
Not a kiss, Jack insisted to himself dizzily.
How could he be expected to remember? How, when Atlas was licking the roof of his mouth possessively? How, when he’d so wanted it from the moment he’d seen that plush cupid’s bow, when Atlas had a hand in his hair and was dosing him with drugs that set his blood alight?
Enough questions. The thought was his, but it sounded like Atlas’ voice.
“You know, lad, I don’t mind if you go off in a hurry, you can polish your knob proper.”
Gasping in the meager space Atlas had given him, all Jack could say was, “W-what?”
“Because you’re inexperienced and all? Isn’t that why you’re usin’ your pants like that?”
After a minute, Jack was able to parse the slang and found himself shrinking inwards. As much as he could, anyway, given that Atlas had shifted to holding the back of his neck. His thumb was rubbing up and down one side of Jack’s spine, coaxing him to tilt his head and drop his shoulders. Slowly, he unbuttoned his pants properly and pushed them down. His cock practically sprang free as soon as it could, tapping his sweater over his belly and leaving a slender string connecting the cloth to his tip.
One pump of his shaft was all it took to make Jack arch his back, actually breaking free of Atlas’ grip purely accidentally. It was such an unexpectedly powerful feeling, and he couldn’t actually recall having ever experienced it previously. Atlas didn’t seem to begrudge him this, instead just repeating his inhale-lean-exhale pattern as before, if a bit more hurried now.
More smoke. More strange extraneous things Jack noticed, like Atlas’ stubble or the way squeezing his dick felt a bit like squeezing a tube of toothpaste.
Possibly, he was on the verge of burning up, between his lungs and the pleasure in his gut. But Jack didn’t mind. If he had to die, this was a much nicer way than caught on hooks or a drill.
Like everything else, it had to end eventually. Jack was never going to last long, and Atlas had pointed out as much. Still, the greedy way Atlas drank down the desperate whine directly from Jack’s throat was a surprise, as were the white fireworks setting themselves off behind his tightly clenched eyelids. An entire mouthful of smoke went to waste due to Jack’s leg-kicking, overwhelming pleasure, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Afterglow was as alien a sensation as everything else that evening (or was it morning? Time in Rapture was so strange) had been. It was intercut with Atlas scratching at his scalp, or pressing his fingers against Jack’s over sensitive dick.
And also with more Eve-laden kisses, of course. When next Jack opened his eyes, Atlas seemed to have a halo for an entirely different reason from earlier. Everything was just a bit blurry, but his white, white teeth still glinted clearly when he spoke. “Good job, boyo, you did just as I asked.”
Smiling shyly, Jack leaned forwards and gave Atlas a kiss. He had the unmatched pleasure of watching Atlas damn near freeze in shock, only his eyelids blinking furiously as he tried to process. Atlas had been able to take Jack apart with a single, two-letter word Jack hadn’t even realized he would care about, and a couple of cigarettes. A shoe, too, if Jack was being generous. It felt good to turn the tables, even just a little bit.
“Well, then,” Atlas said, clearing his throat. “If you’re feelin’ so bold, would you kindly return the favor for me?”
With that, he stood, and unbuckled the belt holding his pants closed. Jack licked his lips, tasted the lingering smoke (and deeper, a salt he thought was Atlas’ skin), and nodded. He could do this. For Atlas. The monitors would wait a minute longer.