He doesn’t remember the command - not exactly, not entirely, because he did remember “would you kindly” being tacked onto the beginning of the request, as it always was - but finds he doesn’t need to when Atlas is tugging him forward by the wrist so they can be closer.
That touch alone, that small and almost insignificant touch sends ripples of hot pleasure throughout his body, taking him by surprise because had being touched always felt that good? Maybe it hadn’t, and it only felt that nice because it was Atlas touching him, who was now murmuring something against the skin of his neck. The combination of his hot breath and warm tongue nearly made Jack drop to his knees; why on earth did every touch feel so fucking good? Atlas isn’t even trying - not yet, he could tell - and Jack is already reduced to a writhing mess in his arms.
The man laughs, and Jack shivers as he fought off the overwhelming urge to moan. “Enjoyin’ yourself, Jackie?”
To say he was enjoying himself would be a gross understatement. Jack felt electrified. He felt hyper alert of every small action made by Atlas and himself, incredibly sensitive to every touch and brush of skin against his. His voice is lost to him, failing to find words. The blonde merely nods instead, looking up into baby blue eyes hovering just above his own.
Those baby blues glint something mischievous, and before Jack could ask what he had planned, he is being pushed onto the bed behind them. Thankful that he didn’t have to balance his shaky knees anymore, he welcomes the chill of the cold sheets underneath him as Atlas regards him with those intense eyes. His hand is in his back pocket, fishing for something.
Jack barely notices. Atlas was beautiful in that moment, and he says so. When Atlas laughs - deep, low, so utterly Atlas - Jack can’t help but smile himself, heart fluttering when the man climbs on top of him. Jack holds himself up on his elbows, wanting so desperately to lean up and meet those teasing lips, but Atlas takes hold of his chin, keeping him close but not close enough.
There’s something in his hand and Jack doesn’t notice until something sharp presses against his abdomen, stretching the fabric of his sweater to get to the skin underneath. There’s a dull throb of pleasure from the touch, but a more fiery spark from the hand on his chin, cupping his face. Jack leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.
The pressure on his stomach moves under his sweater, icy cold steel touching hot skin, and Jack can’t help the gasp that leaves his lips, eyes shooting back open. His mind screams knife!, but no pain comes, even as he feels the tip dig into his skin deep enough to cut into him. An explosion of pleasure sparks off from the touch, back arching off the mattress as a moan tears from his throat.
“Didn’t think it would even work,” Atlas says, a wicked grin stretching across his lips.
Jack doesn’t think to ask ( what wouldn’t work?) because the knife is moving downwards, drawing a clean line towards his right hip. Jack feels something warm and wet begin to ooze down his stomach and onto the mattress, staining it. He has half the mind to utter an apology, half worried about Atlas’ bed and half worried about the mess he’s making - the mess they’re making? - but finds he can’t get a word out.
The blonde is clinging to Atlas by the time the knife stops moving, trembling and terribly tight against his trousers. Atlas doesn’t give him time to catch his breath, moving the knife in the opposite direction from the top of the first line, then moving onto a different shape entirely. There’s more blood, more hot pleasure and no way for Jack to relieve himself, afraid to tear his shaky hands away from Atlas.
Until another hand cups his groin, rubbing slowly. It was a small touch, barely touching his cock, but for some reason it had his eyes rolling into the back of his head, overwhelmed with the sweetness of pleasure. Another chuckle from the man above him, still digging the knife in lines and slashes across his belly while beginning to undo the button and fly to Jack’s pants. Jack wanted to hear it again and again and again, bucking his hips into the man’s hand when he finally takes hold of him.
“Christ, look at you,” Jack’s eyes are screwed shut, but he can hear the smile in Atlas’ voice. The knife in his abdomen cuts deeper, white hot pleasure bleeding from it. “Never pegged you for a masochist.”
He wasn’t, had never thought of being stabbed as a way to get his rocks off - because who on earth has? - but can’t find the energy to argue. He was slick with precum and blood, practically drowning in waves of electric, burning pleasure. Being touched had never felt so goddamn good before now, before Atlas, and for a moment all he can think of was Atlas, Atlas, Atlas -
Jack doesn’t realize he’s saying his name out loud like a mantra, hands clawing at the man’s shoulders and neck while he bucks his hips faster. He’s still cutting, and Jack chances a bleary-eyed glance towards his stomach.
Atlas catches his lips, distracting the blonde with a bruising kiss. “Don’t worry, Jackie,” he says, and Jack melts against him, “‘s just a reminder.”
Reminder of what? The question is fleeting, there one second and gone the next. Jack is terribly close, overstimulated and touch-starved all at once. His abdomen is drenched in red but all he can focus on is the way Atlas is kissing his neck and rubbing him out so skillfully. It’s too much - the blood, the touches, the pleasure, Atlas - it’s far too much and Jack’s eyes screw so tightly he sees white behind his eyelids as he sobs.
The high lasts longer than he expects. He lets himself fall against the bed, panting to catch his breath. Atlas sits up and regards him with those intense eyes again, drinking in every part of him in the crappy lighting of his surveillance room. In his left hand, he holds a knife, dripping red onto the floor.
“Ah, this is rich… ” He says, tracing a finger over Jack’s abdomen. Jack groans, shaking his head at the ripples of pleasure that come from that feather-like touch. “It’s a damn shame this’ll be gone by your next visit to the vita-chamber.”
Jack shivers as the tracing continues. Through the haze of his high, Jack tries to make out the shapes - or letters - he’s tracing.
F O N T A I N -
His eyes flutter shut.