Page 58 of Atlas and the Traitor

All his family under one tent, sparkling lights strung from one side to the other, making reality seem like a fairy tale.

His pack, Jenn and Abigail and others from the homestead and nearby range, joining after the funerals today and camping here for the remainder of the holidays.

The extended family Deborah had brought into his life, Icarus on Adam’s lap as they debated with Mac and Paris and Jason and Kai over how long it would take to reopen Club Sutro this time.

Even the family that had recently come with Atlas, Cyrus cradling a sleeping Pax while not being shy at all about his interest in a once-again fully human Mary, who was dancing up a storm with Pati.

Robin stood on the outskirts of it all, leaned against a sturdy tent pole, sipping a beer and, for the first time in his life, not feeling like an outsider.

He’d fought for them, and they’d fought for him too, answering his call and helping to hold him together when it had felt impossible.

They were his, and he was theirs.

But there was someone else he belonged to first.

He went searching for his mate, unsurprised to find him stretched out on a chaise under the pergola, smoking a joint and watching the sunset. “Trade you?” he said, offering the beer for a hit.

Atlas wrinkled his nose. “Not if that beer was the last beverage on earth.”

“Because that sort of absolute worked out so well for you the last time.”

Atlas handed him the joint and flipped him off in the same motion. Sexy fucking asshole.

Robin tossed the beer bottle aside, then lowered himself onto the side of his chaise, a hand on Atlas’s stomach while he smoked. It had become a habit after LP, always needing to have a hand on Atlas when he was near. Maybe it would pass, eventually, but it helped him feel settled. And Atlas didn’t seem to mind.

“You doing okay?” Atlas asked, a less pleasant habit he’d picked up after LP.

Careful to keep the joint off the furniture and his mate, he stretched over Atlas. “For the last fucking time, I’m good. Better than, even. And if I’m ever not, I will tell you.”

Atlas held his gaze, seeming to assess the truth of his promise, and finding it sufficient, huffed out a “Fine.”

Robin chuckled. “You’re grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy, I’m horny. We saved the world, and it’s been nonstop festival or family ever since. We didn’t even get to fuck before?—”

Robin cut off his rant with a kiss that was admittedly more laughter than passion, but the direction of Atlas’s thoughts had so closely mirrored his own that he couldn’t help but find the humor in their mutual frustration. He snuck a hand under his kilt and fondled his bare balls.

“That’s not nice,” Atlas muttered against his lips. “On either count.”

“Snap us to your vineyard.”

Atlas drew back, meeting his gaze. “Why?”

“Because I want to roll around in the dirt with you. I want all this”—he trailed a finger along the underside of Atlas’s stiffening cock—“in its natural element.”

He’d barely finished the last word when he landed on his back between the rows of vines, Atlas tearing open his flannel and attacking his chest, tongue swirling around one then the other nipple before Atlas seemed to get lost in the divot between his pecs, like he’d nuzzle there all day and night given the option.

But Robin had other ideas, starting with ridding the warlock of his shirt. He pushed the tight black tee up and off, wanting to see the oranges and reds, the yellows and pinks of sunset painting his skin like they had that day on the dock. Wanting to taste every inch of the skin he hadn’t gotten to enjoy that day. The soft spot behind Robin’s ear, the sharp line of his clavicle, his nipples that shriveled on contact.

Atlas held him there by the back of his head. “Harder,” he moaned, as he rocked in his lap. Robin was happy to oblige, sucking his nipple hard between his lips, then nipping it with his teeth. A quick, rough lash with his tongue, then repeating it all over. Making Atlas writhe in his lap, and with his kilt rucked up between them, the tip of his cock leaking against Robin’s abs.

His own cock ached, trapped in his jeans while Atlas rutted bare against him, but he’d do this all night if it was what Atlas wanted, what he needed. Atlas had given him exactly that—what he needed. Peace, family, and a place for his soul to feel settled. Acceptance of and relief from the guilt that had plagued him for so long. He wanted to do and be the same for Atlas, always.

Warm lips tickled his ear. “You can fuck me now.”

Given the green light, he’d happily step on the gas.

Tipping forward, he laid his mate in the dirt, flipped his kilt up, and wasted no time taking his cock to the back of his throat and swallowing around the tip. Atlas moaned, arching his back and digging his fingers into the soil, making the scent of it all even more potent. Making Robin hungrier than he’d ever been for his mate.

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