"I'm sorry, Atlas," Jack professed honestly and wrapped his arms around the Irish man in a powerful and slightly incongruous hug. Atlas didn't seem particularly encouraged by this, so Jack tightened his grip and pressed his forehead against the Irish man's shoulder.
"Alright, 'nough, there friend," Atlas announced sharply (or as sharply as he could manage through the rib-cracking grip Jack had on him.) "Now, would you kindly let me go?"
Jack released the grieving man immediately, he didn't want to be a bother, and he had no idea how to deal with this. Atlas turned a flat and irritated gaze on Jack. There was a thread of something darker in there, some ironic rage that Jack didn't recognize, but it vanished quickly as Atlas turned and straddled Jack's legs. When he didn't stand, Jack shot him a confused look.
"I'm beginning ta' think yer more trouble than this is worth, m'boy," Atlas all but snapped and Jack flinched a little.
"Atlas, I--" Jack paused mid-sentence. What do you say when it's your fault someone's family is dead? When you're the one who inadvertently goaded Andrew Ryan into unleashing the crazies on them all?
"Would you kindly shut yer trap?" Atlas cut him off and Jack was startled into silence. His Irish brogue faltered there, briefly, but Jack barely noticed. "I finally start to really like this acquaintanceship of ours an' you go and fill it right up with all manner of 'orrible."
Jack couldn't come up with a response. It stung, but it was true. He'd done very little to help, and a lot to ruin Atlas's plan, at the cost of his family. His silence drew a slow smile out of the man perched atop him and, as confusing as it was, Jack didn't even think to comment. Atlas's hand patted him idly across the cheek and his smile broke apart into an equally incongruous dark grin.
"Atta'boy," Atlas congratulated and Jack moved to speak. No sooner had he drawn the breath before Atlas's hand drew back and struck him across the face. It was shocking enough that Jack just blinked. "Now, now, non'a that."
Jack barely has the presence of mind to nod--had he hit him? Was he angry?--and Atlas leaned forward, pressing himself down against Jack in a manner that was both unusual and sent a twinge of worry up Jack's spine. He felt like he should know, should understand the hardness in Atlas's pants, but he didn't and he wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next.
"Ya are good at followin orders, aren't you?" Atlas asked and Jack nodded. "All efficiency an' exactness. Even if yer timing is a wee bit askew." Atlas was musing more to himself that Jack, even if those dark eyes were locked on him, and Jack just nodded mutely. "At's a good boy. Now, yer hand?"
Jack's attention strayed from Atlas's face and he caught sight of the man's hand extended and waiting at his side. Jack was confused. What did he want?
"Now, now, that furrowed brow ain't helping nothing along that ought ta be helped," Atlas scolded. "Now, would you kindly give me that hand." Jack did so without protest and there was a strange disconnect for a moment because he couldn't figure out why he'd done it.
"Good," Atlas praised and Jack strained to see what he was doing but his head was quickly pushed back onto the ground. He found out soon enough as Atlas pressed his open hand against the front of his pants and the hardness of his erection. Jack froze and Atlas grinned charmingly at him.
2/3 Dammit LJ.
"Alright, 'nough, there friend," Atlas announced sharply (or as sharply as he could manage through the rib-cracking grip Jack had on him.) "Now, would you kindly let me go?"
Jack released the grieving man immediately, he didn't want to be a bother, and he had no idea how to deal with this. Atlas turned a flat and irritated gaze on Jack. There was a thread of something darker in there, some ironic rage that Jack didn't recognize, but it vanished quickly as Atlas turned and straddled Jack's legs. When he didn't stand, Jack shot him a confused look.
"I'm beginning ta' think yer more trouble than this is worth, m'boy," Atlas all but snapped and Jack flinched a little.
"Atlas, I--" Jack paused mid-sentence. What do you say when it's your fault someone's family is dead? When you're the one who inadvertently goaded Andrew Ryan into unleashing the crazies on them all?
"Would you kindly shut yer trap?" Atlas cut him off and Jack was startled into silence. His Irish brogue faltered there, briefly, but Jack barely noticed. "I finally start to really like this acquaintanceship of ours an' you go and fill it right up with all manner of 'orrible."
Jack couldn't come up with a response. It stung, but it was true. He'd done very little to help, and a lot to ruin Atlas's plan, at the cost of his family. His silence drew a slow smile out of the man perched atop him and, as confusing as it was, Jack didn't even think to comment. Atlas's hand patted him idly across the cheek and his smile broke apart into an equally incongruous dark grin.
"Atta'boy," Atlas congratulated and Jack moved to speak. No sooner had he drawn the breath before Atlas's hand drew back and struck him across the face. It was shocking enough that Jack just blinked. "Now, now, non'a that."
Jack barely has the presence of mind to nod--had he hit him? Was he angry?--and Atlas leaned forward, pressing himself down against Jack in a manner that was both unusual and sent a twinge of worry up Jack's spine. He felt like he should know, should understand the hardness in Atlas's pants, but he didn't and he wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next.
"Ya are good at followin orders, aren't you?" Atlas asked and Jack nodded. "All efficiency an' exactness. Even if yer timing is a wee bit askew." Atlas was musing more to himself that Jack, even if those dark eyes were locked on him, and Jack just nodded mutely. "At's a good boy. Now, yer hand?"
Jack's attention strayed from Atlas's face and he caught sight of the man's hand extended and waiting at his side. Jack was confused. What did he want?
"Now, now, that furrowed brow ain't helping nothing along that ought ta be helped," Atlas scolded. "Now, would you kindly give me that hand." Jack did so without protest and there was a strange disconnect for a moment because he couldn't figure out why he'd done it.
"Good," Atlas praised and Jack strained to see what he was doing but his head was quickly pushed back onto the ground. He found out soon enough as Atlas pressed his open hand against the front of his pants and the hardness of his erection. Jack froze and Atlas grinned charmingly at him.