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When Hughie opens the bathroom door, he finds himself face to face with Butcher, who has apparently decided to plant himself directly in front of it. Butcher’s habit of standing unnecessarily close to him is longstanding, and Hughie is very much used to it. It’s usually quite comforting, albeit perhaps not when he’s just finished using the bathroom.
He waits a moment, expecting Butcher to speak. Traditionally, one has a reason for waiting one inch away from a bathroom door. But maybe Butcher is different, because he simply stays quiet, his eyes fixed on Hughie’s.
It’s Hughie who eventually breaks the silence. ‘Hey, uh–’
‘You know, you really are the spitting image–’
‘Fuck, Butcher, please don’t tell me I look like your brother again.’ Hughie says, exasperated.
Butcher frowns. He clearly wasn’t expecting to be interrupted, but Hughie’s had enough.
‘Okay, one, I don’t. You showed me a picture of him and, I mean, we’re both guys but that’s about it. And two, it’s just…really weird. You’re sending mixed signals. It’s fucking with my head.’
Hughie exhales, relieved to have finally brought it up. He sighs when Butcher’s expression twists from one of mild confusion to one of bewilderment.
‘What?’ says Butcher.
Hughie is suddenly uncomfortably aware that they’re not alone. This probably isn’t the best conversation to have while half in and half out of a gas station bathroom. He reaches out and pulls Butcher towards him by the lapels of his coat, dragging him backwards into the bathroom before locking the door behind them to avoid any interruptions.
‘The fuck you doing?’ Butcher reaches for the door handle, frowning when Hughie grabs his wrist. It’s a peace offering, more than anything else, a wordless ‘just listen to me’ – he’s not holding on tightly, and Butcher could definitely break away if he wanted.
Butcher gets the message. He relaxes and leans his shoulder against the wall, eyebrows raised.
‘Okay. Sometimes you say that you view me like I’m your brother. Which is fine and everything, but other times you give the impression that you’re into me, and I kinda need you to just pick one and stick with it–’
‘Where the fuck did you get the idea I fancy you?’
Hughie blinks. ‘Uh.’ He splays his fingers apart in front of him, as if he’s gesturing to…well, everything. ‘You’ve risked everything to save my life a few times now–’
‘Fuck me, I’ll ask permission next time shall I?’
Hughie ignores him. ‘You’re always standing really close to me–’
‘So I’m on hand for when your life needs saving again. You’re fucking welcome.’
‘You act all jealous around Annie–’
‘I act alert, like I do around every other fucking supe.’
‘You called me your canary–’
‘M.M. called you my canary. I called you a cunt.’
‘You became really defensive all of a sudden when I suggested you were into me–’
‘’cause I’m not.’
‘And I felt you get hard when I grabbed your coat and pulled you in here.’ Hughie secretly feels quite proud of himself for ending with that last one. It feels like a mic drop moment.
Butcher falters, but only very slightly. ‘Adrenaline rush, innit. Thought I was under attack.’
He’s fucking impossible. Hughie can’t believe he fell for him.
‘Sure. Fine.’ Hughie shrugs in acceptance, and for a second, relief flickers across Butcher’s face.
Hughie knows Butcher is blatantly lying, but they have places to be. He’s not going to push it further.
Or at least he wasn’t planning on it. But then Butcher snorts and shakes his head. ‘Got some interesting fucking ideas about yourself, mate.’
He can excuse Butcher pretending that he’s not into him. But he’s not about to sit back and let him act like Hughie is mad for even suggesting it.
Butcher is still laughing to himself. Hughie can catch him off guard.
He grasps the front of Butcher’s coat in his fists again and pins him against the back of the door. The kiss starts gently, a soft brush of Hughie’s lips against Butcher’s, a way of testing the waters to see if he’ll find himself being thrown across the room in response. Instead, Butcher deepens the kiss almost immediately, sending a jolt through Hughie’s body. His hands find Hughie’s hips, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, his grip so strong that Hughie thinks – hopes – he might leave faint fingerprint bruises on his skin.
They’re both breathless when they break apart, Hughie’s fingers aching from how tightly he’s been holding onto Butcher’s coat.
‘If there’s anyone here with ideas about me–’ Hughie begins.
He’s cut off by Butcher seizing the opportunity to slam him against the wall in return. Butcher reaches up to grasp a handful of Hughie’s hair, careful not to be too rough, his fingers gently squeezing together. He uses the grip to tilt Hughie’s head slightly, exposing his neck, pulling just hard enough to elicit a soft moan from Hughie’s throat.
‘Fine.’ He pauses to place an open-mouthed kiss below Hughie’s jaw. ‘Wanted you for months.’ His mouth is so close to Hughie’s ear that the words send goosebumps cascading across his shoulders, his voice low and gravelly. ‘Thought you weren’t interested.’
Hughie sighs. Butcher quickly steps back and releases his grip on Hughie’s hair, bringing his hand down to rest on Hughie’s waist when he realises the sigh is not a sign that Hughie wants to stop. He strokes the pad of his thumb against Hughie’s cheek on the way. Hughie smiles at the tenderness, resisting the urge to laugh about how it can possibly feel tender at all, considering the fact that he’s pressed between Butcher and the wall of a gas station bathroom.
‘Jesus, Butcher, you’re so fucking oblivious. I’ve been practically throwing myself at you.’
‘Yeah, well. Been trying to see you different. See you as unavailable. Figured I’d put myself off if I said it enough times.’
‘Freud would’ve absolutely loved to have a conversation with you.’
Butcher closes the gap between them again, pressing his hips against Hughie’s. ‘You gonna keep psychoanalysing me, or you gonna shut up and let me fuck you?’
Hughie’s cock twitches, earning him a self-satisfied smile from Butcher before they’re kissing again. He pushes Butcher’s coat over his shoulders onto the floor and fumbles with the buttons on his ridiculous shirt, distracted by teeth grazing against his lower lip. After reaching the bottom of the shirt, he moves onto Butcher’s belt, only to be met with hands gently clasping his wrists.
‘In a minute. You first.’ Butcher murmurs against his lips. In the course of a moment, with a single fluid motion, Hughie finds himself with his wrists now released, his jeans open, and a strangled noise emanating from his throat as Butcher’s hand wraps around his cock, slowly stroking him from base to tip and back again.
Butcher reaches for Hughie’s face with his other hand, two fingers either side of the hinge of his jaw, and presses the tip of his thumb into Hughie’s mouth.
‘Shh.’ He inclines his head towards the door, reminding Hughie that they’re in a public place, something that he’d conveniently forgotten – something that he doesn’t particularly care about.
He whines when Butcher’s thumb leaves his mouth, quieting when it’s replaced with his tongue, leaning into the kiss. His heart leaps when he feels Butcher’s palms sliding down against his chest and stomach, unfortunately separated from his skin by his t-shirt. When he opens his eyes, Butcher is on his knees before him, looking up at him with an expression bordering on reverence, as if he’s a work of art. He holds Hughie’s gaze, unblinking, as he licks along the underside of Hughie’s cock before taking the tip in his mouth.
Hughie wants to keep looking at him, keep focusing on the affection in Butcher’s eyes as he takes more and more of him into his mouth, but it’s too much, too close to sensory overload. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.
Soldier Boy was right. Butcher’s mouth is indeed like a hoover deluxe. He’s clearly enjoying it as much as Hughie is, his soft hums of pleasure making his lips vibrate against Hughie’s cock.
Hughie finds himself involuntarily moving his hips, trying to thrust deeper into Butcher’s throat, relishing the sensation of fingernails digging into his thighs. There’s a faint taste of blood in his mouth from how hard he’s bitten the inside of his cheek in a desperate attempt to stay quiet.
Hughie’s breathing is ragged, his stomach muscles tightening. He runs his fingers through Butcher’s hair to pull his head back. ‘Fuck. You’ll make me come.’
‘Ain’t that the idea?’
‘Thought that if I shut up, you were gonna fuck me.’
Butcher climbs to his feet, capturing Hughie’s mouth in another frantic kiss, before frowning and casting his eyes around the room.
‘Wish we were somewhere else. I wanna be able to give you better than this shithole. Fucking four poster, rose petals, the whole works. All that bullshit.’
Hughie’s heart warms, despite the way in which Butcher slightly undermines his own words by immediately moving to divest Hughie of his jacket, pull his shirt over his head, manoeuvre him over to the countertop beside the bathroom sink. Hughie groans in anticipation when Butcher’s hand grips his shoulder and pushes him forward onto his elbows. The groan becomes a hiss when Butcher’s nails scratch along his spine, then a cry when a finger slides inside him, his body shivering from the combination of pleasure and the chill of lube that he didn’t know Butcher was carrying.
‘ Fuck . You’re very prepared.’ he quips, his breath catching in his throat when Butcher curls his knuckle inside him in response.
‘Never used to be. Then found myself having to shove an explosive up a supe’s dry arsehole. Fucking ballache.’
Hughie blinks. ‘Wow. Your dirty talk is terrible.’
‘Fucking hell. Ask a question, get an answer. Stop complaining.’
Hughie is about to point out that he didn’t actually ask a question at all, but the addition of another fingertip very quickly shuts him up.
‘Fuck, you’re already so open. So ready.’
‘Mm. Not– fuck– not my first time.’ He’s never exactly struggled with prepping, especially not now, when he’s fantasised about Butcher so many times that his body instinctively seems to know what to do.
There’s a pause, followed by the oddly exciting sounds of a belt buckle clinking and clothes shuffling against skin, then the tip of Butcher’s cock is pressing into the cleft of Hughie’s ass, teasing him until his fists clench in frustration.
‘Please, Butcher.’ Hughie’s voice is pathetic, pleading, his cock aching between his stomach and the countertop. ‘Don’t make me beg you.’
The noise he lets out when Butcher thrusts forward into him is so loud that Hughie catches himself off guard, prompting Butcher to cover his mouth with one hand and gently shush him, seemingly unaware of the futility of doing that while also quickening his pace. Hughie’s body feels electric, his whole body trembling underneath Butcher’s touch, overwhelmed by the sensation of hips rocking against him and hot breath on his skin. He screws his eyes shut, sobbing muffled ‘mm’s of pleasure into Butcher’s palm.
‘Fuck, Hughie, you’re fucking perfect.’ Butcher’s voice is a low growl.
The praise goes straight to Hughie’s cock. He pushes his ass back against Butcher’s body, desperate to take him as deep as possible.
‘Needy little thing. You look so fucking good bent over for me like this.’
He gasps as Butcher removes the hand across his mouth to grab another fistful of his hair, harder this time, forcing his head back.
‘Open your eyes.’
Hughie forces his eyes open and is met with their reflection in the mirror above the sink.
‘Look how fucking beautiful you are.’
His face and chest are flushed pink, a single curl of hair sticking to his forehead, his face slack with pleasure. He can barely look at himself, far too distracted by his view of Butcher, at how his jaw is clenching as he chases his pleasure, at how his open shirt reveals a broad, toned chest below a coarse layer of dark hair.
‘Please.’ Hughie says again. His voice is barely more than a whimper. He lets out a sigh of relief when Butcher grasps his cock, his fist moving in time with his own thrusts. He’s panting, on the verge of coming, tipping over the edge when Butcher leans down next to his ear again.
‘Don’t want anyone else to even fucking look at you. Want them to know you’re all for me.’
‘Fuck. Want to be yours. Please. Want you to come inside me. Fuck .’ The words spill out of Hughie’s mouth as a drawn-out wail as he comes, his ass clenching around Butcher’s cock. On the next thrust, Butcher buries himself to the hilt inside him, sinking his teeth into the meat of Hughie’s shoulder to suppress his groan when he comes. The pain is bruising, but not unpleasant, especially when they both fall still and Butcher gently kisses the bite mark.
They stay like that for a moment, Hughie pinned to the countertop underneath Butcher’s chest, his legs quivering.
‘You okay? You’re shaking.’ Butcher says softly, and Hughie nods.
‘Yeah. Just–’ Hughie searches for something to say that doesn’t sound completely pathetic. ‘That was nice.’ Mission failed.
Butcher laughs softly. ‘Yeah. It was.’ He places a final kiss on Hughie’s shoulder and stands up straight, his cock softening and slipping out of him. Hughie follows suit, smiling when Butcher’s arms wrap around his waist from behind. His beard is surprisingly soft, his chin resting on Hughie’s shoulder.
When Hughie glances at the mirror again, he notices that he’s never seen Butcher looking so relaxed. He looks peaceful, his eyes closed and his face completely free of tension, almost as if he’s lost in their embrace. When Butcher’s eyes flicker open again, Hughie instantly averts his gaze, feeling embarrassed as if he’s been caught watching Butcher doing something incredibly personal.
They have to break apart eventually, however begrudgingly. Hughie tries not to think about the cleanliness of the floor as he picks up his t-shirt and jacket.
‘I’ll let you clean up. Don’t be long. Hopefully Soldier Boy hasn’t nicked the motor.’ Butcher hesitates, his hand hovering over the door handle. He quickly darts back to give Hughie one last kiss on his cheek, then makes a speedy departure before Hughie can respond, leaving him standing in the bathroom grinning like an idiot.
He leaves a couple of minutes later, keeping his head down to avoid finding out if anyone is staring at him, and crosses the forecourt to climb into the passenger seat of the car.
Soldier Boy’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion as his gaze flicks from Hughie’s pink cheeks and messy hair to Butcher’s generally more-disheveled-than-usual appearance. Butcher glares at him in the rear view mirror, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
‘Not a fucking word out of you, alright? Night night, back to sleep.’
Soldier Boy smirks and stays quiet. It seems to satisfy Butcher, who turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the gas station onto the main road.
Hughie thinks that’s the end of it, until about thirty seconds later, when Soldier Boy leans forward between the front seats and scares Hughie half to death when he speaks directly next to his ear.
‘Good fuck?’
Hughie looks over at Butcher, uncomfortably aware his face is burning yet again. Butcher’s eyes remain fixed on the road ahead.
‘Fucking lovely, thank you. Lad’s got a wonderful arse on him. Tight as anything.’ he says cheerily. Soldier Boy’s expression immediately darkens.
‘That’s fucking disgusting. Fucking perverts.’ He shakes his head and lies down across the back seat again, rubbing his temple with one hand. ‘Just wake me up when we get to New York. And try to get there without sucking each other’s cocks.’
‘Ah, I’ll try my best, but you see–’
‘Shut the fuck up. Do not finish that sentence. I’m going the fuck back to sleep.’
Hughie and Butcher share a brief glance before Hughie has to turn away, biting his lip to suppress his laughter. Ask a question, get an answer.
He leans back against the headrest of the seat, settling in for the rest of the drive, his heartbeat quickening whenever a bump in the road reminds him of the bite-shaped bruise forming on his shoulder.