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“How does it feel?”
Hughie rolled his hips slowly, pulling Butcher’s thigh closer where it was hooked over his own.
From the build-up to the moment he pushed inside, everything had gone so smoothly—almost too perfectly. Butcher lay sunk into the pillows, fingers clenched tight in the sheets. His chest rose and fell with each breath, nipples flushed and sensitive from earlier touches.
“Ah… so full…” His voice sounded hazy, like he was drifting in a vacuum. “Feels so good… Hughie, so good…”
He reached down between his legs, but Hughie caught his wrist before he could touch himself.
“Hey, hey—this is just the beginning. Be patient.” Hughie brought his hand up, pressing a kiss to it. “Be good. Lie still and let me take care of you.”
His other hand slid down to Butcher’s lower abdomen, thumb pressing against the swollen clit, rubbing it slowly.
Butcher’s back arched the moment he touched him.
“Ah—hah…fuck—easy… it’s already too sensitive…” His breathing deepened, voice trembling faintly.
“It’s twitching. Cute.” Hughie ignored him completely, continuing to rub that sensitive spot. He lowered his gaze to where they were joined. “Alright, Billy. Question time. Tell me—besides me, is there anyone else who can take care of you like this? Anyone else who gets to see you like this?”
“No—no, just you…” Butcher answered in broken breaths. “Hughie. Just you.”
“Good boy.”
Hughie paused briefly, as if thinking, though in truth everything had already been planned. This was just a small revenge—everything earlier had been nothing but a setup.
“Still,” he said, voice soft and almost pitiful, “I’m a little upset, Billy. You can’t just get drunk and go flirting with someone else like that—like you’d spread your legs for anyone who looks at you.”
His tone stayed gentle, but his movements didn’t. If anything, he drove in harder, deeper, mercilessly grinding into the soft walls inside Butcher.
“I don’t like it,” he continued. “I don’t like seeing people get too close to you. You can’t do that to me. Honestly, it hurts.”
“Christ, Hughie—hah…”
“What, you’re getting possessive now?”
Hughie didn’t answer.
“Don’t start sulking at a time like this. I told you already—hah… it was dark, I got it wrong. Thought it was you.” Butcher’s thighs trembled, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. “Forget it… just—keep going… I’m close…”
Bad timing.
Even though Hughie had expected this—after all, this was Butcher, someone who indulged in pleasure completely—it still irritated him. And for Butcher, there probably wasn’t a moment he’d regret more tonight than this one, except maybe sitting on a stranger’s lap earlier and wrapping his arms around them.
Because Hughie was really a jealous little bastard. He acted easygoing, generous—but it was all a façade. He kept score. Like a puppy that didn’t want its owner playing with anyone else, he had started refusing to always yield to Butcher—even in something that should’ve been as simple as sex.
So when Hughie found Butcher’s half-hearted answer unsatisfying, he let out a quiet, dismissive scoff—and then simply pulled out of him.
Completely. Even his hand left.
Butcher’s body jerked at the sudden emptiness.
“Ah—fuck—Hughie! Don’t—don’t you fucking stop! Let me—let me finish—God, you fucking rease!”
Hughie watched him writhe helplessly beneath him, crying out in frustration. His hole spasmed, slick and dripping, yet unbearably empty.
“No.”
Hughie stroked himself instead, selfishly bringing himself to climax. He spilled onto Butcher’s lower abdomen, watching it slide down along his groin.
He kept Butcher’s legs forced open with his knee, not allowing him to close them, leaving him exposed, sticky and sensitive.
Then he looked around, grabbed the pants hanging by the bed, and pulled out the belt. He wrapped it around Butcher’s wrists, binding them and securing them above his head to the bedframe.
“Hughie!”
“Mmm, I’m here,” Hughie said, leaning down, bracing his hands beside Butcher’s head. He looked down at him—the poor man who couldn’t reach his climax. He really did look like he might cry. “I’ll stay with you, okay? But you don’t get to decide tonight.”
He himself was still half-hard, but that didn’t matter. All he wanted was to make Butcher suffer—to watch him struggle, beg, and break under him.
He brushed Butcher’s hair back gently, listening to his trembling breaths.
“Please… what do I have to do to finish?” Butcher begged.
“You can guess.”
Hughie gazed down at him, fascinated—his lashes damp with tears, lips slightly parted. Even in everyday life, Butcher could ruin any mood with his signature swearing, but that didn’t matter. Hughie still thought he was handsome—especially like this, when Hughie had him so far gone he couldn’t even speak properly anymore.
He almost said it. “Butcher… you’re beautiful.”
He leaned down and kissed him, his right hand sliding slowly from Butcher’s cheek to his throat, collarbone, chest—then teasing his nipples, enjoying the breathy sounds slipping past his lips.
He liked this. Turning a powerful man into someone helpless—someone who could only rely on him—on his gentleness, on the way he touched him.
“Say it,” Hughie murmured as he pulled back from the kiss. His fingers trailed downward, circling over Butcher’s lower abdomen. “Tell me what you want—Say it out loud, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Fuck you—”
Smack.
Butcher’s whole body jolted as Hughie slapped his pussy. He tried instinctively to twist away, but his wrists were bound, Hughie’s leg pinning his hips—he couldn’t move. The sharp sting spread through him, tangled with pleasure.
“Wrong answer, Billy,” Hughie said coldly, his fingers returning to soothe the entrance of his cunt, occasionally brushing over his clit.
Butcher looked up at him, dazed, struggling to focus. For a fleeting moment, he wondered when exactly he had given Hughie so much power over him.
And yet—somewhere deeper—he was enjoying this humiliation. He would never admit it, but part of his obsession with sex with Hughie came from this very inversion of power.
“Hah… since when did you get so rough?” he muttered, trying to sound mocking, rolling his hips to meet Hughie’s touch, smearing slick across Hughie’s hand and wrist.
Hughie tilted his head dismissively, pressing a hand against his abdomen—then slapped him again, harder, across his swollen cunt.
Slick spilled out, soaking into the sheets.
“Ah—hah…” Butcher moaned loudly, shameless and desperate. “N-no more…”
He pushed weakly against Hughie’s hand, hips lifting, craving more touch—only to be forced back down. His fingers strained against the belt binding his wrists, the skin at his palms turning pale, marks already forming, deep enough that they wouldn’t fade anytime soon.
Hughie noticed.
“Shh… relax,” he said softly. “If you keep struggling and dislocate your wrist, we’ll have to go to the hospital.” Right. Because explaining why it was two in the morning—and why his wrists were bruised on top of everything else—would make things so much easier.
“Hughie… Hughie…” Butcher pleaded. “Please…”
Hughie smiled, pleased at the shift in his tone. He slid two fingers into him—his long fingers slipping in effortlessly, wet sounds filling the air.
He explored slowly, pressing and rubbing along the sensitive walls inside him. The mixture of ache and pleasure tightened Butcher’s lower belly, even bringing a humiliating hint of urge to piss.
His body trembled. Butcher turned his head slightly, breath hot against his arm, trying to muffle his sounds into the sheets—but it only encouraged Hughie further.
“Hughie… please… touch me…” he begged.
“Oh, I can tell you want it,” Hughie said cheerfully. “But where, exactly?”
What an asshole.
For a moment, Butcher really wanted to snap—kick him off the bed, break his tailbone, and dump him for a week. He was on the verge of losing it.
“Please, Hughie… touch my clit…” he gasped, tears slipping from his eyes. “Let me come… please… I can’t get there…”
Hughie covered it with his hand, rubbing gently.
“Good boy. You ready?”
“Yes—yes—”
Hughie watched with satisfaction as Butcher’s face flushed deeper, breathing growing erratic, thighs trembling.
He was close—so close—
And Hughie did it again.
He pulled his fingers out, slick trailing after them, dripping onto the sheets.
“Fuck—Hughie!” Butcher cried out. “You can’t—please—please—Hughie—please, love—”
He was actually sobbing now, words breaking apart, curses tangled with Hughie’s name. For a brief moment, Hughie almost felt guilty.
Almost.
But he’d made his point.
So he untied the belt, rubbing gently over the marks on Butcher’s wrists—his hands soft and unsteady from the restraint and being driven to the edge twice, like a cat, his nails catching against Hughie’s chest and throat .
“Alright, alright,” he murmured. “I won’t tease you anymore. I promise.”
He guided himself back inside, gripping Butcher’s hips. He thrust hard—picking up where he had cruelly left off.
“Billy, are you close?” he panted.
No answer.
But soon Butcher clenched around him, body tightening, then loosening as he came. Hughie followed shortly after, finishing inside him.
He was about to pull out when Butcher grabbed his hand.
“Don’t… don’t pull out yet,” he said weakly. “Stay… just a bit… Hughie… hold me.”
Hughie leaned down, wrapping his arms around him, pressing kisses along his face and temple.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly. “I think I went too far.”
No answer.
“Yeah… yeah, I did,” Hughie muttered to himself.
“But you still love me, right?” he asked quietly. “Billy… I love you. Do you love me?”
“Billy—”
Butcher never answered. Even though they both knew the answer, he chose to keep it to himself—he liked it this way, liked making Hughie wait.
He drifted off in Hughie’s arms, perfectly at ease, because he knew that in this small, petty revenge, he’d still won. And the stupid boy still hadn’t gotten what he wanted.
And maybe next time, he’d tell him.