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Butcher prowled the length of the safe house with the restless energy of a caged animal, heavy boots thudding against the cracked concrete floor whilst the dim industrial lights overhead flickered every so often, casting long amber shadows across the sprawling warehouse that the group currently called home, if such a miserable place could even earn the title. The building smelt faintly of dust, engine oil, and old rain soaked into the walls over years of neglect, though beneath all of that lingered the warmth of bodies and the stale comfort of shared survival, which somehow made the place feel a touch less bleak than it truly was. Outside, the distant hum of traffic drifted through broken windows boarded up in haste, and every so often the sharp whistle of wind crept through the rusted beams overhead, wrapping the warehouse in an eerie sort of quiet that settled heavily upon everyone gathered there.
It was far from ideal, though ideal no longer existed for any of them, not whilst Homelander prowled the world above like a god with blood on his hands and fury in his veins. Safety had become something temporary, fragile, and desperately stitched together from abandoned corners and whispered plans. This warehouse simply happened to be the latest patchwork sanctuary.
Everyone had scattered themselves throughout the space in an attempt to carve out some semblance of comfort. Hughie sat beside you on the worn leather couch near the centre of the room, elbows resting on his knees as exhaustion pulled at every inch of him, though now and then he glanced your way with a faint smile as if your presence alone softened the sharp edges of the evening.
MM occupied a metal chair nearby, endlessly fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket whilst muttering under his breath about hygiene, ventilation, and the fact there was almost certainly mould somewhere in the building.
Across the warehouse, Kimiko perched effortlessly atop the long cluttered table with her legs crossed beneath her, entirely at ease despite the grim surroundings, whilst Frenchie sat close beside her smoking lazily and speaking to her in low affectionate murmurs that occasionally coaxed the faintest smile onto her lips.
The atmosphere carried the strange heaviness that always accompanied the first night in a new hideout. Nobody truly slept the first evening. Not properly. Every unfamiliar creak sounded like danger and every silence felt loaded with the possibility of discovery. It settled across the group now in subtle ways, visible in tired eyes and restless movements.
Well, almost everyone.
Frenchie and Kimiko looked perfectly unbothered, as though the warehouse were some charming little hideaway rather than a crumbling death trap. They had spent enough of their lives sleeping in alleyways, abandoned flats, and places far crueller than this one for a cold warehouse floor to seem luxurious by comparison. Frenchie even appeared vaguely pleased with himself as he rummaged through old cupboards searching for alcohol no one else trusted enough to drink.
MM, however, carried the expression of a man personally betrayed by every life choice that had brought him here.
“Come on, man,” he grumbled eventually, throwing his hands into the air as he looked around the room with utter disbelief. “You’re making us stay here overnight and couldn’t even sort out more air mattresses or something?”
His irritation bounced off the warehouse walls, drawing everyone’s attention toward him. Hughie snorted quietly beside you whilst Kimiko smirked to herself.
Butcher finally stopped pacing and looked toward MM with complete indifference, one hand rubbing thoughtfully along his beard before he gave a dismissive shrug.
“Mate, relax,” he drawled in that rough gravelled voice of his, the sort that always sounded half amused and half threatening all at once. “It won’t be permanent. Just a few nights whilst things cool off. A few of us are gonna have to share space, that’s all.”
MM muttered something deeply unimpressed beneath his breath though said nothing further, already aware there was little point arguing once Butcher had settled on something.
With a low sigh, Butcher folded his arms across his chest and surveyed the room carefully, eyes narrowing as he mentally assigned everyone their places for the night. The overhead light caught the sharp lines of his face for a moment, illuminating the exhaustion hidden beneath his usual hard expression. Even he looked tired tonight, though he carried it differently from the others, burying fatigue beneath sheer stubbornness.
“Alright then,” he said at last, nodding toward one corner of the warehouse where an old camp bed had been set up. “MM, you take that one. Frenchie, Kimiko, you two sort yourselves there.”
Frenchie responded with an exaggerated salute whilst Kimiko merely inclined her head.
Butcher’s gaze shifted toward the couch where you sat with Hughie before he pointed lazily in its direction.
“Hughie gets the sofa.”
“Thanks,” Hughie replied quickly, relief flashing across his face at being spared the floor.
Then Butcher’s eyes landed on you.
The room felt oddly quieter for a moment.
His expression softened in a way so fleeting that anyone not paying attention might have missed it entirely, though you noticed. You always noticed. Beneath all the sarcasm and rough edges, there lingered something warm hidden deep within him whenever he looked at you, something careful and possessive that sat dangerously close to tenderness.
“And me and the lady’ll take that one,” he finished, gesturing toward the mattress tucked behind a hanging sheet near the far wall.
Frenchie’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly as a knowing grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze flicking between the two of you with immediate amusement. Kimiko noticed too, dark eyes glimmering mischievously as she nudged Frenchie lightly with her shoulder. Hughie tried very hard to look as though he had noticed absolutely nothing at all. MM simply groaned in annoyance. Butcher ignored every single one of them with practiced ease, though there was the faintest tension lingering in his shoulders now, as if he suddenly felt far more aware of your presence than he had moments earlier.
The mattress itself looked miserable, little more than a thin thing thrown together from blankets and old cushions, though somehow the thought of sharing such a confined space with him sent a curious warmth unfurling softly through your chest. In a world filled with violence and fear and uncertainty, closeness became precious. Intimacy became survival. Even here, inside a freezing warehouse with danger lurking beyond every wall, there was something strangely comforting about the thought of falling asleep beside Billy Butcher and hearing the steady sound of his breathing in the dark.
Butcher cleared his throat then, almost awkwardly, before reaching for a half empty bottle on the nearby table.
“Right then,” he muttered gruffly, avoiding Frenchie’s infuriating grin. “Everybody get settled before I lose what little patience I’ve got left.”
You hardly gave the arrangement a second thought; Truthfully, it seemed the most logical solution out of all of them. Hughie already looked as though he would collapse where he sat, MM had complained enough to earn one of the proper sleeping spots, and Frenchie and Kimiko would probably have been content sleeping upside down from the rafters if given the option. That only really left you and Butcher.
Besides, the man was practical to a fault, you knew by now that Billy Butcher approached everything with brutal efficiency, emotions shoved somewhere deep beneath layers of sarcasm, violence, and cigarette smoke. Sharing the mattress simply made sense. Nothing more than convenience.
Frenchie clearly disagreed, judging by the deeply entertained look lingering on his face.
You ignored him entirely.
The group slowly began settling for the evening, if such a thing could truly be called settling. MM disappeared into his corner muttering about back pain and tetanus shots whilst Hughie scavenged through bags searching for something remotely edible. Kimiko silently lit several candles she had found tucked away in an old cupboard, the soft glow warming the warehouse in ways the flickering industrial lights never could, and Frenchie immediately became distracted trying to cook something questionable over a portable camping stove.
Butcher remained where he stood for a long moment, watching everyone with narrowed eyes like a man mentally counting exits and possible threats even now. Ever vigilant. Ever restless; Then his gaze flicked toward you, “You eaten?” he asked abruptly, the question caught you mildly off guard.
“A bit earlier,” you replied. “I’m alright.”
He grunted softly, unconvinced, crossing the warehouse, he rummaged through one of the supply bags before pulling out a wrapped cereal bar that looked thoroughly crushed from being shoved beneath ammunition and spare clothes. Without a word he tossed it toward you, and you caught it clumsily, blinking, “Butcher, I said I’m fi-”
“Eat it anyway.” The words came rough and matter of fact, though not unkind. Never soft exactly, not in the traditional sense, though there was care hidden beneath the command all the same. The sort of care that came from a man who knew hunger intimately and refused to let others endure it when he could help it. You smiled faintly despite yourself, rolling your eyes gently and unwrapped it.
“There, Good girl.” The praise slipped out absentmindedly on his part, gravelly and low as he bent to rummage through another bag, though the words settled warmly in your chest all the same. You doubted he even realised he had said them. However, you had realised, gut turning pleasantly, though you pushed that feeling down; Frenchie absolutely realised, and was not so subtle about it, the man nearly choked trying to hide his grin behind a cigarette.
Butcher shot him a look sharp enough to kill and Frenchie immediately found the ceiling fascinating.
The hours stretched on slowly after that.
Conversation came in waves, drifting lazily through the warehouse between long silences. Hughie eventually dozed off halfway through speaking, curled awkwardly against the arm of the couch with his mouth slightly open. MM retired soon after with the air of a man accepting his own execution. Frenchie and Kimiko vanished behind a stack of crates together, whispering quietly amongst themselves.
Eventually, only you and Butcher remained awake; The warehouse had grown colder during the night, enough for you to pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the small lantern glowing dimly atop the table. Somewhere outside rain had begun tapping softly against the corrugated roof overhead, the sound strangely soothing amidst the otherwise oppressive silence. Butcher noticed your shiver immediately, then, without a word, he shrugged off his heavy coat and tossed it toward you.You looked at it in surprise, “You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Butcher-”
“Put the bloody thing on.”
There it was again, that rough edged insistence that masqueraded as irritation whilst quietly demanding you be comfortable. You huffed a small laugh beneath your breath though obeyed anyway, draping the coat around your shoulders. It smelt distinctly of him; Smoke, leather, rain, and something darker beneath it all that you could never quite place, and the old coat swallowed you entirely in warmth. From across the table Butcher watched silently for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath the dim light, though something faintly satisfied flickered behind his eyes once he saw you settle into it comfortably.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.”
“Good.”
Such simple little exchanges, and yet somehow they carried an odd sort of intimacy neither of you acknowledged aloud. You glanced toward the makeshift mattress tucked behind the hanging sheet and sighed softly, “That thing looks horrific.”
Butcher barked a low laugh at that, rubbing a hand over his beard, “Had worse.”
“I somehow find that deeply concerning.”
“Sweetheart, if I told you half the places I’ve slept, you’d start looking at me like a wounded stray dog.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Maybe I already do.”
That earned you a pause, a proper one. Butcher looked at you then with something strangely quiet in his expression, something warmer than usual hidden beneath all the familiar roughness. It lingered only briefly before he scoffed and looked away, reaching instead for the bottle beside him, “Well... Don’t." His voice had dropped lower somehow, roughened around the edges by exhaustion and something else you could not quite identify.
The rain continued drumming steadily overhead, and eventually, Butcher pushed himself upright with a tired groan and jerked his head toward the mattress, “Come on then. Get some sleep.”
You followed him behind the hanging sheet where the little sleeping space had been sectioned off from the rest of the warehouse. The mattress truly was dreadful up close, thin enough that you could practically feel the concrete beneath it, though the pile of old blankets softened things somewhat. You moved to settle near the wall, instinctively trying to leave him more room, which imediately caused Butcher frowned, “What’re you doin’?”
“Making space.”
“You’re half hanging off the bloody mattress.”
“There isn’t exactly loads of room.”
He muttered something under his breath before reaching down and grabbing your wrist firmly, though carefully, tugging you back toward the centre with surprising gentleness for such large rough hands, “Stop fussing,” he grumbled, “You’ll wake up with your spine snapped in half sleepin’ like that.”
Before you could protest further he adjusted the blankets around you with blunt efficient movements, making certain they properly covered your shoulders before finally settling beside you with a heavy sigh. The mattress dipped beneath his weight instantly, up close, Billy Butcher felt overwhelmingly solid; Warm. Broad shoulders and rough edges wrapped in layers of exhaustion and quiet violence, though none of it aimed at you; Never at you. You remained blissfully unaware of the way he positioned himself slightly between you and the open warehouse beyond the curtain, or the way his eyes kept flicking toward every sound throughout the night whilst ensuring you remained tucked safely beside him, or the way one large hand rested near yours atop the blanket, close enough that his knuckles brushed yours every so often as though resisting the urge to hold it properly. To you, it simply felt safe, logical, nothing more.
The warehouse settled into the deep quiet that only arrived properly after midnight, when conversation had long since faded and exhaustion finally dragged everyone into uneasy sleep despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Rain continued pattering softly against the roof overhead, steady and rhythmic, whilst the occasional groan of old pipes echoed somewhere deep within the building.
You lay awake for a little while beside Butcher, staring absently at the dim glow filtering through the hanging sheet separating your makeshift sleeping area from the rest of the warehouse. Sleep felt close, hovering somewhere just out of reach, though your mind still wandered lazily through the events of the evening.
Then, from somewhere beyond the curtain, came a soft snuffling noise followed by a tiny snore.
You blinked.
Another one followed; Small. Pathetic, really.
Your mouth twitched immediately.
Across the warehouse Hughie had somehow managed to curl himself into the corner of the couch like an oversized exhausted puppy, one arm dangling limply toward the floor whilst his fringe flopped into his face. Every few moments another faint snore escaped him before he shifted slightly and settled again with complete obliviousness; The sight was honestly adorable.
A quiet warmth bloomed through your chest as you watched him, poor thing had been through hell lately and still somehow retained that awkward gentleness about him, that earnest sweetness the world had not yet managed to beat out of him despite every horrific thing he had seen. You found yourself worrying over him often without even meaning to, checking whether he had eaten enough, whether he looked overly tired, whether he remembered to rest properly instead of running himself ragged trying to prove himself useful.
There was something almost painfully endearing about Hughie Campbell.
You smiled softly to yourself as another tiny snore drifted through the warehouse, “He’s cute when he sleeps.”
Beside you, Butcher gave a low grunt that sounded suspiciously like annoyance, “He snores like a pensioner.”
“It’s hardly snoring.”
“He sounds like a broken lawn mower.”
You stifled a laugh at that, glancing sideways toward him; Butcher lay flat on his back beside you, one arm tucked behind his head whilst the other rested lazily across his stomach. In the dim light his features looked softer somehow, exhaustion easing some of the perpetual hardness from his face. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling though you noticed the faintest hint of fondness tugging reluctantly at the corner of his mouth after Hughie let out another ridiculous little snuffle.
“You’re fond of him,” you murmured.
That earned you an immediate scoff, “Don’t be a dumb twat.”
“You are.”
“I tolerate him.”
“You tucked a blanket around him earlier.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Butcher finally glanced at you then, looking deeply unimpressed at having been caught,
“He was freezing his bollocks off.”
You smiled knowingly though wisely chose not to push too hard. The truth sat plainly enough in the small things anyway - in the way Butcher barked at Hughie constantly yet kept him closest during dangerous situations, in the way he watched him more carefully than the others during fights; In the way irritation always gave way to reluctant concern whenever Hughie got hurt. Butcher would rather chew through concrete than openly admit affection for anyone, though it leaked through the cracks all the same.
Another soft snore drifted across the warehouse; This time Butcher sighed heavily before pushing himself upright with visible reluctance, “For fuck’s sake.”
You watched in mild confusion as he stood, grabbed one of the spare blankets from nearby, then crossed the warehouse toward the couch. Even half asleep, Hughie looked impossibly young curled there beneath the dim lantern light, far too soft for this world- too trusting- the sort of person who still believed people could be saved. Butcher paused beside him for a moment, and something shifted subtly in his expression then, the sharp sarcasm faded quietly from his face, replaced by an odd distant look you rarely ever saw from him, something touched by memory rather than irritation. His jaw tightened faintly as he stared down at Hughie sleeping there, vulnerable and entirely unaware.
Carefully, almost awkwardly, Butcher draped the blanket over him, Hughie immediately snuggled deeper into the couch with a sleepy little sigh- whilst you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling too obviously, Butcher noticed anyway.
“Oh, piss off,” he muttered as he returned to the mattress.
“You’re very sweet underneath all the terrifying violence.”
“I’m really not.”
“You tucked him in.”
“He looked cold.”
“You care about him.”
“Christ alive.”
His irritation only made your smile widen further.
Butcher settled heavily beside you once more, grumbling under his breath whilst pulling the blanket back over himself with unnecessary force. Yet after a long moment he spoke again, voice quieter this time, “Kid’s got no survival instincts.”
“Hughie’s doing his best.”
“Exactly my point.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “You worry about him.”
For a moment he said nothing, the rain tapped steadily overhead, then Butcher exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes remaining fixed somewhere distant beyond the ceiling, “He reminds me of someone.” The words came rougher than usual.
You stayed quiet, sensing immediately that this was not territory he entered often; Butcher swallowed once before speaking again, “My little brother.”
Something inside your chest softened instantly. You had heard the name Lenny only once before, spoken briefly and with enough bitterness to make it clear the subject remained painful. Butcher almost never spoke about his past unless heavily intoxicated or furious enough to stop caring.
“He was softer too,” Butcher continued after a long pause, voice low and thoughtful in a way that felt almost strange coming from him. “Too bloody good for the world he got stuck in.”
You listened quietly beside him, Butcher rubbed tiredly at his jaw before giving a humourless little huff of a laugh, “Used to follow me around everywhere. Always cleaning up after my messes. Always believing things’d work out alright somehow.” The affection buried beneath his words felt old and worn with grief.
“He sounds lovely,” you said gently.
“He was.”
Silence settled again after that, heavy with memory yet no discomfort lingered between the two of you. Across the warehouse Hughie shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherently before releasing another tiny snore into the darkness. This time Butcher’s mouth twitched faintly, “Still snores like a twat though.”
You laughed softly beneath your breath, warmth blooming through you at the rare glimpse of tenderness hidden beneath all his rough edges. Beside you, Butcher grumbled something dismissive though made no effort to hide the way his gaze drifted once more toward Hughie, lingering there quietly for just a second too long before finally turning back toward you, the warmth lingering after the conversation stayed with you long after the words themselves had faded.
There was something strangely intimate about hearing Billy Butcher speak softly about someone he had loved. Not loudly loved, not openly, because men like him rarely survived long enough to become gentle in obvious ways, though the feeling remained there all the same beneath the gravel and smoke and sharp edged humour. Hidden carefully away like something precious he refused to let the world ruin.
You found yourself looking at him differently now - not with pity, he would loathe that - with understanding, quiet, but there in the soft gazes you sent him.
The warehouse lights buzzed faintly overhead whilst rain continued rolling across the roof in steady waves, wrapping the entire building in a cocoon of sleepy quiet. Somewhere in the distance Frenchie laughed softly at something Kimiko had signed to him before both fell silent once more. Beside you, Butcher shifted slightly against the mattress with a low groan, “You staring at me for any particular reason, sweetheart?”
You blinked, mildly caught out, “I wasn’t staring.”
“You absolutely were.”
“You’re very dramatic.”
“And you’re very obvious.” His eyes slid toward you then in the dimness, faint amusement flickering behind them despite the exhaustion weighing heavily across his face. Up close like this you could see the little lines carved beside his eyes from years of stress and cigarettes and too many sleepless nights. Rough hands. Crooked nose. Scarred knuckles. Every inch of him looked worn down by life and yet somehow still stubbornly standing.
You smiled faintly. “You know, underneath all the terrifying murder and emotional repression, you’re almost pleasant company.”
Butcher let out a bark of laughter at that,
“Emotional repression?” he repeated incredulously. “Listen to you. Been spendin’ too much time around bloody Hughie.”
“He talks about feelings. It’s healthy.”
“It’s disturbing.”
“You’re disturbed by healthy communication?”
“I’m British. We don’t do that here.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, soft enough that Hughie shifted slightly on the couch at the sound, instinctively your gaze flicked toward him to ensure he had not woken, Butcher didn't miss it, “There you go again.”
“What?”
“That look.”
You frowned slightly, “What look?”
“The one where you stare at the lad like he’s a lost baby duck.”
You snorted quietly. “He’s endearing.”
“He’s twenty something years old.”
“And somehow still looks as though he needs reminding to eat vegetables.”
“He probably does.”
“He definitely does.”
Butcher shook his head slowly though there was warmth hiding behind the exasperation now, impossible to miss, “You fuss over everybody,” he muttered.
“I do not.”
“Sweetheart, earlier tonight you handed MM painkillers before the man even realised his back hurt.”
“He’s got chronic stress posture.”
“You sound like a disappointed nurse.”
“Well someone’s got to keep all of you alive.”
“You enjoy it.”
“I enjoy competence.”
“Liar.” The word came low and amused.
You rolled your eyes though your smile betrayed you instantly, and for a moment neither of you spoke, the air between you felt different now somehow; Softer. The sharpness Butcher carried around everyone else had dulled into something quieter whilst alone beside you in the dark, though traces of it still lingered naturally in every rough syllable and sarcastic remark. Then, another particularly dramatic snore escaped Hughie, making you burst into laughter before immediately clapping a hand over your mouth, whilet Butcher groaned, the sound making warmth pool in your gut, “Jesus Christ.”
“He sounds like a tiny tractor.”
“Told you.”
“He really does.”
The couch creaked loudly as Hughie shifted onto his back, completely unaware of the betrayal happening around him. You dissolved into muffled laughter again, shoulders shaking beneath Butcher’s oversized coat still wrapped around you, and for a second he simply watched you.
The irritation faded quietly from his expression as your laughter filled the little space between you both, warm and genuine and painfully rare these days. Something in his gaze softened with startling openness before he caught himself,“You done?” he asked gruffly.
“Maybe.”
“You’re gonna wake the entire bloody warehouse.”
“That is entirely Hughie’s fault.”
“Course it is.”
You smiled up at him then, still half laughing, and something unreadable flickered briefly across Butcher’s face; It happened quickly. His eyes dipped toward your mouth for just a second - then back up again. Subtle enough that you barely noticed he had done it, but internally he knew exactly what he'd just done; Immediately his jaw tightened as though annoyed with himself before he scrubbed a rough hand across his face, “Get some sleep,” he muttered.
“You’re very bossy when tired.”
“I’m bossy all the time.”
“True.”
“You sayin’ I’m wrong?”
“Often.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
You grinned. “See? Emotional repression.”
Butcher huffed another laugh despite himself before shifting onto his side to face you more fully, one arm folding beneath his head. The movement brought him closer now within the cramped confines of the mattress, enough that warmth radiated steadily from him beneath the blankets. “You always this annoying?” he asked quietly.
“Only around people I like.”
That caught him slightly off guard, you saw it happen in real time, subtle though it was there, the teasing ease in his expression faltered for half a heartbeat before something quieter settled there instead, then, naturally, he recovered with sarcasm, “Tragic for me, really.”
“Devastating.”
“Thoughts and prayers.”
You laughed softly again, and holy fuck, he liked that sound; The realization seemed to irritate him enormously, he looked away with a muttered curse under his breath before tugging the blanket higher over your shoulder where it had slipped slightly during your laughing fit. “There,” he grumbled once you were properly covered again, “You’re freezing.”
“I’m perfectly warm.”
“You’ve got ice block hands."
“That’s because this warehouse feels haunted.”
“It probably is.”
“Wonderful. I’ll add ghosts to the list of things trying to kill us.”
“Ghosts’d take one look at this lot and leave voluntarily.”
You smiled sleepily at that, exhaustion had finally begun creeping over you properly now, heavy and comforting beneath the steady rain outside and the warmth trapped beneath shared blankets. Your eyes started drifting closed almost against your will. Beside you, Butcher watched quietly as your breathing gradually slowed, “Hey,” he murmured after a moment.
“Hm?”
His gaze lingered on your face in the dim light, rough thumb absently brushing once against the blanket near your arm before he seemed to think better of touching you properly, “You’re okay here.”
The words were simple - matter of fact, even - yet something about the way he said them wrapped around your chest with startling tenderness. You smiled faintly, already half asleep. “I know.”
Butcher stayed awake long after you drifted off beside him, watching, guarding, pretending the ache in his chest every time you curled slightly closer in your sleep had absolutely nothing to do with love.
The rain carried on throughout the night in soft relentless waves against the warehouse roof, filling the darkness with a steady rhythm that blurred together with distant traffic and the occasional sleepy murmur from somewhere amongst the others, whilst the lantern near the centre of the room burned lower and lower until the entire safe house became drenched in muted amber shadows and silence thick enough to feel almost intimate.
Butcher remained awake; Sleep rarely came easily to him these days, not with years of violence and guilt and ugly memories clawing endlessly at the back of his mind the second things grew quiet enough for him to hear them properly, though tonight there was another reason entirely keeping him stubbornly conscious beneath the blankets.
You.
Curled beside him with your face half buried against the pillow and his coat still draped loosely around your shoulders despite the warmth beneath the blankets, breathing softly and evenly in complete trust whilst the world outside remained sharp toothed and dangerous enough to swallow gentler people whole.
It did something unbearable to him, Billy Butcher had spent years teaching himself how to survive by carving away every vulnerable piece of himself until only rage and purpose remained, because softer emotions had always cost too much and men like him rarely got to keep the things they loved for very long, yet somehow you had wandered into the ruins of his life and settled there so naturally that he scarcely noticed how protective he’d become until moments like this, when one sleepy little shift closer toward him nearly stopped his bloody heart altogether.
In your sleep you had drifted nearer without realising, one hand loosely curled against the front of his shirt now as though instinctively seeking warmth, and Butcher stared down at it for a long quiet moment with an expression nobody else on earth would have recognised on him.
Tenderness looked strange on Billy Butcher, like seeing a wolf sit calmly beneath sunlight despite the blood coating its jaw full of teeth. Carefully, with surprising gentleness from hands built more for fighting than affection, he adjusted the blanket higher around your shoulders once more before settling back against the mattress with a low sigh, his gaze instinctively flicking toward the rest of the warehouse again to check everyone remained asleep.
Hughie snored softly from the couch,
MM muttered something incomprehensible in his sleep before falling silent again,Frenchie and Kimiko had long since disappeared fully beneath their pile of blankets near the crates, looking more peaceful than anyone else in the building. For a moment Butcher simply listened to all of it, the breathing, the rain, the fragile little pocket of safety they had somehow managed to create for one night despite everything constantly hunting them.
Then your hand twitched faintly against his chest, his eyes dropped immediately, you frowned softly in your sleep, brow creasing ever so slightly as though caught in some unpleasant dream, and before Butcher even consciously thought about it his rough hand had already moved to brush gently against your arm in slow absentminded reassurance,
“S’alright,” he murmured quietly.
The crease between your brows eased almost instantly, something warm and painful twisted sharply through his chest. Fuck- you trusted him. The thought landed heavily every single time, it wasn't the sort of fearful dependence people often carried around him either, not cautious obedience or admiration built from intimidation, but genuine uncomplicated trust, given freely and without expectation despite the fact he probably deserved it least out of anyone you knew - it terrified him far more than some supe motherfucker in a dumbass cape ever could.
Beside him you shifted again before your eyes slowly fluttered open, dazed with sleep and confusion for a brief moment before they focused properly on him through the dimness,
“You’re still awake,” you murmured softly, voice thick with exhaustion.
Butcher immediately withdrew his hand from your arm as though caught doing something incriminating, “Observant.”
You smiled sleepily at his tone before glancing vaguely toward the warehouse around you, “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Very helpful.”
“Thank you.”
A quiet laugh escaped you before you rubbed tiredly at your eyes, still half asleep enough that your movements remained slow and unguarded, and Butcher found himself staring before he could stop himself because there was something dangerously lovely about seeing you like this, all soft edges and trust and warmth wrapped up beside him whilst the rest of the world remained held at bay outside.
“You ever sleep?” you asked quietly.
“Occasionally.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“Look who’s talkin’, sweetheart, you nearly passed out sittin’ upright earlier.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You were droolin’ on Hughie.”
Your mouth fell open in horror. “I absolutely was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
“You’re lying.”
Butcher’s mouth twitched faintly at your outrage, “Maybe a little.”
You narrowed your eyes at him though the effect was considerably ruined by the fact you still looked half asleep beneath his coat, and for one fleeting moment he genuinely had the absurd urge to kiss the frown straight off your face purely because he wanted to know whether your mouth felt as soft as it looked in the dim light, one again, the realization nearly made him angry with himself.
You noticed his expression shift slightly and frowned. “What?”
“Nothin’.”
“That looked very much like something.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“You’re weird when you’re tired.”
“And you talk too much.”
“You continue talking to me.”
“Professional mistake.”
You huffed another sleepy laugh before your gaze drifted past him toward Hughie sprawled awkwardly across the couch again, one leg dangling halfway onto the floor now whilst soft snores continued escaping him every few seconds, the sight making your expression softened immediately, “He’s going to wake up with a terrible neck.”
Butcher glanced over his shoulder toward Hughie before grunting quietly. “Kid sleeps like he’s been tranquilised.”
“He looks comfortable.”
“He looks dead.”
“He looks sweet.”
“He looks stupid.” Yet, despite the words, Butcher reached blindly behind himself toward the nearby crate until his fingers found another folded blanket before tossing it vaguely toward the couch with enough accuracy that it landed over Hughie’s legs.
You smiled knowingly, “There it is again.”
“There what is?”
“The soft spot.”
Butcher groaned quietly before dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”
“You adore me.”
“Steady on.”
“You tucked him in twice tonight.”
“He’s built like a wet paper straw. The heating bill alone would kill him.”
“You worry.”
“Someone’s gotta keep the idiot alive.”
“You’re very caring beneath all the threatening behaviour.”
“Don’t spread that around. Ruins the reputation.”
Your smile lingered warmly as you watched him through the dimness, and something about the way you looked at him then made his chest ache in ways he had long ago forgotten were possible, because there was no fear in your gaze whatsoever, no hesitation, only affection and amusement and that dangerous unwavering trust he still could not understand.
Slowly your eyes began drifting shut again.
Exhaustion reclaimed you inch by inch until your head eventually slipped against his shoulder entirely by accident, warm and heavy there beneath the blankets.
You made a tiny sleepy sound of contentment before settling properly against him; Butcher went perfectly still - every bloody instinct in his body screamed at him to move away before this became something irreversible, before he allowed himself to need another person this much again, though instead he remained exactly where he was whilst his arm shifted almost unconsciously around your shoulders to keep you comfortable against him, careful, protective, fucking possessive in ways he still stubbornly refused to name.
Outside, rain battered endlessly against the city; Inside the warehouse, with you asleep against his chest and Hughie snoring softly nearby like some hopeless oversized puppy neither of you could help caring for, Billy Butcher allowed himself one brief impossible moment of peace before morning inevitably arrived to ruin it.
Morning arrived slowly and without grace, creeping through the warehouse in weak grey light that filtered between broken boards and filthy windows whilst the rain outside eased into a soft miserable drizzle, leaving the entire building wrapped in the cold damp stillness unique to London mornings.
The first thing you became aware of was warmth, a solid warmth surrounding you from behind, steady and deeply comforting beneath layers of blankets and exhaustion, accompanied by the slow rhythmic rise and fall of breathing somewhere near your hair. For several sleepy seconds your mind remained blissfully disconnected from reality, but then awareness returned all at once. You blinked your eyes open slowly only to realise, with immediate embarrassment, that sometime during the night you had apparently migrated almost entirely into Butcher’s space, curled against his chest with one leg tangled carelessly amongst the blankets and your hand still loosely fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
Oh dear.
You went very still.
Behind you, Butcher remained asleep- or at least you assumed he was asleep from the slow steadiness of his breathing and the heavy warmth of him surrounding you, though even unconscious he somehow still radiated that same dangerous solidity, all broad chest and rough edges and quiet restrained violence held carefully at bay.
Your face warmed slightly as you attempted, very carefully, to untangle yourself without waking him; The attempt lasted approximately three seconds. “Keep wrigglin’ around like that and I’m pinning you down," His voice emerged low and rough directly behind your ear, thick with sleep and gravel and amusement, as if he hadn't just threatened you with a form of foreplay, making you freeze instantly, “I was trying not to wake you.”
“Bit late for that, sweetheart.”
You glanced back over your shoulder only to find him already watching you with hooded tired eyes, one arm still loosely draped around your waist beneath the blankets as though he had settled there naturally sometime during the night.
You blinked at it. Then at him; Butcher looked entirely unbothered.
“Well,” you murmured after a moment, “this is mildly compromising.”
“Mhm.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“S’comfortable.”
The simple honesty of it caught you slightly off guard, and before you could think of a response, a particularly aggressive snore suddenly echoed through the warehouse.
Both of you looked toward the couch simultaneously, Hughie remained sprawled exactly where he had been hours earlier except now one socked foot hung completely off the armrest and his mouth had fallen open enough that he genuinely looked deceased.
You snorted softly into laughter, meanwhile beside you, Butcher groaned, “Christ alive, he sounds worse awake.”
“That hardly seems fair considering he’s unconscious.”
“He’s offensively unconscious.”
You laughed again before finally managing to sit upright, dragging Butcher’s oversized coat more securely around yourself as the cold air immediately bit at your skin outside the blankets.
Across the warehouse MM had apparently already woken and looked moments away from homicide as he sat sipping coffee from a chipped mug whilst glaring furiously toward Hughie, “If one more person starts snoring in this building,” he muttered darkly, “I’m walking directly into Homelander’s laser vision.”
Frenchie, meanwhile, looked perfectly refreshed despite the circumstances and stood beside the little camping stove humming softly to himself whilst attempting breakfast with deeply suspicious enthusiasm, “Mon ami,” he announced proudly, “today we feast.”
MM narrowed his eyes immediately. “Why’s it purple?”
Frenchie looked offended. “Because flavour has mystery.”
“Flavour should not glow.”
Kimiko grinned silently from beside him before signing something quick with her hands, whilst Frenchie gasped dramatically. “You wound me, my heart.”
You smiled warmly at the sight before beginning to crawl properly out from beneath the blankets, though the second your feet touched the freezing concrete floor you physically recoiled, “Oh, absolutely fucking not.”
Butcher barked out a rough laugh behind you as you immediately retreated back onto the mattress, “Told you it was cold.”
“The floor feels haunted.”
“The whole bloody building’s haunted."
“I think something just touched my soul.”
“That’d be tetanus.”
You shot him an unimpressed look over your shoulder whilst he finally sat upright himself, rubbing tiredly at his face before lighting a cigarette with the expression of a man already exhausted by existing.
Even half asleep and dishevelled he somehow still carried that same dangerous magnetism, rough dark stubble shadowing his jaw whilst his shirt clung slightly crooked from sleep, exposing scarred forearms and tired bruised skin beneath the weak morning light. You realised abruptly that you were staring... again.
“See somethin’ you like?”
You looked away at once. “Your ego remains tragic.”
“Usually means yes.”
“You’re unbearable before breakfast.”
“And yet here you are, bearing me.”
Before you could respond, Hughie suddenly jerked awake with a loud confused snort, nearly falling clean off the couch as he blinked around the warehouse in complete panic,“Wha- what happened?”
MM looked ready to throw the mug directly at him, not a morning person, “You happened.”
Hughie blinked sleepily. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”
“Because,” Butcher replied dryly, “you snore like an asthmatic donkey.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do,” you said immediately.
Hughie looked personally betrayed. “You too?”
“You kept making these tiny little squeaking noises.”
Frenchie looked delighted. “Like a sad accordion.”
Kimiko laughed silently beside him.
Hughie groaned into his hands. “I hate all of you.”
Butcher snorted quietly beside you before reaching out absentmindedly to tug the sleeve of his coat properly back over your hand where it had slipped down again; The gesture happened so naturally neither of you fully acknowledged it at first.
Then Hughie noticed.
His eyes flicked slowly from the coat wrapped around you to Butcher sitting far too close beside you on the mattress, then one of his shit eating grins immediately spread across his face, "Oh my God.”
Butcher’s expression darkened instantly, “Don’t.”
“You shared blankets.”
“Don’t.”
“You cuddled.”
“We absolutely did not.”
“You’re literally still holding her.”
Every eye in the warehouse turned toward the fact Butcher’s hand remained loosely wrapped around your wrist beneath the coat sleeve.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Butcher released you as though physically burned.
“Everybody in this room’s suddenly become very interested in dying,” he informed them flatly.
Frenchie looked delighted beyond reason, MM looked traumatised, Hughie looked like Christmas had arrived early - fucking cheeky bastard- and you, blissfully oblivious as ever to the deeper feelings buried beneath Butcher’s irritation, simply smiled into your coffee that MM had handed you whilst assuming the entire thing was nothing more than harmless teasing between exhausted people trapped together in a freezing warehouse.
Even with everyone staring and Hughie looking entirely too pleased with himself for having noticed the situation, your heart still warmed helplessly at the sight of Butcher sitting there in the soft grey wash of morning light, looking unfairly handsome in the sort of rough exhausted way that belonged solely to men who had lived hard lives and somehow emerged from them sharper rather than softened.
He sat propped against the thin mattress on one elbow with complete lazy confidence despite the miserable surroundings, broad shoulders angled slightly toward you beneath the crumpled black shirt stretched across his chest, whilst one bent knee disappeared beneath the blankets and the other remained loosely drawn upward in a posture so naturally masculine it made warmth curl embarrassingly through your stomach before you could stop it.
The weak daylight filtering through the warehouse windows caught across the sharp lines of his forearms where his sleeves had been shoved carelessly toward his elbows sometime during the night, revealing strong corded muscle beneath scarred skin dusted lightly with dark hair, every movement of his hands making tendons flex subtly beneath rough weathered flesh marked by old fights and old mistakes and years spent surviving by force whenever softer methods failed him.
His hands themselves looked almost distracting; Large enough to appear dangerous even at rest, scarred knuckles curled lazily around the cigarette balanced between two fingers whilst smoke drifted slowly upward around him, though despite all that roughness you had already felt firsthand how surprisingly careful those same hands could be whenever he adjusted blankets around your shoulders or guided you away from danger with pressure so gentle it scarcely felt real coming from someone like Billy Butcher.
Honestly, it felt deeply unfair.
No man had any right looking that attractive first thing in the morning whilst trapped inside a freezing warehouse that probably violated several human rights laws.
Hughie, unfortunately, noticed your staring almost immediately, “Oh my God,” he whispered dramatically from the couch, still wrapped like a burrito in stolen blankets, “You’re doing it again.”
Your eyes snapped away from Butcher at once. “Doing what?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you stare at him like he’s in a cologne advert.”
Frenchie immediately burst into delighted laughter from across the warehouse whilst MM physically covered his face with one hand as though praying for strength.
You narrowed your eyes. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do,” Hughie insisted. “It’s like watching someone accidentally fall in love in real time.”
Butcher nearly choked on his cigarette that he had recently lit whilst you were looking at Hughie incredulously, “The fuck are you on about?”
Hughie pointed vaguely between the two of you with complete confidence despite still looking half asleep. “You’ve both got weird eyes.
“Weird eyes?” you repeated incredulously once more.
“Yeah, like emotionally constipated yearning eyes.”
Frenchie made a noise of pure agreement, “Oui, absolutely tragic.”
“Can everybody stop psychoanalysing me before breakfast?” Butcher muttered darkly, dragging a rough hand down his face whilst glaring hard enough at Hughie to wilt flowers.
You tried very hard not to laugh.
Unfortunately the sight of Butcher looking deeply offended whilst his hair remained slightly mussed from sleep made this nearly impossible, the corner of your mouth twitched, but Butcher noticed, “There it is,” he accused, pointing vaguely at you with his cigarette, “That smug little face.”
“You’re grumpy today.”
“I’m surrounded by cunts.”
“You tucked one of those cunts into blankets three separate times last night.”
“That was tactical.”
Hughie looked delighted, like the little puppy he was, “You tucked me in?”
“You were freezing to death and whining in your sleep.”
“I was not whining.”
“You literally whimpered.”
Frenchie gasped theatrically, “Le petit bébé.”
“Shut up,” Hughie groaned.
You laughed softly into your coffee whilst beside you Butcher shifted slightly against the mattress again, propping himself more fully onto one elbow now as he looked toward you with tired amusement flickering beneath the permanent roughness of his expression. The movement pulled his shirt tighter across his chest and shoulders, exposing more of those scarred forearms as he lazily reached for the mug sitting near the mattress, and before you could stop yourself your gaze followed the motion entirely against your own will.
Good fucking god.
There was something horribly attractive about capable men first thing in the morning, especially ones built like they could survive bar fights and heartbreak with equal stubbornness. Butcher caught you staring again, this time his mouth curved faintly at one corner, “You keep lookin’ at me like that and people’ll start gossiping.”
You lifted your chin slightly. “Maybe you simply photograph well in miserable lighting.”
“Sweetheart, I look like I got dragged backwards through a war.”
“A strangely handsome war," you flirted right back at him confidently, and the mere second the words left your mouth the warehouse fell silent, MM looked upward immediately like a man asking heaven for patience, Frenchie physically clutched at his chest, Hughie made a tiny scandalised noise - still deeply unconfortable around PDA - Butcher himself simply stared at you for one long unreadable second before a slow grin tugged unexpectedly at his mouth, rough and crooked and genuinely amused in a way that transformed his entire face.
“Well,” he drawled slowly, voice still roughened by sleep, “that might be the nicest thing anybody’s said to me since about nineteen ninety eight.”
Warmth bloomed instantly across your face, but you covered it with sarcasm on instinct, “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late, love, I’m glowing.”
“You physically cannot glow. You’re held together entirely by nicotine and unresolved trauma.”
Frenchie wheezed with laughter so violently he nearly dropped the pan he was holding, Butcher pointed lazily toward you again, grin lingering now despite himself. “See, this is what I mean. Mouth on you.”
“You continue speaking to me voluntarily.”
“Mental illness.”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
“Must be.”
Yet despite the banter and sarcasm coating every exchange between you, his eyes never fully left your face whilst you spoke, lingering there with quiet focus that made your pulse flutter faintly beneath your skin, because even exhausted and dishevelled and trapped in a miserable warehouse surrounded by chaos, Billy Butcher still looked at you as though the rest of the room faded slightly whenever you laughed.
The atmosphere inside the warehouse shifted almost imperceptibly after that; Not enough for anyone to comment upon directly, though enough that every glance seemed to linger a fraction too long and every sarcastic remark carried warmth hidden beneath the bite, whilst poor Hughie looked increasingly as though he had accidentally wandered into the middle of a romance film entirely against his will.
Frenchie, naturally, found this hysterically entertaining, “You know,” he mused aloud whilst stirring his alarming purple breakfast concoction with unnecessary elegance, “in France we would simply allow these two to disappear behind the curtain together and save ourselves the tension.”
MM immediately pointed toward him with his coffee mug. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.”
You nearly inhaled your drink, and across from you, Butcher looked deeply unimpressed despite the faint colour beginning to creep along the back of his neck, “You’re all bein’ very dramatic this mornin’.”
Hughie stared at him in disbelief. “Butcher, you were literally spooning.”
“I was not spooning.”
“You had your arm around her waist.”
“It was tactical positioning,” but even Butcher sounded unsure.
Frenchie looked delighted beyond reason. “Mon dieu, tactical spooning.” and Kimiko burst into silent laughter beside him.
You shook your head fondly whilst trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile behind your coffee mug, though unfortunately Butcher caught sight of it immediately and narrowed his eyes at you from where he still lounged against the mattress with infuriating masculine ease, “You’re enjoyin’ this far too much.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you replied sweetly.
“Watching you attempt emotional damage control before breakfast is deeply entertaining.”
“I’m not emotionally damaged.”
MM snorted so hard coffee nearly came out of his nose, but good lord the look Butcher shot him could have killed lesser men.
Still propped lazily onto one elbow atop the mattress, Butcher looked unfairly attractive whilst annoyed, rough morning voice still thick with sleep and cigarette smoke as he glared around the warehouse with tired irritation, broad chest rising slowly beneath his crumpled shirt whilst one powerful forearm rested across his bent knee, scarred fingers tapping absently against the fabric in restless little movements that somehow drew your attention far more than they should have.
God help you; The man looked sinful in exhaustion.
You blamed the lighting, and probably the sleep deprivation too, unfortunately your eyes drifted downward once again toward those forearms, toward the flex of rough hands and rolled sleeves exposing tanned scarred skin and veins beneath muscle built from years of violence and survival, and this time he caught your longing looks embarrassingly quick, his rough expression changed instantly; Subtle, yet dangerously amused, “Well now,” he murmured slowly, voice lowering half an octave, “That’s a very interested look.”
Heat bloomed straight through your chest,“I’m observing."
“Mhm.”
“You’re objectively handsome this morning.” You repeated your earlier compliment, and yet somehow the entire warehouse reacted at once, Frenchie physically slapped the table.
Hughie made another scandalised little noise.
MM stood up immediately. “Right. Nope. I’m leaving before this becomes traumatic.”
“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed.
“No,” MM replied firmly whilst grabbing his jacket, “what’s dramatic is the way this man keeps lookin’ at you like he wants to commit crimes.”
Butcher barely even glanced toward him. “I always look like that.”
“Exactly my point.”
Frenchie grinned wickedly before gesturing toward the warehouse doors. “Come, mon coeur, let us allow romance to bloom naturally.”
Kimiko looked thoroughly entertained as she followed him.
Hughie hesitated near the couch, eyes darting nervously between the two of you. “Are you guys about to kiss or something?”
“Out,” Butcher said flatly.
Hughie pointed accusingly. “That means yes!"
“Campbell.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
Within moments the others had practically fled the warehouse section entirely under the excuse of finding supplies, leaving behind only lingering laughter and muttered commentary whilst the heavy doors slammed shut somewhere in the distance, a warm silence settled slowly afterward, the sort that suddenly made you deeply aware of the fact you were still sitting very close beside Billy Butcher whilst wrapped in his coat.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then Butcher exhaled slowly through his nose before looking toward you with tired amusement flickering beneath something darker now, something warmer and heavier lingering behind his eyes in the quiet left behind after everyone’s departure, “Well,” he drawled lazily, “apparently we’re traumatising the children.”
You laughed softly, though your pulse fluttered traitorously beneath your skin as he shifted slightly closer across the mattress, “Hughie traumatises himself honestly.”
“True.” His gaze dipped briefly toward your mouth before returning upward again with deliberate slowness, the movement sent heat curling low through your stomach before you could stop it.
You cleared your throat lightly. “You know, for someone claiming innocence, you’re doing an awful lot of staring yourself.”
Butcher’s mouth curved faintly at one corner,
“Can you blame me?” The roughness in his voice wrapped warmly around your spine.
You tried for sarcasm and found your own voice slightly softer instead. “Depends what exactly you’re looking at.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “that’s a dangerous answer.”
The warehouse suddenly felt much smaller, cold rain still tapped softly outside though now every tiny sound seemed distant compared to the heavy awareness settling between you both beneath the dim grey morning light.
Butcher remained lounging against the mattress though his posture had changed entirely now, broad shoulders angled fully toward you whilst one rough hand rested beside your thigh against the blankets close enough that warmth radiated steadily from his skin, and despite the teasing laziness in his expression there remained something tightly restrained beneath it all, something masculine and possessive and carefully controlled.
You swallowed lightly before smiling. “You flirt terribly.”
“Do I?”
“You mostly sound like you’re threatening people.”
“Maybe that’s part of the charm.”
“It absolutely should not be.”
“But it’s workin’.”
Your laugh escaped quieter this time, he always made you laugh yet every fucking time his eyes would darken slightly at the sound, and one suspended moment neither of you moved at all. Then, Butcher leaned forward just enough for you to feel the warmth of him surrounding you entirely now, rough fingers brushing lightly against your knee through the blankets in a touch so casual it somehow felt infinitely more dangerous than anything overt,
“You know,” he murmured slowly, gaze fixed steadily on your face, “you keep lookin’ at me like that and eventually I’m gonna start thinkin’ you actually fancy me.”
Warmth flooded your cheeks immediately, and in instinctual response you tilted your head slightly despite yourself. “And what if I do?”
The silence afterward felt enormous, Butcher stared at you for one long heartbeat before a low rough laugh escaped him, though there was almost disbelief hidden beneath it now, as though some stubborn part of him still could not quite comprehend the possibility, “Fuck,” he muttered quietly, eyes dropping once more toward your mouth, “You really are dangerous.”
The air between you seemed to tighten after that, unbearably charged in the quiet left behind after your confession, whilst rain whispered softly against the warehouse roof and weak morning light stretched lazily across the mattress where Billy Butcher still sat far too close beside you, broad shoulders angled toward yours and rough scarred fingers resting near your knee like he was holding himself back through sheer force of will alone.
For once, Billy Butcher looked almost uncertain; It was subtle enough that another person might have missed it entirely, though you saw it there in the slight pause before he spoke again, in the careful way his eyes searched your face as though trying to determine whether this was real or simply exhaustion and misplaced affection tangled together after too many difficult weeks spent surviving side by side,“You serious?” he asked quietly, the roughness had softened from his voice now.
You smiled faintly. “You think I flirt with everyone trapped in warehouses?”
“God, I hope not.” The honesty of the answer made warmth spread through your chest immediately.
Butcher looked at you for another long moment before one corner of his mouth finally curved upward into something smaller and softer than his usual grin, something touched with genuine disbelief and quiet want all at once.
“Christ alive,” he murmured under his breath, “You really are somethin’ else.”
Your heart fluttered painfully at the way he said it, slowly, almost cautiously despite the size and confidence of him, Butcher lifted one rough hand toward your face, fingers brushing gently along your jaw as though giving you every opportunity to pull away if you wished, though the second his skin touched yours you leaned instinctively into the warmth of his palm as he cupped your face, your eyes meeting his darkening ones,“There she is,” he murmured softly.
The praise settled low and warm inside you, making you swallow lightly before speaking, “You know, for someone so terrifying, you’re surprisingly careful.”
Butcher’s thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone, “Only with things worth bein’ careful with.”
The words nearly stole the breath from your lungs; Then, finally, he kissed you.
Softly at first, so fucking softly it almost surprised you, Billy Butcher kissed like a man holding something precious for the very first time in years, rough mouth moving carefully against yours with restrained hunger buried beneath tenderness he clearly did not know what to do with, whilst one large hand cradled your jaw and the other settled instinctively against your waist to pull you just slightly closer against him.
You melted into him immediately, deep rooted warmth flooded through your chest so suddenly it made your head spin, and somewhere beneath the kiss Butcher made the faintest low sound of approval against your mouth like he had been wanting this far longer than he intended to admit,“Sweet girl,” he murmured quietly between kisses.
The praise sent heat rushing straight through you, fingers curling instinctively into the front of his shirt, pulling him nearer without even realising, and something about that seemed to unravel the last thread of restraint he had left because suddenly the kiss deepened, still tender yet heavier now, full of slow aching affection and restrained desire wrapped together beneath rough breaths and lingering mouths.
Holy Fuck, the man kissed beautifully.
One of Butcher’s hands slid slowly along your side before settling firmly against your waist whilst the other remained at your face, thumb brushing absentmindedly beneath your jaw in a touch so gentle it contrasted almost painfully against the roughness of him everywhere else.
When you kissed him back properly, soft and eager and entirely unguarded, Butcher exhaled sharply against your mouth like the feeling genuinely affected him more than expected,
“There you go,” he praised quietly, “Knew you’d kiss pretty.”
Your face warmed more,“You’re impossible,” you whispered breathlessly, shyness bubbling in you.
“And you’re gorgeous.”
The blunt sincerity of it made your pulse stutter, but you barely had time to process the compliment before Butcher’s mouth drifted slowly from yours toward your jaw instead, kissing along the sensitive skin there with growing confidence now that he knew you wanted him too, rough stubble scraping lightly against your skin in a way that made a soft breath catch unexpectedly in your throat. The sound seemed to affect him enormously, his grip tightened not so subtly at your waist, “Yeah,” he murmured low against your skin, voice roughened into something warm and deeply masculine, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
Heat curled low through your stomach as his mouth brushed lower still toward your neck, kissing slowly just beneath your ear before lingering there for a moment whilst his breathing turned heavier against your skin,
“You’ve got any idea,” he muttered quietly between kisses, “how bloody pretty you are sittin’ here lookin’ at me like that?”
Your breath trembled slightly, making him respond teasingly, “Shy now, are we?” he murmured with clear amusement hidden beneath the praise before kissing the side of your neck again, slower this time, enough to make warmth bloom through your entire body, “Sweet thing.”
His words wrapped around you like velvet despite the gravel in his voice, one large hand slid upward along your back beneath the coat still draped around your shoulders, fingers spreading there possessively whilst he continued kissing your neck with growing affection and restrained hunger that felt almost overwhelming coming from a man who usually carried himself with such brutal control, “Been drivin’ me insane for weeks,” he admitted roughly against your skin before kissing just below your jaw again, “Walkin’ around smilin’ at me all sweet like you’ve got no clue what you do to me.”
A helpless giggle escaped you at that though it dissolved quickly into a soft breath when his mouth returned to your throat once more “Billy,” you whispered faintly, and the second you said his name like that he went still for half a heartbeat, exhaling slowly against your skin with a low rough sound that bordered dangerously close to reverence, “Christ,” he murmured quietly. “Say that again.”
Your breath caught softly in your throat beneath the weight of his attention, because nobody had ever said your name quite the way Billy Butcher just had, roughened into something low and intimate and almost painfully wanting, as though speaking it alone carried more feeling than he normally allowed himself to show in an entire lifetime.
You swallowed faintly before doing as you were told, whispering his name again like a prayer, “Billy.”
His eyes closed briefly at the sound, the reaction seemed almost involuntary, like he gained a deepl pleasure from it, a slow exhale leaving him whilst his forehead dipped lightly against yours for one fleeting second as though collecting himself, though the hand resting at your waist tightened instinctively and the warmth spreading through his gaze when he looked back at you nearly made your chest ache, “Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured quietly, voice gravelled through with affection and restraint hanging by threads, “My pretty thing.”
Heat bloomed all the way down your spine, smiling shyly despite yourself. “You praise a lot for someone supposedly terrifying.”
Butcher huffed a low laugh before brushing his nose lightly against yours in a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your heart stumble, "Only because you react so sweetly to it.”
“I do not," you huffed in denial, heat climbing back up your neck despite stubborn insistence.
“You absolutely do," His thumb slid slowly beneath your jaw as he spoke, tilting your face upward just enough that he could look at you properly whilst the warehouse around you seemed to disappear entirely into soft grey silence, “There,” he murmured softly, studying the warmth spreading across your cheeks with unmistakable satisfaction, “Look at that.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Course I am," the rough honesty in his voice wrapped warmly around your chest, and you tried to answer with something witty though the words dissolved the second his mouth found yours again, slower now and infinitely more intimate than before, as though the teasing edge between you had melted into something deeper and heavier and impossible to ignore any longer.
Billy kissed like a man starved, achingly thorough, every touch deliberate and grounding and filled with restrained emotion that somehow affected you more than desperation ever could have, whilst one hand slid carefully along your back beneath the coat and the other remained cradling your face like something precious.
The kiss deepened slowly, warm mouths and quiet breaths tangled together beneath the soft drizzle outside whilst your fingers curled tighter into the front of his shirt, and the low sound Butcher made against your lips carried enough praise and want beneath it to make warmth flood through your entire body.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured softly, the words settled low inside you, making you kiss him again immediately after that, unable not to. A rough laugh escaped him against your mouth before he shifted closer still until there remained almost no space at all between your bodies atop the narrow mattress, broad chest warm against yours whilst his hands moved over you with growing confidence now that he knew he was wanted too.
Every touch remained careful despite the obvious restraint straining beneath him, protective, possessive, as though he could not quite believe he was allowed this.
“You’re so bloody lovely,” he murmured quietly against your jaw before kissing downward once more, rough stubble brushing your skin whilst his voice dropped lower with every word, “Smilin’ at me all the time like you don’t realise what it does to a man.”
You let out the softest breath of laughter though it trembled slightly when his mouth returned to your neck again, “You act as though this is my fault.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Interesting,” you whispered, fingers brushing lightly through the short dark hair at the nape of his neck, “Because from where I’m sitting, you seem equally responsible.”
Butcher laughed softly then, proper warmth in the sound this time, before lifting his head enough to look at you again with something almost helpless hidden beneath the rough amusement in his expression, “Fucking hell, you’re dangerous.”
“You said that already...a lot.”
“Still true.”
The morning light had brightened faintly around the warehouse now though neither of you seemed remotely interested in moving, wrapped instead in shared warmth and quiet touches and lingering kisses whilst the rest of the world faded further and further away outside the thin cocoon of blankets surrounding you both.
Eventually Butcher brushed his thumb lightly along your cheek once more before speaking in a voice gone quieter than you had ever heard it, “You sure about this, sweetheart?”
The tenderness hidden beneath the question made your chest tighten painfully. You answered simply by kissing him again, slow, certain, making his eyes shine with something deep, pleased.
“There she is,” he murmured softly against your lips before kissing you deeper this time, one hand sliding firmly along your waist as he pulled you fully into him beneath the blankets whilst the coat slipped forgotten onto the mattress beside you.
The rain outside grew heavier once more.
Somewhere in the far distance the others could faintly be heard returning toward the warehouse entrance carrying supplies and laughing amongst themselves, though neither of you paid the slightest attention now, entirely consumed instead by warmth and rough whispered praise and the slow careful unraveling of two people who had spent far too long pretending they did not belong tangled together like this.
And when Butcher eventually drew the hanging sheet properly closed around the mattress whilst looking at you with that same rough aching softness still lingering beneath his eyes, his hand brushing gently along your waist as though he already could not stop touching you, the rest of the morning disappeared quietly behind the curtain with him.