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@billybutchersbigd
Also Known As, this blog is moving, being absorbed, eaten, merged, what have you.
I have broken down and gotten a multimuse @thetenthman. I'm going to be archiving all these sideblogs under it! Go have a follow if you still want to chill. Please read new rules! Thank you!
height difference, size difference, age difference. the holy trinity
@shesnipes
I’ll have what he’s having
Pay ur respects that twink was obliterated :(
when your dominant has adhd and gets distracted
Not supposed to smoke in the building.
Not supposed to. There were rules. Signs. Placards. Fucking people. Wankers who would try and eye fuck you in the arse if you so much as looked like you were thinking about wanting a smoke.
So Butcher didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to and not because he fucking couldn’t, but because the hassle of it all wasn’t fucking worth it.
Besides. He just needed to get a little deeper in, a little further down, and for all that sounded like a brilliant fucking innuendo involving his thick cock and a nice tight cunt, it really was just all about making it into legoland.
Which was also not high on his list of wants. But there will bills to pay, pints to buy, and why he wasn’t sure where it fell on his list of priorities - especially because he hated most of the universe, himself included - all he had left in the world was serving the crown.
Enough to do what he’d been trained to do to keep most people alive.
It didn’t blanket cover not smoking in government buildings.
So the second Butcher made it in, scanned, sealed, printed, what the fuck ever, the prince was out of his pocket and hanging from his lip.
At the greeting, miss-timed or not, not that Butcher would fucking notice, there was a light grunt before flint struck and fire erupted.
Butcher took a long great lungful in, sighing it out again as dark, thin, and twinky kept talking. “You?” He barked out in a laugh, raising an incredulous brow. “Yeah, alright.” There was a sniff. “Where’re we goin’ then?”
It wasn't overly surprising when Butcher completely ignored the rules and immediately started smoking. Q let out a hard sigh but it wasn't like it was really an issue within this department - the sensors were more intelligent than a normal fire system since small fires or smoke were completely the norm for innovation... And, on the other hand, Marcus smoked anyway, so it wasn't as though Q's lungs were untainted.
"You know, I could get you some enhanced nicotine patches or medication if you're struggling so much with smoking that you can't come to a 10-minute meeting without inflicting it on me." He added, so used to countering agents, just so they knew he wouldn't lie there and take whatever was thrown at him.
"A data centre on the outskirts of London - supposedly it's unmanned, apart from security, but we had a ping there that suggests it was used as a nest for the outbreak system we detected." Q began to explain as he shut down his laptop and put it in a bag for easy transport.
He was already pulling the strap over his shoulder before he spoke again. "As far as we're aware, there's no one physically at the location, but it's quite a large complex of servers so... You're on guard." A small smile. "You can't smoke in the server rooms."
“Ooooh, could ya now?” Butcher drawled, each word long and soft (not unlike the current state of his cock), as the lanky twink offered up his little advice. The neatly packaged solution. “Think that’ll fix me right up, do ya?” He asked, before pulling in another lungful and blowing it right out at the kid.
He ashed on the floor, too, for good measure.
“And me n’ you are supposed to traipse on over there, and, what?” Butcher shrugged, before he gave him a good once over, looked him up and down, allowing his gaze to travel slowly. Tall. Thin. A hint of sallowness like he’d never managed to get enough sun. Bespectacled and vaguely mussed.
It worked for him.
Somehow.
But it wouldn’t work for that.
“Hate to break it to ya princess but we’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb,” Butcher fell into step beside the smaller man. “Maybe you should start with telling me a little more of the plan. I know how you brainy types hate to part with information, but the brawn here won’t know what to be on the lookout for if I don’t know what you’re doing. Seems like we’re going in half-cocked, and not the way I like.”
Jim grimaced at the scoff in Butcher's voice. "Jim is fine," he muttered, realizing that he'd gotten used to the effect his name had in Starfleet spaces. He'd started leading with his full name to get the inevitable over with--the looks of pity, or awe, or disappointment when they realized he wasn't a hero like his dad, just another drunk cadet at the party.
The more Butcher talked, the more desperate Jim grew. Nothing was working, nothing was getting through. Jim needed to figure out how they were connected, why the universe--aliens, time travel, wormhole, take your pick--had flung them together, and what they needed to do to get separated again.
"Long and hard? That the kind of talk you and Hughie have?" Jim shot back, but really only to buy time. He didn't resist when Butcher pushed him, stepping back and clenching his jaw.
"For someone who doesn't wanna fuck, you sure won't shut up about my ass," Jim said, rolling his eyes. "I was at the library, in a study group." He took a breath, held it, decided how much to risk. "I'm a cadet at Starfleet Academy. In San Francisco. Does that ring any bells?" He knew about the rules, the Prime Directive, temporal bullshit. But he needed to figure out if he was displaced in time or space or something weirder if he wanted to get home. If some kind of time cop showed up to punish him, at least he could probably hitch a ride back.
Laughter ripped from Butcher.
Poured out of him.
Echoed obscenely as it bounced through the little deserted manufacturing area they were in, the sharp sound becoming more and more malicious as it ricocheted against metal, glass, stone.
He laughed because he didn’t believe it. Because it couldn’t be possible.
“The library?” Butcher sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “Study group?” He shook his head. “Ain’t met many of your kind, then. Utterly acquainted with getting fucked while black out drunk, but spending your weekend nights cracking books?” He laughed again.
Youths, these days.
“Starfleet Academy?” Butcher asked, still breathing sharply. “We’re about a whole country away from San Fran, so you’ll have to forgive that I don’t know the names of your little sex clubs.”
Because that’s all it could possibly be. Who the fuck was a cadet in anything?
“But the what you were in is less important than the where, because how the fuck did you get all the way over here? Without knowin’ it?” Butcher narrowed his eyes at the kid. “You mixed up in any kind of Supe business?” He’d worry the lad was a plant but he seemed too … too like Hughie to have managed any of that.
THE BOYS 4x01 | Department of Dirty Tricks
@billybutchersbigd semi-plotted arter~
Some days, only some, Marcus contemplated what it would be like for Q to work with agents who weren't standoffish, self-sufficient... Prats. And then he remembered how many split-second decisions he'd seen each and every one of them make in the field - always for the better of their country - and he settled back into grumbling. The fact that they'd go to the ends of the Earth and back if Q got into trouble was the cherry on top.
Still, Q could feel Marcus' irritation when Butcher walked through the door into Q-Branch as per the Quartermaster's summons. "Good morning..." He paused, glanced at the corner of his laptop screen. "Afternoon." Q corrected with a small smile.
"Not quite the usual mission, unfortunately; though M suggested you in particular." Rhythmless taps against Q's desk, anxious. "I suppose technically it's an 'escort' mission. But the person you'll be escorting is me, while I look into some issues we've been having lately- I'd appreciate your insight also, of course. The field is not my area of interest." He tipped his head to the side, curious. "Would that be agreeable?" Like Butcher had a choice. Like Q had a choice. Like anyone in this building ever really had a choice.
Not supposed to smoke in the building.
Not supposed to. There were rules. Signs. Placards. Fucking people. Wankers who would try and eye fuck you in the arse if you so much as looked like you were thinking about wanting a smoke.
So Butcher didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to and not because he fucking couldn’t, but because the hassle of it all wasn’t fucking worth it.
Besides. He just needed to get a little deeper in, a little further down, and for all that sounded like a brilliant fucking innuendo involving his thick cock and a nice tight cunt, it really was just all about making it into legoland.
Which was also not high on his list of wants. But there will bills to pay, pints to buy, and why he wasn’t sure where it fell on his list of priorities - especially because he hated most of the universe, himself included - all he had left in the world was serving the crown.
Enough to do what he’d been trained to do to keep most people alive.
It didn’t blanket cover not smoking in government buildings.
So the second Butcher made it in, scanned, sealed, printed, what the fuck ever, the prince was out of his pocket and hanging from his lip.
At the greeting, miss-timed or not, not that Butcher would fucking notice, there was a light grunt before flint struck and fire erupted.
Butcher took a long great lungful in, sighing it out again as dark, thin, and twinky kept talking. “You?” He barked out in a laugh, raising an incredulous brow. “Yeah, alright.” There was a sniff. “Where’re we goin’ then?”
“Darling against you a fucking grizzly is defenseless,” Butcher laughed. The amusement in him died down quickly, though, another one of those sharp pangs shooting through him as she turned. As she lay there in his arms. As she looked up at him through those long ass lashes, looking like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Ever.
In his whole life.
And that hurt. It hurt to think she was so much more beautiful than Becca. It hurt that somehow this felt stronger.
“Anyone ever tell you, you look like an angel?” He breathed, tracing each line of her face with his gaze, heart breaking at the way the morning light fell so softly across it.
It was too much.
Too much.
So a quick shift was his only option.
“I’ll tell you who’ll be beggin’ at the end of this,” he boasted, the brashness behind it easier to swallow.
Easier than to think of how she made him feel.
Easier than thinking about the bits of truth behind her words. Of other men. Of other arms, wound around that small frame.
“Until now,” he echoed, carding his fingers through her hair, cupping her face, kissing her softly.
Just once.
It felt like whiplash, going back and forth like this.
Didn’t stop him, though. Didn’t stop him from smiling back at her. Didn’t stop him from feeling things within him thaw as that light seeped out of her.
Fuck.
“I mean look at these things,” he deflected, grabbing a handful before teasing a nipple. He nipped at it through the fabric of his shirt, tonguing the cloth covered bud. “Miracle cure, right here.” He rolled her onto her back as he nipped and sucked, “But I know something that could do me even better.”
❝I don't know if I'd go quite that far,❞ the blonde laughed, ❝Grizzly's are fucking massive, have a mouth full of teeth designed to tear through flesh, and four sets of claws to match...❞
Amity had been turned into a living weapon. She knew she what she was capable of. Knew she was painfully deadly. And in spite of everything, it was actually something she'd managed to learn to love about herself.
...Didn't mean she didn't still doubt that she would be able to go toe-to-toe with a fucking grizzly though. ❝So I think you might be being just a bit too generous when you say that.❞
The flush was pretty on her.
Her. This. All of it, it was new and unexplored territory and for some reason it made Butcher unreasonably excited. Giddy, almost. That punch drunk place you got after not enough sleep and too many hours on watch when things seemed absurdly delightful.
It wasn’t like he didn’t fuck. It wasn’t like he didn’t fuck often. Having some twink on his dick was honestly how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of sanity for the last however long.
Months. Years. He didn’t know.
But it wasn’t like they mattered. It wasn’t like the sex mattered, either. Hot. Wet. Something he could sink into and fixate on and let everything else fall away for a moment or ten.
He didn’t need to see their skin, though. Didn’t need to watch how they flushed. Didn’t want to hear each and every breath they took, how it could differ and shift and change.
Her, though.
Oh he was fucked.
Fucked by that little laugh.
Fucked by the rose rushing up to her cheeks.
Fucked by the hiss dragged out of her mouth at the clench of his teeth.
“How in the fuck,” he asked to no one in particular as he settled between her legs, as he stretched out below her, leaning against the as of yet unblemished thigh, “does anyone touch you and then let you go?”
It seemed unbelievable to him that she wasn’t married or that she didn’t belong to anyone. Super soldier, brat, didn’t matter.
She was exquisite.
Exquisite as he nudged her thighs wider, as he ducked to press a quick kiss above the bandage he’d placed on her the night before.
“Then again, how could you stay with anyone who doesn’t wanna just drink your fucking come?” His hands moved, dragged up over her skin languidly, without purpose or reason, as he did what he’d threatened earlier, brushing the inside of her thighs with his beard.
“You honestly don’t think I can get you off like this?” He asked, tips of his fingers right at the creases of her thighs, but no closer. Not yet. “I don’t have to try if you don’t want me to, Princess.”
Of course he had to. And of course she wanted it.
He just wanted to hear her say it, was all.
The tiny blonde gave an incredibly undignified snort, ❝I'd hardly call you defenseless.❞ She turned in his arms then, just enough that she could properly look up at him through dark lashes, ❝And I'm entirely certain you didn't, at any point during our first exchange, beg for my mercy.❞
❝But yes...❞ There was a small pause, brows raising slightly as her lips curved into a half smirk, ❝That is absolutely my game. And while I'm very successful at the first part, the getting some shuteye part hasn't exactly paid off.❞
Her expression softened into something much more vulnerable then, bright blue eyes meeting his, making sure to hold his gaze as she continued, ❝Until now.❞
Oh, she was so fucked.
She'd always thought love at first sight was a load of fucking bullshit.
Apparently not.
Right now, it was just surface level, but it was love just the same.
The feelings had already begun to take root... And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were just going to continue to grow.
Yep.
She was fucked.
And while this was terrifying, she wasn't going to do a single thing to try and stop it.
She wanted this.
Wanted him.
Wanted to love him.
At his pet name for her, her smile started out small. It grew just a bit bigger at the shake of his head. A little bit more at his reassurance. And then he just... kept going. Amity couldn't have hidden the beaming smile even if she'd wanted to (which she didn't).
It lit up her entire face.
❝Oh, is that all?❞ the amusement was incredibly clear in her tone, ❝You're welcome, I think?❞
“Darling against you a fucking grizzly is defenseless,” Butcher laughed. The amusement in him died down quickly, though, another one of those sharp pangs shooting through him as she turned. As she lay there in his arms. As she looked up at him through those long ass lashes, looking like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Ever.
In his whole life.
And that hurt. It hurt to think she was so much more beautiful than Becca. It hurt that somehow this felt stronger.
“Anyone ever tell you, you look like an angel?” He breathed, tracing each line of her face with his gaze, heart breaking at the way the morning light fell so softly across it.
It was too much.
Too much.
So a quick shift was his only option.
“I’ll tell you who’ll be beggin’ at the end of this,” he boasted, the brashness behind it easier to swallow.
Easier than to think of how she made him feel.
Easier than thinking about the bits of truth behind her words. Of other men. Of other arms, wound around that small frame.
“Until now,” he echoed, carding his fingers through her hair, cupping her face, kissing her softly.
Just once.
It felt like whiplash, going back and forth like this.
Didn’t stop him, though. Didn’t stop him from smiling back at her. Didn’t stop him from feeling things within him thaw as that light seeped out of her.
Fuck.
“I mean look at these things,” he deflected, grabbing a handful before teasing a nipple. He nipped at it through the fabric of his shirt, tonguing the cloth covered bud. “Miracle cure, right here.” He rolled her onto her back as he nipped and sucked, “But I know something that could do me even better.”
The desire Amity had felt upon first waking immediately amplified in response to the rough timbre of his growl against her skin.
Sucking a sharp breath through her teeth, her grasp on his hand tightened almost imperceptibly. So gentle that if he wasn't paying attention, he could easily have missed it.
❝Oh, I'm so sorry!❞ Her head tilted so she could cast a glance at him over her shoulder, not even trying to stop the bark of a laugh that came forth at his technicality, ❝I forgot the exact specifics.❞
He loved her. He knew it then, there, in that moment, as bright blue eyes looked back and up at him, as she got lippy with him, delightful and bratty and … he loved her.
It wasn’t a deep kind, not yet. It wasn’t anything much more than surface level. There was no way it could be, no way for anything more to come from it, there’d been too little time.
But the was there, looming, that four letter word. The reality of it, the fact that it wasn’t like she could banish it, suddenly.
From now it would only dig down, like a tick. Burrowing in.
He’d felt like this before. Once.
He’d felt this before and it had ended up ruining him.
It was like a knowing. A resonance. Finding someone who balanced you so perfectly.
How did anyone get a second chance at that?
How did he?
So his cock was easier, the arch of her back was easier, the hiss the friction and heat of her drew, sucked in between his teeth.
Easier. Maybe. If he didn’t think too long.
If he didn’t acknowledge the lightness in his chest at the fact she’d slept well.
His lips pressed there, just there, again at the back of her neck. One kiss, then another. Soft. Aimless. Reverent.
“So that’s your game then,” he asked against her skin. “You beat up defenseless older men until they beg for mercy and take you to bed, all so you can get some shuteye?”
He squeezed her hand, mirroring the soft movement she made earlier. “Fuckin’ diabolical.”
But the tease, the jest, the joke of it was soon banished by the earnestness of her question, the possibility of concern in her voice.
“Nah, Princess,” Butcher replied, shaking his head lightly. “Slept better than I have in ages. Guess all it takes for me is a sweet pair of tits, a tight cunt, and a pretty face before I’m off to dreamland.”
Because that was all it was.
Just the fullness of her breasts. The wet heat between her legs. That mouth made for sucking his cock.
There was nothing more to it. Nothing at all.
She had been lost to sleep, completely oblivious to the words he'd uttered into her skin.
But when his strong arms pulled her back against the warm, muscled expanse of his torso, she stirred; a very soft, very sleepy groan escaping her.
Laying there like this, enveloped in the comfort of his embrace, Amity was wholly, and utterly content, and not at all prepared to open her eyes just yet...
Was almost afraid that maybe she was still asleep.
Still dreaming.
Dreaming...
She didn't remember the last time she'd had a dream.
A nightmare, yes...
Nightmares were commonplace for the super solder, and had been for an incredibly long time now. But last night had been the first night in close to a decade where she hadn't woken up in a state of terror.
... There wasn't a sliver of doubt in her mind as to why that might have been.
And that both soothed her, and terrified her in equal measure.
It was him.
Him, with his palm pressed flat beneath her breast, resting over her heart.
It was such a simple gesture, but it sent the butterflies in her stomach into a flurry, had her heart stumbling awkwardly in her chest.
Idly, she wondered if he might be able to feel it. To feel the way her heart was responding to him. To feel the way her entire body was reacting to him.
Lifting one hand up to trail along the length of his forearm, her slender fingers laced through his, continuing to hold his hand beneath her breast. Her lips curving into an amused smile, the tiny blonde gave a quiet huff of a laugh, ❝Looks like you weren't kidding about me waking up to your throbbing cock against my ass, huh?❞
It was a gentle tease, a try at lightening the heavy thoughts swirling about in her head. A desperate attempt to cover up the feelings he was eliciting from her.
They had met less than a day ago... She was not falling in love with him.
Absolutely not.
Nope.
Nooooope.
... Fuck!
Her soft sleepy little noise was painful to him.
It was precious, adorable even, it made his cock ache and his stomach flip, both, together, at same time.
He didn’t want to breath or move or do anything to spoil it because then, there, for a single fleeting moment, it felt perfect.
Like it hadn’t in a long time.
He didn’t know if it had ever been like this.
There was a hum, there, low in his throat as she touched him. As those nails dragged over his skin. As her hand, so small and delicate, threaded into his.
Not even twenty-four hours. They hadn’t even properly fucked. And already he was thinking how content he was.
How fucking terrified he was.
How much he wanted this.
How much he felt almost abashed at his hardness, like his lust was trespassing on something sacred.
It was almost only, though.
“You show me a man,” he growled, voice rough with sleep, lips pressed into her skin. “You show me man who can wake up with you in his arms and not be achin’ and I’ll show you a man who ain’t breathing anymore.”
“Tech-ni-cally,” Butcher enunciated the word as he lifted the hem of his shirt with his free hand, as he ran his hand over her ass, as he shifted how they were positioned, thumbing the line of her panties over. “I said I’d be tucked in this sweet little cleft.”
His boxers were damp as he fished himself out before he dragged the tip of his cock over the small of her back, marking her, making her his, before he nestled in, rolling his hips for good measure.
“Would ya look at that?” He let out a low whistle, looking down between them. “Y’look so good like this.” He pulled her back again, their intwined hands never moving from her chest. “In my arms,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her neck. “With my cock.”
This was easier. It was easy. It was autopilot.
“How’d you sleep?” He grumbled, nervous suddenly, nervous that it hasn’t been the fix he needed it to be, nervous that he hadn’t been able to calm her the way she had him.
He was okay with just sex. With just fooling around.
But if he was honest he knew from the start he wanted more.
THE BOYS 4x06 | Dirty Business
He shouldn’t have slept.
He didn’t, really. Not at first.
How could he?
The realization came as she crawled into bed, as she was swallowed by one of his massive fucking shirts, as she curled against him, the slightness of her back dwarfed by the breadth of his chest.
Speaking of swallowing, though.
A groan broke out, soft and breathy but there as Butcher shifted slightly. As he buried his face in the back of her neck, blonde hairs tangling almost instantly in his beard.
He’d been fucked from the first moment. Fucked since the second she laid him out, flipping him without thought without hesitation without exertion.
Had that not even been a day ago? Dawn had just broken, ever since he’d been in the service he’d never been able to shake waking early no matter what had happened the night before or who he shared his bed with.
And her, christ. What was he doing? Who was he fucking fooling? He’d thought to himself over and over again he was just fucking around and just trying to get off and as she fucking wrapped her mouth around him and looked up at him through those long lashes, as she did what he told her to and as she came when he beckoned …
He’d licked the spill of himself off of her lips thinking how fucked he was. How fucked, how fucked, how fucked, because there was only one thought in his head.
Mine.
Keeping nightmares away was one thing, humoring your fellow agent another. It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone he’d worked with. Forced proximity and lots of down time ended up with a decent bit of fooling around.
But never this. Never his leg, massive, muscled, threaded between the graceful elegance of hers.
Never his hand, palm down, flat under her breast so he could feel the thrum of her heart.
Their breathing had matched up, in the night. Somewhere in those moments between him wondering what he was doing and sleeping the best sleep he’d slept in years.
It was broken, disjointed by the sudden way he’d wake and need to check on her.
But his night terrors hadn’t come either, kept at bay by the angel in his arms.
“The fuck have you done to me?” he breathed into her skin, lips tracing each word just there at the join of her shoulder and her neck. “Think it’s funny, do you,” he asked, pulling her impossibly closer, cock hard and leaking pressed up against her ass. “Breakin’ an already broken man.”
@shesnipes
dry humping where he’s on top of you and you can feel him against your core with every faux thrust and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths and it’s needier because you aren’t quite there he’s not actually inside you and you’re grabbing at his clothes and his hands are in your hair and he’s desperate and whining and
Amity folded her arms over her chest, scowl very much still evident upon her pretty features. She could feel the warm trickle of blood trailing slowly down her thigh, along with the dull throb of pain from the literal bite wound resting there.
Running her tongue over her front teeth, she gave a short, bark of a laugh, ❝You should probably consider yourself lucky that's all I did.❞
There was a small flash of sympathy in her gaze as she heard the muffled cracks and the way he moved everything back to where it was supposed to be. That shit was fucking painful. But he'd bit her, so... Fair fucking game, really.
Her gaze flickered down to his hand as it reached up towards her.
A second passed.
And another.
Then one more, as she seemed to consider if she was actually going to help him up or not...
With a begrudging sigh, the blonde super soldier leaned forward, her hand clasping his before she gave a firm tug.
Easily bringing him to his feet, the force almost pulled him right against her, but she didn't step back. Didn't release his hand yet either.
Shit. He really towered over her, didn't he?
It wasn't like that was exactly hard to do, with all of her 5 feet and 2 inches, but still...
❝Aww, see? Still pretty,❞ she quipped, that condescending note in her voice once more, ❝Even when you're covered in blood.❞
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind ya doin’ a little bit more.” And, sadly, Butcher meant it. He be okay if she shoved him around a little more, he’d fucking like it, craved it really.
She was hot. And angry. And tiny. And damn he liked that.
Liked the way that she acted like she wasn’t going to help him up, even though they both knew it was inevitable. He tended to be neither loved nor hated by people, but instead some kind of secret third thing that mixed disgust with desire and he was figuring that she was right there.
So she took her time and he smiled. Smiled around the hurt. Smiled around the wait. Because he knew, knew, that she would help him up eventually.
And she did.
Christ her hand was tiny, tiny in a way that said it was vulnerable but Butcher knew she was anything but. That juxtaposition was confusing in the best kind of way, and Butcher loved it.
Loved being so much bigger than her. Loved knowing that she could kick his ass.
Knowing that he couldn’t break her.
That she could take him. All of him and fuck, fuck the groan that broke out of his mouth as he wrapped his free arm around he back, as he pulled her close.
Flush.
“Wanna get me covered in other things?” He growled, leaning down, gaze tracing the pout of her lips while he didn’t let himself cross that boundary, didn’t let himself kiss her.
Yet.
“I’d say we got fifteen minutes, and I’m rock fucking solid.” To illustrate his point, Butcher angled his hips towards her, the length of him rubbing up against her. “Willing to bet those little panties of yours are soaked through, but if not I’d only need a few minutes to get you there.”
There were two options. He’d get fired or get laid and he hadn’t wanted a woman in so long that not taking the chance was worse than not being able to pay his rent.
“So how about you let me stuff your sweet little cunt with my cock till I get you screaming my name and then we go about our day?”
Something hot and acid and familiar bubbled in Jim’s veins. He’d tried. He’d fucking tried. He’d given this man—Butcher? What kind of a fucking ridiculous fairy tale bad guy name was Butcher—his best focused Starfleet attention, his earnest attempt to start solving their problem.
But other than his name, the fucker refused to give him an inch. If he’d just given up something, anything that could be a start, Jim could have let the dig about Bones go unanswered.
Probably.
Maybe.
It was definitely frustration at that, not the lingering twist in his chest from the suggestion that Bones didn’t want him, that propelled him forward into Butcher’s space.
“James T Kirk,” he said crisply, folding his arms. Moving closer still, planting one of his feet between Butcher’s, he added, “Cute psychoanalysis. Too bad you’re missing some details. My ‘toxic coping mechanisms’, as the brass like to call them, go way farther back than that. But if you wanna see ‘em in action so bad, you just have to ask. Butcher.” Jim spit the name out, a challenge.
“So do you wanna find Hughie? Because if you do, I'm gonna need a little more to go on,” Jim said, overenunciating the name with its extra syllable. He grinned. “Or was there something else you wanted to do to me? Sounded like you were pretty interested in filling me up. And I'm a man of many talents." As much as Jim wanted to get back to Bones, he figured a little detour couldn't hurt if that's where things were headed. Clear their heads, help them recover. That was all.
Jim already felt like a new man, the energy of the confrontation and the buzz of their weird, aggressive flirtation pulling him up above the aches in his limbs and head. “Just say the word either way and I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”
“James T?” Butcher laughed out in response. People had made jokes about Butcher’s name for years, but he never thought much of it. It was just his name, the one saddled on him by his family, and the one that became who he was as soon as it was embroidered on the patch in his uniform.
But James T? Sounded like some kind of uptight school boy and really, Butcher didn’t think that comparison was so far off.
He watched James T there pull his little bantam bit, watched him toe up, watched him edge his way far, far in to Butcher’s personal space.
Not that Butcher moved, or flinched, his smile just grew and grew.
“Oh I’m gonna find Hugh, but I’ll do it with or without your help.” Information was something that Butcher was accustomed to hoarding, especially when he didn’t quite know what information would be worth most. What damage it could do.
He’d long ago discovered it was better to keep his mouth shut and annoy the fuckers.
“Y’do fixate a little there, dontcha, toxic coping mechanism? You down so bad for a lay you gotta keep circling back to it? You really should have a long and hard talk with your little friend.”
Sighing. Bored? Was he bored? He wasn’t sure. Tired of this line of the conversation, though, Butcher pushed back on James T’s shoulders. Not a shove, nothing too harsh, just to move him enough out of the way, so that Butcher could stand. Roll his shoulders.
“Since you’re the one that’s somewhere you weren’t, and there were no blackout fucking that we’re aware of - unless your arse is particularly sore - how about we start there. Where the fuck are you supposed to be?”
Bored at work. Come bother me on wire
