Chapter Text
"You know what I fuckin' love, Hughie?" Billy Butcher said, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that usually spelled trouble
Hughie looked up from the darts he was meticulously organizing. "What's that, Butcher?"
"A cold pint and a hot meal after a long day," Billy replied, slapping Hughie on the back. "But you know what I love more than that?"
"What?" Hughie's curiosity was piqued, his Scottish accent thick as ever.
Billy leaned closer, his breath carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke. "A bit of the ol' in-and-out, if you catch my drift."
The room was a typical dive bar, sticky floor and all, with the neon lights casting a sickly glow on the patrons' faces. It was the kind of place where secrets were whispered and deals were made, not the kind of place where you'd expect a heart-to-heart. But Butcher had never been one to play by the rules.
Hughie's cheeks reddened. He knew what Butcher was getting at, but he didn't expect it to come up in conversation so bluntly. "I... I suppose," he murmured, trying to keep his cool.
Butcher's grin grew wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.
"But you've been keeping your legs closed tighter than a nun's cunt in a nudist colony, haven't you?" He nudged Hughie again, a knowing glint in his eye. "I've noticed."
The truth was, Hughie had been avoiding Butcher's advances. Not because he didn't want him - God knows the thought of their sweaty, passionate encounters still made him wet - but because he was scared. Scared of getting too attached, of letting Butcher in too deep, and then losing him like he lost everyone else. But Butcher had a way of making things complicated, and Hughie knew that resisting him was a battle he'd eventually lose.
"Look, Butch," Hughie began, setting down the darts and turning to face him. "It's not that I don't want you, it's just..."
Butcher raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. "Just what?"
"You... you keep leaving," Hughie stuttered. "You're gone for weeks at a time, and when you come back, it's like you expect everything to be the same."
Butcher leaned back, his eyes searching Hughie's. "You think I don't miss you when I'm out there, fighting the good fight?"
The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. But Hughie wasn't backing down. "It's just hard," he admitted, his voice cracking a little. "I don't know when you're coming back, or if you're coming back at all."
Butcher's expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently cup Hughie's cheek. "You're all I think about, sunshine," he said, his thumb tracing the line of Hughie's jaw before dropping to the soft skin of his neck. His grip tightened slightly, his thumb caressing the sensitive spot just below Hughie's ear. "But I need you to trust me."
Hughie swallowed hard, his body responding to Butcher's touch despite his fears. "I do trust you," he whispered, his eyes searching Butcher's face for any sign of insincerity. "But it's just..."
Butcher leaned in, his other hand slipping down to Hughie's waist and then further, to the curve of his hip. His thumb rubbed in slow, soothing circles, the fabric of Hughie's shirt the only barrier to skin. "It's just what?" he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.
Inside, Butcher's mind was racing. He hated watching Hughie live without him, go on with his life as if Butcher's absence didn't leave a gaping hole in it. Every time Hughie laughed without him, every time he saw him with someone else, it felt like a knife to the gut. But he couldn't bear to lose him completely. He needed Hughie, needed the warmth and light he brought into his fucked up world. And so he'd come up with a plan - a way to keep him close, to make sure he'd always need Butcher. It was a dirty trick, but love had never been clean, especially not for someone like him.
He'd heard Hughie whisper about Starlight, about leaving The Boys behind and running off with her. It made his blood boil just thinking about it, but he knew he had to act. The idea came to him like a revelation - use the one thing Hughie craved but had never experienced to his advantage. He'd seen the way Hughie's eyes lit up when he talked about her, the longing in his voice. It was like listening to a kid talk about Santa Claus, all wide-eyed wonder and hope. But Butcher wasn't about to let some superhero fantasy replace him.
He decided to introduce Hughie to a different kind of high - one that would keep him coming back for more, one that would chain him to Butcher in a way that even the love for a woman couldn't break.
In Butcher's fantasy, Hughie would be sprawled out before him, his eyes glazed with need and his body trembling with desire, begging for more of the white powder that made him feel alive. Every line would be a declaration of dependence, a silent vow to never leave Butcher's side again. The room would be hazy with the scent of sex and desperation, the air thick with the promise of another hit. They'd be in a grimy hotel, the kind that didn't ask questions, the kind that didn't have any windows to the outside world. Just the two of them, lost in a cycle of pleasure and pain, forever intertwined by the grip of addiction.
Butcher imagined the look of absolute euphoria on Hughie's face as he snorted the fine, white powder off of Butcher's calloused thumb. The way his eyes would roll back and his mouth would form a perfect 'O' of pleasure as the drug hit him, the way his body would arch into Butcher's touch like he was a lost puppy desperate for its owner's affection. Hughie's voice, usually so steady and calm, would be high-pitched and needy, begging Butcher for another taste, another hit. And Butcher would give it to him, because that's what you did for someone you cared about, right? You gave them what they needed, even if it was the thing that was going to destroy them.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside. This was for the best. For both of them. It wasn't like he was forcing it down Hughie's throat. He'd introduce it subtly, during one of their rougher sessions. And once Hughie was hooked, once he was relying on Butcher for his fix, he'd never leave.
He'd keep the coke close, just enough to keep the flame of dependency burning bright. But not too much - Butcher knew how to play the long game. He'd ration it out, a little at a time, making sure Hughie was always just shy of being satisfied. The desperation in his eyes would be a potent aphrodisiac, a reminder of who was in charge, who had the power.
Butcher's thoughts grew darker as he pictured Hughie's transformation. He'd be like a lost puppy, whimpering and clinging to his legs, unable to bear the thought of even a moment apart. The very air between them would crackle with need, with an intensity that would make their past encounters seem almost innocent by comparison. It was a heady thought, one that made him feel both powerful and a little sick. But he'd do anything to keep Hughie, even if it meant turning him into a jittering, desperate mess.
With a smirk, Butcher leaned in closer, his whiskey-laced breath hot against Hughie's cheek. "Come on, sunshine," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "Let's go get a hotel room and fuck like we're trying to break the bed."
Hughie's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he nodded slowly, his heart racing. The promise of intimacy with Butcher was too tempting to resist, especially when it came wrapped in the rough, gruff affection he hadn't felt in so long.
The two of them stumbled out of the bar, their laughter echoing off the grimy walls. Butcher's hand was firm on Hughie's back, guiding him through the crowd, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of Hughie's shirt. They spilled out into the cool night air, the neon lights casting their shadows long across the street.
The hotel was as seedy as they came, the kind of place that had seen more than its fair share of shady deals and one-night stands. The front desk clerk barely looked up as they approached, his eyes glazed over from either boredom or a drug-induced haze.
Butcher tossed a wad of cash onto the counter and slammed his hand down, making the bell ring loudly. "One room" he barked, his English accent thick and commanding.
Hughie's cheeks burned as he stepped aside, trying to avoid eye contact with the desk clerk, who looked like he'd seen everything and was now just counting down the minutes to his next cigarette break. "Actually, I was just saying," Hughie began, his voice tentative, "about this new record store that just opened up, they've got a pretty sweet selection."
The clerk's eyes glazed over as he handed over a key. "Room 213," he mumbled, clearly not giving a shit about Hughie's record store ramblings.
But Hughie couldn't stop. The words spilled out of him like a nervous tick, trying to fill the silence that hung heavy between them. "They've got all the classics, you know, and some really obscure ones too. It's like stepping into a time capsule of amazing music."
Butcher rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. He'd had enough of the small talk, the polite smiles, and the awkward silences. All he wanted was to get Hughie upstairs and start the real fun. The clerk didn't seem to care about their conversation, his eyes barely focusing on the pair as he handed over the key.
"Come on, love," Butcher murmured, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the tension in his jaw. "Let's get you into someplace more comfortable."
He took Hughie's elbow and steered him towards the elevator, the cheap carpet sticking to their shoes with every step. The elevator was a tiny, claustrophobic box that smelled faintly of stale ciggies and cheap air freshener. The buttons were sticky under Hughie's trembling fingers as he pushed the button for the second floor.
"So, this record store," Butcher said, trying to keep the conversation going as the elevator groaned its way upwards. "What's so special about it?"
Hughie's eyes lit up as he talked about the rows of vinyl records, the smell of old cardboard and the sound of a needle dropping on a fresh record. He talked about the owner, a kind old man who had stories about every album and artist, and the feeling of finding a rare gem tucked away in the back, just waiting to be discovered.
Butcher nodded along, his mind racing. He didn't give a fuck about record stores or nerdy movies or any of the other shit that filled Hughie's world. But he knew he had to keep him talking, keep him engaged, keep him from running off again. So he asked questions, feigned interest, all the while planning their evening in the back of his mind.
The elevator doors finally slammed open, and they stepped out into a hallway that had seen better days. The carpet was stained, the walls peeling, and the light flickered erratically. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was getting Hughie into that room, getting him high, and making sure he never wanted to leave again.
But as they approached the door to their room, Hughie's chatter about some obscure band from the '70s started to get on Butcher's nerves. He could feel the tension building, the need to get inside and get on with it gnawing at him like a rabid animal.
"Look, Hughie," he said, his voice tight. "We're here to fuck, not talk about your bloody vinyl collection."
Hughie's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide and hurt. Butcher felt a twinge of guilt but shoved it down. He had a job to do.
The hotel room was as grim as the rest of the place - peeling wallpaper, a lumpy bed with a questionable stain, and the faint smell of something that hadn't been washed in a while. But Butcher barely noticed. His focus was solely on Hughie, on the way his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.
"You alright, sunshine?" he asked, his voice a little too cheerful.
Hughie nodded, his throat dry. "Yeah, just... I'm gonna grab a shower, okay?"
Butcher's grin was sharp. "Don't bother," he said, his eyes glinting with a dark amusement. "I'll eat your cunt even if you haven't showered in a month."
Hughie's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He knew Butcher didn't mean it - at least, he hoped he didn't. But the raw, unfiltered lust in his voice was undeniable. It was like a drug, a siren's call that Hughie couldn't ignore.
Butcher stepped closer, his hand sliding around Hughie's waist and pulling him in. "You're always so fucking delicious," he murmured, his breath hot against Hughie's neck.
"Butch," Hughie protested weakly, his body already responding to the familiar warmth and pressure. "I just..."
Butcher's grip tightened, his eyes dark with desire. "I said don't bother," he growled, his teeth grazing Hughie's ear. "But if you need to wash off the stench of that superhero bitch, I won't stop you."
Hughie's eyes snapped to Butcher's, his heart racing.
"You're one to talk," he spat, pushing away from the larger man.
Ignoring the taunts, Hughie stormed off to the bathroom, his pulse pounding in his ears. The bathroom was grimier than the hallway, the floor sticky under his bare feet, the light flickering in a way that made the shadows dance around him. He slammed the door shut behind him, the flimsy lock clicking into place with a sound that was far from reassuring. He leaned against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Butcher watched him go, a smirk playing on his lips. He waited for a beat, listening for the sound of the shower.
Once he heard the water start to run, he sprang into action. He searched Hughie's pocket of his jacket and found what he was looking for: a crumpled packet of condoms. He tossed it aside with a grunt, not needing it for what he had planned.
Hughie had always been the careful one, the one who insisted on protection. But Butcher knew that in the throes of passion, that caution could be forgotten.
He took a small baggie filled with fine white powder from his pocket and placed it in the nightstand drawer, tucking it behind an old, dog-eared copy of Playboy that was left behind. It was a calculated move, a secret weapon in his arsenal of seduction.
Butcher knew Hughie's body like the back of his hand - every curve, every sensitive spot that made him quiver. And he was going to exploit it to the fullest. As the water from the shower grew louder, Butcher pulled an old tie out of his coat pocket. It was a relic from his marriage to Becca, a simple black piece of silk that had seen better days. It had been a while since he'd had the need for it, but tonight was going to be special.
The bathroom door opened with a squeak, and Hughie stepped out, naked and shivering. Water droplets clung to his skin like tiny diamonds, glistening in the sickly hotel light.
Butcher's eyes immediately zeroed in on the soft mound of flesh between Hughie's legs, his cock swelling to attention.
He watched as Hughie shivered, the water droplets glistening on his pale skin like a fresh coat of paint. He couldn't help but stare at the soft, pink folds of his pussy, the way the light from the flickering lamp made them seem almost iridescent. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon, delicate and beautiful and so very, very tempting.
Hughie caught Butcher's gaze and blushed, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. "What?" he snapped, his voice tight.
Butcher's grin grew wider as he took in the sight before him. "Just admiring the view, lad" he said, his voice a low rumble.
He stalked closer, his eyes never leaving Hughie's cunt. The way it pulsed slightly with every heartbeat was driving him wild. He could feel the blood pounding in his veins, his cock straining against his pants. He wanted to taste it, to feel it clench around his tongue as Hughie moaned his name. But he knew he had to take it slow, had to build up to the grand finale.
"Come here," he ordered, his voice gruff.
Hughie's eyes widened, but he couldn't deny the thrill that shot through him at Butcher's command. He took a tentative step forward, his feet squelching on the sticky floor.
Butcher took off his coat with a dramatic flourish and threw it to the ground. The fabric whispered through the air before landing in a heap, the smell of leather and stale ciggies wafting up. The sight of Butcher in just his floral shirt and jeans was enough to make Hughie's knees wobble.
Their lips met in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongues and desperation. Hughie could taste the whiskey on Butcher's breath, feel the stubble scrape against his skin. It was rough, it was raw, and it was everything he'd been craving.
Butcher's hand slipped down to Hughie's bare ass, his fingers digging in, squeezing the plump flesh. Hughie moaned into the kiss, his body responding instinctively to the pressure. The hand grew bolder, sliding down further until it found the wet warmth between his legs. Butcher groaned, his own desire spiking at the slickness he found.
With a final, punishing kiss, he pushed Hughie onto the bed, the springs creaking in protest. Hughie's back hit the mattress with a thump, his breath coming in short gasps. He watched as Butcher stood over him, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.
The tie came out then, slithering through Butcher's fingers like a serpent.
Hughie's eyes went to it, his heart racing. "What's that for?" he asked, his voice a little shaky.
Butcher's smile was cold, his eyes gleaming with something Hughie couldn't quite read. "It's a little surprise," he said, his voice low and seductive. "Something to spice things up."
Hughie's stomach twisted with a mix of fear and excitement. He knew Butcher's brand of "spicing things up" often involved a bit of pain, but he'd always liked it. It was a strange, twisted comfort, the way Butcher's rough touch made him feel alive.
But as the cool silk of the tie was wrapped around his eyes, a sense of unease crept in. The darkness was complete, the only sounds the thump of his heart and the rustle of fabric as Butcher moved around the room. He could feel the mattress dip as Butcher climbed onto the bed, his weight settling next to him. The air grew thick with tension, and Hughie's breath grew shallower.
Butcher's hand slid over his body, tracing the line of his jaw, down his neck, across his chest, and finally down to the soft mound of his pussy. His touch was feather-light, teasing, and Hughie's hips jerked at the sudden contact. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, his body already responding to the sensation.
Butcher's thumb found Hughie's clit, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles. Hughie's body arched up, his breath catching in his throat. The tie around his eyes was a strange, erotic addition, heightening his senses. He could feel every touch, every stroke, with a newfound intensity.
Butcher chuckled, his breath hot against Hughie's ear. "You're so fucking wet," he murmured. "You want it, don't you?"
Hughie couldn't lie, even if he wanted to. His body was betraying him, begging for more. He nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he admitted, his voice shaking with need. "I want it."
Butcher's fingers grew more insistent, his thumb pressing down harder, his other fingers slipping inside the slick folds of Hughie's cunt. Hughie's body responded eagerly, his hips rocking against Butcher's hand. The sound of wet flesh slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic counterpoint to the squeak of the mattress and the distant hum of the city outside.
Butcher's mind was racing. He knew he had to get Hughie as wet as possible, to prime him for what was to come. The plan hinged on it. If Hughie didn't get off on this, if he didn't crave it the way Butcher knew he could make him crave it, then everything would fall apart.
He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of Hughie's nipples. He bit down gently, teasing it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Hughie's breath hitched, his body bowing off the bed. Butcher could feel his cock, thick and hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, begging for release.
With a wicked grin, he removed his fingers from Hughie's pussy, the wet sound echoing in the room. He reached for the nightstand drawer, his hand trembling with excitement. The bag of coke was cool to the touch, the promise of power and control pulsing through the plastic. He knew he was crossing a line, but the thrill of it only made him harder.
He dipped his fingers into the bag, the fine grains sticking to his calloused fingertips. He brought his hand back to Hughie's pussy, his heart racing with anticipation.
He leaned in close, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he gently inserted his coke-covered fingers into the warm, wet heat of Hughie's body. Hughie's legs fell open, a silent invitation for more. Butcher's cock throbbed, eager to claim what was his, but he knew better than to rush this moment.
Slowly, so slowly, he began to rub the powder into Hughie's sensitive flesh, his own eyes half-closed in feigned concentration. The way Hughie's body responded was like a symphony playing just for him. Every twitch, every gasp, every shiver was music to his ears. The coke melted into the slickness of his pussy, the fine grains disappearing into the folds as he worked it in, deeper and deeper.
Hughie's moans grew louder, his body writhing under Butcher's ministrations. The tie around his eyes was tight, the darkness absolute. He had no idea what was happening, only that it felt so fucking good. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, a sharp, electric shock that made him want to scream.
Butcher watched him closely, his own breathing shallow and ragged. He knew he'd hit the sweet spot when Hughie's hips began to buck, his body begging for more. He added a third finger, twisting them in a come-hither motion that made Hughie's toes curl. The coke was working its magic, the initial shock giving way to a deep, pulsing need.
"Butcher," Hughie gasped, his voice tight with pleasure. "I...I don't know what's happening, but it feels weird."
Hughie's eyes widened, his pupils dilating under the blindfold.
Butcher didn't answer. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed the baggie from the nightstand, the crinkling of plastic sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. He brought it closer, watching the way the light glinted off the white powder. He dipped his fingers in again, the coke sticking to them like sugar to a child's fingertips.
He brought them back to Hughie's pussy, rubbing the excess onto his glistening clit. Hughie's body tensed, a strange mix of pleasure and panic.
Butcher's grin grew wolfish as he watched the confusion play out on Hughie's face. He knew the coke was hitting him now, knew that the line between pain and pleasure was blurring into something new. He could feel the power in his fingertips, the ability to make Hughie's body sing to his tune.
With a final, cruel twist of his wrist, he shoved his fingers deep inside, the coke mixing with Hughie's juices to create a delicious friction. Hughie's back arched off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream. His body was on fire, his nerves alight with sensation.
The sound of Butcher's zipper was like a bomb going off. He pulled out his thick, throbbing cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Hughie, blindfolded and bound, his body open and begging for him.
With a groan, Butcher positioned himself, the tip of his cock nudging against Hughie's swollen pussy.
"Butch... the condom," Hughie managed to mumble through the haze of his high.
But Butcher was beyond caring. He'd had enough of the games, enough of the fear that Hughie would leave him for good. He wanted to claim him, to own him in the most primal way possible. So he ignored the protest, the niggling doubt in the back of his mind, and thrust forward, burying his bare cock deep inside Hughie's tight heat.
The sensation was like nothing Hughie had ever felt before. The coke had heightened every nerve ending, making every stroke feel like a thousand tiny explosions of pleasure. He could feel Butcher's cock stretching him, filling him up in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Butcher's eyes searched Hughie's face, looking for any signs of resistance. "You on the pill, kid?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Hughie's mind was a whirlwind of sensation, the question barely registering. "What?" he panted, his body and mind a mess.
"The pill," Butcher repeated, his voice a little more urgent. "Are you on birth control?"
Hughie nodded, his thoughts racing. He was on birth control, and had been since his father had sat him down for the talk when he'd started transitioning. It was a part of his routine now, a tiny pill he took every morning with a glass of water.
Butcher's grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with triumph. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Now you can take me bare."
The sensation of Butcher's cock inside him without a barrier was overwhelming. Hughie had never felt so full, so alive. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through his body, the coke amplifying each sensation to dizzying heights. He didn't know what was happening, why his body was reacting this way, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he knew was that he never wanted it to stop.
The sensation of Butcher's cock inside him without a barrier was overwhelming. Hughie had never felt so full, so alive. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through his body, the coke amplifying each sensation to dizzying heights. He didn't know what was happening, why his body was reacting this way, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he knew was that he never wanted it to stop.
Butcher's rhythm grew more intense, his hips slapping against Hughie's ass with each thrust. Hughie's moans grew louder, the sound bouncing off the cheap wallpaper and mixing with the grunts of pleasure from Butcher.
The coke was working its way through Hughie's system, a white-hot fire in his veins that made every sensation more intense. His body felt alive in a way it never had before, every nerve ending a live wire ready to spark at the slightest touch. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, a beautiful agony that made him want to scream.
Butcher fucked into him like a man possessed, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm that sent shockwaves through Hughie's body. The headboard slammed into the wall with each thrust, the sound echoing in time with their ragged breathing. The bed frame creaked and groaned, a symphony of passion and desperation.
And then, it started. The edges of Hughie's vision began to blur and distort, the world around him taking on a surreal, almost hallucinogenic quality. The shadows grew longer, twisting and stretching into shapes that danced at the periphery of his sight. The room around him grew hazy, the air thick with a sense of otherworldliness that made him feel like he was floating.
He moaned, a keening sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him, as the world around him began to pulse in time with Butcher's thrusts. The wallpaper morphed into a sea of faces, all watching him, their eyes wide and hungry. The bedspread shifted, becoming a writhing mass of serpents that slithered up his body, coiling around him like a lover's embrace.
Butcher noticed the change, the way Hughie's eyes had glazed over, the way he was moving with a wild, unbridled abandon. "You like that, don't you?" he grunted, his own voice strained with effort. "You like me bare, filling you up with every fucking inch."
Hughie couldn't answer, couldn't think. The world had narrowed down to just the two of them, to the feel of Butcher's cock inside him and the warm, sticky mess of coke and lube that was spreading everywhere. He felt like he was floating, the high taking him to a place where nothing mattered but the exquisite pain and pleasure that were now one and the same.
Butcher's hand found Hughie's clit again, his thumb pressing down hard as he felt his orgasm building. He watched the younger man's body tense, the muscles in his stomach rippling with each thrust. He knew he was close, so close to losing control, to filling Hughie with his seed and securing their bond forever.
With a final, guttural roar, Butcher came, his cock spasming inside Hughie's tight pussy. At the same time, he rubbed Hughie's clit in a frenzy, the coke making it ultra-sensitive. Hughie's body jerked, his own orgasm ripping through him like a tornado, leaving him gasping for breath.
As the last tremors of pleasure faded, Butcher pulled out, his cock glistening with a mix of sweat, come, and residual cocaine. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Hughie, his body still trembling, his pussy glistening and slightly reddened from their rough encounter.
But then reality began to seep back in, and with it, the guilt. He'd done it - he'd tricked Hughie into something he never would have agreed to. He knew it was wrong, but the fear of losing him had been too great. And now, as he looked down at the boy, the high wearing off, he saw doubt and confusion in his eyes.
"Butch," Hughie murmured, his voice slurred.
Butcher stilled, his eyes searching Hughie's face. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, his tone softer than he'd meant it to be.
Hughie's eyes were unfocused, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm and drugs.
Butcher's heart sank as he watched Hughie's expression shift from euphoria to confusion.
"Butch," Hughie mumbled again, his eyes darting around the room. "I think i drank to much"
"Hughie," Butcher said, his voice tight with concern. "You're okay, just relax."
Hughie's body was a maelstrom of sensation, his nerves firing off like a pinball machine on tilt. His skin felt too tight, his heart raced, and his mind spun with a thousand thoughts, none of which made any sense. He could feel the sticky residue of Butcher's come, the sensation of his pussy contracting around nothing sending waves of nausea through his stomach.
Butcher's strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. The weight of his body was comforting, grounding Hughie in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control. He could feel the steady beat of Butcher's heart against his chest, the warmth of his skin a balm against the cold sweat that had broken out across his body.
The older man began to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, his voice a soothing lullaby that helped to dull the edge of the panic that was starting to set in.
"You're okay," Butcher murmured, his thumb stroking Hughie's cheek. "Just rest."
And so Hughie did, his eyes fluttering closed as his body went limp against the pillow. Butcher watched him for a moment, his own heart racing with the realization of what he'd done. He'd crossed a line, and he wasn't sure he could ever come back from it.
With a heavy sigh, he slid out of bed, his cock still half-hard and sticky with their combined juices. He picked up the empty bag of coke. The sight of it made his stomach churn, but he knew he had to get rid of it. He couldn't risk Hughie finding out what he'd done.
He stumbled to the bathroom, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat of the room. He turned on the tap and let the water run, watching as the coke dissolved from his fingers into the murky water. He flushed it down the drain, the sound echoing through the room like a death knell.
Back in the bedroom, Butcher found the condom packet he'd tossed aside earlier. He picked it up, his hand shaking slightly. He knew he'd have to explain this somehow, find a way to make it right. But for now, he had to clean up the evidence of his betrayal.
He grabbed a towel, wiping away the sticky mess from the bed, his own stomach turning at the sight of the cloying white residue.
--
Two weeks had passed since that fateful night at the hotel, and Butcher's plan was working like a charm. Hughie had become insatiable, craving his touch because he knows Butcher always makes him feel good, despite not knowing exactly why
Tonight, they had found themselves in the backseat of Butcher's car, the leather sticky with sweat and desire.
After another intense round of passionate sex, Hughie lay there, his chest heaving, the world swimming around him.
He didn't know what it was, but something felt... different. It wasn't just the usual afterglow of any old sex, it was something more, something deeper. It was as if every time Butcher entered him, every time they were skin to skin, something within him sparked to life, a fire that only grew brighter with each encounter.
But when they weren't together, when Butcher's cock wasn't buried deep inside him, Hughie felt... off. His body would ache, his stomach would reject food, and a deep sense of pain would settle in his head like a stone.
He'd tried to ignore it, telling himself it was just the aftermath of their intense encounters. But it was more than that. It was like his body had become dependent on something it shouldn't. Something dangerous.
Hughie's phone buzzed on the car floor, pulling him out of his thoughts. Butcher's hand was stroking his hair, his breathing even and relaxed, but Hughie couldn't ignore the persistent ringing. With a groan, he lifted his head from Butcher's chest, his cheek sticking slightly to the damp skin. The ringtone grew louder, more insistent.
Butcher's grip tightened, his eyes snapping open. "Leave it," he growled, his voice thick with sleep and lust.
Hughie knew he should listen, knew he should just let it go to voicemail. But the feeling in his gut, that insatiable need, was too strong. He reached out blindly, his hand shaking as he grabbed the phone. The light from the screen pierced the darkness of the car, blinding him for a moment.
Butcher sat up with a snarl, his eyes narrowing as he watched Hughie fumble with the phone. "What the fuck are you doing?" he snapped, his hand reaching out to snatch it away.
"It's... it's important," Hughie said, his voice trembling. He didn't know why he was lying, didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself. But he did. The phone felt like a lifeline to something, a way to ground himself in the chaos of his thoughts.
Butcher's eyes narrowed, his hand snaking out like a viper and snatching the phone from Hughie's grasp. "Who the fuck is it?" he demanded, his tone low and dangerous.
"It's Annie" Hughie mumbled, his face burning with shame. "I just... I just need to tell her I'll call her back."
Butcher's grip tightened on the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. For a moment, Hughie thought he was going to throw it out the window. "You can tell her tomorrow," he said, his voice like gravel. "You're with me now."
Without waiting for a response, he pocketed the phone.
A couple of days later, Hughie found himself in the bare apartment that Butcher called home.
The place was a stark contrast to the warmth of the hotel room, with its peeling paint and threadbare furniture. But the need that had been burning within him was too strong to care about the surroundings. He was here for one reason, and one reason only - Butcher.
The sickness symptoms had been hell. But every time the pain grew too much to bear, Butcher was there, his body a balm to Hughie's fevered mind. They fucked like animals, raw and desperate, the coke forgotten amidst the sweat and moans that filled the room.
Hughie had moved in, his own apartment now a distant memory. He didn't know how it had happened, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Every time Butcher touched him, it was like the world righted itself, the pain and confusion slipping away like sand through his fingers.
The apartment was a mess, but the smell of their sex lingered in the air, a heady mix of sweat and lust that made him want to drop to his knees and beg for more. He laid on the couch, his legs still shaking, as Butcher pulled on his jeans.
"Where are you going?" Hughie asked, his voice small and needy.
Butcher glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Got a lead on some Supes," he said, his voice gruff. "Can't ignore it."
Hughie nodded, his stomach twisting into knots. He knew he should be happy that Butcher was going after the enemy, but all he felt was a desperate need to keep him close. "Be safe," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Butcher's hand paused on the door handle. He looked back at Hughie, his eyes softening slightly. "I always am, lad" he said, before disappearing into the night.
The apartment felt empty without him, the silence echoing off the bare walls. Hughie sat up, the comedown from their latest encounter making his body feel heavy and leaden. He reached for his discarded clothes.
But as he pulled on his shirt, a wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over, retching into the wastebasket beside the couch. His skin was clammy, and his stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out.
The room spun around him, the walls closing in. He thought back to the last few weeks, the endless cycle of sex and pain. And then, with a jolt of panic, he realized what the symptoms meant. "Oh fuck," he whispered to the empty room. "Oh fuck, no."
His hand trembled as it moved to his stomach, feeling for the slightest hint of a swell. It couldn't be, it just couldn't. He wasn't supposed to get pregnant, not after everything he'd been through. But the fear was real, a cold, hard knot in his gut.
With a shaking hand, Hughie reached for his phone, the screen lighting up with a text from Annie. He'd told her he was sick, unable to come into work. She'd offered to come by with soup, but he'd declined, too ashamed to admit the truth. Now, though, he needed her. He needed to get out of this apartment, to get somewhere safe where he could think.
"Hey, Annie," he typed, his thumbs slipping over the keys. "Could you maybe... I don't know, give me a ride to the store?"
He hit send, the phone feeling like a lifeline to the outside world. The minutes ticked by, each one longer than the last. The silence was a symphony of dread, each tick of the clock a nail in the coffin of his sanity.
And then, the response. **Yes**.
It was all the confirmation he needed. He grabbed his keys and stumbled out of the apartment, the cold night air slapping him in the face like a slap of reality. The world was spinning around him, but he had to keep moving, had to get out of there before the panic swallowed him whole.
Annie's car pulled up, the headlights cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. She stepped out, her eyes wide with worry. "Hughie, what's going on?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Just drive," he managed to croak out, his body feeling like it was made of lead.
Annie didn't argue, she simply opened the door and let him in. The warmth of the car enveloped him like a blanket, the familiar scent of her perfume a stark contrast to the stench of fear that clung to him.
As they drove through the deserted streets, the weight of his secret grew heavier with each passing second. He knew he had to tell her, had to get it out before it ate away at him.
"I think I'm pregnant," he blurted out, his voice cracking with the effort.
The car swerved slightly before Annie righted it, her eyes never leaving the road. "What?" she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Butcher doesn't use condoms. And I've been feeling... off."
Annie's eyes widened, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
"A test," Hughie whispered again, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "I need to get a pregnancy test."
The car was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the weight of his confession heavy between them. Annie's mind raced, trying to process what he'd just said.
"Hughie, are you sure?" she finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. "It's the only explanation."
Her heart sank. She'd noticed how Hughie had been acting lately - the dark circles under his eyes, the way he'd lost weight, the constant mood swings. And the way he talked about Butcher, with a mix of adoration and fear. It was like he was under a spell.
They arrived at the 24-hour pharmacy, the fluorescent lights washing over them like a cold shower. The place was almost empty, save for a few bleary-eyed college kids buying energy drinks and a homeless man shuffling through the aisles. Annie led Hughie to the back, where the pregnancy tests were hidden away, their plastic shells a stark reminder of the reality that was crashing down on him.
With shaking hands, Hughie picked out the first one he saw, the price tag seemingly burning into his skin. Annie took it from him, her gaze flicking over the instructions before she handed it back. "You're sure about this?" she asked, her voice tight.
He nodded, his throat too dry for words. They checked out, the cashier barely looking up from her magazine, the mundane transaction a stark contrast to the turmoil in their lives.
eeded to breathe. The cold air outside the pharmacy was like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder that this was really happening. He couldn't believe he was here, about to find out if he was going to be a father. A father. The thought was so foreign it made his head spin.
Once they were back in the car, the silence was deafening, the only sound being the steady thrum of the engine and the rushing of their own breath. Hughie's hand shook as he clutched the pregnancy test, his heart racing as he contemplated his future. The box felt like a grenade in his hand, ready to detonate and change his life in an instant.
"If it's positive," he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm aborting it"
Annie's eyes shot to him, wide with shock. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
"I can't," Hughie repeated, his voice cracking. "Look at me, Annie. I can barely take care of myself. What the fuck would I do with a kid?"
Annie's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of worry and understanding. "It's your choice," she said softly, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "But you can't just make a decision like that without talking to Butcher."
Hughie's stomach lurched at the thought of Butcher's reaction. He knew the man didn't want kids, had heard the horror stories about his own upbringing. The thought of bringing a child into this world, a world filled with superheroes that were anything but, made his skin crawl. A world where a simple trip to the grocery store could turn into a battleground. No, he couldn't do that to an innocent soul.
They made it to Annie's apartment, the familiar sights and smells washing over him like a comforting embrace. It felt like a lifetime ago that he'd been here, that he'd been a normal person with a normal life. Annie's gentle hand guided him to the bathroom, the quiet efficiency of her movements a stark contrast to the chaos in his own head.
He stared at the pregnancy test in the harsh bathroom light, his hands trembling. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. It was just a pee on a stick, he told himself, but it felt like so much more. Like the weight of his entire future rested on the flick of a plastic wand.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone with his fears. He took out the test, the instructions blurring in front of his eyes. He didn't need to read them; he'd memorized them the moment he saw them in the pharmacy. He unzipped his pants, the fabric sticking to his skin from the cold sweat that had pooled there. He tried to ignore the pain in his pussy, the constant reminder of the past few weeks of his life. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused on his task.
The stream of urine hit the stick with surprising force, and he watched as it absorbed the liquid, the line slowly moving along the test strip. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few seconds. He capped it, set it on the sink, and stepped back. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud he was surprised Annie couldn't hear it through the door.
They waited, the seconds ticking by like hours. The silence was suffocating, the tension in the air thick and palpable. Annie had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with fear. Hughie leaned against the sink, his eyes never leaving the test. It felt like the universe had come to a standstill, waiting for the result that would change everything.
Finally, the timer on Annie's phone beeped, breaking the suffocating silence. Hughie's hand trembled as he picked up the test, his eyes darting to the results window.
The single line stared back at him, stark and unyielding. Negative.
The relief that washed over him was so intense it was almost painful, like a dam breaking. He felt like he could breathe again, like the world had suddenly righted itself on its axis. He looked up at Annie, his eyes brimming with tears. "It's negative," he croaked out, his voice raw with emotion.
Annie let out a sigh of her own, her shoulders dropping with the weight of her own relief. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "It's going to be okay," she murmured, her voice soothing despite the turmoil in her own mind.
But as Hughie's trembling subsided, a new question began to gnaw at the edges of his consciousness. If he wasn't pregnant, then why did he feel so sick all the time? The room spun around him again, the smell of the pharmacy's antiseptic cleaners mixing with the faint scent of his own fear.
-
Butcher's apartment felt cold and empty without him, the silence a stark contrast to the passionate chaos that usually filled it. Hughie's body was a battleground of conflicting sensations - the relief of not being pregnant washed away by the dread of what his body was telling him. He stumbled into the bedroom, collapsing onto the unmade bed, the scent of their last encounter still lingering in the air.
The first day without Butcher was a whirlwind of confusion and pain. Hughie's withdrawal symptoms were unbearable, the absence of his lover's touch and the sweet oblivion of cocaine leaving him feeling more alone than ever. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, his stomach churning and his mind racing. He'd never felt this desperate before, not even when he'd lost his ability to feel.
On the second day, the sickness grew worse. His skin crawled, his muscles ached, and his mind played cruel tricks on him. Every time the door creaked open, he'd shoot up, expecting Butcher to walk through, ready to take his pain away. But each time it was just the wind, or a neighbor, or nothing at all. The silence was deafening, the void where their moans had been a stark reminder of his addiction.
By the third day, Hughie was a wreck. The tremors had turned to full-blown shakes, his body screaming for the unknown high that wasn't coming. He lay in the fetal position, sweat pouring down his face, his stomach cramping so badly it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. He thought about calling Annie, but the mere thought of her judgment made him nauseous.
He'd never felt this alone, this desperate for something that wasn't even real. Butcher had become a crutch, a way to escape the pain of his life, but now it was the pain itself.
On hands and knees, Hughie crawled to the bathroom, his body shaking with each movement. The cold tile bit into his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He barely made it to the toilet before his stomach revolted, his body heaving with the force of his vomit. It was like his insides were being ripped out, each retch echoing the pain in his heart. The acrid smell of bile filled the small space, mingling with the faint scent of cocaine and sex. He could almost taste the bitterness of his regret.
The door swung open, the light from the hallway slicing through the darkness. Hughie's head snapped up, expecting to see the judgment in Annie's eyes, but instead, he saw Butcher. The man looked like a fucking messiah in the harsh light, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and relief. "Lad," Butcher said, his voice gruff with worry. "What the fuck is happening?"
Hughie's eyes burned with anger and betrayal. "Where the fuck have you been?" he spat out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Butcher took a step back, his face a mask of shock. "I had to deal with some shit, you know that."
"Some shit?!" Hughie's voice rose, echoing off the tiles. "Some shit? You leave me here like this, and you call it some shit?" He slammed his fist against the wall, the impact sending a fresh wave of pain through his body.
Butcher took a step towards him, his expression torn between anger and fear. "What the fuck are you on about, Hughie?"
The words spilled out of Hughie like a flood, the truth he'd been holding back for weeks. "Everything hurts," he sobbed. "I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I think I'm dying."
He swallowed hard, the bile still burning his throat. "I think... I think I need a hospital."
But Butcher was already shaking his head, his eyes a storm of emotions Hughie couldn't quite read. "No hospital," he said firmly, his voice like gravel.
Instead, he swooped down, scooping Hughie into his arms as if he weighed nothing more than a ragdoll. Hughie's protests were weak, his body too drained to put up much of a fight. He felt the world swim around him as Butcher carried him to the bed, the effort of moving his weight causing the man to grunt slightly. But he didn't drop him, didn't even stumble, his grip like steel.
He laid Hughie down gently, the mattress a cloud underneath him. Butcher hovered over him, his eyes searching Hughie's face with a desperation that made Hughie's heart ache. "Tell me what you need," he murmured, his thumb brushing over Hughie's clammy forehead.
And Hughie knew what he needed. It was the same thing he always needed when he felt like this - Butcher inside him, filling him up, making him forget. "You," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Whenever I'm like this, you make me feel better."
Butcher's expression darkened, his eyes flickering with understanding. He knew what Hughie was really asking for - the coke that had become a crutch for Hughie. He reached into his pocket, his hand closing around the small bag he kept hidden. It was a dirty little secret, one that made him feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. But he'd do anything to keep Hughie by his side, to keep him from leaving like everyone else.
With a heavy sigh, he turned Hughie onto his stomach, pulling his pants down to see his pussy. It was still red and swollen from their last encounter. His cock grew hard, despite the gravity of the situation. He didn't want to admit it, but he loved the power he had over Hughie, the way he could make him beg for it.
He held Hughie's face in the pillow so he wouldn't see the powder.
He dipped his fingers into the coke, feeling the harsh burn as he coated them.
Hughie's body tensed as he felt Butcher's touch, the anticipation of pain and pleasure mingling into a toxic cocktail that his body craved. He whimpered into the pillow, his hips moving back and forth slightly, searching for relief.
Butcher's hand was steady as he pushed two fingers into Hughie's pussy, the drug-laced digits sliding in easily despite the resistance. Hughie's walls clenched around them, his body remembering the feeling all too well. The sensation was like lightning, shooting straight to his brain, and he couldn't help the moan that tore from his throat.
With each thrust, Butcher's fingers grew more insistent, the coke mixing with his pre-cum and making everything feel like it was on fire. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the sounds of their heavy breathing and the slick sound of skin on skin. Hughie's orgasm built like a crescendo, his body tightening until it felt like it would snap.
But when it finally hit, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before. A blinding white light that obliterated the pain, leaving only the sweet oblivion he'd been craving. He came hard, his body shuddering with the force of it.
A week later, Hughie and Butcher were in a heated argument, their voices echoing off the cold, bare walls of the apartment. Hughie's eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse from days of sickness and lack of sleep.
"You can't just tell me who I can and can't see," Hughie spat, his hands shaking with anger and withdrawal.
Butcher's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing.
"You think I'm a fucking idiot, Hughie?" he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls like a bullet. "You think I don't know what you're doing with that Supe slut?"
"She's not a slut!" Hughie yelled back, his fists clenching. "And she doesn't work for Homelander anymore!"
Butcher's hand shot out, grabbing a handful of Hughie's shirt and yanking him closer. "You're a fool if you believe that," he sneered. "They never leave you. They never fucking leave you."
Hughie's heart hammered in his chest, his body trembling with rage. "How can you say that?" he demanded. "You don't know what happened to her!"
Butcher's grip tightened, his knuckles white as he held onto Hughie. "Oh, I know," he spat. "They all say the same fucking thing. 'It's not like that. He's changed.' But you know what doesn't change, Hughie? The fact that she's one of them!"
Their eyes met, Hughie's filled with a fury that matched Butcher's. "She's not one of them," he growled, pushing himself up to his full height despite the tremors. "And you don't get to decide who I see."
"I'm a grown ass man," Hughie continued, his voice shaking with emotion. "I can make my own decisions."
Butcher's grip loosened slightly, his expression unreadable.
"And if you can't deal with that," Hughie yelled his eyes boring into Butcher's, "if all I am to you is a fucking replacement for Becca-"
But he never got to finish his sentence. Butcher's hand shot out like a viper, slapping him so hard that his head snapped to the side. The impact was like a bomb going off in the small apartment, the sound echoing off the walls and leaving Hughie's ears ringing.
Hughie's cheek stung, the slap leaving a hot, pulsing imprint on his skin. His eyes watered, not just from the pain but from the fury that surged through him. He didn't even have the strength to push Butcher away, his body feeling like it was made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
"Don't you ever," Butcher's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning with a rage that was almost palpable, "Don't you ever fucking say her name again."
With that, he stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming so hard it rattled the pictures on the walls. Hughie stood there, stunned, his cheek burning with the imprint of Butcher's hand. The silence was deafening, the apartment feeling cavernous without his presence
And then, the dam broke. Tears streamed down Hughie's face, hot and fast, his chest heaving with sobs that seemed to come from his very soul. He collapsed onto the bed, his body shaking with the force of his grief. This wasn't the first time Butcher had hit him, but it was the first time it had felt like this - like a declaration of war rather than a passionate outburst.
He buried his face in the pillow, the smell of their sweat and sex a painful reminder of the bond they'd once shared. But now, all he could think about was the way Butcher had looked at him - with such cold, hard anger that it felt like he didn't know him at all. It was like staring into the eyes of a stranger, someone who didn't care about him beyond what he could provide.
The pain in his chest grew, each sob tearing through him like a knife. He'd been so stupid, so caught up in the high of their encounters that he'd ignored the warning signs. But now, there was no denying it - he was trapped in a cycle of abuse, and he didn't know how to get out.
The phone in his pocket buzzed, a small, insignificant sound that seemed to echo through the apartment. It was Annie. He stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the "ignore" button. He didn't want to admit his failure, didn't want to face her disappointment. But then he remembered her gentle touch, her kind eyes, and how she'd held him when he was at his lowest.
With a trembling hand, Hughie answered the call, his voice a barely audible croak. "H-Hey," he managed to get out before the sobs took over. It was like opening a floodgate, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. He couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe, as the tears streamed down his face.
On the other end of the line, Annie's voice was calm, soothing. "Hughie, it's okay," she said, her voice a gentle balm to his raw nerves. "Just tell me what's happening."
But all Hughie could do was cry, the pain and confusion too great to put into words. He could feel her concern, her worry, as she tried to coax him into speaking. It was like she was right there in the room with him, her hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles as he sobbed into the pillow.
Finally, the storm of tears began to subside, leaving him gasping for air. "B-Butcher," he choked out, his voice hoarse and broken. "He hit me."
The silence that followed was like a knife to the gut. He could hear the sharp intake of Annie's breath, the way she paused before speaking again, her voice cold steel. "What did you just say?"
Hughie's eyes squeezed shut, the pain of his confession raw and exposed. "He hit me," he murmured into the pillow.
The line went dead for a moment, and when Annie's voice came back, it was laced with a fury that sent chills down his spine. "I'm coming over," she said, the words cutting through the air like a whip. "And when I get there, I'm gonna fucking kill him."
"No, Annie, don't," Hughie begged, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, just... don't make it worse."
But the line was already dead, and he knew she was on her way. With trembling hands, Hughie began to pack a bag.