The knock came at 2:53 — Barney was early, and Butch knew that meant something. He'd spent the afternoon pretending not to watch the clock, scrubbing the shower tiles with unnecessary vigor before finally giving in and shaving the stubble Barney had complained scratched his thighs last night.
The door swung open to reveal Barney, freshly showered, his auburn hair still damp at the temples. He wore the same jeans from yesterday but a new navy tee that stretched across his pecs, the fabric thin enough to show the shadow of his nipples. Butch didn't speak — just grabbed him by the belt loops and hauled him inside, their bodies colliding with a thud that rattled the entryway mirror.
Barney's laughter died against Butch's mouth as he was pinned to the wall, the kiss deep enough to taste toothpaste and the spearmint gum Barney always chewed before visiting his mom. His hands scrambled for purchase on Butch's shoulders, fingers digging into the dense muscle there as Butch crowded closer, one thigh slotting between Barney's legs.
"You missed me," Barney gasped when they broke apart, his lips slick and swollen.
Butch grunted, palming the back of Barney's head to drag him in again. The truth sat heavy in his chest — how the empty apartment had felt like a held breath, how he'd caught himself staring at the dent Barney's head left on the pillow. Butch swallowed it all, letting the hunger in his kiss speak instead.
Barney arched against him, his erection pressing insistently against Butch's hip. "Bed," he demanded between kisses, teeth catching on Butch's lower lip. "Now."
Butch obliged, walking them backward down the hall without breaking contact, their legs tangling in a stumble that sent Barney laughing against his neck. The bedroom smelled of fresh sheets and the sandalwood soap Butch used — mundane details that felt suddenly intimate now that someone else would notice them.
They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, Barney rolling atop Butch to straddle his waist. Sunlight caught the gold stubble along his jaw as he peeled off his shirt with a slow, deliberate roll of his shoulders. Butch reached up to trace the scar just below Barney's collarbone — a souvenir from Fallujah, he'd confessed last night when Butch's mouth found it in the dark.
"You're staring," Barney murmured, catching Butch's wrist to press a kiss to his palm.
"I like what I see," Butch admitted gruffly. The honesty startled them both — Barney's cheeks went pink beneath his freckles before he leaned down to kiss Butch with a tenderness that burned hotter than any of last night's roughness.
Their clothes came off in fits and starts, discarded between kisses until skin met skin. Barney's hands mapped every inch of Butch's chest like he was relearning him, fingers catching in the coarse hair there before drifting lower.
Barney's mouth found the sensitive spot beneath Butch's ear, his whispered words sending a shiver down Butch's spine: "Tell me what you want."
Butch flipped them, pressing Barney into the sheets with the full weight of his body. The answer came easy, natural as breathing: "You. I missed you."
Barney's breath hitched as Butch pinned his wrists above his head, their bodies aligned from chest to thigh. "Missed me, huh?" He arched up, grinding against Butch's hardening length with a smirk that dissolved into a groan when Butch sucked his collarbone.
The afternoon light gilded the sweat already gathering in the hollow of Barney's throat as Butch worked him open — first with fingers, then with the thick head of his cock pressing in with torturous slowness. Barney's thighs trembled around him, his military-cut hair mussed against the pillows, lips parted around silent curses.
"Look at you," Butch growled, sinking deeper. The stretch burned sweet; Barney's body yielded beautifully, clenching around him with every inch. When their hips finally met, Butch stilled, drinking in the sight — Barney's flushed chest, the way his fingers twisted in the sheets, the ragged hitch of his breath.
"Fuck — move," Barney demanded, heels digging into Butch's back.
Butch obliged, pulling out almost entirely before driving back in with a snap of his hips that punched a ragged moan from Barney's throat. He set a relentless pace, each thrust carving Barney open, their skin slapping together in the quiet room.
Barney's hand fumbled between them, stroking himself in time with Butch's movements, his cock slick with precome. "I'm gonna —" he choked out, his body tightening like a coiled spring.
Butch leaned down, capturing Barney's mouth in a messy kiss as his orgasm ripped through him. Barney came with a muffled cry, his sperm painting his torso in hot stripes, his body clamping down on Butch with such intensity that Butch followed moments later, spilling deep inside with a groan that vibrated against Barney's lips.
They collapsed together, breathless and sticky, Barney's legs still hooked loosely around Butch's waist. The fan whirred overhead, stirring the scent of sex and salt-skin between them.
Barney traced idle patterns on Butch's shoulder blade. "So," he murmured, voice rough, "are you gonna make me dinner again, or was that a one-time deal?"
Butch snorted, rolling off to gather Barney against his side. "It depends. Are you planning to stick around?"
Barney's fingers stilled. He lifted his head, studying Butch's face with an unreadable expression. Then, deliberate as a sniper's aim, he kissed him — slow, thorough, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
"Yeah," he said against Butch's mouth. "I am."
The words settled between them, weightier than any promise they'd traded in the heat of passion. Outside, the city carried on — honking cars, distant laughter — but here, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, something quiet and undeniable took root.
Butch tightened his arm around Barney's shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple.
"Good."
The afternoon light slanted golden across the rumpled sheets where Barney lay sprawled against Butch’s chest, his fingertips tracing idle circles over the dense hair there. Butch watched the shadows shift along the ceiling, his hand heavy and warm on the small of Barney’s back.
"How’d it go with your mom?" Butch asked finally, the words rougher than he intended. them to be.
Barney’s fingers stilled for a heartbeat before resuming their path. "Not one of her good days," he admitted, voice low. "She kept calling me ‘Timothy.’ That was my dad’s name." He huffed a quiet laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "But I sat with her. Brought those lemon cookies she used to make when I was a kid. She ate three without realizing they were hers." He turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek to Butch’s sternum. "She smiled, though. That’s enough."
Butch swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. He knew better than to offer empty platitudes — knew the weight of watching someone you love forget you piece by piece. His thumb stroked absently along Barney’s spine, following the ridge of a long-faded scar.
After a moment, Barney tilted his chin up. "What about yours? Your parents still around?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. Butch’s breath came slow, measured. "Dad’s been gone twenty years. Heart attack on a job site." He flexed the fingers of his free hand, remembering the calloused grip that had taught him how to swing a hammer. "Mom remarried some asshole from Phoenix. We don’t talk."
Barney shifted, propping himself on an elbow to study Butch’s face. His auburn hair was mussed from sex and sleep, the military cut softened at the edges. "That why you build things?" he asked quietly. "Because of your dad?"
Butch hadn’t expected that — the way Barney saw straight through to the marrow of him. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Maybe. I never thought about it." The admission hung between them, raw as an exposed nerve.
Barney’s palm settled warm over Butch’s heartbeat. "You’re good with your hands," he murmured, and Butch knew he wasn’t talking about construction. The grin that followed was all mischief, bright enough to eclipse the shadows they’d just stirred up.
Butch rolled them, pinning Barney to the mattress with his full weight. "Yeah?" he growled, nipping at Barney’s jaw. "Wanna see how good?"
Barney arched beneath him, laughter giving way to a groan as Butch’s hips ground down. Their mouths met in a kiss that tasted of salt and surrender, of all the things they couldn’t say aloud yet.
The sheets were still warm from their earlier coupling when Butch reached for the lube again, his movements unhurried now, savoring the way Barney’s body opened for him like a second language. He took Barney apart slowly this time — not with the frantic hunger of their first night, but with the quiet certainty of someone who knew they had time.
Barney's breath hitched as Butch's fingers curled inside him, stretching with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. The afternoon sunlight slanted across their bodies, painting Barney's freckled shoulders gold as he arched into the touch. "Easy," Butch murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of Barney's knee. "I just wanna take care of you."
The lube glistened between Barney's thighs as Butch added a third finger, twisting slow and deep until Barney's hips stuttered off the mattress. "Fuck — right there," Barney gasped, his knuckles whitening on the sheets. Butch memorized the way his body clenched around those fingers, the way his cock lay thick and flushed against his stomach, leaking steadily. He withdrew with a slick sound that made Barney whimper, then nudged his legs wider. "C'mere," Barney murmured, reaching for him.
Butch kissed him first — deep, unhurried, swallowing Barney's moans as he lined up and pressed in. The stretch was exquisite, both of them trembling as Butch bottomed out with a groan muffled against Barney's shoulder. They stayed like that, joined completely, Butch's nose brushing Barney's cheek as they caught their breath. The room smelled of sex and sweat and the coconut shampoo Barney used, the fan stirring the humid air between their bodies.
"Move," Barney whispered, hooking his heels over Butch's hips. "Please."
Butch obeyed, pulling out nearly all the way before sliding back in with a roll of his hips that had Barney arching beneath him. He set a languid rhythm, each thrust a deliberate glide, his hands cradling Barney's face as they kissed. Barney's fingers traced the scars on Butch's back — old injuries from steel beams and careless mornings — his touch reverent where others had been rough.
The headboard barely tapped the wall, their lovemaking quieter now but no less intense. Butch could feel every hitch of Barney's breath, every flutter of his body around him as they moved together in a slow, rolling rhythm. The slide was liquid-smooth, Barney's thighs bracketing Butch's hips, his heels pressing into the small of Butch's back to keep him close. Barney's fingers carded through the coarse hair on Butch's chest, his touch feather-light, reverent in a way that made Butch's throat tighten.
Barney arched beneath him with a soft sigh, his head tipping back against the pillows. The tendons in his neck stood out as Butch angled deeper, their foreheads brushing when Barney lifted his chin to meet Butch's gaze. Moonlight spilled through the blinds, painting silver stripes across Barney's face — the faint crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the way his lips parted around silent, shaky breaths.
Butch slowed further, pressing in until their hips were flush, his cock buried to the hilt. The stretch made Barney's breath catch, his fingers tightening briefly in the sheets before he relaxed again, his body opening willingly. Butch traced the shell of Barney's ear with his lips, murmuring praise too low for anyone else to hear — how good he felt, how tight, how impossibly warm around him. Barney turned his head, capturing Butch's mouth in a kiss that tasted of salt and shared breath, their tongues sliding together in lazy syncopation with the roll of Butch's hips.
Barney's hands moved over him with reverence — calloused fingertips skating up the column of Butch's spine, palming the swell of his shoulders, cupping the back of his bald head to hold him close. Every touch spoke louder than words: You're safe here. I see you. Butch shuddered, pressing his forehead to Barney's as he began to move again, slow drags of his cock that drew soft, punched-out sounds from Barney's throat. The angle was perfect — each thrust brushing Barney's prostate with devastating accuracy until his thighs trembled against Butch's hips, his cock leaking steadily between them.
"Touch yourself," Butch murmured against Barney's lips, nudging his hand downward. Barney obeyed with a shaky exhale, his fingers wrapping around his own length in time with Butch's thrusts. The sight was mesmerizing — Barney's fist moving over his cock, his hips lifting to meet every slow push, his eyes fluttering shut only to snap open again as if afraid to miss a second of Butch above him.
Butch watched the pleasure build in the flush creeping down Barney's chest, in the way his breath hitched before evening out, in the involuntary clench of his body around Butch's cock. He bent to kiss Barney's collarbone, his tongue flicking over the rapid pulse there, and Barney's free hand fisted in his chest hair — not pulling, just holding on as the coil of pleasure tightened between them.
The room filled with the slick slide of skin on skin, their breaths mingling in the scant space between their mouths. Barney's strokes grew erratic, his thighs clamping around Butch's hips as he neared the edge. "I'm close," he gasped, his voice wrecked. "God — Butch —"
Butch captured Barney's lips, swallowing his moan as his hips stuttered, his orgasm rippling through him in hot pulses of sperm between their stomachs. The sudden tightness pushed Butch over moments later, his thrusts turning uneven as he spilled his jism deep inside Barney's bowels with a groan muffled against Barney's shoulder.
They stayed joined for long moments afterward, Butch's weight braced on his forearms as Barney traced nonsense patterns across his sweat-slick back. Eventually, Butch pulled out with care, rolling to gather Barney against his chest. Barney went willingly, his body pliant and sated, his head tucked beneath Butch's chin. The fan turned their sweat to cool patches on their skin, but neither moved to cover up — content to lie tangled together in the quiet aftermath.
Barney's fingers found Butch's hand, lacing their fingers together against the mattress. No words were needed; the slow squeeze of Barney's grip said everything. Butch pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, and let his eyes close.
Barney's fingers traced idle circles on Butch's sternum, the coarse chest hair catching against his calluses. "You have any brothers or sisters?" The question hung between them like a leaf trembling before the fall.
Butch's chest rose and fell beneath Barney's palm. "One sister," he said after a beat. "Nine years younger. Lives in Denver now with her wife and twins." He felt Barney's surprised blink against his skin before adding, "Yeah, Catholic mom nearly had a stroke when both her kids turned out queer."
Barney's chuckle vibrated through him. "Bet Christmas dinners were interesting."
"Dad passed before either of us came out," Butch admitted, catching Barney's wandering hand and threading their fingers together. "Mom found Jesus after the funeral. Now she sends Pam pamphlets about conversion therapy alongside the kids' birthday checks."
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Barney pressed closer, his knee slotting between Butch's thighs like it belonged there. "How old were you?" he asked quietly. "When you knew?"
Butch stared at the water stain on the ceiling — the one shaped like Australia that he'd been meaning to fix for months. "Twelve," he said finally. "Summer league baseball. Our shortstop was this Mexican kid named Javier — best damn curveball in the county." His thumb rubbed absent circles on Barney's wrist. "One game, his sliding shorts ripped right up the seam when he stole home. I struck out staring at his thighs and nearly got benched."
Barney's laughter burst out of him, warm and surprised. "Jesus Christ."
"Coach thought I had heatstroke," Butch deadpanned. "Javier never spoke to me again after I bought him three new pairs of shorts."
The bedsprings creaked as Barney rolled onto his elbow, his auburn hair catching afternoon sunlight like polished copper. "Better than my awakening," he admitted, freckled shoulders shrugging. "Basic training communal showers. Nothing like seeing fifty dicks before breakfast to clarify some things."
Butch snorted, tugging Barney back down against him. Their bodies fit together easily now, Barney's head finding its place in the hollow of Butch's shoulder. The fan whirred overhead, stirring the scent of their sweat and sex mingled with the coconut shampoo Barney favored.
"You ever tell your dad?" Barney's voice was muffled against Butch's skin.
The ceiling fan clicked on its rotation. "No," Butch said simply. Then, because Barney deserved the truth: "I caught him crying once after watching the news — some gay bashing in the city. I thought he'd be disappointed." He swallowed hard. "Found out after he died that he'd been sending money to the victims' fund ever since."
Barney's fingers tightened on his bicep — not pity, just an anchor. They lay like that for long moments, the quiet between them richer than any words.
The digital clock on the nightstand clicked over to 5:37pm when Barney finally stirred. "We should clean up and then maybe eat," he murmured, though his lips traced the words against Butch's collarbone.
Butch hummed, fingers carding through Barney's military-short hair. "There's leftover lasagna."
Barney's grin was a flash of white against Butch's tan skin. "Domestic as fuck," he teased, but there was something tender in the way he said it — like the word tasted unexpectedly sweet on his tongue.
Their legs tangled together as they stood, bare feet padding across hardwood still warm from the day's heat. In the kitchen, still naked, Butch watched the play of muscles in Barney's back as he rummaged through the fridge — the old tattoo on his butt, the scar along his ribs from a long-ago IED. The ordinary miracle of him standing there, bathed in golden hour light, making himself at home among Butch's mismatched plates and half-empty condiments.
Neither mentioned the unspoken question hanging between them — How long will you stay? For now, it was enough to bump hips at the microwave, to steal kisses as they waited for their food to heat, to let the future unfold as slowly as Butch's hands sliding down Barney's spine.
The lasagna tasted better shared.
Barney stabbed his fork into the reheated lasagna, the cheese stretching obscenely between his plate and the bite he lifted. "So," he said around a mouthful, "tell me about your first boyfriend."
Butch snorted, twisting the cap off a beer and sliding it across the table. "Which one? The closeted football player in high school, or the drag queen who taught me how to douche properly?"
Barney nearly choked, his eyes watering as he laughed. "Christ, Butch."
"What? You asked." Butch grinned, watching Barney wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. The kitchen light caught the faint stubble along his jaw, turning the auburn strands copper. "Your turn. Marines have stories."
Barney's smile dimmed slightly. He traced a finger through the condensation on his beer bottle. "There was a lieutenant. Two years older, ran the obstacle course like it was nothing." His voice dropped, roughened by memory. "We'd fuck in supply closets until we got caught. He got transferred; I got demoted."
The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Butch reached across the table, his calloused fingers covering Barney's. "Was it worth it?"
Barney turned his hand palm-up, their fingers intertwining. "Every damn time."
Their knees bumped beneath the table as they ate, the conversation drifting to lighter topics — favorite childhood foods (Butch's mom's pierogies, Barney's grandmother's chocolate chip cookies), worst gym injuries (Butch's dislocated shoulder from a failed bench press, Barney's concussion from a rogue kettlebell).
"You ever think about settling down?" Barney asked abruptly, pushing his empty plate aside. The question hung between them like a held breath.
Butch studied the label peeling off his beer bottle. "Thought about it. I never met anyone who could put up with my shit for more than six months." His thumb rasped over Barney's knuckles — scarred from years of heavy lifting and harder living. "You?"
Barney exhaled through his nose, his gaze flickering over Butch's face like he was memorizing it. "Three deployments taught me not to plan too far ahead." He squeezed Butch's hand once before releasing it to grab their plates. "But I'm here now."
The words lingered in the air as Barney carried their dishes to the sink. Butch watched the play of muscles in his back, the way his ass flexed as he walked. Something warm and unfamiliar settled behind Butch's sternum.
Barney turned, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "You got any ice cream?"
Butch barked a laugh. "Seriously? After all that lasagna?"
"Sex burns calories," Barney deadpanned, pushing off the counter to rummage through the freezer. His triumphant "Aha!" echoed as he emerged with a pint of Rocky Road.
They ended up on the couch, shoulders pressed together, passing the carton between them. Barney's toes nudged beneath Butch's thigh, his body angled toward him like a plant toward sunlight.
"You know," Barney said around a mouthful of ice cream, "you never told me why you left construction."
Butch accepted the carton, his fingers brushing Barney's. "Busted my wrist on a winter job. Six months of physical therapy made me realize I wanted to help people move, not just haul lumber." He shrugged. "Got certified, started training. Best decision I ever made."
Barney hummed, stealing the ice cream back. "That explains the hands," he murmured, pressing a sticky kiss to Butch's palm that sent heat curling low in his gut.
The TV flickered silently across the room, some late-night talk show neither was watching. Butch let his head tilt against Barney's, breathing in the scent of coconut shampoo and sweat and something indefinably them.
Outside, the city hummed — car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from the street below. But here, in the warm cocoon of Butch's apartment, time seemed to slow, stretching like molasses between their shared breaths.
Barney's fingers traced idle patterns on Butch's knee, his touch feather-light. "Can I stay the night again?" he asked quietly, though they both knew he wasn't just asking about tonight.
Butch turned his head, his lips brushing Barney's temple. "Yeah," he murmured, the word tasting like promise. "I want you to."
The ice cream melted forgotten between them as Barney shifted, his mouth finding Butch's in a kiss that tasted of chocolate and hope.
The shower was still dripping when Barney pressed Butch against the bathroom door, their damp skin sticking together in the humid air. His kiss was slow this time — nothing like the desperate clashing of teeth from earlier — just the soft press of lips and the shared warmth of their breath. Butch sighed into it, his hands sliding up Barney’s back to cradle the base of his skull, fingers tangling in the short, military-cut hair there.
"No marks this time," Barney murmured against his mouth, thumbs brushing over Butch’s hip bones. "I just wanna feel you."
Butch nodded, letting himself be guided backward toward the bed, their footsteps silent on the worn carpet. Moonlight spilled through the half-open blinds, painting silver stripes across Barney’s shoulders as he pushed Butch onto the mattress and climbed over him, straddling his thighs. The weight of him was familiar now, the way his body fit against Butch’s like two pieces of the same puzzle.
Barney leaned down to kiss him again, unhurried, his tongue sliding against Butch’s in a rhythm that made his toes curl. There was no rush, no frantic grabbing — just the slow exploration of mouths and hands, relearning each other in the quiet dark. Barney’s palms skimmed up Butch’s chest, pausing to thumb at his nipples until they pebbled beneath his touch, then higher still to cradle his face. The calluses on his fingers were rough against Butch’s cheeks, a contrast to the gentleness of his kisses.
When Barney finally reached for the lube, it was with deliberate slowness, pouring it onto his fingers and warming it between them before pressing one inside Butch. The stretch was familiar now, the burn muted by careful preparation. Barney worked him open with patient strokes, adding a second finger only when Butch’s body relaxed around him, his breath hitching but not from pain.
"Good?" Barney whispered, his lips brushing Butch’s ear.
Butch could only nod, his hips lifting into the touch, chasing the sweet friction of Barney’s fingers curling just right inside him. The world narrowed to the slide of skin on skin, the sound of their breathing, the way Barney’s free hand tangled with his above his head, their fingers interlacing like they were anchoring each other to the moment.
When Barney finally pressed inside, it was with infinite care, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. Butch arched beneath him, taking him in inch by inch, their joined hands tightening as they adjusted to the feeling. There was no sharp gasp this time, no bitten-off curse — just the shared exhale as their bodies slotted together, Barney’s forehead dropping to Butch’s shoulder.
They moved like that, slow and deep, Barney’s thrusts measured and unhurried. Every push drew a soft sound from Butch’s throat, every withdrawal left him aching for more. Barney kissed the sweat from his collarbones, his lips trailing up the column of Butch’s throat to capture his mouth again, swallowing his moans as their hips rolled together in a rhythm that felt less like fucking and more like devotion.
Barney came first, his cum spilling into Butch with a broken sigh, his body shuddering through the aftershocks. Butch followed soon after, his hand stroking himself in time with Barney’s slowing thrusts until he spilled his load over his own torso with a quiet groan.
Afterward, Barney collapsed beside him, pulling Butch into his arms without a word. Their legs tangled together beneath the sheets, Barney’s nose buried in the crook of Butch’s neck as they drifted toward sleep. The last thing Butch remembered was the press of Barney’s lips against his pulse point, soft as a promise, before the darkness took them.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
