The alarm blared at 5:45 AM, slicing through the warm cocoon of sheets and shared body heat. Butch groaned, burying his face in the pillow still smelling of Barney’s coconut shampoo, until a sharp slap landed on his ass.
"Up, princess," Barney rumbled, already swinging his legs out of bed. Moonlight caught the scar along his ribs as he stretched. "Some of us have corporate drones to torture at spin class by seven."
Butch watched him pad naked to the bathroom, admiring the flex of his thighs — still marked faintly with finger-shaped bruises from last night. The shower hissed on.
By the time Butch shuffled into the kitchen, Barney was buttoning his gym shirt over that military-cut torso, two travel mugs of coffee steaming on the counter. "You’re domestic as hell in the mornings," Butch muttered, accepting the mug pressed into his hand.
Barney’s grin was all teeth. "Only for guys who fuck me right." He glanced around the apartment — the rumpled sheets, their clothes still tangled by the couch. "So. Weeknights here, yeah? I can commute from your place easier."
Butch sipped his coffee, the heat seeping into his palms. "Makes sense. You’re what, forty minutes from your place to downtown?"
"Fifty with traffic." Barney stepped into his space, fingers hooking in the waistband of Butch’s sweats. "But Fridays, you’re mine. My bed’s bigger." His thumb brushed the sensitive skin below Butch’s navel. "And my shower has handles."
Butch’s pulse jumped. He caught Barney’s wrist before those wandering fingers could distract him further. "Deal. But you’re cooking breakfast weekends."
Barney’s laugh was cut short by his phone buzzing — a client rescheduling. He swore, draining his coffee in three gulps. "Gotta run. Left my duffel in the hall."
The kiss was rushed, coffee-bitter and promising. Butch let his hands linger on Barney’s hips a second too long before shoving him toward the door. "Don’t kill any CEOs today."
Barney’s wink was the last thing Butch saw before the door clicked shut.
Silence settled like dust. Butch stared at the dent in the pillow where Barney’s head had been. His shower still dripped — the same rhythmic plink that had kept time with their movements last night.
He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over a new contact labeled Marine Trouble. The text sent before he could second-guess it: Bring your toothbrush tonight.
The reply came instantly: Already in your bathroom, dumbass.
Butch grinned into his coffee. Monday mornings never tasted this good.
The coffee had gone cold by the time Butch heard the jingle of keys at his front door. He glanced up from his laptop just as Barney shouldered his way inside, gym bag slung over one shoulder and a grease-stained paper bag clutched in his other hand.
"Told you I'd be back by noon," Barney said by way of greeting, kicking the door shut behind him. The scent of fried onions and beef flooded the apartment as he dropped the bag onto Butch's lap. "Double cheeseburger, extra pickles. Like you fucking ordered."
Butch peeled back the wrapper, the warmth seeping into his thighs. "You're late," he said around his first bite, though his traitorous stomach growled appreciatively.
Barney shrugged out of his sweat-damp shirt, revealing the smattering of love bites Butch had left along his collarbones two nights prior. "Had to stop a hedge fund manager from doing kettlebell swings with his fucking teeth." He collapsed onto the couch, his thigh pressing against Butch's. "Guy's probably concussed, but his stock portfolio will survive."
Butch snorted, nudging the fries toward him. They ate in comfortable silence, Barney's fingers occasionally brushing Butch's when they both reached for a fry at the same time. Sunlight streamed through the windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing around Barney's auburn hair — longer now than when they'd first met, curling slightly at his nape.
"You got plans tonight?" Barney asked suddenly, crumpling the empty burger wrapper into a tight ball.
Butch wiped his hands on his sweatpants. "Just paperwork. Why?"
Barney's grin was slow, dangerous. "Because I found something you'll like." He reached into his gym bag and pulled out two laminated passes — the kind with barcodes and holographic foil.
Butch squinted at the text. "Underground ... arm wrestling tournament?"
"Pro-am division," Barney clarified, tapping the logo — a cartoon bicep crushing a dumbbell. "Thought we could enter as a team. Split the prize money."
The laugh burst out of Butch before he could stop it. "You wanna get me banned from another gym?"
Barney's knee bumped his. "Come on. You've been bitching about missing competition since you quit powerlifting." His thumb traced the inside of Butch's wrist — right over the old surgery scar. "Besides, I've seen you curl fifty-pound plates like they're fucking teacups."
The touch sent a familiar heat curling low in Butch's gut. He turned his hand palm-up, catching Barney's fingers in his own. The calluses there were rougher than his, the knuckles scarred from years of heavy bags and bad form.
"Fine," Butch relented. "But when you tear your rotator cuff again, I'm not driving you to PT."
Barney's answering kiss tasted like salt and Coke Zero. "Deal."
They spent the afternoon sprawled across Butch's living room floor, trading stretches and grip techniques between reruns of a cooking show. Barney's hands were surprisingly deft — working knots from Butch's shoulders with military precision before demonstrating how to torque his wrist for maximum leverage.
"See?" Barney murmured, pressing Butch's palm flat against the hardwood. His own hand covered it completely, fingers slotting between Butch's like a living shackle. "You're stronger when you don't fight the angle."
Butch flexed experimentally. The position left him weirdly vulnerable — his arm extended, Barney's body caging him from above. He could feel Barney's breath against his temple, the steady thud of his heartbeat where their chests brushed.
"Gonna pin me again?" Butch teased, remembering their first night together.
Barney's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Only if you ask nice."
The tournament flier lay forgotten on the coffee table as Barney pushed him back onto the carpet, his mouth hot and demanding. Outside, the city buzzed on — traffic humming, neighbors arguing through thin walls — but here, tangled together on a floor littered with protein bar wrappers, none of it mattered.
Butch's phone buzzed twice — probably a client canceling — before Barney batted it under the couch with a growl. "Focus," he ordered, sucking hard on the meat of Butch's shoulder.
And Butch did.
Barney's lips traced the curve of Butch's ear, his breath warm and steady as his hands slid down Butch's sides with deliberate slowness. "We should warm up," he murmured, fingers skating over the ridges of Butch's abs before dipping into the dense thatch of hair below his navel. "For the tournament."
Butch huffed a laugh, his hips lifting into the touch. "That your idea of stretching?"
Barney's answering smile was soft, almost private, as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of Butch's throat. "The best kind." His palm cupped Butch's cock through his sweats, the touch feather-light, teasing. "Slow today. Just feeling you."
The shift was palpable — no biting, no marks, just Barney's hands mapping Butch's body like he was committing every inch to memory. He peeled Butch's clothes off with infinite patience, his fingertips lingering at each newly exposed patch of skin. The afternoon light painted golden stripes across Barney's shoulders as he knelt between Butch's thighs, his gaze unwavering.
"You're fucking gorgeous," Barney breathed, running his hands up Butch's inner thighs. The rough pads of his fingers contrasted with the gentleness of his touch, skimming over sensitive skin without pressing hard enough to bruise.
Butch reached for him, tugging Barney down by his hips until their bodies aligned, chest to chest. The kiss that followed was unhurried, deep but not demanding, Barney's tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that felt more like conversation than conquest.
When Barney finally slicked his fingers, he took his time — circling Butch's asshole with feather-light touches until Butch was arching into them, his breath coming in quiet hitches. The first finger slid in without resistance, Barney's mouth following its path with open kisses down Butch's sternum.
"Good?" Barney murmured against his skin, crooking his finger just so.
Butch's groan was answer enough.
Barney added a second finger, scissoring gently, his other hand cradling Butch's hip like it was something precious. There was no rush, no rough edges — just the steady, patient stretch of Barney working him open, his lips brushing Butch's jaw between whispered praises.
"You take me so well," Barney breathed, pressing a third finger alongside the others. His thumb circled the stretched rim, teasing but never pushing. "I love watching you like this."
Butch's thighs trembled, his hands fisting loosely in Barney's hair as the pleasure built in slow, molten waves. When Barney finally withdrew his fingers, Butch whined — a soft, involuntary sound that had Barney kissing him again, swallowing the noise with a tenderness that made Butch's chest ache.
Barney slicked himself up with careful strokes, his gaze locked on Butch's face as he positioned himself between his thighs. The first press of his cock was slow — so slow Butch could feel every ridge, every heartbeat — as Barney pushed in with deliberate control, his breath hitching when he finally bottomed out. Their foreheads touched, noses brushing, neither willing to break eye contact even as their bodies adjusted to the intimate connection.
"You okay?" Barney whispered, his hands framing Butch's face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.
Butch swallowed hard, nodding as he wrapped his legs around Barney's waist, heels pressing into the small of his back. "Better than okay," he murmured back, rocking his hips experimentally to feel the delicious drag inside him. Barney groaned, his eyelashes fluttering, and Butch couldn't resist kissing him then — soft and lingering, their lips moving in sync with the slow roll of Barney's hips.
There was no frantic pace, no desperate chasing of release — just the two of them moving together like they had all the time in the world. Barney's thrusts were deep and measured, each one drawing a quiet sigh from Butch's lips as he angled himself to hit that perfect spot with every stroke. The slide of skin against skin was almost reverent, Barney's hands roaming Butch's chest with featherlight touches that left trails of fire in their wake.
"Look at you," Barney breathed against his collarbone, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. "So fucking perfect like this." His hand slid between them, wrapping around Butch's cock with just the right amount of pressure, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
Butch arched into the touch, his fingers tangling in Barney's hair as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his gut. The dual sensations — Barney inside him, around him, everywhere — threatened to overwhelm him, but he held on, savoring every second of this impossibly tender connection.
"Close," Butch managed to gasp, his thighs trembling where they hugged Barney's hips.
Barney kissed him again, swallowing his moans as his thrusts grew slightly more erratic, losing their careful rhythm. "Me too," he admitted, his voice rough with restraint. "Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you."
That was all it took — Butch shattered with a broken cry, his sperm spilling hot over Barney's fist and his own stomach as his body clenched around Barney's cock. Barney followed moments after, burying his load deep with a groan that vibrated through both of them as he spilled his hot cum inside Butch, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks.
They stayed like that — their foreheads pressed together, their breathing ragged — until Barney reluctantly pulled out and collapsed beside him, immediately dragging Butch into his arms. Butch went willingly, tucking his face against Barney's neck as their heartbeats gradually slowed in unison.
No words were needed. The quiet between them said everything.
Outside, the city carried on — horns honking, pigeons cooing on the fire escape — but here, tangled together in the golden afternoon light, nothing else mattered.
The sun had dipped low enough to stripe the hardwood floor with amber when Barney finally stirred, his fingers trailing absently along Butch’s ribs. "The tournament’s at eight," he murmured against Butch’s shoulder, his voice still thick with sleep. "We should shower."
Butch grunted, rolling onto his side to trap Barney’s wandering hand between their bodies. "You first. Your hair takes fucking forever to dry." He thumbed at the short auburn strands, still damp with sweat at the roots.
Barney’s laugh vibrated through Butch’s chest as he wriggled free, stretching with a groan that showcased every corded muscle in his torso. Butch watched him pad toward the bathroom — the flex of his ass, the faint red marks from the carpet still etched across his thighs — until the shower’s hiss obscured the view.
By the time Butch joined him, the mirror was fogged beyond recognition. Barney stood under the spray, head tipped back as water sluiced through his military-cut hair. His eyes cracked open when Butch shouldered in beside him, his grin slow and satisfied. "Took you long enough."
Butch snatched the soap from the ledge, lathering his hands with unnecessary force before dragging them down Barney’s chest. "Thought you were in a hurry," he countered, scraping his nails through the smattering of hair below Barney’s navel just to hear his breath catch.
Barney retaliated by pinning him against the tile, his mouth hot and demanding as water cascaded over their shoulders. The kiss tasted of spearmint and exhaustion, of shared sweat and the ghost of Burger King onions. When they broke apart, Barney’s palm was braced beside Butch’s head, his other hand working shampoo into Butch’s scalp with rough, efficient strokes.
"You’re gonna lose," Butch said suddenly, tilting his head into the touch.
Barney’s fingers stilled in Butch’s hair. "Excuse me?"
Butch grinned, water dripping into his beard. "You heard me. That hedge fund prick probably wrecked your grip strength."
Barney snorted, rinsing the suds from Butch’s scalp with a rough tilt of his head. "Keep talking, and I’ll wreck more than that." His knee nudged between Butch’s thighs, pressing just hard enough to remind him of earlier.
The shower cut off abruptly, leaving them standing in sudden silence, steam curling around their ankles. Barney reached past Butch for a towel, his bicep brushing Butch’s nose as he shook it open. "Move your ass," he ordered, swatting Butch’s hip with the damp fabric. "We’ve got forty minutes to get across town."
Butch caught Barney’s wrist, pulling him back into a kiss that tasted of chlorine and cheap shampoo. "Winner buys dinner," he murmured against Barney’s lips.
Barney bit his lower lip in retaliation, sharp enough to sting. "Deal."
They dressed in comfortable silence — Butch in his usual battered jeans and a tight black tee that stretched across his shoulders, Barney in tactical cargo pants and a faded Marine Corps shirt that clung to his torso like a second skin. Barney paused mid-lace to watch Butch flex his arms in the mirror, rolling his eyes when Butch caught him looking.
"Admiring the competition?" Butch teased, flexing his bicep with an exaggerated pop.
Barney shouldered past him toward the door. "Admiring how full of shit you are."
The venue was a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of downtown, the air thick with the scent of sweat, testosterone, and deep fryer grease from the concession stand in the corner. Metal folding chairs surrounded a raised platform where two men — one built like a refrigerator, the other with veins that looked like they might burst — were locked in a trembling stalemate, their elbows glued to the padded table. The crowd roared as veins bulged in the bigger man’s forehead, his arm trembling before it was slammed down with a resounding thud.
Barney whistled low, nudging Butch with his elbow. "See that? Technique beats brute strength every time."
Butch flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles one by one. "Tell that to my deadlift PR."
They signed in at the rickety card table by the door, the woman handing them Sharpied wristbands without looking up from her phone. "Pro-am division’s up in twenty. Don’t puke on the mats."
Barney smirked, rolling his shoulders as they wove through the crowd toward the warm-up area. "You nervous?"
Butch snorted, shoving him toward an empty bench. "I’ve crushed beer cans harder than these guys."
Their warm-up was efficient — Barney kneading the tension from Butch’s forearms, Butch returning the favor with deliberate pressure along Barney’s scapulae. The MC’s voice crackled over the PA, announcing their division.
Barney stood first, offering Butch a hand up. "Try not to embarrass me."
Butch’s grip tightened, yanking Barney close enough to taste his breath. "Make me proud, Marine."
The platform groaned under their combined weight as Butch and Barney climbed the steps, the crowd's murmur swelling into a low roar of anticipation. The MC — a wiry guy with a handlebar mustache — circled the table, hyping the match with practiced ease. "Ladies and gentlemen, we got a special treat tonight — former Marine versus construction foreman in a battle of brawn and brains!"
Barney rolled his eyes, flexing his fingers as he settled into the chair. Butch caught the way his gaze flicked to the scarred wood of the table — the same way it had that first night in the gym, assessing, calculating.
"Best two out of three," the MC declared, slapping the table between them. "Grip up!"
Their palms met, fingers interlocking like puzzle pieces. Butch's calluses rasped against Barney's knuckle scars, the familiar heat of his skin sending a jolt up Butch's spine. The referee's hand hovered over their clasped fists.
"Ready ... go."
Barney struck like a sprung trap — twisting his wrist at the last second to gain leverage, his bicep flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. Butch gritted his teeth, his forearm burning as he fought the angle, their locked hands trembling at a precarious midpoint. The crowd's cheers faded to a distant hum, the world narrowing to the sweat beading along Barney's temple, the way his lips parted around each ragged breath.
"Gonna tap out yet?" Barney hissed, shifting his weight to press harder.
Butch's grin was all teeth. "Make me."
Barney's thumb dug into the meat of Butch's palm — a dirty trick he'd learned in hand-to-hand combat training. The sharp burst of pain had Butch's grip faltering for a split second — just long enough for Barney to slam his hand down with a victorious crack.
The crowd erupted. Barney shot to his feet, pumping his fist, but his triumphant grin softened when he caught Butch's expression — not frustration, but something dangerously close to pride.
"Told you," Barney panted, offering a hand to pull him up. "Technique beats brute —"
Butch yanked him close, their foreheads bumping. "Don't get cocky," he growled, low enough that only Barney could hear. The second match started before Barney could retort.
This time, Butch didn't let him set the angle. He drove forward with raw strength, their forearms bulging in tandem as the table creaked in protest. Barney's breath hitched when Butch's thumb found the sensitive spot between his tendons, his fingers twitching involuntarily.
"Fuck —" Barney's elbow wobbled, his arm quivering as Butch leaned into the last brutal push. The slam echoed through the warehouse, the crowd's gasp morphing into cheers as Butch stood, rolling his shoulder with a satisfied smirk.
"One-one," the MC announced, mopping his brow. "Decider round — no holds barred!"
Barney's knee bumped Butch's under the table as they gripped up again, his expression unreadable. The referee's hand dropped —
And then Barney cheated. Not with leverage or technique, but by dragging his boot along Butch's calf, the rough sole skimming higher until it pressed against the inseam of Butch's jeans. Butch's breath stuttered, his focus fragmenting as Barney's toes curled against his thigh.
"You —" Butch's protest died in his throat when Barney's foot flexed, the pressure just shy of painful. The crowd's noise dimmed to a buzz in Butch's ears, his blood roaring south as Barney's smirk turned wicked.
Barney's voice was a velvet whisper. "Yield."
Butch's arm hit the table before he could process the loss, the impact jolting him back to reality. The MC whooped, grabbing Barney's wrist to declare him the winner, but Butch barely heard it over the rush of his own pulse.
Barney leaned in as the crowd surged around them, his lips brushing Butch's ear. "Told you I'd wreck you."
Butch caught his wrist before he could pull away, his grip tight enough to bruise. "You're buying dinner," he growled. "And then you're fucked."
Barney's laugh was bright and unrepentant as he let Butch drag him toward the exit, their shoulders bumping with every step. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and neon, but Butch only had eyes for the smug curve of Barney's mouth — and the promise of what came next.
The diner's neon sign flickered as Butch shoved Barney into a corner booth, their knees knocking together under the chipped Formica table. Barney grinned, licking a smear of ketchup off his thumb from the burger he'd demolished in three bites. "You're pouting," he teased, nudging Butch's shin with his boot.
Butch leaned forward, his forearms braced on the sticky tabletop. "You cheated."
Barney's eyes glittered under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Adapt and overcome, baby." He swiped a fry through Butch's abandoned milkshake, sucking the vanilla cream off his fingers with deliberate slowness.
A waitress refilled their coffees without asking, her gaze lingering on the way Butch's bicep strained against his sleeve when he reached for the sugar. Barney kicked him under the table. "Stop flexing at the help."
"Wasn't," Butch muttered, dumping three packets into his cup.
The bell above the door jingled, admitting a gust of cold air and a group of laughing college kids. Barney's foot slid higher along Butch's calf, his smile sharpening when Butch's spoon clattered against the saucer. "You're really gonna make me wait till we get home?"
Barney's fingers traced the condensation on his water glass. "I like watching you squirm."
Butch's hand shot out, capturing Barney's wrist and dragging it across the table until their linked fingers rested between the salt shaker and a napkin dispenser. Barney's pulse jumped under his thumb.
Outside, a siren wailed past, painting their faces in brief flashes of red. Butch's voice dropped. "Tell me what you want."
Barney's throat worked as he swallowed. "You. Pinning me to that wall by the bathroom." His free hand tapped the table — once, twice — before adding, "Hard."
Butch stood abruptly, tossing a crumpled twenty onto the check. "Let's go."
The alley behind the diner reeked of old grease and piss, but Barney didn't hesitate when Butch backed him against the brick wall, his hands already working at Barney's belt. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking, Barney's groan vibrating against Butch's tongue as he ground their hips together.
"Fuck —" Barney gasped when Butch bit down on his collarbone, his fingers scrabbling at Butch's waistband. "Right here —"
A dumpster rattled nearby. Butch froze, his palm splayed across Barney's sternum. "Someone's —"
Barney hooked two fingers through Butch's belt loop, yanking him flush again. "Don't care." His breath hitched as Butch's knee nudged between his thighs. "Unless you're scared —"
Butch growled, silencing him with a hand over his mouth. "Shut up." He could feel Barney's smirk against his palm, the asshole.
The distant sound of a car backfiring made them both flinch. Barney laughed breathlessly, his forehead dropping to Butch's shoulder. "Okay, maybe not here."
Butch stepped back, adjusting himself with a grimace. "Car. Now."
They barely made it past the passenger seat before Barney was climbing into Butch's lap, his thighs straddling Butch's hips as the steering wheel dug into his back. The dome light flickered when Butch fumbled with the door handle, casting shadows across Barney's heaving chest.
"You're such a fucking menace," Butch growled, palming Barney's ass through his cargo pants.
Barney rocked forward, hissing when their cocks aligned through the layers of denim. "Yours, though."
The raw honesty in his voice punched through Butch's chest. He caught Barney's face between his hands, their noses brushing. "Yeah," he murmured. "Mine. And I'm yours."
Headlights swept across the dashboard as another car turned into the lot. Barney sighed, reluctantly sliding off Butch's lap. "Home?"
Butch turned the key in the ignition with more force than necessary. "Floor it."
The apartment door barely clicked shut before Barney shoved Butch against it, his mouth hot and insistent. Butch groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding under Barney’s shirt, fingers skimming the taut muscles of his back. There was no urgency to dominate or conquer — just the desperate need to be closer, to erase any space between them.
Barney broke the kiss just long enough to yank Butch’s shirt over his head, his breath hitching as he traced the dark trail of hair leading down Butch’s stomach. "Fuck, you’re beautiful," he murmured, pressing his lips to the hollow of Butch’s throat, soft and reverent.
Butch cupped Barney’s face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. The raw vulnerability in Barney’s eyes sent a shudder through him — no smirk, no challenge, just open want. Butch kissed him slowly, deeply, his hands roaming Barney’s body with deliberate tenderness. He unhooked Barney’s belt with a soft click, pushing his cargo pants down over his hips, letting them pool at his feet.
Barney stepped out of them, kicking them aside before pressing Butch back against the door again, his hands framing Butch’s face. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling. "I want you," Barney whispered, voice rough. "Not just your body — all of you."
Butch’s chest tightened. He’d never been good with words, so he answered by sliding his hands down Barney’s sides, gripping his waist to pull him flush against him. Their cocks brushed, already hard, and Barney gasped, his fingers tightening in Butch’s hair.
The bedroom was too far. Butch guided Barney to the couch, their mouths never parting as they sank onto it together. Barney straddled his lap, grinding down with a low moan, his hands roaming Butch’s chest like he was mapping every inch.
Butch reached for the lube on the side table, slicking his fingers before sliding them between Barney’s legs, pressing in with slow, careful strokes. Barney arched into the touch, his breath coming in ragged bursts as Butch worked him open — gentle, thorough, every movement meant to draw pleasure, not push limits.
"Please," Barney gasped, his hips rocking back onto Butch’s fingers. "I need you — now."
Butch withdrew, slicking himself up before guiding Barney down onto him. They both groaned as Barney sank onto him, inch by inch, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this. Barney braced his hands on Butch’s shoulders, his thighs trembling as he adjusted, his eyes locked on Butch’s.
Butch cupped the back of Barney’s neck, pulling him into a kiss as they began to move — slow at first, deep rolls of their hips, each thrust dragging a muffled sound from Barney’s throat. There was no hurry, no race to the finish — just the steady, aching rhythm of bodies moving together, skin sliding against sweat-slick skin.
Barney’s fingers traced Butch’s jaw, his lips brushing Butch’s ear as he whispered, "I’ve got you."
Butch’s breath hitched. He wrapped an arm around Barney’s waist, holding him close as their pace quickened, their movements growing more urgent but never rough. Barney’s moans grew louder, his body tightening around Butch as he neared the edge.
"Look at me," Butch murmured, his voice thick.
Barney obeyed, his gaze locking onto Butch’s as his orgasm tore through him, his body shuddering, his fusillade of sperm spilling between them. The sight was enough to push Butch over, his hips stuttering as he came with a low groan, his forehead pressed to Barney’s shoulder.
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, breaths slowing in unison. Barney nuzzled into Butch’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there. "Still think you’re ruined?"
Butch chuckled, running a hand down Barney’s spine. "Nah. Just getting started."
Barney laughed against his skin, warm and bright, and Butch knew — this wasn’t just sex. This was something far more dangerous.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
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