The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the bathroom door as Butch adjusted the temperature. Barney leaned against the sink, watching him with lazy amusement, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the damp tile.
"You gonna join me or just stare?" Butch asked, stepping under the spray.
Barney smirked, pushing off the counter. "I thought you'd never ask." He crowded Butch against the wall, the water sluicing between them as he pressed a kiss to the nape of Butch’s neck. His hands slid down Butch’s sides, thumbs brushing the jut of his hipbones.
Butch turned, catching Barney’s mouth with his own, the kiss slow and deep. The heat of the water, the press of skin — it was almost too much, yet not enough. Barney’s fingers tangled in Butch’s chest hair, tugging lightly, drawing a growl from him.
"You're such a tease," Butch muttered, nipping at Barney’s lower lip.
Barney laughed, the sound reverberating against Butch’s collarbone. "You love it."
Butch didn’t deny it. He grabbed the soap, working up a lather between his palms before sliding them over Barney’s shoulders, down his back. The suds clung to the planes of muscle, the scars — faint silvery lines from deployments Barney never talked about. Butch traced one with his thumb, a silent question.
Barney stilled, his breath hitching. "IED," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the water. "I got lucky."
Butch didn’t press. He just smoothed his hands over Barney’s skin, washing away the sweat, the remnants of their earlier intensity. Barney leaned into the touch, his forehead resting against Butch’s shoulder.
After, they toweled off in companionable silence, the bathroom mirror fogged with steam. Barney caught Butch’s wrist as he reached for his toothbrush. "Hey."
Butch raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
Barney hesitated, his grip tightening. "You good?"
It wasn’t just about the shower, or the sex. Butch knew what he was really asking. He turned his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Yeah. You?"
Barney exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah."
They dressed in comfortable silence — sweatpants, old T-shirts — the kind of clothes meant for lounging, not impressing. Barney’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text. He ignored it, flopping onto the bed with a groan.
Butch eyed him. "You gonna check that?"
"Nope." Barney stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. "The world can wait."
Butch chuckled, joining him on the bed. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, springs creaking faintly. Outside, the city hummed — cars, distant sirens, the occasional shout—but here, in the dim light of the bedroom, it felt far away.
Barney rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. "So," he said, tracing a finger along Butch’s forearm. "What now?"
Butch caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Whatever we want."
Barney’s grin was slow, wicked. "Dangerous words."
Butch tugged him closer, their legs tangling under the sheets. "You’re dangerous."
Barney laughed, warm and bright, and Butch thought — this. This was what he’d been missing. Not just the sex, the roughhousing, but the quiet moments in between. The way Barney’s laughter filled the room, the way his body fit against Butch’s like they were made for each other.
Barney’s phone buzzed again, insistent this time. He sighed, reaching for it with a grumble. "Fine, fine." His brow furrowed as he read the message. "Shit."
Butch sat up. "Problem?"
Barney shook his head, tossing the phone aside. "Just my boss. They need me to cover a shift tomorrow." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. "It's supposed to be my day off."
Butch studied him. "Tell them no."
Barney blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Butch shrugged. "Tell them you’re busy."
Barney stared at him, then laughed — sharp, surprised. "You’re a bad influence."
Butch grinned. "You love it."
Barney’s expression softened. "Yeah," he admitted, leaning in to kiss him. "I do."
The kiss lingered, sweet and slow, until Barney pulled back with a smirk. "So. What should we do with our day off?"
Butch rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he studied Barney’s face — the way sunlight caught the copper stubble along his jaw, the faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he grinned. "Ever been to the harbor?" he asked, tracing a calloused thumb over Barney’s bottom lip.
Barney nipped at his fingertip. "Not with you."
The implication hung between them, loaded. Butch smirked. "Pack a bag, then. We’re going."
Barney arched an eyebrow. "Is that a euphemism?"
"Nope." Butch slid out of bed, tossing a crumpled shirt at Barney’s chest. "I’ve got a buddy who docks his fishing boat near the piers. Says I can borrow it whenever." He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Unless you get seasick."
Barney scoffed, kicking off the sheets. "Marine, remember?" He stretched, the muscles in his back flexing as he reached for his jeans. "But if I fall overboard, you’re jumping in after me."
Butch snorted, rummaging through his dresser for swim trunks. "Deal."
An hour later, they stood on the weathered dock, the salt-heavy wind tugging at their clothes. Barney shaded his eyes against the glare off the water, squinting at the modest fishing boat bobbing beside them. "Is this your buddy’s ‘yacht’?"
Butch tossed a cooler onto the deck with a thud. "Told you he wasn’t fancy." He held out a hand to steady Barney as he stepped aboard, the boat rocking under their combined weight.
Barney gripped the railing, knuckles whitening for a second before he relaxed into the rhythm of the waves. "So what’s the plan? Catch dinner or just float around looking pretty?"
Butch cranked the engine, the rumble vibrating through the deck. "Both." He nudged the throttle forward, guiding them away from the dock with practiced ease. "There’s a cove about twenty minutes out. Quiet. No tourists."
Barney leaned against the console, close enough that his thigh pressed against Butch’s. "You take a lot of guys out here?"
Butch kept his eyes on the horizon, but his grip tightened on the wheel. "Nope. Only you."
The admission hung between them, raw and unvarnished. Barney didn’t smirk, didn’t tease — just slid his hand over Butch’s where it rested on the throttle, their fingers tangling.
The cove was everything Butch promised — crystal water, a crescent of empty sand, and the kind of silence that felt like a secret. Barney kicked off his shoes the second they anchored, peeling his shirt over his head with a groan. "Fuck, it’s hot."
Butch pretended not to stare at the way Barney’s shoulders gleamed with sweat. "Jump in, then."
Barney shot him a look. "Only if you do."
Challenge accepted. Butch yanked his own shirt off, stepping to the edge of the deck. "Last one in buys dinner." He didn’t wait for a response — just dove, the cold shock of water stealing his breath as he surfaced.
Barney’s laughter echoed off the cliffs as he cannonballed in beside him, the splash dousing Butch’s face. They treaded water for a moment, grinning at each other like idiots, before Barney lunged, wrapping his legs around Butch’s waist and sending them both under.
They came up sputtering, Butch spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. "Asshole."
Barney hooked an arm around his neck, dragging him close. "You love it."
And fuck, he did.
The sun dipped lower, painting the water gold as they floated on their backs, shoulders brushing. Barney’s voice was quiet when he spoke. "Why’d you bring me here?"
Butch let the current carry them, his fingers finding Barney’s under the surface. "Because," he said simply, "it’s mine. And I wanted you to have it."
Barney turned his head, his gaze softer than Butch had ever seen it. No jokes, no deflections. Just them, and the sea, and the unspoken truth swelling between them like the tide.
Then Barney grinned, sudden and bright, and splashed him. "Race you back to the boat."
Butch cursed, kicking after him, but his chest felt full in a way that had nothing to do with the salt air or the exercise.
He was in love.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
The cooler tipped over with a clatter as Barney pinned Butch against the boat’s console, his mouth hot and insistent. The taste of salt lingered between them — Barney’s lips chapped from the sun, Butch’s fingers still damp from the water as they fumbled with the drawstring of Barney’s trunks.
"Someone might see," Butch growled, even as he arched into Barney’s touch, his hips canting forward.
Barney nipped at his jawline, breath hitching as Butch’s calloused palm slid beneath his waistband. "Let ‘em." He rocked into Butch’s grip with a groan, the boat swaying beneath their tangled feet.
Sunlight glinted off the water, casting fractured reflections across Barney’s shoulders as Butch pushed the trunks down, his thumb swiping over the head of Barney’s cock. Barney shuddered, his forehead dropping to Butch’s collarbone. "Jesus —"
Butch smirked, tightening his grip. "I thought Marines had stamina."
Barney retaliated by sinking to his knees, his mouth closing over Butch’s length before he could react. The sudden heat drew a ragged curse from Butch, his fingers knotting in Barney’s damp hair as the boat rocked with the waves. Distantly, he registered the sound of an engine somewhere across the cove — too far to matter, too close for comfort — but Barney’s tongue dragged a moan from him anyway, relentless.
He hauled Barney up by the armpits, their mouths crashing together, salty and desperate. The console dug into Butch’s back as Barney rutted against him, their cocks sliding together in the humid space between their bodies. Barney’s laugh was breathless, unsteady. "Gonna make you cum just like this."
Butch countered by spinning them, pinning Barney against the railing. The wood creaked under their combined weight, sea spray misting their heated skin as Butch dropped to his knees. Barney’s thighs trembled when Butch took him deep, his grip white-knuckled on the rail.
A distant whistle cut through the air — another boat rounding the cove’s edge. Barney tensed, hips stuttering. "Fuck — fuck —"
Butch didn’t stop. He hollowed his cheeks, swallowing around Barney’s cock as the sound of the approaching engine grew louder. Barney came with a stifled shout, his release bitter on Butch’s tongue as he stroked him through it.
Panting, Barney tugged Butch upright, his hand sliding into Butch’s trunks with unsteady urgency. "My turn," he murmured, thumbing the slit of Butch’s cock as the other boat’s wake made their vessel sway.
Butch thrust into Barney’s fist, his teeth gritted. "They’ll see —"
Barney’s grin was wicked. "Told you. Let ‘em."
The orgasm ripped through Butch like a riptide, his release streaking Barney’s stomach as the strangers’ boat passed — close enough to wave, far enough to pretend they hadn’t noticed.
Later, sprawled on the deck with the sun drying their skin, Barney traced idle circles on Butch’s chest. "So," he mused, "we’re those guys now."
Butch snorted. "What guys?"
"The ones who fuck on boats." Barney’s smirk softened as he pressed a kiss to Butch’s sternum. "I like it."
Butch carded a hand through Barney’s hair, the auburn strands bleached gold at the tips by the sun. He didn’t say it — not yet — but the truth sat heavy in his chest, buoyant as the boat beneath them.
Mine.
The engine sputtered to life as Butch guided them back toward open water, the sun dipping low enough to paint the waves in fiery streaks. Barney lounged against the bow, his skin still glistening from their swim — and other activities. The breeze carried his laughter back to Butch, who found himself grinning like some lovestruck idiot just at the sound of it.
Barney turned, catching him staring. "What?" he called over the engine’s rumble.
Butch throttled down, letting the boat drift as he crossed the deck. "Nothing." He crowded Barney against the railing, bracketing him with his arms. "Just thinking."
"About?" Barney arched into him, his fingers hooking in the waistband of Butch’s trunks.
"How loud you yell when you’re trying not to." Butch nipped at his earlobe, grinning when Barney shivered.
Barney shoved him halfheartedly. "Asshole." But his hands lingered on Butch’s hips, thumbs tracing the v of muscle there. The fading light caught the flecks of gold in his eyes, the freckles across his nose. Butch had the sudden, ridiculous urge to count them.
The radio crackled to life — a weather alert about incoming fog. Barney groaned, dropping his forehead to Butch’s shoulder. "Guess that’s our cue."
They worked in tandem to secure the boat, their movements practiced despite never having done this together before. Barney coiled the ropes with military precision while Butch checked the bilge pump, their silence comfortable. It wasn’t until they were back on the dock, the first tendrils of mist creeping over the water, that Barney hesitated.
"You okay?" Butch nudged his shoulder.
Barney rubbed his jaw, uncharacteristically quiet. "I should check on my mom tomorrow. They called while we were out — she had a bad night."
Butch didn’t flinch. "We’ll go together."
Barney’s head snapped up. "You don’t have to —"
"I know." Butch grabbed their gear, slinging the cooler over one shoulder. "I want to."
Something fragile flickered across Barney’s face before he masked it with a smirk. "She’ll probably hit on you. Dementia makes her handsy."
Butch snorted, leading the way to the truck. "I can handle it."
The drive back was quiet, Barney’s fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his thigh. At a red light, Butch reached over, covering Barney’s hand with his own. Barney stilled, then flipped his palm up to intertwine their fingers.
By the time they reached Butch’s apartment, the fog had swallowed the city whole. Barney stood at the window, watching the streetlights bleed into halos. Butch came up behind him, pressing a kiss to the knob of his spine. "You hungry?"
Barney leaned back into him. "Starving." He turned abruptly, catching Butch’s face in his hands. His gaze was startlingly clear. "Thank you. For today."
Butch’s throat tightened. He covered Barney’s hands with his own. "Anytime."
Barney kissed him then — slow, sweet, nothing like their earlier urgency. When he pulled back, his smile was small but real. "Now feed me, old man, or I’ll start gnawing on your biceps."
Butch laughed, shoving him toward the kitchen. "You’re a menace."
"And you love it." Barney tossed the words over his shoulder like a challenge.
Butch watched him rummage through the fridge, the dim light catching the curve of his shoulders. The truth sat heavy in his chest, undeniable as the fog outside.
Yeah. He really fucking did.
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