Fanfiction

INT. DAVID & MICHAEL’S HOMES (ZOOM) - DAY

Open on MICHAEL and DAVID in their zoom boxes looking like they’ve been waiting a while.

DAVID
I don’t think there’s anything new to be done, is there.

MICHAEL
I do think the concept may have played itself out. The world’s moved past it.

DAVID
Yeah.

MICHAEL
Can’t hurt to see what he says I suppose.

DAVID
Can’t hurt, no. Came to him in a dream, he said!

MICHAEL
Well, we mustn’t argue with divine inspiration.

SIMON signs on.

SIMON
Hi, yes, all good?

DAVID & MICHAEL
(in unison)
Hullo, Simon!

SIMON
(clearly nervous)
Right, yes, so. I think I should just jump straight into it.

Michael makes a go ahead gesture.

SIMON
I know you’ve both said you’re not interested in filming another series-

MICHAEL
We’re not.

DAVID
(shaking head)
Not particularly.

SIMON
(nervous laugh)
Right. Well, um, here’s what I’ve been thinking, okay. Well so you know, you know, this is a show about the two of you, yes, and your relationship…

MICHAEL
We are aware of that, yes.

DAVID
Yes.

SIMON
Yes, of course. And, some people are saying, well, you know, everyone loves a good bromance-

Both David and Michael wince slightly.

SIMON
You know, buddy comedy, two guys who love each other loads and are friends. But what people are saying, in the industry, is that it’s a new era, so to speak, of television, in which, well, people, fans, are open, open, that is to say excited, about, about, that is, the friendship between two men, expanding, as it were, into something more.

Michael’s eyebrows raise and his mouth opens slightly, just as David’s brow furrows and his lips turn down.

SIMON
So the idea, the idea here, is to take the, the chemistry, that you two have, in the show, and sort of, consummate it. Make it real.

MICHAEL
Like fanfiction come to life.

SIMON
Ex- exactly! Really leaning into what the fans have been y’know clamoring for for ages really.

MICHAEL
Well, Simon, I hate to admit it but I think it’s a wonderful idea.

DAVID
You wot?

MICHAEL
Don’t you?

DAVID
(mouth forming different words, landing on)
…When… when you say consummated… you mean?

SIMON
Well, no full nudity, obviously, it is the BBC, but, y’know, they’ve greenlit as far as we want to take it… they’ve done focus groups, actually, and found that the more “adult” we push it, the better, eh, viewership-wise.

Michael looks increasingly delighted, David increasingly scandalized.

SIMON
I mean to the degree you’re comfortable with of course.

Expectant pause.

MICHAEL
(spreading hands)
I’m comfortable with wherever the story needs to go.

David makes a few incoherent sounds.

MICHAEL
David?

DAVID
(still incoherent)
I- I- I’m not… I’m a little bit… ah…

Michael raises his eyebrows at him. Simon begins to look worried.

SIMON
I’ll just… seems like you all… I’ll just, shall I?... yes.

The screens all disappear. Michael’s and David’s flash back on.

MICHAEL
(frowning)
Did he just put us in a fucking breakout room?

David runs his hands through his hair, makes a muppet face.

MICHAEL
(frowning more)
You don’t want to do it.

DAVID
(sarcastic, slightly shrill)
Whatever gave you that impression??

MICHAEL
We’ve literally already played romantic leads! The seal is broken!

DAVID
W- N- Not as ourselves!

MICHAEL
(pouting)
I might take this a little bit personally, you know.

DAVID
What? No, no, it’s not that -

Michael makes an isn’t it? face.

DAVID
(flustered)
It’s not that I - it’s not - I just don’t think it makes sense for the characters!

MICHAEL
It makes perfect sense for the characters!

DAVID
(incredulous blinking beat)
…How?!?

MICHAEL
(also incredulous)
It’s the whole heart of the show, the unresolvable sexual tension between Michael and David. They love each other so much but they don’t quite know what to do with it. And they’re always fighting.

DAVID
Would… would we call that sexual tension??

MICHAEL
Oh, not like pining but… they admire each other tremendously. I mean there’s an intimacy there. And a playfulness. And an attraction! Flirtatiousness even. You know.

DAVID
(considers, mouth open; concedes)
Sure, ok, but… the whole point is that it’s different from romantic love. Georgia and Anna are there as narrative foils, where we have this romantic sexual marriagey love, and then there’s what we have. It’s a - it’s a different thing, it has to be!

MICHAEL
The fans want to see them get together!

DAVID
(holding up a finger, shaking it)
Ah no, the fans think they want to see them get together, but once they do, the story will be over! There’s no more story. There’s a terror in getting what you want.

MICHAEL
(holding up a finger of his own)
Domestic fluff.

DAVID
Whuzza?

MICHAEL
It’s a genre of fanfiction.

David still looks perplexed.

MICHAEL
(bit impatiently)
Wherein, the characters have already gotten together, and the story follows them doing little coupley things like decorating their houses… buying curtains… and such.

DAVID
So you think this series of Staged should be us buying curtains together.

MICHAEL
It’s just an example! Fans want all kinds of things that you never see on TV.

DAVID
Like us fucking.

Michael makes a well? expression.

DAVID
Wha, what, why are you so in favor of this?

MICHAEL
Because it’ll make people horny! And sometimes I think that’s the most honest thing art can do.

David does a little hah of laughter.

MICHAEL
And it’ll be fun.

David keeps smiling, spinning out, looking away somewhere, shaking his head, mouth open incredulously.

MICHAEL
What are you so afraid of?

DAVID
(eyes snapping back to him)
I’m not afraid.

MICHAEL
Well then, what’s the problem?

David runs his tongue along the inside of his lip, considering.

DAVID
I just… I just think it would ruin everything.

MICHAEL
(bit softer)
What would it ruin?

DAVID
Their friendship? In the show.

MICHAEL
(still soft)
I think it would take a lot, to ruin their friendship.

Their screens cut suddenly away, then pop back into the zoom room with Simon, both looking a bit disoriented.

SIMON
Sorry, I thought it would give a warning, and we didn’t say how much time, I figured, I wasn’t sure…

He takes in their faces.

SIMON
Well?

David and Michael look intently at their respective cameras.

DAVID
(heaves a big sigh)
Alright, Simon, what’ve you got for us?

SIMON
(bright)
So you’ll do it?

MICHAEL
(smiling)
Absolutely.

DAVID
(simultaneously)
We’re willing to give it a try.

MICHAEL
Lay it on us!

SIMON
Ah, okay, yes, that’s the other thing. I, er, I need you to write it.

Michael tilts his head, eyes twinkling.

MICHAEL
Write what?

SIMON
The scene. Where you, y’know…

He makes a face.

MICHAEL
The sex scene?

DAVID
Write, why can’t you write it?

SIMON
I keep trying, it won’t come.

They both tilt their heads and blink.

SIMON
Won’t come out, won’t come out. I just think it’ll be better, more organic, if you write it. Come up with some ideas at least.

David narrows his eyes, an is that a good idea look on his face. Michael is more inscrutable, eyes still twinkly.

MICHAEL
Fine.

DAVID
Fine??

MICHAEL
Fine.

DAVID
Fine!

Simon beams.

- - - - -

INT. TENNANT FAMILY LIVING ROOM - DAY

Shot of the Tennants’ living room from a still camera a la season 1. GEORGIA is sitting on the couch reading a book with her legs tucked up.

David walks through the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, mouth turned down in an exaggerated pout, leans against the wall. Georgia glances up.

GEORGIA
That bad, huh?

David pushes his hands deeper in his pockets, exaggerates the frown more, presses against the wall.

DAVID
(bit mumbled)
They want us to do a sex scene.

Georgia nods at her book, doesn’t say anything.

DAVID
Me and Michael. To do a sex scene.
(Waiting for a reaction)
Together.

GEORGIA
(belatedly)
Oh?

DAVID
Georgia!!

She looks up at him nonplussed.

DAVID
You knew??

GEORGIA
(Half- or maybe quarter-assed apologetic)
Lucy had Simon run it by us.

David is slowly bending double, muscles tense, face bewildered. Frowns, considering.

DAVID
And you said?

GEORGIA
I think it’s a sweet idea. For the characters.

David continues to look bewildered.

DAVID
Why??

Georgia sighs, twists her lips.

GEORGIA
They love each other so much.

David stares.

DAVID
But… but David’s married!

He looks forlorn. Georgia makes some small shift in posture which David takes as an invitation to sit next to her on the couch, pressing close, pouty-faced. Georgia wraps an arm around him.

GEORGIA
You seem upset.

DAVID
I’m not upset!
(considers)
Just a little… a little… unsettled.

GEORGIA
By… you and Michael doing a sex scene? Or fictional David and fictional Michael having sex?

David’s mouth bobs.

DAVID
Ah - ah… both, I suppose.

GEORGIA
(kindly)
And why do you think that is?

David’s eyebrows are very high as he considers this, rocking back and forth a bit, Georgia rubbing his arm gently.

He lets out a breath, looks at her.

DAVID
I just… if fictional David, and fictional Michael, had sex. W-wouldn’t… how would fictional Georgia feel about that?

GEORGIA
Oh, I think that entirely depends on the situation.

David waits. Georgia’s arm stills.

GEORGIA
I wouldn’t want her to be cheated on.

DAVID
Of course.

GEORGIA
(bit vulnerable)
I wouldn’t want David to leave her.

DAVID
(voice cracking)
For Michael??

Georgia shrugs.

DAVID
I- I…
(small laugh; leans against her)
He wouldn’t last a day without Georgia.

Georgia starts petting his arm again.

GEORGIA
Well, then… I think if there was anything else that had to happen… we would all… figure it out.

DAVID
(frowning)
That’s very open-minded of Georgia.

Georgia shrugs. David is biting his lips.

GEORGIA
How would fictional David feel, if Georgia and Anna had sex?

David jolts to look at her.

GEORGIA
Oh no, don’t worry, just a thought experiment.

David settles his head back on her shoulder, thinking hard.

DAVID
Does he get to watch?

GEORGIA
Oh, I think we’d want our alone time.

DAVID
(frowns)
Would… Georgia leave him?

GEORGIA
No.
(smiles)
He wouldn’t last a day.

David thinks hard.

DAVID
Well… I suppose he’d feel a bit jealous to be honest.
(beat)
Bit… titillated?
(beat)
He and Michael might-
(frowns)
How would Georgia feel?

GEORGIA
I think it all depends.
(considers)
Titillated.
(considers more)
I’m sure a bit confused.
(squeezing him)
If me and Anna, the real versions, were filming a sex scene, we’d probably also feel a bit confused.

DAVID
(grimacing)
Yeeaahh…
(casually)
Do you think Michael’s confused?

GEORGIA
Oh, I think that’s a Michael question.

David makes a face.

GEORGIA
Open communication will be big here, I think.

DAVID
Ah, well, we’re great at that.

Georgia doesn’t dignify that with a response.

- - - - -

INT. DAVID & MICHAEL’S HOMES (ZOOM) - DAY

DAVID
(stretches)
Welllll. Should we get cracking, I suppose?

MICHAEL
I thought you’d never ask.

David tilts his head, smiles cheesily. Michael does the same.

MICHAEL
All right David?

DAVID
Oh, fine, fine. Just getting ready to whip my willy out on national TV with my good friend Michael Sheen.

MICHAEL
We’ve done weirder before.

DAVID
Have we?

MICHAEL
And may I remind you that your willy will remain unwhipped due to a magical thing called acting.

DAVID
I’ve heard of it, yes.

MICHAEL
We’ve both done sex scenes before.

DAVID
We have. We are both professionals.

MICHAEL
Super professionals.

DAVID
Indeed.

They blink at each other.

DAVID
Shall we… shall we try a bit of improv?

MICHAEL
Improv, yes.

DAVID
(hands through hair)
Fine. Okay. Fine. Ahh. Writing!

MICHAEL
Get into character. The BBC show Staged.

They both shake themselves out.

DAVID
(grinning)
I’m David Tennant, Scottish national treasure and slightly whiny nincompoop.

MICHAEL
I’m Michael Sheen, most beloved actor in all of Britain, suave and debonair.

DAVID
And a bit shouty.

MICHAEL
And a bit shouty.

They get adjusted in their seats.

DAVID
(smiles)
Hello Michael, do you want to have sex?

MICHAEL
Thought you’d never ask.

DAVID
There, think we’ve got it in one!

MICHAEL
I can see the Emmy on my mantelpiece right now.

They both grin.

DAVID
Alright, you got any ideas?

MICHAEL
(tilting his head)
I’m sure… I could rustle up something.
(claps hands)
Ah yes, I was thinking it could happen on the set of Good Omens.

David’s eyes narrow.

MICHAEL
Think about it! They’ve been spending long hours together… playing two characters who are about to kiss for the first time in 6000 years… you’re in very tight trousers, lots of downtime… a steamy moment in the trailer….

David makes an incredulous noise.

MICHAEL
What?

DAVID
(a few more incredulous noises, settles on)
We can’t film the BBC show Staged on the set of Good Omens!

MICHAEL
Why not?

DAVID
I, I don’t think Amazon would like it!

MICHAEL
Maybe they’d sponsor it!

David narrows his eyes, shakes his head. Michael sighs.

DAVID
I think there’s only one way to do it, really.

MICHAEL
What’s that?

DAVID
I think it’ll have to be virtual.

MICHAEL
Oh?

DAVID
We want to be responsible, with Covid still. And the whole charm of the show is that we’re in these boxes…

MICHAEL
Hmmm.

DAVID
And then, y’know, we wouldn’t actually have to touch each other.

MICHAEL
Oh, heaven forbid.

DAVID
Yes, well. I think it would make things simpler.

Michael looks up at the corner of his screen, considering.

DAVID
Two old men sat at their desks having a wank isn’t exactly compelling television, though, is it.

MICHAEL
Are we old?

DAVID
We could be in our football-playing prime, that’s not the point.

MICHAEL
(considering)
I think we’d have to talk to each other.

DAVID
(eyebrow)
Oh?

MICHAEL
Whisper sweet nothings.

DAVID
About what?

MICHAEL
Well, you know… the whole conceit of virtual…
(gesturing with his hand)
…mutual, lovemaking is that you’re both pretending something is happening that is not actually happening. While you’re having your wank. And they’d have to tell each other.

DAVID
(wrinkling his nose)
What d’you think they’d say?

MICHAEL
(shakes head)
Oh come on, don’t make me do all the work!

David makes a “cheeky” face, Michael makes it back.

MICHAEL
No really, what would David sexually fantasize about Michael?

David wrinkles his nose again.

MICHAEL
Stop that!

DAVID
Stop what?

MICHAEL
You keep wrinkling your nose.

DAVID
No I don’t!

MICHAEL
You’re going to make love to me on television.

David wrinkles his nose; Michael points.

MICHAEL
There, see!

DAVID
(rolling his eyes)
Aww-

Michael makes a told you so, joking-not-joking offended expression.

DAVID
Oh, come on-

MICHAEL
I’m sorry that I’m not in my prime-

DAVID
Oh, shut up! You’re not not in your prime, it’s obviously not that.

MICHAEL
Then?

David doesn’t answer, puts his tongue in his cheek.

MICHAEL
What would David sexually fantasize about Michael?

David shakes his head slowly, eyes gleaming.

DAVID
Oh, all right.

He sighs, works his jaw, links his fingers, stretches his arms, while Michael settles back in his seat, smiling.

DAVID
Well, Michael is a very dominating personality. And David’s a bit of a wet noodle. So perhaps…

He closes his eyes, crosses his arms, leans back in his chair.

DAVID
…Perhaps…
(squinches eyes)
…he would want to be sexually dominated by Michael?

MICHAEL
(looking somewhat intently at the screen)
How so.

DAVID
Ahhhh, I dunno… perhaps if he were imagining something… he would want to be…
(just throwing this out there voice)
…grabbed roughly by the neck? Spun round, pushed up against the wall?

MICHAEL
(inscrutable)
Ah.

David cracks open his eyes, a bit sheepish.

DAVID
What would… would Michael like that?

MICHAEL
Mmm.
(scratches head)
Probably.

David gives him an “and well?” look. Michael strokes his beard.

MICHAEL
Michael might, might, say something about…

He rolls his eyes, closes them.

MICHAEL
Well, he’s pressed David against the wall, probably next he’d bite that stupid long neck…

David blanches very slightly.

MICHAEL
… Suck on it… make a mark… press his…
(makes a face)
… his cock….

DAVID
(pointing)
Ah ah, see, you’re doing it too!

MICHAEL
(opens his eyes)
Well, well, we’re even now!

DAVID
(grinning uncomfortably)
I’m not sure this is going to work.

MICHAEL
(determined)
No, no, come on!

He shakes out his hand, waggles it vaguely off camera steadily.

MICHAEL
They’re wanking. They’re best friends, creative collaborators, and for some as yet undetermined reason they are engaged in the mutual art of self-pleasure.

DAVID
(pronouncing it oh-NAN-ism)
Onanism.

MICHAEL
Oh-NAN… you mean OH-nuh-nism.

DAVID
Is it really? Oh-nuh… oh-nonn….

MICHAEL
(smiling)
Alright, alright. Take this seriously will you!

DAVID
(giggling)
I am! Deathly serious.

MICHAEL
Alright, they’re… onanizing.
(closes eyes)
And they’re thinking about fucking each other.

DAVID
Uh-huh.

MICHAEL
Which they’ve never quite let themselves think about before.

DAVID
Yeah…
(scratches his lip)
But they can now.

MICHAEL
Under this as-yet-undetermined circumstance.

Silence, Michael with his eyes closed, slumped back, vaguely wiggling his hand, David watching.

DAVID
(prompting)
So you’d just about pressed your cock….

They both start giggling again.

MICHAEL
We… are… professionals!

DAVID
Seriously, we’re better than this.

MICHAEL
We are.

He takes a few long breaths, closes his eyes, waggles his hand, considers. David stares at him.

MICHAEL
Perhaps we do a role reversal. So we’d expect Michael to sexually dominate wet noodle David but what if, maybe, wet noodle David sort of found his power and exacted his revenge.

DAVID
(picking up the thread)
Wet noodle David said, no thank you, Michael, I’m bending you over-

MICHAEL
(straight faced)
Mmmm, yes.

DAVID
(blinks)
Eh… bending you over and having my way with you!

MICHAEL
Your tall lanky handsome way.

David blinks again.

DAVID
Is that what Michael would want?

Michael opens his eyes.

MICHAEL
I’m not sure Michael knows what he wants.

David swallows.

DAVID
Does David?

Michael gives him a “you tell me” look.

DAVID
David… David is game for anything I think.
(runs hand through hair)
Ah, I think David’s a bit confused.

MICHAEL
Is David anxious?

DAVID
David’s always anxious.

MICHAEL
(knowing smile)
He’s a bit turned on though.

DAVID
(smiling back, wincing, blushing)
Ahh… I don’t know about that.

MICHAEL
Not good television if they’re not turned on.

DAVID
Yeeeah, I…

He giggles nervously at the screen. Michael giggles nervously back.

David looks away, running his hand through his hair.

DAVID
Okay, okay, what I don’t understand still is, how do they even get here? I mean, how do they get here?

MICHAEL
How existential do you mean?

DAVID
(trying not to smile)
I mean purely logistically, in the narrative arc of, of the episode let’s say, why are they touching each other? I mean themselves.

Michael puts on a thinking face.

DAVID
It has to make sense!

MICHAEL
Well… well let’s try thinking like Simon for a second.

David slightly wrinkles his nose; Michael makes a slight “yes I know” face.

MICHAEL
Simon…
(thinking)
Simon is always taking these, metafictional turns….

DAVID
Yeah…?

MICHAEL
So maybe…
(wide-eyed ah I’ve got it face)
Maybe!
(face that looks perhaps a tiny bit sheepish)
They’ve been tasked with writing a sex scene. Between themselves.

David narrows his eyes.

MICHAEL
And that’s when… this all happens.

DAVID
(slowly)
So you’re saying. David and Michael are writing a scene about their fictional counterparts having a wank…

MICHAEL
(head nod)
Yes.

DAVID
And in the process of doing so…

MICHAEL
Mm-hmm.

DAVID
They get so turned on that they pull out their cocks, and start having a wank?

MICHAEL
Well, clearly it’s plausible.

David’s eyes bug out of his head.

Michael quickly raises his hands in view, widens his eyes innocently.

MICHAEL
Oh, come on!

DAVID
(intent head nod)
Show me!

MICHAEL
Show you what?

DAVID
(intent head nod)
Your lap!

MICHAEL
To see if my
(hint of laughter)
cock’s pulled out??

David does a determined head nod.

MICHAEL
I’m not showing you my lap!

David gives him a stern schoolteacher look.

MICHAEL
Show me yours!

DAVID
No!

They look and breathe at each other. David covers his face.

DAVID
This is too weird.

MICHAEL
You’re making it weird!

DAVID
I’m making it weird??

MICHAEL
Yes, actually, you are!

David makes an “are we even on the same planet” face, then looks off to the side.

DAVID
We gotta tell Simon we’re calling it in.

MICHAEL
David…

DAVID
(turns to look at him; bit pleading)
Michael.

They look at each other, breathe.

MICHAEL
(sighs, looks down)
Fine, fine.
(looks up, fake half twinkly smile)
We gave it a good shot.

DAVID
Yeah.

They look at each other. David winces.

DAVID
I’m sorry…

He points a thumb over his shoulder and looks away.

DAVID
I’ve gotta…
(looks back)
I’ve sort of got to do some… things.

MICHAEL
Oh yes, me as well. Busy day.

DAVID
Indeed.

They eye each other warily. Michael smiles again, twinkly, still a bit faked. David smiles back.

DAVID
Bye Michael!

MICHAEL
Bye David!

Their smiles both relax into realer smiles. David does a tiny nod of his head and hangs up an instant before Michael.

- - - - -

INT. DAVID & MICHAEL’S HOMES (ZOOM) - NIGHT

It’s dark, grainy. Zoom/facetime call ringing, David looking anxious, hoodie pulled tight around his head.

Michael’s square clicks on, bleary-eyed.

MICHAEL
David! You all right?

DAVID
I haven’t woke you up, have I?

MICHAEL
It’s two in the morning!

DAVID
I don’t want to keep you if you were sleeping.

MICHAEL
No no, I-

He sighs.

MICHAEL
I couldn’t sleep.

He looks at the screen, smiles.

They look at each other.

DAVID
I was just thinking… about our scene….

MICHAEL
The one we’re calling in?

DAVID
Did you tell Simon yet?

MICHAEL
No.

DAVID
Neither did I. I’m… I’m not… I’m still open. To the possibility.

MICHAEL
Oh?

DAVID
I feel more creative at night.

MICHAEL
I didn’t know that about you.

DAVID
Yeeeah, more open to. Possibilities. Creatively. Just a, you know, nighttime thing.

MICHAEL
(nodding)
Sure…

DAVID
Juices… flowing…

David stares, seems almost lustful. Michael furrows his brow.

DAVID
Are you somewhere, er, private?

Michael looks around, nods.

DAVID
(nods)
Very good. Okay.

MICHAEL
Are you coming on to me?

DAVID
Hah!
(runs hand through hair)
You mean is David coming on to Michael.

MICHAEL
We’re not doing the show right now, are we?

DAVID
(spreading arms)
Improv!

MICHAEL
Alright…
(bites lips)
… Is David coming on to Michael?

DAVID
(arms still spread)
I don’t know!

Michael looks at him. David slowly lowers his arms.

DAVID
I… don’t think so? Just, just trying to figure out the scene.

Michael nods slowly.

DAVID
(swallows; meekly)
And if he was?

Michael keeps nodding slowly; sudden transition, to business.

MICHAEL
Well, we can think through the scene. Narrative beats. Where should we start?

DAVID
(lets out a breath)
I’ve been thinking, I think we have to start before the beginning. I think we need to make sure it’s all clear with Georgia and Anna, otherwise the audience will be angry with us.

MICHAEL
Well, what does Georgia think?

DAVID
She’s, uh, she’s fine with it. Yeah.

Michael makes an oh interesting face.

DAVID
As long as David doesn’t leave her.

MICHAEL
(slightly melancholy smile)
He wouldn’t last a day.

David smiles grimly.

DAVID
And Anna?

Michael hesitates.

MICHAEL
Anna and Michael… talked about it earlier tonight in fact.

DAVID
Oh yeah?

MICHAEL
Yep.
(swallows; lightly to cover seriousness)
She thinks Michael should be careful.

David blinks.

DAVID
Careful?

MICHAEL
She doesn’t want him to get his feelings hurt.

He looks seriously at the screen. David seems a bit discombobulated.

DAVID
Yeah we… we wouldn’t want that.

MICHAEL
I said… you’re always careful with me. At the end of the day.

DAVID
(stares, lets out a breath)
Oh, fuck.

They look at each other for a bit. David breaks first, combing through his hair.

DAVID
Right so… so they’re writing this scene together. Coming up with ideas. And, and, maybe Michael’s going to sexually dominate David, maybe David’s sexually dominating Michael, I suppose we ought to decide who wants what, and what they’re going to say…

He looks a bit helplessly at Michael.

MICHAEL
Hmm. I wonder if we’re overthinking it a bit.

David makes a say more face.

MICHAEL
Well… it’s fiction, isn’t it. It’s fantasy. They can do anything they want.

He takes a breath, slightly shifts in posture and tone.

MICHAEL
So David Tennant, of the BBC show Staged… if you could do anything you wanted with-
(hesitates the tiniest bit)
-me… anything at all, with no consequences… what would you do?

They watch each other a few breaths. David works his jaw, does a slightly deranged smile.

DAVID
I think I would grab you by the stupid beard and kiss you.

MICHAEL
(small pleased smile)
Would you?

DAVID
(still deranged)
Yeah. That’s what I’d do.

MICHAEL
Well…
(considers, still smiling)
I suppose I would kiss you back.

David’s derangement softens into anxiety.

DAVID
Yeah?

MICHAEL
Sure. With a bit of tongue.

They look at each other, lips fidgeting a bit.

DAVID
(low voice)
Bet you’re a good kisser.

MICHAEL
So I’ve been told.

DAVID
We’re both very talented.

MICHAEL
Both of us?

DAVID
I’d say so.

They look at each other. Michael closes his eyes, opens them.

MICHAEL
(chucking)
We’d probably get a bit competitive with it, wouldn’t we.

DAVID
(grinning back)
Oh, certainly. Do some surprising things with our tongues.

Michael sticks his tongue out, eyes wide, and David does it back, both laughing.

The laughing subsides. They squint at each other.

DAVID
(hand through his hair, looking away)
I suppose it would get weird at a certain point, wouldn’t it.

MICHAEL
(magnanimously)
They stop kissing.

David is breathing hard. Michael watches him.

MICHAEL
(gestures with his hand; softly)
I’d make you look at me.

David immediately turns back to the screen. They look at each other.

DAVID
(weird smile; in character)
I’m feeling a bit anxious.

MICHAEL
That’s alright. It’s going to be okay.

They’re smiling nervously at each other, small smiles.

MICHAEL
It’s fiction.

Their small smiles get unrestrained, their eyes get very goopy at each other.

DAVID
I’d… start kissing you again.

Michael shuts his eyes, lets out a breath.

MICHAEL
Still grabbing my stupid little beard?

David shuts his eyes too.

DAVID
No, I… I reckon my hands would wander a bit.

His shoulders move like maybe he’s rubbing his thighs.

MICHAEL
Wander?

DAVID
Pull you close.

A hand tentatively comes up to his chest, rubs a bit.

DAVID
There’s a lot of you to hold. I mean, in a good way!

Michael glances at David rubbing, closes his eyes again, rubs his own hand up and down his own chest, his arm.

MICHAEL
Well, same can’t be said of you. Bony fucker.

DAVID
Sorry ‘bout that.

MICHAEL
Not complaining. Like holding a bag of stale baguettes.

DAVID
(laughs)
They’ve been going to the gym. The baguettes.

MICHAEL
Oh, I know.

They breathe. Michael’s thumb worries at his own collar, fingers rub above.

MICHAEL
Think I’d take a bite.

DAVID
Of a baguette?

MICHAEL
Of your stupid long neck.

DAVID
Mmm, wouldn’t say no to that.

MICHAEL
Sensitive there?

DAVID
Bit, sure.

MICHAEL
Mmmm.

David does a sort of groan. Their eyes open. David makes a sort of did I do it right? look and Michael nods slightly. Their eyes close again. David makes another noise.

MICHAEL
Mark you up a bit shall I?

DAVID
Mmm, why not…

He grits his teeth a little, tosses his head, both breathing a bit hard.

DAVID
‘Magine we might just kiss a while.

MICHAEL
Mmmm.

They breathe, open their eyes.

MICHAEL
Anything else?

David makes an mmm face, looks away.

MICHAEL
(softer, lightly)
We hard just from kissing?

DAVID
(squints)
I think… I think David’s a bit, yeah.

MICHAEL
(hesitates slightly)
Can I touch you?

David looks taken aback up at the camera.

DAVID
Ha.
(considers; casually)
Why not.
(glances down)
Under or over my, er, trousers?

MICHAEL
Under okay?

DAVID
(small laugh)
Sure.

Michael raises his eyebrows, nods at the screen.

David raises his eyebrows back, a “for real?” look.

MICHAEL
Let’s just see what it would look like, shall we?

David shakes his head slightly, thin laugh, makes a small show of holding up his hand and moving it downwards.

MICHAEL
I think Michael would spit in his hand first.

David gives him a look, brings his hand back up, considers, spits, brings it back down, out of frame. Michael’s watching intently.

David makes another small show of adjusting in his seat like he’s putting his hand down his pants, watching the screen. Small shift in glance as if to check Michael’s watching, then closes his eyes, leans back, lets out an involuntary-sounding huff of air.

MICHAEL
(leaning forward)
Feels good does it?

DAVID
(strained)
How would… how would he touch me?

MICHAEL
Oh, I think he would tease you a bit. Barely touch you.

David possibly does this a few moments.

DAVID
Fuck…

Michael smiles innocently, leaning forward more, a bit flushed.

DAVID
Shit.

David opens his eyes, imploring. Michael shakes his head.

DAVID
Oh, you’re a bit of a bastard aren’t you.

MICHAEL
That’s the role.

David closes his eyes again.

DAVID
Well, I think David would grab you back.

MICHAEL
Without asking?

DAVID
David’s not got a lot of thoughts in his head.

He opens his eyes again, nods his head suggestively. Michael hesitates.

MICHAEL
Spit?

DAVID
(impatiently)
You spit on it.

He briefly holds his spare hand out to the camera.

Michael spits on his own hand, and also makes a show of seeming to get it down his pants. His shoulders hitch.

MICHAEL
(bit breathless)
Teasing too?

DAVID
Nooo, I think he’d just grab you.

Michael’s eyes shut, his face twists.

DAVID
Be a bit relentless.

Michael’s face twists more.

DAVID
I think you’d make a noise.

Michael groans immediately, opens his eyes.

MICHAEL
Like that?

David looks a bit overwhelmed.

DAVID
Yeah yeah, more of that.
(lips twitch)
Michael’s a bit overwhelmed.

Both close their eyes. Michael groans some more. David groans suddenly too.

MICHAEL
What happened there?

DAVID
You stopped teasing.
(grin)
Couldn’t help yourself.

MICHAEL
Seems- seems right.

They sit there with their eyes closed a while, seemingly masturbating what with their facial expressions and shifting in their seats, little movements in their shoulders, heavy breathing.

DAVID
You still there?

MICHAEL
I’m here.

David’s eyes open. He watches.

DAVID
Michael?

Michael looks. David grins a little.

DAVID
D’ya think we should be recording this?

Michael grins back hazily, shrugs.

DAVID
I can’t tell if this is compelling television.

Michael shuts his eyes, makes more of a show, moaning a little. David follows suit.

MICHAEL
Ohh. You’re very good at this.

DAVID
(grinning, breathy)
Bet it’s like I’m right in your head.

MICHAEL
(serious)
It is isn’t it. And I’m in yours.

They both pant.

MICHAEL
We’re always good at that aren’t we. Being on the same page. Knowing exactly what to give each other.

DAVID
(mumbling)
Fuck.

MICHAEL
It’d be just like that.

DAVID
If we actually fucked each other?

MICHAEL
Mmmm. How could it not be?

DAVID
(groans)
Fuck, Michael. Fuck. I want…

MICHAEL
Yes?

DAVID
Wanna touch you…

MICHAEL
You are touching me…

DAVID
(lets out a breath)
I mean like… really…

MICHAEL
This might be as real as it gets, love.

David seems to get more overwhelmed.

MICHAEL
You feel me, there with you?

DAVID
I…
(laughs)
... oh, fuck…

He appears to pull himself together a bit, but they both seem pretty far gone, flushed, speaking low, eyes closed.

DAVID
Bit of a trip, isn’t it?

MICHAEL
You know what’s even trippier? All the fans having a wank to this moment as we speak.

DAVID
God, that’s too much to think of.

MICHAEL
Do you feel it though? It’s like a web around us.

DAVID
I wanna fuck you…

MICHAEL
You are fucking me…

DAVID
Fuck…

MICHAEL
Yeah…

DAVID
Fuck, Michael…

He opens his eyes.

DAVID
How do we end this?

They stare at each other, breathing hard, shiny eyes.

MICHAEL
It’s TV. I bet they both come at the same time.

DAVID
Could you come?

MICHAEL
I think Michael’s waiting for David.

DAVID
Fuck. Fine….

He squinches his eyes, opens his mouth, pants harder, breathy laugh.

DAVID
Give me something please, I can’t….

MICHAEL
What do I say?

DAVID
I’m sure a good writer would have a good punchline.

MICHAEL
Okay, right. A callback maybe.
(takes a shaky breath; announcer voice)
David Tennant and Michael Sheen in - Staged unmasked!

DAVID
(grinning)
I’m not gonna come to me having first billing!

MICHAEL
(grinning)
Alright alright. I thought your Hamlet was better than mine.

DAVID
(laughing)
Fuck off!

MICHAEL
(laughing too)
I love you.

David’s face contorts, he slumps forward, curses, moans. Michael follows suit. They shake. It lasts a little while.

They’re both leaned forward so that their heads take up most of the frame, eyes closed, taking deep breaths.

They open their eyes at nearly the same moment, frightened at first, find each other, give each other a brief flash of the cheekiest fondest grin before the squares fade away.

- - - - -

INT. SOME KIND OF PRESS JUNKET - DAY

Michael and David are in uncomfortable folding chairs in front of a backdrop, getting interviewed about the show by a BRITISH INTERVIEWER.

INTERVIEWER
This last season of Staged. Took it in quite a different direction, didn’t you?

DAVID
Well, I’d say, really more of the same direction.

MICHAEL
Taking things to the logical conclusion as it were.

DAVID
Giving the fans what they wanted. And! And telling the story we wanted as well.

MICHAEL
It just made sense.

INTERVIEWER
One has to ask-

DAVID
(smiling a bit tightly)
Does one?

INTERVIEWER
You’re both in happy, committed, long-term relationships. With Georgia and Anna I mean.

They both nod.

MICHAEL
Very much so.

INTERVIEWER
Is there, or has there ever been, anything romantic between the two of you?

They both laugh, look at each other.

DAVID
Well…

MICHAEL
(hoity toity voice)
We’re very good actors, you see-

David has amended his understanding of his relationship with Michael dozens of times, sometimes several times in a single afternoon. Michael was someone he’d like to work with someday; Michael was a person in the industry whom he sort of knew in the way most actors from the UK sort of know one another; Michael was a costar; Michael was a friend; Michael was his best mate.

Michael was his best mate who sometimes, however ill-advisedly, flirted with David. Or, at least, David sometimes suspected him of flirting. It was true that Michael was relentlessly charming and even suggestive, naughty with nearly everyone he met; it was possible that David was reading too much into things—it would be typical of David, even, to overthink something that meant absolutely nothing. He made a habit of that.

So it was easy, when Michael said, in interviews, “David is very easy to fall in love with,” in a quiet, low voice, to tell himself that Michael was just, well, like that, and that it was the schedule, the exhaustion, the way he lost himself in whoever he was playing. That was what made him such a skillful actor, and such a delight to work with, and if he sometimes said things that made David’s stomach flip, that was an occupational hazard they’d both have to live with.

But then Michael would do something like upload a video describing David’s hips as “slinky.” He never thought that he would think of “slinky” as a sexy word, or even a complimentary one, but something about the way Michael said it, almost growled it, into the camera, made David jolt a little bit. And David would text and say No need to bring the general public into it Sheen and Michael would send nothing back but a smiley-face—not an emoji, but a typed-out smiley face, colon and parenthetical, as though it were Y2K. 

And then David would think, right, there’s charming Michael, and then there’s—whatever this is.

David was someone who never reciprocated, and also someone who never asked him to stop.

David was someone who agreed to make Staged partly because he was bored out of his skull and rapidly becoming manic and was worried his wife would boot him out of the house if he didn’t find something to do with himself soon, but mostly because he missed Michael terribly almost every second of every day, and they’d had no real reason to see one another since the Good Omens promotional cycle and pressers had wrapped, months ago. They were mates, yes, but so horribly busy, both of them, and then the world shut down and they’d been hundreds of terrible kilometres apart. 

David was someone who spent several late nights a week talking to Michael. Tonight, it’s relatively harmless: he’s watching Oliver Parker’s Othello, mostly because he finds it difficult to sleep in total silence, and the hotel room where he’a being put up is alive with unfamiliar white noise: the shifting of the building, the humming of the air vents, water in strange new pipes. It’s been an exhausting day: travel now is nightmarish and uncomfortable. He dreads tomorrow’s early start.

Regardless, he’s showered (he’d been childishly delighted to find a rain shower in the hotel bathroom), slipped into a gratifyingly plush white robe and the fleece-lined slippers he packed from home, and was aimlessly channel-surfing and considering Deliveroo (the city, it turns out, is small enough that scarcely anything is open and delivering at this time of the night, and he settles for raiding the vending machine in the hotel hallway for several bags of crisps and a ginger ale) when he’d spotted Othello. Another strange pleasure of hotels: they’re one of the few places in the world where you can still get cable, David thinks. The film is punctuated every so often by terrible adverts for cars and mortgages.

David had, when he put the film on, completely forgotten that Michael was in it. After all, Lodovico is scarcely a character. He’s not even in the damn play until the fourth act. 

But there he is, unmistakably. Michael in the 1990s looks like almost a different person, like a time capsule captured on screen. The way they’ve styled his hair emphasizes his natural ringlets, though they’re mostly grey now, and not the shining light brown on screen. The beard is both anachronistic and painfully historical; it’s not Michael at all; he looks too young for it, somehow. And he’s thin. That’s the strangest thing: David thinks of Michael as so solid and commanding. 

Nobody told me u were in Othello! He sends it about thirty seconds after Michael’s first appearance onscreen. 

The dancing little dots appear right away, as though Michael has been on his phone, just waiting for David to text him. 

And here I thought it was my best work

Think I can bring the open linen shirts back into style? Only good thing about Renaissance clothing :P

David laughs into the empty room. 

No one wants to see all that chest hair Sheen. 

He’s extrapolating: he’s never seen Michael’s bare chest, of course. 

Lots of ppl on Twitter do, FYI

Michael’s choice to be on social media—and to be so active on social media, to boot—doesn’t make a lick of sense to David. 

Just don’t go showing off to them or people might actually die. You’d be imprisoned for manslaughter

Three dancing dots. They pop up, then vanish. A minute passes, and Othello drags on in the background. It’s really not a very good adaptation. The three dots re-emerge, and then: 

God, imagine 

And then: The Sun would have a field day

Even joking about the gossip rag makes David wince. Michael pretends not to be bothered by rumours and press, but it’s painfully obvious to David that it’s an act. If he could keep doing the work he does and simultaneously be completely anonymous, he would be. (Michael had confessed, over Scotch one night after filming for Good Omens , that it was part of the reason why he’d moved back to Wales.) 

Save it for one of those big fundraisers David types, because he can’t think of a natural way to change the subject. 

only if you promise to bid x

The relative harmlessness of the conversation is slipping away from him, David realizes. As is the plausible deniability. He stares down at his phone in the dark, eyes darting up to the clock at the top of the screen, broken up by cracks in the screen protector he’d never bothered to replace. It’s a quarter past one in the morning. 

He ought to get some sleep, but, then again, if he’d been able to sleep, he wouldn’t have found himself texting Michael at all. 

Careful what you wish for , he types, and then deletes it, gnawing on his lower lip. He tries again: not sure what photos of you are really worth . That’s no good either. 

since you asked so nicely , he settles on, and hits send before he can work himself up into a panic about it. 

Almost right away, his phone rings. David jumps: he hadn’t realized how tense he is, or how quiet the hotel is around him, save for the soft burbling of Shakespearean dialogue. There’s Michael’s name, and the absurd selfie he took once on David’s phone—after snatching it away from him for the purpose—his contact photo. 

There’s no point pretending he isn’t holding his phone about six inches from his face, totally absorbed. He answers right away with a tired, “hellooooo, Michael.” David’s voice always goes low and gravelly when he’s sleep-deprived; he hears it now.

“Don’t you have to work tomorrow? You shouldn’t be up.” 

“That’s why I’m up,” David says. Distractedly, he mutes the television. “That and I’m starving.” 

“Thought my gripping performance might’ve kept you so enraptured you couldn’t drag yourself away.” 

David does his utmost to make his eye roll audible, but only succeeds in laughing, immediately self-conscious of how loud he is. “Yes, Othello really was your peak. Should’ve just quit then, really.” The barb feels hollow. David listens to the staticky rustle of the phone connection. “Why’d you call?” 

“Oh, just to hear your voice. And ask what you’re planning to do with me once you bid on me.” There’s so little mischief in Michael’s voice that someone who knew him less well than David does might not hear it at all. It’s there nevertheless, not quite an invitation, but something close to it. 

David swallows. The room feels too hot and close. “Thought it was just the pictures I’d be getting,” he says lamely. “Probably sell ‘em and make a boatload of cash. Frame one for the living room. You know, the usual.”

“I think if I’m gonna do it, better go all in,” Michael says casually. David’s toying with the belt of the hotel robe, pulling it slowly out from where it rests between the flimsy belt loops. He desperately needs something to do with his free hand. “What good are pictures when you could have the real thing, yeah?” 

“I don’t know, pictures are pretty good.” David’s mouth is very dry. He’s not sure when he started getting hard—sometime between talking about Michael’s chest hair and picking up the phone—but it’s undeniable now; his prick swells lazily under the robe and his heart hammers heavily against his rib cage. It’s very late. He should hang up. “I’d settle for pictures, personally.” 

There’s a pause, a rustling sound, and then Michael says, “Better—not.” 

David burns with humiliation for about two seconds, until Michael keeps talking: “Dai, are you—it’s late. Should you sleep?” 

It’s so like Michael to give him an out. David softens. “‘M all right,” he promises. “I don’t want to go yet.” He’s resting his hand on his crotch, over the soft fabric of the robe, pretending he isn’t. There are about a thousand things he’d like to say, and he can’t think of a single one of them. 

“I’ll make it up to you about the pictures,” Michael says, quietly. “I can be very descriptive.” 

“Right, do your worst, then.” 

He can hear Michael’s exhale, long and tremulous. They’re dancing around an invisible line, and David is suddenly possessed by the urge to grab Michael and pull them both over it. 

“Michael, you can tell me to hang up the phone.” David slips his hand under the robe, and he’s sure Michael can hear how quickly and shallowly he’s breathing, and the catch in his breath when he touches himself for the first time and his cock twitches to attention. 

“No. Don’t.”

“I won’t, then.” 

More rustling from Michael’s end of the line. Something creaks: the couch or the bed adjusting to a shifting of his weight. David can almost picture Michael, barechested in his boxers, a hand trailing down over his chest and stomach, teasing. He’s not sure how to ask what he wants to ask— Michael, are you touching yourself for me? Are you thinking about me touching you while you do it? Have you before? Have you wanted this? How long? So instead he drags his hand up his half-stiff length and lets out a performative, soft moan, and all the ambiguity and uncertainty dissolves.

“David, fuck,” Michael says. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good,” David murmurs. He hits speaker clumsily, his thumb almost pressing the mute button instead, and lays his phone on his stomach, freeing his left hand. 

“I was hard when I called you,” Michael says, with characteristic bluntness. David hears the sound of his hand on skin, the unmistakably lewd rhythm of Michael stroking himself slowly. “I got hard thinking about you looking at me like that.” 

“What, naked?” David chuckles. 

“Looking at me and wanting me.” Michael’s earnest. “I wanted to hear you. I wanted you to hear me—ah—do this.” 

“What’re you doing, Michael?” The question makes David feel silly and young and reckless, like he’s that sixteen year old boy who had scarcely set foot outside Scotland and was terrified of girls. But there’s a thrill to it, too, as the sound of Michael’s hand on his cock fills the silence as he waits for the other man’s reply. Absently, he notices he’s mirroring Michael’s rhythm. 

“I’m touching myself and thinking about your hands on me,” Michael says. The words spill out all at once, running into each other. 

David’s prick likes that very much. It leaks a little, and he brings his thumb to the tip to wipe at the slick, teasing soft circles around his head until he’s a bit dizzy. “My hands?” 

“Pulling me off. You’ve got such lovely hands.” 

“Mm. Fuck.” David speeds his pace just slightly; his free hand traces a light circle around his nipple until it stiffens into a sharp peak on his narrow chest. It takes a lot of effort to speak. “I’d like to—”

“Wish I could see you.” Michael interrupts him. “See what your face looks like when you sound like that.” 

“You will,” David says like it’s a promise. “I’ve thought about you before, doing this,” he confesses. A thought in the shower that he swallowed down as quickly as it rose, unbidden: Michael’s broad form, his cheeky grin and shining eyes, Michael teasing him, Michael’s tongue dancing easily and gracefully around Welsh words, Michael reciting poetry. 

“Christ alive, David.”

“I want—” Even as he ruts his hips up so his phone slips down towards his chest, even as he fucks his fist, he can’t bring himself to say it.

“Come for me.” 

Michael’s voice, the startling command in it, and three more quick, frantic strokes is all it takes. David groans as he spills over his hand, tensing from his stomach to his thighs as he throbs between his fingers. He bites his lip as he rides it out. 

“Fuck,” he says. 

“Dai, fuck, I’m close,” Michael says frantically, and then he’s not close at all, because he’s coming. David can hear him: his hand moving with quick, obscene wet sounds as he fucks himself through it; his breathing, held until he gasps abruptly; a moan that David would give just about anything to make happen again. 

David reaches for tissue from the bedside table to wipe off his hand as he listens to Michael’s breathing slow. He tosses the wad into the wastepaper basket and tucks himself away, back into the softness of his robe. 

“You all right?” 

Michael moves on the other end of the line. There’s running water. 

“Very good.” The water shuts off. “I didn’t realize you wanted to.” 

David laughs awkwardly. “Me neither, to be honest.” 

The silence isn’t quite comfortable, but it’s near enough. In the happy post-orgasm haze, sleep is finally creeping up on him; he closes his eyes. 

“We’re good, yeah?” Michael’s voice is just this side of anxious. 

David yawns, contended. “Course we are. Always.” 

He can practically hear Michael smile. “Good. Then good night, Dai.” 

“Night, Michael.”

Summary: You fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep.

“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.

Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.

“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.

You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”

New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.

Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.

Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”

The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.

He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”

You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.

You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.

“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.

You nod, “Much.”

Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.

The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.

You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.

You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.

“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.

“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.

His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”

“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”

You frown sceptically, “Okay…”

MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.

“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”

MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”

Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.

“Where’s Butcher?”

“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”

MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.

“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”

He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.

Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.

“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”

They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.

“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.

He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.

“You’re awake,” he states.

You nod, “So are you.”

He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”

MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.

His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”

Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.

The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.

You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.

The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.

“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.

“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”

You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.

“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”

“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.

“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.

He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.

Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”

You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.

You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.

“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”

Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.

You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”

You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.

You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”

He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.

“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.

You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.

The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.

Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.

“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”

You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.

“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.

“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.

They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.

“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”

Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”

“Yes!”

MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”

You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.

“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”

You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”

“You will probably be electrocuted.”

“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.

You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.

You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.

The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.

Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”

You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”

Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.

“Nngh,” MM groans again.

“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.

MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”

“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.

Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”

Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”

The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.

“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”

MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.

Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”

“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”

“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”

The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.

“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.

He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.

“You need to take off your jumper, now.”

You frown, “What? Why?”

“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.

Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”

You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”

“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”

Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”

“Frenchie,” you repeat.

“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”

“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”

“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.

“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” you reply.

Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.

“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”

You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.

He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.

“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.

You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.

“Let’s go.”

MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.

“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.

You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”

“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”

You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.

“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.

“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.

It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.

Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”

“Right now?”

He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.

“Is this how it started in your dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”

He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.

“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”

“You what?”

He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”

The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.

He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”

You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.

“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”

You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”

He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”

You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.

“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”

His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.

“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”

Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.

“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.

You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.

“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.

You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.

“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”

The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.

“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”

You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.

“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”

He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”

He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”

Summary: You have to go undercover as Butcher’s wife to Vought’s annual supe celebration. “I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” He stands up and drops $100 on the table.

“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.

Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.

He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”

“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”

“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.

“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”

Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.

“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”

“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”

You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”

He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.

Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”

You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.

“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”

You scoff, “Yeah? How?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”

“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”

He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”

Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.

“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”

His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.

To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.

“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”

You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.

“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”

She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.

“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”

Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.

“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.

“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”

MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.

Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”

You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.

“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”

You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.

“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.

Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.

“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”

Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.

Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”

“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”

Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”

Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”

The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.

After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.

Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.

“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”

You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.

“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”

He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.

Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.

She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.

“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”

Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.

“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”

He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”

You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?

The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.

Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.

“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”

You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.

The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.

Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You blush, “Thanks.”

Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.

“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”

“Nice suspenders.”

He chuckles, “Are we ready?”

Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.

“Ready,” MM says beside you.

“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”

You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.

“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”

Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.

“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.

You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”

After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.

‘You’re welcome ;)’

A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.

“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”

His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.

“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.

“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.

His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.

Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.

“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”

Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.

“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”

The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.

Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.

“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.

Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.

“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.

You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.

You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.

Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.

You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”

“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.

The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.

When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.

“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”

He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”

You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.

She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.

“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”

“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”

The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”

You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.

“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.

You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”

“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”

You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.

“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”

Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”

Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.

She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”

Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.

“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.

‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’

You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”

He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”

The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.

“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.

His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”

You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.

You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.

You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.

‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’

You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.

He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”

“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.

He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.

“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.

You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Good.”

“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.

He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.

“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.

His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.

Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.

Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.

You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.

Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”

Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.

Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”

You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”

He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.

“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.

You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.

“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.

You frown, “What is?”

“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”

You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.

“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”

“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”

He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”

You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”

“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”

“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”

His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.

He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”

The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”

Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.

“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Was that your mistress?” you tease.

He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”

You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.

“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”

His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”

“Good.”

You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.

“This old thing? Nah.”

He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.

You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.

‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’

‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’

‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’

“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.

You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.

“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.

His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.

“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”

She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”

Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.

“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.

He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.

“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.

“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.

“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.

Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.

“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.

“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”

You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.

Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.

“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.

Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”

MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.

“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.

Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.

You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.

The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.

“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.

“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”

You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.

“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”

You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.

“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.

You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.

“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”

His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.

“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.

You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”

He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.

“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.

You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”

“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”

His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.

“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”

God, it's been so long. Too long since any ounce of pleasure outside of indulging in sweets. It's late. I pull back the curtain and glance at the outdoor pool. It's definitely dark out, save for the glow of the lights in the pool and the sporadically placed security lights around the perimeter. But the pool is empty and I notice there's a hot tub as well. In my haste to pack for the spontaneous trip for my cousin's shotgun wedding, I didn't think about packing a swim suit. But it's dark... and late... no one is out there. I could get away with just my bra and panties.

Before the rational side of my brain has any time to protest, I strip down to my skivvies and grab a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around myself. I snatch my keycard and slip outside into the humid night.

Walking swiftly on mostly just my toes, I'm aware of how ridiculous I'm being. Why am I tip-toeing? No one can hear me out here barefoot. I shake my head and smirk at myself. I open the gate to the pool area, cringing at the metal groaning and creaking. Stepping in, I close it behind me, slowly, the annoying sound less piercing.

Feeling giddy, like I'm being rebellious or something, I drop my towel and keycard onto one of the lawn chairs near the hot tub and hit the button to turn the jets and heat on. The tub roars to life and I dip a cautious toe in first, surprised by how quickly it was heating up. I glance around one last time before taking a deep, relaxing breath and stepping in, all my anxiety melting away at an instant.

The warmth envelops me, welcoming me. I sigh and sit back, lean my head against the edge, eyes closed. Despite the humidity of the Arizona evening, bringing my arms out of the water made it feel cool. I keep my arms in, enjoying the contrast between temperatures with my neck and head out only. I could drift into a little nap but that thought scares me. Knowing my luck, I'd slip into the water completely and drown without even realizing.

I sigh again, pushing the thought from my head. Relax. Relax.

"'Ay, darling. Mind if I join you?"

My eyes shoot open. I didn't hear the gate open. The jets are pretty loud. Directly above my head, staring down at me, is a man. He's upside down because of my position but I can tell he's good looking and probably in his 30's. Maybe late 30's. And nearly all of his upper body aside from his neck and face is covered with tattoos. I couldn't tell if his English accent was real or not. Why would someone fake an accent right off the bat, anyway?

I bring my head straight up and turn to face him, drifting out towards the middle. "No, I don't mind." I did, actually. I was enjoying being alone, but I didn't want to be a bitch. It's a free country. He can get in the hot tub if he wants.

I push back to the other side and watch as he tosses a towel of his own to the chair I used as well. The dim light isn't ideal but I get the sense he's wearing boxers and not swim trunks. I feel a rise of panic, remembering I'm in my underwear. Who am I to judge? I swallow hard as he climbs in, not looking at me. I'll just wait until he's gone. I'll stay longer.

"Lovely evening, innit?" He brings wet hands to his hair, slicking it back.

I narrow my eyes at him, still unsure about the sincerity of his accent. "You're British?"

He smirks and I notice how full his lips are. "I am."

I chuckle and shrug. "I wasn't sure if you were doing a thing, or if you were legit."

He cocks his head to the side. "A thing?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Like, faking an accent to seem more appealing."

"People do that?"

I gently sway my arms back and forth beside me. "I don't know, but I think it would work."

He points to his chest. "Hope this helps convince you." He gives a slight half smile, teasing. His finger jabs a tattoo of a Union Jack near his heart and I feel the heat of embarrassment flushing my cheeks.

"Oh. I guess so," I awkwardly chuckle. I drop my eyes away from his, feeling self-conscious. His mouth is so deliciously plump and I don't want to be caught staring.

We both sit there, enjoying the silence. The bubbles buzz around us and he lays his head back on the edge like I had been doing earlier. I take this moment to look him over. He's not a real big guy, but he does pack some lovely muscles. The dim lighting of the area glimmers across the scruff on his jaw. I'm concentrating on his tattoos before I realize he's looking back at me.

"Sorry, I don't mean to stare. Your tattoos interest me." I feel so awkward and wish I wasn't in my bra and undies so I could just get out now and leave.

"No worries. It's not too late to introduce ourselves, yeah?" He pushes away from the edge, drifting closer to me. Extending our hands, we shake and then he sits to my side. "I'm Tom."

"Nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Claire." I have to turn my neck to see him since he's chosen to sit so closely.

Our thighs touch and I bring my knees together. "Sorry," I chuckle.

Tom just gives me a smile. "You seem stressed. Should I leave?"

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I feel like such a bitch. No, don't leave. It's just been a weird few days and I've been trying to relax. I was alone and suddenly there's a man, God, I'm rambling now. No, you don't need to leave, you're fine. I just have some anxiety issues and need to relax."

Tom looks over my face, thinking. "You need a fag."

I nearly choke on my spit. "Excuse me?"

He laughs at my reaction. "A smoke, love. It'll relax you. I might have some back in my room."

I shake my head, scoffing at myself. "No, I don't smoke, but thanks."

"Hmm. Mind if I do?"

"Help yourself."

"Be right back." He turns and pushes out of the hot tub, water pouring down off his back and soaked underwear. It's skin tight, hugging him perfectly. I quickly look away before he catches me.

I clear my throat as he quietly opens the gate, a subtle creak groaning from it over the continuous roar of the jets. Certainly not as loud as it was with me.

I move back to my original spot while I wait. That way he can sit across from me when he gets back and I won't have to crane my neck to see him. I let my arms go limp and the bubbles lift them to the surface. Feeling slightly emboldened by nothing other than the fact that Tom is a rather attractive Briton, I sit up straight against the side of the tub. My chest rises near the surface of the water, the bubbles teasing my exposed flesh.

I see Tom in the shadows making his way back. The gate creaks quietly and he gives me a wink as he drops his towel and keycard back to the chair. He stands before me, lighting a cigar with a match, puffing it to get it going. Once it's lit, he turns the end of it around and gently blows, keeping the slow burn steady. Then drops the matchbook on top of his towel.

Sitting down on the edge, he pushes himself back into the hot tub but he doesn't sit where I had hoped he would. Just like before, he slinks his way over to my side and takes a long drag from his cigar before placing an arm behind me on the edge.

"Out of cigarettes," he explains as I eye his mouth. "You sure you don't want a puff?"

I start to shake my head, but why not? "I... I really don't know how to. I'll probably just choke."

Tom takes the cigar out of his mouth and blows the smoke away from us before turning to me.

"Here, take it," he hands me the cigar. I hold it in front of me. "Place it between your lips and kind of suck on it, like a straw. But be sure you close off your nasal passages. And puff a few times."

"That easy?" I smirk, giggling.

"It's simple, darling. Try it." He watches as I place the cigar between my lips. I become aware of how erotic this whole scene suddenly is. Our eyes lock while I take a long, slow drag, trying not to breathe from my nose.

It can't be helped. I choke and cough, smoke escaping my nostrils as I wave my free hand around my face for fresh air.

Tom takes the cigar quickly, not laughing even though I am, in hopes I don't die from embarrassment. "Alright, Claire?" He rubs a hand around my back roughly.

I cough a few more times but nod. My eyes have begun to water. "Yeah, I'll live. We'll leave the smoking to the professional though," I joke.

"That'll do."

We settle back again, an occasional tickle in my throat prompting a cough or two. I clear my throat, wishing it'd stop.

"Sorry, darling. Shouldn't have pressured you. I shouldn't even be smoking this myself. Broke the habit once. But every now and then, I guess it's a guilty pleasure. You know what I mean?"

I crane my neck to meet his eyes, but his are on my neck, making their way down to my shoulder where the skimpy strap of my bra sits.

"I know what you mean." I can't stop looking at his mouth. They've got to be soft. I can imagine what they'd feel like right now on my wet shoulder.

"What pleasures you, Claire?" His eyes rise to my face.

My heart is pounding. If the jets to the tub turn off anytime soon, surely he'd be able to hear the violent beating.

"I... I don't really have any guilty pleasures," I shrug slightly.

I want to look away, but my eyes are locked on his. "Are you alone here, Claire?"

I nod, loving the way he says my name. He takes another drag of the cigar before placing it down on the edge. Turning his head away, he releases the smoke before returning back to me.

"Beautiful woman like you, and you're all alone?" He drifts closer. His tone is almost predatory and it excites me.

"Flattery will get you no where, Tom," I tease him back, turning my body towards his.

He grins and dips himself into the steamy water, keeping his lips above the surface, the bubbles popping around him. Tom moves to the middle of the tub, keeping his eyes on me. He smiles again and I feel his hands under the water reaching for my own. We link our fingers and he gently tugs me. I bob a little and drift to the center to him. I let myself sink a bit until we are both the same height above the surface. The bubbles dance against our lips and it tickles.

Tom releases one of my hands and wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me closer. My chest meets his and he releases my other hand. I bring my arms up and wrap them over his shoulders. He rises a little, bringing me with him.

The stark contrast in temperature hardens my nipples and I push away from him to sink back down into the familiar warmth but he grips me tightly.

"You're not in a swimsuit, Claire?"

"Are you?"

"So I'm right?" He smiles, devilishly so. "You're a wild one, yeah?"

"I'm really not," I bite my lip.

"Do you do this often?" I realize we are slowly turning in the water, with Tom in control. We're dancing and he's leading.

"Do I do what often..." My eyes drop to his lips.

"Seduce strange men."

My head drops back and I laugh. "I'm seducing you? That's news to me, Tom." He grips me tighter and I wrap my arms around his shoulders again.

We dip into the water and he backs up, bringing me with him. He takes a seat and I spread my legs until I sit on his lap, straddling him.

"How about you?" I ask him.

"Hmm?" He brings a hand up out of the water, gently pushing away a damp lock of hair from my eyes.

"Seducing strange women. You do this often?"

"Is it working?" His hand trails down the side of my neck and I can't help but shiver.

I lean against him and, with eyes wide open, I push my lips to his, gently at first, testing my limits. I don't want to cross the line. But who started this?

His eyes close and I sigh against him. His lips are as soft as I knew they'd be. I kiss him harder, palming the back of his neck. His hands rest on my hips, holding me to him. Tom's tongue seeks entrance and I gladly grant it, taking him right in.

His hands move to my ass, pushing me more into him. His hard-on is unmistakable. I cup his jaw and kiss him deeper. Tom moans and moves his hands north, fiddling with the clasp of my bra. He unsnaps it with expert precision and I help him slip it off my arms. My breasts bob freely in front of him now and he kisses his way down my neck, my bra floating to the other side.

"You taste so good, Claire," he groans as he reaches a breast, taking the nipple in. I gasp and drop my head back, holding on to his neck for support. "I knew you would." He moves to the next one and sucks on it, giving it a gentle nip before returning his mouth to mine.

I lean back bringing his mouth with mine, sitting harder against his erection and he brings his rough hands to my chest, massaging my breasts. I drop a hand into the water and stroke him beneath me. Unintentionally, he nips my lip in surprise and I gasp, stroking him harder. I pull my lips from his and taste blood.

"Sorry," he mutters as he crashes his lips back to mine.

The initial sting subsides but a hint of the metallic taste of blood flavors our kisses. I don't care one bit. I'm completely not myself right now with him and I wouldn't have it any other way.

One of Tom's hands drag down my side and grasps my inner thigh. With his thumb, he strokes me through the material of my panties. My clit is ignited immediately and I groan at the explosion of pleasure that courses through my body at his touch. Shivers ripple through my body and I need more.

"Should we," I gasp for breath, pulling away, "should we get a room?"

"Fuck yes," he smiles, pressing his mouth to mine.

Standing, he keeps me wrapped around his front. We kiss as he holds me to him, reaching for my bra so it isn't left behind.

"Your room or mine?" He growls into my ear as he shifts me to carry me out of the hot tub. I stay pressed against him, hugging him tightly.

"Mine's closer." I slip down off of him once we're out to grab my towel and keycard. Tom grabs his belongings quickly and picks up his cigar which is still burning.

He takes a generous drag before stubbing it out on the trash can near the gate. Holding my towel to my chest, I pull the gate open, cringing at the loud creak. Tom follows closely behind, concealing his hard cock with his towel.

He paws at the end of my dripping wet hair and I giggle, moving faster. He grabs me by the waist once we reach my door and spins me around, pushing me back. My towel drops and his mouth is on me once again.

"God..." I moan, fumbling to get the keycard into the door. After several attempts, it unlocks and I pull Tom into the room with me, leaving my fallen towel behind.

God, it's been so long. I need this man now.

“I’ll Sleep under the covers you can sleep on top. Just don't snore.” Ellie says objectively.

“Bit weird” Ellie says laying stock still on her back next to Hardy stretched out in his shirt and trousers still, a throw thrown over his lower half. A cheeky grin spreads across her face.

”Go ta' sleep Miller” Hardy grumbles at her staring up intently at the ceiling.

Ellie wakes to him thrashing in the bed beside her hes muttering and murmuring his legs and arms flailing wildly the throw thrown to the floor in the midst of it all. She grabs at his hands but he’s much too strong even as thin as he is there’s tight muscle under it and his hand comes free swinging past her face. She grabs them both pinning them down near his hips. Straddling over his lower body and using her knees to hold them there.

One hand presses to his chest his hearts beating wildly hammering and stuttering in his chest it feels as though it might explode under her fingers and burst from his chest.

”Hardy. Wake up” her other hand grips his shoulder shaking him softly.

"Hardy! Hardy! wake up.” Ellie shakes him a little harder. Realising calling him isn’t going to work Ellie raises her hand bringing it down in a soft slap against his cheek.

Then when that receives little reaction but a buck of his hips and a throw of his shoulders she does it again a little harder so it stings a little bit.

"Ahh FUck SHIT.” Hardy whimpers his eyes ripping open searching wildly.

Miller leaned forward adding more pressure to his wrists pinned under her knees.

”Shhh Shhh its okay its okay its me its Ellie”Hardy’s eyes search the room then Ellie’s face and his body stills and his face softens.

”Miller.” Hardy sighs out relaxing minutely under her gaze her hand is pressed to his heart so warm he can feel the heat of it bleeding through his shirt.

”Yes yes its me” Ellie sighs Hardy’s heart is still hammering away under her hand like jackhammer with a rogue user.

”Do you do you need tablets or something your heart its so fast.” Ellie says almost to herself its so silent. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

”It’s er it’ll calm down. I’m sorry I should of warned you ‘bout the nightmares” Hardy offers trying to focus on anything but her lips.

”It’s okay. I get nightmares too. You sure about the meds? because you better not fucking die in this bed next to me.” Ellie scowls at him.

”Maybe I should then don’t want you to hunt down my ghost.” Hardy mocks. “In my jacket” he nods to the side his hands still pinned under Ellie’s knees.

Ellie shifts herself backwards slipping from his stomach into his lap as she reaches over the side of the bed. She pops two out of the blister pack after shaking it free from his pocket, Shifts again taking her knees of his wrists releasing his hands, passes them and the glass of water from the beside table to him.

”Thanks. And m sorry that you get em too.” Hardy sits up pressed almost to the front of her. Taking the pills in one outstretched hand, the glass in a shaky grip in the other, He swallows them down hurriedly. Ellie’s so close he can smell her shampoo and her perfume, The soft scent of her fabric softener She smells of coffee, soft cotton and something citrus. She reaches out taking the glass from his trembling hand and sets it back on the table.

”We should get you out of these clothes. You’re soaking and it can’t be helping being so. Restricted. While you’re trying to sleep. I er I have a spare t-shirt in my bag it should fit you I can make do without it tomorrow.” Ellie says eyeing her night bag.

”I’m fine Millah stop worryin’ “ Hardy says starting to lean back to lay back down.

”You are not fine Hardy. Stop with this bullshit lying to me. I’ve had enough of people lying to me!” Ellie screams down at him.

Hardy freezes her hair has fallen into her face the soft curls frame the worry lines in her forehead her angry knitted together eyebrows. Her jaw is tight teeth clenched together in the back of her mouth. He wants to stroke his thumbs there wants to press his lips to hers to soothe every worry out of her every last drop of anger. But he shouldn’t, he can’t, he can barely take care of himself, she has enough she doesn’t need the weight of his baggage as well.

”Okay okay fine. I’ll change into the shirt.” Hardy shifts sitting back up again Ellie’s still straddled over his thighs and her hands reach out as he sits up. Her fingers wrap around his first button undoing them quietly and she peels the wet shirt away from his chest tugging it down his arms and off his wrists. She fingers the bottom of his t-shirt equally soaked.

”Arms” Ellie says curling her fingers into the hem pulling it up over his stomach pausing as she reaches his chest and he lifts his arms into the air above his head obediently.

She peels it off the rest of the way over his head and up his arms throwing it off the side of the bed to join the heap there, Her eyes glance over him a little. The white skin of him skin stretched over an almost too thin frame, taught muscle tucked underneath which would be powerful, if he wasn’t so ill so frail looking. The soft dusting of hair on his chest scar on his stomach. She swallows a little.

”If you don’t have any spare clothes at all you should at least take your trousers off. You’ll be a lot more comfortable without them.” Ellie glances up into Hardy’s face catching eyes before dropping them again to the pile of his clothes beside the bed.

A soft warmth had started inside of her. She wanted to smooth his hair back from his face to rove her hands over his chest. She wanted to feel him really feel him really know him, to break through that moody surface to the calm sea she knew lay beneath kind and caring. But who would love her now no one certainly not him. She was a stain a mistake a bad judgement no one could love her not after being the paedophiles clueless wife the murderers doting partner. She was disgusted with herself why should anyone else feel any different. Especially him.

”That. Are you sure? Won’t be weird?” Hardy stumbled out.

”I mean can’t get any weirder right.” Ellie replied.

Hardy cleared his throat and reached down for his trouser button and undid it then the zip he pushed them off over his hips and stopped when his hands bumped into Ellie’s legs still straddled over his thighs. She was sort of staring at the floor again and he nudged her softly with his leg.

”Miller…Miller” Hardy uttered louder when she didn’t respond the first time.

”Oh shit sorry. I er I’ll just” Ellie slid off his legs and the bed without thinking she reached out for his trousers and shimmied them the rest of the way down his thighs and pulled them down off his thin legs.

”I coulda’ done that. But thank’s” Hardy breathes out hurriedly.

”S’okay you probably shouldn’t move too much anyway y’know with your condition” She smirks a little bit at the end a cheeky little grin.

”It’s noa its noa a condition ‘ve told you already” Hardy grumbles he’s sat on the bed now in just his pants and he shivers a little goosebumps plaguing his skin.

”If you have to go to hospital for it and take medication for it and it hurts you its a fucking condition” Ellie throws back perching on the edge of the bed. She reaches back for the shirt she took out earlier.

”Now arms” Ellie eyes him sternly.He huffs out but again obediently lifts his arms above his head. Ellie smile a little as she slides the t-shirt down his arms her fingers trailing after it softly.

She tugs it down over his head and his hair falls into his eyes as the fabric slips over his face, Her fingers brush his chest and stomach and her hands stop at his waist once its on.Ellie’s face is so close to his everywhere her fingers touched as she put on the shirt afire on his skin. The shirt smells of her and its intoxicating so is the soft scent of coffee on her breath, her face so close.Hardy lowers his arms one drapes over her shoulder and his hand rests on the back of her neck softly the other lowers and rests on her hip where she’s turned to face him.

Swallowing hard Hardy stares at her taking her in before him.

”Fuck Miller you’re so beau..” He starts to say. Quickly Ellie’s hand is pressed to his mouth.

”Don’t. Don’t you dare you don’t mean it you can’t mean it. You’re you. Don’t please don’t say if its not true. Please.” She sobs out her body shakes as she chokes out the last few words. Tears begin to stream down her face. Hardy softly kisses the palm of her hand where it’s pressed to his mouth. He shifts closer hand sliding around from the back of her neck brushing the curls from her face, he smooths his thumb across her cheeks, fingers rested under her chin when he tilts her face she’s looking at him. Sinking into the deep kind brown of his eyes.

“Ellie” Hardy says softly almost too soft almost too hard to hear. He brushes his thumbs across her wet cheeks again gentle hands cupping her face he leans in and he kisses her a soft press of gentle lips. Ellie brings her hands up smoothing his hair away from his face threading her fingers into his hair. Hair she loves his hair. One of her hands holds the back of his skull, just as his lips go to pull away she yanks him back.

The next kiss is harder almost hard enough to bruise and she makes a soft noise against his mouth something between a sob and a sigh. Hardy’s fingers stroke down the sides of her neck and thread into her hair his tongue licking her bottom lip softly a question not forceful. Ellie pulls him backwards soft tugs in his hair their foreheads pressed together her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Their breathe mingles and she swallows a few times before she can get words out.

”Can you? Is it okay? Do you want to? Your heart?” Ellie offers up, everything pouring out that’s been swimming in her brain at once.

”It’s not exactly Doctor recommended but so long as it’s not too erm..strenuous i’ll be fine. And Miller yes I definitely want to. Fuck do I want to.” Hardy smiles at her then soft small crinkles forming near his eyes.

“You’re sure?” Ellie replies voice hesitant and small but his smile she’s never seen him smile and god she wants to kiss it over and over and over again. She wants to be the reason for it she want’s to be the cause.

”So sure I’ve never been more sure” Hardy surges forward capturing her lips again the kiss is deep and needy soft whines escape him as his hands run over her down her body.

They slip inside the edge of her shirt and trace her hips lightly.Ellie pulls back and he lets out a soft whine at the break of lips against his. She reaches around them both pilling up the pillows into a neat pyramid at the top of the bed and pushes him back towards it.

Pressing him back against them her hands gripping his shoulders so tightly. Hardy reached back up with one hand tangling his fingers into Ellie’s soft curls, pulling her lips back to his his tongue licking softly at her lip begging to be inside her mouth, his other hand gripped her hip dragging her tightly into his lap.

Chests pressed tight she relented and her mouth opened. Hardy’s tongue slid in greedily tasting her teasing her tongue exploring softly, as she groaned into him and rocked her hips down against him greedily. He Shifted forcing his hips up to meet her as her hips ground down wet spot on her knickers soaking his boxers as they moved desperately against each other.Hardy shifted kissing down her jaw and down her neck sucking a mark into her shoulder. He pushed up against her rolling his hips lifting her off the bed a little.

”Mmm” She grabbed his shoulders slamming him back down pinning his hands down by his sides linking their fingers tightly.

“Too strenuous” Murmured Ellie.

”More” Hardy panted out breathily against her lips. “Please Ellie please.”Ellie’s hands slid from his down his sides and over his stomach slowly hooking her thumbs into his boxers she pulled them down around his thighs.

She swallowed licking her lips as she eyed him. He was probably about 6 inches or so a little thicker than she’d imagined the head of him flushed a deep desperate red and already slick from how much he was leaking. Hardy whimpered as she pulled his boxers down his hips flexing up in relief as he was freed.

Hardy’s hands slid up Ellie’s soft thighs thumbs stroking in slow circles which earned him a soft groan as she eyed him over. His knuckles brushed over the front of her underwear soaking wet already and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Turning his hand over he rubbed her through the fabric slowly with two fingers sliding down from her clit teasing over her soaked hole moaning out at the heat of her.

”Fuck” Hardy groaned grabbing her he pushed her knickers aside pulling her back into his lap he ground up against her hot and wet grinding his hard cock against her desperately. Slipping her hand between them both she shifted her hips on his next roll up and he slipped inside of her. She gripped his shoulder in one hand and his hip in the other tight enough to bruise stilling him a moment.

He rested his forehead against hers panting against her desperately willing his body to stay still for her.

”Okay?” Hardy finally managed to get out.

”Mmm big. Different. Good” Ellie shifted again in his lap getting a little more comfortable before she lifted a little and then brought her hips back down grinding down on his cock.

A few more slow rolls and then she was moving on him desperately. Hardy ground up to meet her on every roll he pushed at her shirt pushing it up resting his hands high on her chest he leaned in pressing his mouth over her nipple licking at it teasingly and tenderly then switched to give attention to the other.

”Oh fuckk” Ellie’s hand slid into his hair at that twisting and gripping tightly. He grunted against her kissing over her chest his hands sliding back down to her hips pulling her in tighter against himself groaning at the new pressure his hands slid around her one spreading out on her back hot and warm.

Ellie shifted in his lap rising and falling the softness of her thighs rubbing on his and his fingers dug in against her skin, one of her hands cupped around the back of his neck, pulling him in against her mouth again kissing him desperately. Alec pulled back unwillingly but his lungs were burning again and he gulped in air, mouth inches from Ellie’s. She soothed him her fingers running through his hair slowly.

”You you okay?” She groaned out.

”Yes yes God yes Don’t stop Ellie please please don’ stop” Hardy pleaded back at her.Hardy slipped his hand down cupping her, his thumb stroking down over her clit, testing, teasing watching her reactions. As he found the right speed, pressure, and spot once he did he teased and stroked planting kisses across her chest, her shoulders and her neck, he grazed the skin there softly with his teeth.

”Oh God!” She bucked into his hand and gripped her fingers in his hair and around the back of his neck moaning out as his teeth grazed and nipped her skin.

”I’m not gonna last long if you…if you keep doing that” Ellie panted by his ear her curls tickling his face softly.

”Good ‘m no’ gonna last long either” His eyes dipped closed and he bent his knees a bit more to thrust up into her as she moved. He kept going teasing her clit feeling her clench and pulse around his hard cock buried so deep inside of her.

Ellie bit down into his neck sucking a deep red mark into hardy’s pale skin. Joe never would of let her do this Joe her fingers tensed against hardys shoulders. Boring dead inside missionary joe she swallowed down hard Ellie’s fingers tightened unwillingly around Hardy’s throat and he desperately tried to gulp in air under them.

”El-lie…E..ll..ie” He gasped out desperately under the pressure of her hands around his throat.

”Come Back to me Ellie” He shifted gripping her sides tightly trying to breathe calmly under the pressure of her thumbs digging against his adams apple.

”Millah..Ellie..El…please” The please was a small gasped out whisper at the end of the few stuttered words.Something snapped inside of Ellie and she came back to herself she lowered her hands quickly.

She stopped moving staring into those deep brown eyes. Not afraid concerned so concerned about her even though she had been hurting him.

”Shit shit i’m sorry. I’m so so sorry I..I…I got stuck thinking about Joe and and I just. Fuck i’m so sorry” Tears welled in her eyes and then escaped rolling down her cheeks as she desperately apologised.

”It’s okay. It’s okay honestly stop stop don’ cry. I’m okay” He raised his hands cupping her face brushing the tears away with his thumbs, those soft strong hands, thin fingers, slightly calloused thumbs that brushed her skin.

”El It’s okay” He leaned in pressing kisses after his fingers.

“I wanna kill him too. All the time. Everything he put you through everything he is putting you through you and the boys. You deserve so much more, so much better." Hardy slid his arms around her back holding her tightly to him as he told her.

”We should stop, we shouldn’ do this” He almost whispered.

Hardy didn’t want to stop he never wanted to. He loved her achingly so every little giggle she did made his heart sing. The way she took no shit and was tough when she needed to be. How she knew to make him soft and caring softening the edges of his hard exterior when they we’re together. He wanted to give her everything she had never had and more.Ellie gripped his shoulders tightly pinning him back against the headboard tightly.

“Do you think I'm too disgusting? Can't bear to look at me? Is that it? just stupid bloody miller jumping in without thinking. Ignorant and stupid."

Hardy lifted her off of him with a grunt and laid her down on her side as he shifted wrapping back around her cradling her to his chest.

"No El not at all. I think you are so strong. Too kind to people who aren't deserving of you. I love you're laugh I love you're wild hair and how you put up with me. How patient you are. So beautiful. I - I love you.” He whispered to her.

Ellie's face was smushed up against his chest wrapped in arms much stronger than they should be. Arms that we're used to holding the weight of a thousand traumas and all they wanted to hold was her. She sniffled hard gripping his sides the shirt she'd leant him rucked up around his chest and she traced his naked side softly tracing over his ribs.

"Do you really mean that? Don’t lie" Ellie asked sniffling little breathes of air warming his chest where she was still wedged against him.

"Yes I really mean it. I love you Ellie" Hardy replied to the top of her head he leant down and kissed it softly.

“That's what he used to call me. I hate it I hate having his stupid name.” Ellie groused into his chest. "Its too late to change it now especially in the force and it's the boys' name too I can't take that away from them.”

Hardy slipped a hand back inside the back of her t-shirt tracing over her skin slowly.

"I can call you something else if you'd like. My love. My darling. Treasure." Hardy joked his mouth curling into a wide smile.

"Don't you dare!" Ellie hissed her head came up and she stared at him. "You called me El before that was nice. Different but nice." She hummed.

"Like my cock" Hardy blurted without thinking.

Ellie laughed hard her hand slapping against the front of his chest softly "Cheeky bastard! But yes!" She jiggled in his arms as she continued to giggle a little.

Leaning down Hardy pressed his lips to hers kissing her a little heated deep. He pulled back smiling.

"You can call me whatever you like." He grinned.

"Even shitface?" Ellie giggled.

"Even shitface" Hardy replied he rolled them pressing Ellies back to the covers he kissed her again deep tongue licking softly at her lower lip for entry.