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The dim light of the hideout spilled from a solitary lamp perched upon a cluttered table in the corner, its amber glow washing across the room in soft waves and settling upon every worn surface, every battered chair, every scarred piece of wood that had witnessed countless late nights, impossible plans, and exhausted victories. The light danced across Butcher's face as he sat opposite you, drawing attention to the rugged handsomeness that seemed entirely effortless upon him, illuminating the strong line of his jaw, the slight curve of his mouth, and the pale scars that traced stories across his skin like faded maps of battles long survived.
He occupied space in a way that fascinated you; His broad shoulders filled the chair as though it had been built around him rather than the other way around, and his posture carried an easy confidence that came from a lifetime spent walking into rooms and immediately becoming the most dangerous man within them. One arm rested across the table while the other draped casually over the back of his chair, creating a silhouette that appeared almost impossibly relaxed despite the undeniable strength contained within every inch of him.
The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled carelessly towards his elbows, exposing powerful forearms that caught the amber light whenever he shifted. Golden reflections glided across the hard contours of muscle beneath his skin, tracing the shape of tendons and veins that stood prominently beneath the surface. Fine dark hair covered his arms, softened by the warm glow surrounding him, while scattered scars interrupted the smoothness of his skin here and there, each one adding another layer to the story written across his body.
You found yourself watching the way the light moved over him, the gentle way it gathered in the hollow of his wrist, in the way it gleamed along the ridge of his forearm; In the subtle way it highlighted the quiet strength that seemed woven into him as naturally as breath itself.
The hideout carried its usual scents of old wood, worn leather, machine oil, stale beer and cigarette smoke, yet somehow all of it blended seamlessly with the scent that belonged to Butcher alone, that warm tobacco lingered around him like a familiar embrace,
beneath it sat the rich scent of leather worn smooth with years of use. A trace of aftershave remained close to his skin, something masculine and understated that mingled beautifully with the warmth of his natural scent. Every time he leaned closer, every time he shifted in his chair, you caught another hint of it, the scent felt grounding, comforting in how you'd slept close by to it for years yet dangerously addictive in how you always looked but never touched.
The silence stretching between you felt intimate in a way words rarely managed to achieve, those years spent side by side had created something deeper than conversation. A glance carried meaning, touch carried understanding, that shared silence carried affection that neither of you named, not yet at least.
Butcher drew slowly upon his cigarette, the ember brightening as he inhaled, casting a brief flare of orange light that illuminated his features from below. Smoke curled upwards around him in lazy spirals before drifting towards the ceiling, creating a haze that softened the edges of the room.
Without speaking, he extended the cigarette towards you; The gesture felt achingly familiar, the habit formed through countless evenings spent together, it was something like a ritual that belonged entirely to the two of you.
You reached for your own cigarette and leant forward, and the moment your movement began, his attention shifted completely towards you. Those sharp, deep eyes settled upon your face with a focus that always made your pulse quicken.
His free hand lifted from the table, large fingers reached towards you, palm settled gently against your cheek. Warmth immediately spread through you. The contrast between his appearance and the tenderness of the gesture always captivated you. His hands looked exactly like the hands of a man who had fought for every inch of his life, adorned with broad palms next to strong wrists, those long fingers marked with old scars and faded nicks. The backs of his hands carried fine lines of pale skin where cuts had healed over the years, while prominent veins ran beneath tanned flesh and disappeared beneath rolled sleeves. His knuckles appeared slightly enlarged from old injuries, lending his hands an almost sculpted quality, each imperfection adding character rather than diminishing it.
They were hands with murder on them, but so were your own, the thought of his grueseome, bloody violence making warmth pool inside you lowly, morals had been abandoned from your conscience years ago, especially when seeing how fucking beautiful Butcher was when he raged.
When he touched you, those same hands became astonishingly gentle; His thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone, the rough pad of it sent warmth skimming down your spine, fingers curved around your jaw with easy familiarity, cradling your face as though he treasured every inch of it, as though touching you brought him a quiet satisfaction he rarely allowed himself to express aloud.
Your breathing slowed.
His gaze drifted towards your lips, the atmosphere between you thickened, every small sound beyond the room seemed distant,
muted and unimportant. The glowing tip of his cigarette hovered inches from yours, hands remaining upon your face, his thumb continued its slow movement along your skin; The warmth of him surrounded you, that scent of smoke and leather wrapped itself around your senses. You brought your cigarette closer, unlit towards the glowing embers of his own, face intimately close until they touched. You inhaled a drag to light it from his own, his heavy scent even more prominent than before due to your shared proximity. For a single beautiful moment, the orange light merged into one singular point between you, illuminating both your faces in flickering gold. Tiny sparks danced at the edges of the tobacco, glowing in the dim room as your cigarette finally caught.
Neither of you moved, the closeness felt intoxicating. His breath mingled with yours, eyes remained fixed upon you, your heart beat steady beneath his gaze. The room seemed to shrink until only the two of you existed within it.
Despite the cigarette being lit properly, Butcher continued holding your face for several lingering seconds, his thumb tracing another slow path along your cheek before gliding downwards. His hand travelled from your jaw to your neck, then lower still until it settled against your waist, the possessive weight of it felt natural, it was comfortable, you desired it.
His fingers spread slightly against your side, holding you close without effort, creating a point of contact that seemed to tether you together amidst the chaos of the world surrounding you. A faint smile touched his mouth, cigarette hanging out one side still, that expression transformed him, softened him - as much as William Butcher could be softened - made him look younger somehow;
Made him look happy.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond, atmosphere shifting gently rather than breaking. A moment later Hughie appeared through the doorway carrying an armful of snacks and looking thoroughly pleased with himself for managing the journey without dropping anything, hid expression brightened immediately upon seeing the two of you, "Well, this looks cosy."
You laughed softly, Butcher's hand remained exactly where it was, "Get in here before you hoover all that shite yourself."
The affection hidden within his gruff tone wrapped around Hughie so naturally that it felt like second nature; Over time you had watched the bond between them grow into something beautiful. Butcher guided him, protected, and supported him, whilst Hughie challenged him yet still believed in him. The relationship carried the warmth of an odd family. The warmth of a father and son who had found one another in the most unlikely circumstances, perhaps even two brothers; But either way, they cared for each other despite their own outlooks on life, no matter how much the gruff older man denied it.
You felt your own affection for Hughie surface as he crossed the room, there was something endearing about him that invited care and encouragement. Watching him grow stronger and more confident over the years brought a quiet sense of pride that settled warmly within your chest.
The door opened once more, Marvin stepped inside carrying several files beneath one arm, gaze that scrutinised everything moved across the room, landing directly upon Butcher's hand resting possessively against your waist.
One eyebrow lifted, then a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, MM possessed a remarkable talent for understanding people, he noticed the lingering glances, unconscious movements towards one another, the instinctive way Butcher sought you out whenever he entered a room.
The way your eyes found him just as quickly, the depth of feeling between you existed in every shared look, every brief touch, every moment spent together, Marvin understood all of it, and the sight of it at that moment made his small almost imperceptible smile widen ever so slightly, "Good to see everyone's comfortable." It would've seemed sarcastic if you had not known the man so well.
You felt Butcher's thumb brush gently against your side, but MM noticed that too.
Of fucking course he did; The amusement shining in his eyes became impossible to miss.
Soon Frenchie and Kimiko arrived, bringing warmth and laughter with them, followed by the familiar rhythm of conversation that transformed the hideout from a collection of tired individuals into something far more meaningful. The Boys were an imperfect, chaotic, fiercely loyal group of misfits.
Voices filled the room, with laughter echoing from wall to wall, Frenchie's elaborate stories flowed freely. Yet throughout it all, Butcher remained beside you, the both of you occasionally leaning forward to tap your cigarettes lightly upon the ash tray on the coffee table in which Hughie's trainers were resting upon, making MM push them down, muttering about 'outdoor germs indoors'.
Butcher's shoulder brushed yours whenever either of you moved, that warm hand lingered at your waist, whilst eyes sought yours across every conversation. And every time you glanced towards him, you found him already looking at you.
The conversation gradually settled into the familiar rhythm that always seemed to emerge whenever all of you found yourselves gathered beneath the same roof for an evening, with Frenchie enthusiastically recounting yet another wildly embellished story involving an unfortunate criminal, a stolen motorbike, and an amount of explosives that increased dramatically every time he reached the end of the tale, while Hughie listened with the sort of fascinated attention usually reserved for great works of literature, MM sat nearby wearing the long suffering expression of a man who had accepted years ago that maintaining order amongst this particular group required the patience of a saint and the tolerance of a hostage negotiator.
You remained seated beside Butcher throughout the exchange, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his body and the reassuring weight of his hand resting comfortably against your waist, while his thumb occasionally brushed slow circles against your side in a gesture that appeared entirely absent minded to anyone observing from a distance, yet felt remarkably intentional to you.
"That never happened," Marvin finally interrupted after several increasingly unbelievable additions to Frenchie's story, his voice carrying the weary certainty of someone who had witnessed enough of Frenchie's storytelling habits to identify fiction before the second sentence had even concluded.
Frenchie responded by placing a dramatic hand over his heart and looking genuinely wounded by the accusation, despite the fact that everyone present knew perfectly well that he considered factual accuracy an optional component of any entertaining narrative, "My friend," he declared with theatrical offence colouring every syllable, "it happened exactly as I described it, and perhaps even more heroically than I managed to communicate."
"You described yourself jumping through a moving window whilst carrying two duffel bags and a shotgun," Marvin replied with admirable restraint.
Frenchie nodded immediately, "Exactly."
"That was the part I considered the least believable."
Kimiko's shoulders shook with silent laughter as she watched the exchange unfold, while Hughie looked increasingly delighted by the entire conversation, "I don't know," Hughie said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair with a grin spreading across his face, "that actually sounds exactly like something Frenchie would attempt without thinking about the consequences."
"Thank you, Hughie," Frenchie replied proudly, clearly choosing to interpret the observation as a compliment rather than a criticism.
"That wasn't praise," MM informed him.
Frenchie waved dismissively, "I choose happiness."
The group erupted with joint laughter, and for a moment everyone seemed content to enjoy the simple comfort of existing together without the constant threat of disaster looming over the evening.
Unfortunately, Hughie's attention eventually drifted elsewhere, more specifically, Hughie's attention drifted towards you and Butcher. That shit eating grin spreading across his face immediately signalled trouble, and the moment Butcher noticed it, he sighed deeply and reached for his drink with the resigned expression of a man who already knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Careful, Twat" he warned, his voice calm enough to suggest he already considered the warning entirely pointless.
Hughie ignored him without hesitation, "You know," he began innocently, which instantly guaranteed that nothing innocent was about to follow, "I've started noticing something recently."
"That's dangerous," Butcher replied immediately.
The room laughed again, Hughie remained undeterred, "You two spend more time staring at each other than actually speaking."
Frenchie reacted as though someone had finally announced a revelation of enormous importance, "At last!" he declared dramatically.
"At last what?" Hughie asked.
"At last someone acknowledges what every single person in this room has noticed for approximately a century."
Marvin rubbed his forehead, just needing some damn peace - impossible when Hughie and Frenchie were in the room together conspiring like excitable teenage girls, "You all realise they're sitting right here."
"That is precisely why the conversation is interesting," Frenchie replied.
You brought your cigarette towards your lips to hide the smile threatening to appear, while beside you Butcher looked entirely unimpressed by the direction events had taken. His expression suggested complete irritation, however, the amusement dancing quietly within his eyes suggested something entirely different, "None of you lot have enough to occupy yourselves," he muttered.
"We really don't," Hughie admitted cheerfully.
"At least the boy's honest," Marvin observed.
The honesty earned another round of laughter, while Butcher shook his head as though surrounded by particularly troublesome children.
Your shoulder brushed lightly against his as you shifted position, "Look at that," you remarked casually.
"What?"
"You agreed with Hughie."
His eyes narrowed immediately, "I did no such thing."
"You absolutely did."
"Hughie hears things that never happened."
"I heard it too."
His gaze slid towards you, "That's because you're always paying attention."
The words emerged smoothly, effortless and dangerously close to becoming something softer than teasing.
Your eyebrow lifted slowly, "That sounded suspiciously complimentary." Because from a man as rough as Butcher, it was.
His mouth twitched faintly, "If I ever decide to pay you a compliment, you'll recognise it immediately."
"Oh, will I?"
"You'll probably be thinking of it whilst in bed," he teased slightly, gaining a mixture of reactions - all still expected though, MM's eyes closing in slight exasperation whilst Hughie may as well have had a tail wagging behind him the way he perked up at the jest, all whilst Butcher appeared thoroughly pleased with himself.
"You think very highly of yourself," you informed him.
"No," he replied without missing a beat, "I think very highly of my judgement." The look accompanying the statement lingered several seconds longer than necessary, making that familliar warmth spread through your chest despite yourself.
Across the table Hughie made a noise somewhere between disbelief and frustration,
"There," he exclaimed triumphantly.
"There what?" Butcher huffed.
"That."
"Very descriptive."
"You know exactly what I mean."
To emphasise Hughie's point, Frenchie pointed enthusiastically between the pair of you, "He absolutely knows exactly what you mean."
Kimiko nodded her agreement, MM gestured towards her, "Even Kimiko agrees, and she's usually the most sensible person here."
Kimiko's grin widened immediately, and the room dissolved into laughter once again.
Butcher leaned back in his chair and took a slow drag from his cigarette, appearing remarkably comfortable considering he was currently the subject of everyone's entertainment, "The lot of you need proper hobbies."
"We have hobbies," Hughie replied, before grinning, "Making fun of you appears to be everyone's favourite one."
"It really is," Marvin admitted with complete sincerity.
The honesty caught even Butcher off guard.
A low laugh escaped him before he could stop it, the sound immediately drew your attention.
It always did. His laughter remained one of the rarest things about him, rough and warm and entirely genuine whenever it appeared. His eyes met yours across the short distance separating you; Something softened there, private, familiar, and for a brief moment, the noise filling the room seemed to fade into the background. His hand squeezed gently against your waist beneath the table, the action lasted only a second, but the message behind it lingered much longer.
You smiled despite yourself, and his gaze remained fixed upon yours.
"You're impossible," you murmured quietly.
The corner of his mouth lifted, "Funny."
"What?"
"I was just thinking exactly the same thing about you." The response arrived so smoothly that it almost felt rehearsed, though the warmth in his eyes made it clear the words had emerged naturally.
You shook your head, laughing softly.
Across the room MM witnessed the entire exchange and immediately looked as though every suspicion he had ever possessed had just been confirmed beyond reasonable doubt.
The knowing smile spreading across his face grew increasingly unbearable.
You pointed towards him, "Stop that."
"Stop what?" Marvin asked innocently.
"That look."
His grin widened, "What look?"
"The one you're doing right now."
Marvin glanced briefly towards Butcher before returning his attention to you, "I haven't said a single word."
"You don't need to."
The room continued buzzing with conversation and laughter around you, yet despite the noise and movement surrounding the table, an invisible thread seemed to connect you and Butcher throughout the evening, drawing your attention towards one another repeatedly through every conversation and every joke, while each passing glance carried years of trust, affection, and understanding that neither of you felt any particular urgency to explain aloud.
The evening continued unfolding around you in a steady stream of laughter, sarcastic remarks, and increasingly erratic conversations, yet despite the constant noise filling the hideout, your attention seemed to return towards Butcher with an almost magnetic inevitability, as though some invisible force had quietly decided that every glance, every thought, and every stray moment of awareness should somehow find its way back to him.
Frenchie was currently arguing with Marvin about something completely inconsequential, Hughie was attempting to mediate despite possessing absolutely no authority whatsoever, and Kimiko appeared thoroughly entertained by the entire spectacle, which left you free to enjoy the rare sight of Butcher looking genuinely relaxed.
His cigarette rested loosely between his fingers as he listened to the conversation with halfhearted interest, the amber light from the lamp catching against the sharp edges of his features and painting warm highlights across his skin. You watched as he finally brought the cigarette towards his mouth for one last drag.
The ember flared lowly towards the base, smoke curled upwards in lazy ribbons. Then, with the same effortless confidence that seemed woven into everything he did, he leaned forward slightly and pressed the cigarette against the side of his boot. The glowing tip hissed softly before disappearing entirely; Simple, practical, and distinctly him.
You glanced down at your own cigarette, the movement did not escape his notice. Of course it didn't; Very little escaped his notice when it came to you.
Without speaking, he shifted slightly closer, the movement appeared casual enough that nobody else paid attention, shoulder brushing yours, his familiar scent surrounding him drifted closer, warm tobacco, leather softened by years of wear, a subtle trace of aftershave lingering close to his skin. Something rich and masculine that settled comfortably within your senses and made it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.
Before you could move, his hand reached towards yours, large fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. The contact felt startling despite how familiar it had become over the years, his hand was warm, remarkably so, the roughness of his palm contrasted beautifully with the steady gentleness of his touch, while the faint calluses covering his fingers spoke of years spent working, fighting, surviving, and carrying burdens that would have crushed lesser men.
There was strength in every part of him.
Strength that never needed to announce itself, a strength that simply existed. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of your hand, a simple gesture - arguably an entirely unnecessary gesture - but a devastating gesture all the same for you and your nervous system by the way it made you malfunction ever so slightly. It would help if you weren't so painfully attracted to the oldrt man, wouldn't it?
"You're staring again." The words emerged quietly enough that nobody else heard them.
You smiled, "You noticed."
"I always notice,"The reply arrived without hesitationc, no need for thought, as though the answer was obvious, for Butcher, noticing you had become instinctive.
Warmth settled low within your chest, and further down in your gut, but before you could respond, he guided your hand downwards, slowly, deliberately, fingers remaining wrapped around yours as he lowered your cigarette towards the toe of his boot.
The movement felt entirely innocent, but the atmosphere surrounding it felt anything but innocent.
His hand engulfed yours, size difference suddenly seemed impossible to ignore, your fingers looked almost delicate within his grasp.
The observation made your pulse quicken, his damn scent lingered around you as he leaned slightly closer, with the warmth of him seeming to occupy every inch of space between you, emphasised by the rough leather of his coat brushing lightly against your arm, shoulder pressed against yours.
His breath ghosted briefly past your ear as he spoke, "Here."
The single word settled far too deeply. You swallowed.
Together, your hands guided the cigarette towards the sole of his boot, small glowing ember touched leather, that same faint hiss followed, then darkness, the cigarette extinguished completely. For a moment neither of you moved, Butcher's hand remained over yours.
The room continued bustling around you.
Frenchie was speaking far too loudly.
Hughie was protesting something with increasing desperation, Marvin sounded exhausted, yet all of it felt distant.
Muted.
Secondary.
Because Butcher still hadn't let go.
His fingers remained loosely intertwined with yours, thumb resting against your knuckles, the minute contact carried no urgency or impatience, simply familiarity, threaded with that possession and affection that made your stomach feel warm; The sort of intimacy that developed slowly over years until it became impossible to separate from daily life.
You tilted your head slightly, "Very gentlemanly."
His eyes flickered towards yours, "Don't tell anyone."
A laugh escaped you, "I'll protect your reputation."
"Appreciated."
"You'd never recover."
"Absolutely ruined," The corner of his mouth lifted. That small smile appeared again, the one reserved for rare moments and made all the more meaningful by how sparingly it was given, and before you could stop yourself you found your own lips curving in response as his gaze lingered upon you for far longer than necessity could ever justify, remaining there long enough for Marvin to notice yet again from across the room.
"You know," he called out suddenly, drawing everyone's attention, "some people would find this whole thing much easier if they actually said what they're thinking."
You immediately groaned at the direction the conversation had taken, while Hughie's face lit up with unmistakable delight, Frenchie looked positively thrilled by the prospect of further entertainment, Kimiko raised a hand to her mouth in a partially successful attempt to conceal her laughter, and Butcher remained entirely unmoved amidst the chaos, wearing the calm expression of a man who had weathered far worse than a room full of meddling friends, "Sounds terrible," he replied.
Marvin pointed towards him, "See."
"What?"
"That."
"What?"
"Exactly that."
Butcher shook his head, "You're getting old."
Marvin looked personally offended, "I'm younger than you."
"Barely."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." The response arrived immediately, cockily confident.
Marvin rolled his eyes.
Unfortunately, the exchange only encouraged Hughie, the young man looked between you and Butcher before grinning broadly, "You know, one day this tension is going to kill everyone in this room."
You sighed, having endured Hughie's usual nonsense often enough to recognise exactly where this was heading, while Frenchie laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the table, Kimiko looked thoroughly delighted by the unfolding spectacle, and Marvin wore the deeply satisfied expression of a man whose suspicions had just been confirmed yet again. Meanwhile, Butcher simply leaned back in his chair and draped an arm casually across the back of yours, the movement appearing entirely natural and absent minded despite the way his fingers brushed your shoulder and lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes met yours, a challenge and a private joke sparkling within them as he drawled, "Poor kid, still thinks he knows everything."
The look he gave you suggested he was talking about far more than Hughie, making your smile widen immediately, "You enjoy winding them up."
His expression remained perfectly calm,
"I've got absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Sweetheart," The lie was so outrageous that even MM laughed.
And for the rest of the evening, every glance exchanged between you felt warmer than the last, every joke carried a hidden meaning beneath the sarcasm, and every accidental touch seemed to linger just a little longer than either of you could reasonably justify.