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Hughie hadn’t meant to say it, it just … slipped out.
He and Annie had been making out in bed for the better part of the last half-hour, soft words and gentle laughs just for the two of them. Annie’s been covering him in kisses that leave the faintest trace of today’s lipstick on pale skin, making her way down his long frame. Stripped down to just a sheer bra and panties, her soft tits press up against Hughie’s chest whenever she kisses him, making him feel warm and grounded. She’s using one hand to cup his growing bulge through his sweatpants, the other to encourage him to lift his hips off the bed. Clothes are discarded quickly once he complies, pants and boxers chucked to the floor in a blink. The room is feeling steamier by the second, and Hughie’s aching for more of their hands on each other in whatever way he can get.
Finally, finally after more sloppy kisses and feather-light touches, Annie gets a hand on Hughie’s bare cock. He’s hard and dripping, twitching as she curls her fist around it and starts to stroke. He throws his head back into the plush pillows when he feels the faintest trace of her breath against his dick, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the warm rush of pleasure. Annie wraps her lips around the head of his cock and Hughie is in heaven .
“Fuck, Billy,” he exhales without thinking.
Oh, fuck.
Oh no.
Maybe he hadn’t said it very loud? Maybe she was too distracted taming her gag reflex to pay attention to his words? Maybe they could laugh about this, chalk it up to an oops and proceed with their scheduled programming?
Eyes still closed, suddenly the weight of Annie against him is gone, and he feels the mattress dip with her movement.
“Excuse me?”
Nope, she definitely heard him. Loud and clear. Shit . Hughie dares to open his eyes and he looks at his girlfriend dumbly, like a deer caught in the headlights.
Or like a guy who’s just been caught cheating.
“You’re fucking him,” Annie says matter-of-factly, leaving no room for a question mark on the end of her sentence. Her eyes are beginning to smart with electricity, just enough to make the lamp on the bedside table flicker. Hughie stares at her, still reeling from his admission. (Would she blind him right now? Knock him out with a white-hot blast of fuck you cheater ?)
Annie’s not an idiot, there’s no sense in denying the accusation. Hell, moaning another man’s name right as she was about to go down on him is as good a confession as any. He nods, just once, refusing to meet Annie’s gaze as she asks, “How long?”
“It started when we were split up,” Hughie mumbles, knowing that won’t make it much better. He pictures curling in on himself and hiding from the world, like a tortoise that’s been startled back into its shell. “I broke your heart, Annie, I thought you’d never take me back, and he…” He chances a glance up at Annie -- her expression is unreadable.
“He was there for you,” she finishes for him.
Hughie sighs, and something cracks open in his throat, as if his rambling will patch this hole he’s dug himself. “Yeah. He was. But then you gave me a second chance, and I am really fucking grateful for that because I didn’t deserve it, and …” He pauses to staunch the flow of tears that are sure to erupt soon. God, he’s put Annie through so much . “And I didn’t exactly tell him we had to stop.”
Annie gives him the look of a teacher or parent who’s not mad, just disappointed. She seems to be carefully selecting her next words, probably steeling herself from cussing him out for twenty minutes. At least, that’s what he deserves, he thinks. Surprisingly though, instead of slapping him she rests a hand on Hughie’s thigh. “Baby, we could have talked about this.”
“I had no idea how.” Shitty excuse, but whatever. “I knew how much it would hurt you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining everything for us, again. I’m so fucking sorry, Annie.”
Seconds feel like hours while Hughie waits for her to respond. She could dump him right then, kick him out, punch him square in the face and it wouldn’t sting as much as what she says. “So … You love him, then?”
His knee-jerk reaction is to firmly deny it, but truthfully, he hasn’t the slightest clue how he really feels about Butcher. They had been through so much together - after Robin, he had materialized into Hughie’s life like a fucked-up fairy godmother, sat with him in the car countless times, when the grief was still raw and all Hughie could do was cry and cry. Butcher was there again, when Annie had rightfully dumped him for using her as an unknowing participant in their scheme against Vought. He couldn’t remember the string of events that led him falling into Butcher’s bed that first night, but what was another mistake? He’d chosen vengeance for Robin, and for Becca, and that meant he could no longer place any bets on living to see tomorrow.
Was it pure, earnest romantic love, like the kind he felt for Annie? Maybe not. But it wasn’t merely sex either. Hughie had felt the magnetic pull between them long before they had ever slept together, and he suspected Butcher did too.
All of this and more runs through Hughie’s mind in the lengthy space that follows Annie’s question. The only thing he can answer with utmost certainty is, “I don’t know.” And then, after another thoughtful pause, “But I wasn’t going to - leave you for him, or anything like that.”
How could he ever make someone else understand, how he needs both Annie and Butcher for different reasons? How they balance him out and embrace different sides of him? It sounds like nonsense, the faulty logic of a cheater refusing to pick a side. But Hughie just … knows that he wants both of them, equally. Has known for a while, and couldn’t find the words to tell Annie. Couldn’t live without either one of them.
Annie nods, quietly absorbing everything. Her expression changes, just slightly, and she instead takes the subject in a different direction. “You like men, too? I didn’t know.” She doesn’t sound offended, but maybe a little saddened that Hughie didn’t open up to her about that, or didn’t feel comfortable.
“Thought it was obvious,” Hughie mumbles, and a shy smile peeks out for the first time since this conversation began. (Maybe all the Billy Joel posters should’ve been an indicator.)
To Hughie’s surprise, Annie smiles back at him. “You know, I was starting to wonder what you were up to. You’d go to the office all day and come home at two in the morning looking like you got the shit beaten out of you. Butcher must really be roughing you up, huh?” Hughie’s responding blush is all the answer she needs. He doesn’t say a word.
Annie stands to her feet then, gathers up their clothes from the floor, breathes a deep, contemplative sigh before pulling her shirt back on. “I need a minute,” she says in explanation of her hurried re-dressing. “Or, like, a couple hours. To think about all of this. I’m still pissed at you, you know.”
“Trust me, I know.” Hughie shrugs his boxers on, pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. The motion leaves his brown curls a mess.
“You better be apologizing on your knees for the next six months.”
“Is that a threat or a promise? Also, I’m sorry again.”
Annie laughs, warm and more like herself again, and Hughie still can’t get a full grip on the tone of the situation. “Really, though, you could have slept with any other guy behind my back and you chose that fucking psychopath? Whatever, man.” She rolls her eyes in a lighthearted manner and waves him off, leaving their bedroom.
Hughie falls facedown into the sheets and contemplates what the fuck he has done with his life.
-
For the next few hours Hughie only leaves the bedroom once or twice, making a point not to intersect Annie’s path, allowing her space. He hears her slamming cabinets in the kitchen, the loud whirring of the blender, the unmistakable sound of her sending fists flying at the punching bag in the spare bedroom. Better it than him, he supposes.
She returns in the evening to find Hughie staring mindlessly at whatever he’d put on the television - some movie about tennis - his long body curled around one of their big fluffy pillows. Hughie only jumps a little when she asks from the doorway, “When were you going to see him again?”
Hughie fumbles for the remote in the sheets, silencing the TV and turning to face her with a puzzled look. “Huh? I have to end it with him, Annie, I can’t -”
“I didn’t say end it. Before I found out, when were you going to see him again. Tell me.”
Hughie inhales deeply. “… Tonight.”
“Hm.” Annie mulls over this information, then approaches him at the foot of the bed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips in the dim light. “We’d better get you ready for him, then.”
Hughie splutters. What. The. Fuck. “What?”
“I thought about it, a lot,” she hums, still standing over him with her hands on her hips. “I think I get it. He’s giving you something that I can’t, yeah? You need something from both of us? So, maybe there’s a way we can work this out. You can have your fun with Butcher, but you still come home to me.” Hughie just nods along, his mouth gone completely dry. He has an idea where this might be going.
“What … did you have in mind?” He says, almost a whisper. He’s nearly trembling with anticipation.
“I want to fuck you open before Butcher even gets the chance,” Annie smirks, and Hughie’s jaw drops at the filth passing through her lips. “God, I bet that’ll send him into a fucking fit, won’t it? He can play with you, but he’ll know you’re still mine.”
In the last five minutes, Hughie has gone from startled to guilty to confused to … turned on? Yes, definitely turned on, as he allows himself to think about how hot Annie looks like this, looming over him and her movements all sleek confidence, dominating. Her hair is still pulled back from her workout, her tight blonde ponytail swishing as she assesses Hughie.
“Do we … have a deal?” Annie ventures, her hand tauntingly jutting out for Hughie to shake like some kind of business transaction. Reluctantly, Hughie obliges, takes Annie’s hand and gives it an affirmative shake. Annie smiles devilishly and finally joins him on the bed again.
Hughie leans back, waiting for another order. She doesn’t give it to him right away, though; instead she starts rambling as she sifts through their bedside table for a bottle of lube. “You know, I would’ve done this with you a long time ago if you’d just told me you wanted to try it,” she says. “I’ve never been opposed to it, personally.” It comes off rather casual, but Hughie can still feel the jealousy pulsating off of her, the pang of her anger at the thought of him giving this experience to someone else. It could be like this for a while , he thinks.
Maybe she’d fuck him until all her jealousy is worn out- No. No no no no. That was not healthy and certainly not a good way to begin the path of repairing their relationship.
His dick sure liked the sound of it, though.
Before he can keep chasing that train of thought, Annie is back on him, holding the lube in one hand and the other tugging at his boxers again. It’s a strange parallel to earlier in the day, although now they were about to explore something completely new for them. She’s blown him plenty of times, but never has he allowed himself to be as vulnerable with Annie as he’s about to be in this moment.
From the beginning, Hughie had squeezed himself into the mold he thought any girlfriend would want out of him. He was kind and doting, held doors open and paid the restaurant bills, put himself on top in missionary every time they had sex. It’s not like he knew any different. He was genuinely shocked the first time Annie offered to ride him; somehow the thought of suggesting other positions just never crossed his mind.
So this, naturally, had also been a tough subject, when he was still working out his bisexuality. Butcher just happened to come along at the right time to expedite that process, make him absolutely positive that he enjoyed receiving as much as giving, men as much as women as much as anyone. The question of Hey, can you do me a favor and strap one on for me? was never easily broached.
Annie bends Hughie’s legs over her shoulders, soft hands on his thighs urging him to spread out a little more. He’s wearing nothing but a worn-out band tee, but he’s too worked up to think about taking it off because suddenly there’s a cold, wet finger probing at his entrance and it’s so much.
“Doing okay, baby?” Annie coos, gently rubbing his rim as if she isn’t about to obliterate him with those same fingers. Hughie just nods frantically, afraid that if he opens his mouth to speak only a pathetic whimper would come out. Annie locks eyes with him and she understands, her first finger slowly pushing past the muscle.
Butcher’s done this to him plenty of times before, and his fingers are much bigger, but this feeling is just as overwhelming. Annie starts with gentle thrusts in and out, not fast or deep just yet, still learning his boundaries with this. Hughie knows she’s holding back for him, and his thoughts run a little wild at the idea of her using her full strength and stamina. God, that would wreck him. But that would have to wait for another time.
Quiet, gasping moans are punched out of Hughie every time Annie moves forward, and eventually he’s able to grit out a plea for “More.” She thankfully obliges, slotting in a second finger alongside the first, and Hughie’s starting to feel that delicious stretch he craves so much.
“Does he fuck you like this? On your back? Or on your stomach?”
So she wants to fight dirty. That’s how it’s gonna be. Annie wants to siphon out all the filthy details of his sex with Butcher and use it to her advantage. Hughie should honestly be more offended by the fact that she didn’t even ask who took which position; she just knew . She was absolutely going to be the death of him. Rest in peace, Hughie. “Both, both.”
“Mmm, you look good like this but I’d love to get you on all fours, too,” Annie says contemplatively, her hand keeping a steady pace. “Does he have a big dick?”
Hughie thinks about all the nights he’d come home sore and aching, popped a Tylenol before joining Annie, fast asleep in bed. He groans . “God, yeah. Always so … fucking full.” He rocks back onto her hand in desperation, chasing more of that same full feeling. He wishes Annie had more to stuff inside of him than just her fingers. “Right there, keep going, please .”
Annie hadn’t realized it would take so little to make Hughie beg so prettily, to turn him into a whimpering mess. He’d needed this from her for a lot longer than he’d ever let on. But a different thought nags at her, too.
“Wait -- You guys are using condoms, right?”
“Jesus - ! Yes , Annie.” She doesn’t need to know about the times Butcher’s shot his load down his throat.
“Good boy. Could you come like this? Just my fingers?” She’s jabbing the digits into him harder and faster by the second, aiming for his prostate, he thinks. Luckily it works, hitting that sweet spot inside of him, the one Butcher manages to find with exact precision every time. Hughie opens his mouth, preparing a response, but Annie saves him and says, “You can touch yourself if you need to, baby.”
Hughie sighs in relief and wraps his fist around his cock, thumbing the head to gather his precum and stroke himself in time with Annie’s thrusts. He thought it might seem more unnatural, this role reversal, but he finds they’ve both slotted into it quite well and it feels fucking incredible. And if Annie’s expressions are anything to go by, she’s loving the control she’s allowed like this. Even when she would climb on top, Hughie still wanted to hold her hips and maintain his own pace, but letting her take the reins instead is paying off in the best way for both of them.
“I should buy a strap-on,” Annie says passingly, meeting Hughie’s eyes and reading the gasping pleasure across his face. “Then we could really stretch you out.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hughie responds, unable to conjure any more words as his orgasm is approaching rapidly. He’s caught up in the dual sensations of it all, hips rolling to meet Annie’s movements while fucking into the tight ring of his own hand. The result is a tug-of-war of overwhelming pleasure and Hughie’s spurting onto his stomach before he even realizes he’s coming.
“There you go, baby, that’s it,” Annie coos, soothing despite the rough tempo of her hand. She continues to fuck Hughie through his orgasm, her fingers slowing in pace until Hughie’s been milked dry and he’s reaching to swat her hand away. Another time she might’ve kept going, worked him through the overstimulation and wrung another one out of him, but tonight was not the night for that. She pulls her fingers out gently, emitting an exhausted whimper of protest from Hughie.
“Holy shit,” Hughie sighs, his head falling back into the pillows, trying to catch his breath. “That was… A lot.”
“Too much?”
“No. Just a lot.” He should probably feel gross like this, splayed out in bed like a starfish with come drying on his stomach, but he doesn’t. What washes over him instead is contentment, satisfaction. He couldn’t believe he’d been too chickenshit to ask for this sooner.
He’s still not quite lucid enough to realize that Annie hasn’t finished yet until he feels her wiping him down with a warm washcloth. It’s comforting; Butcher wasn’t consistent with aftercare, usually tossing him a papery tissue or a wad of fast food napkins from the glove compartment of his car. Other times he’d shove Hughie forward out of the bathroom stall so they could return to work, shaky hands still struggling with his belt loops.
Hughie blinks and attempts to put words to his thoughts in his euphoric haze. “Wait! You, um, you didn’t…” He gestures, vaguely.
Annie shakes her head and says, “Later,” planting a kiss to Hughie’s forehead. “You look exhausted.”
Hughie’s always bent over backwards to ensure other people’s happiness - his dad, Robin, Annie, Butcher. He’d thought he could derive self-worth from his loved ones by earning their approval, putting everyone else ahead of himself every step of the way. He hadn’t realized he could be treated like this - pampered , even. That maybe he did like to hold open doors and pay for dinner but Annie could assume that role sometimes, too. Annie didn’t need to be rescued by her big, strong boyfriend, and she had never expected that out of him. He’d gotten hurt by his self-set standards before, but maybe that wall was starting to show its cracks. It felt liberating.
“So, about that strap-on you mentioned buying…”
Annie rolls her eyes and smacks his arm. “Only if you’re a good boy.”
“Noted,” Hughie mumbles with his face half-shoved in the sheets, before drifting off into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in a while.
-
Later that same evening …
“Naughty boy.” Butcher tuts when he reaches a hand down to probe at Hughie’s entrance and finds him already wet and stretched.
“A-Annie helped,” Hughie says with a lopsided grin, daring Butcher to say something about it. Better yet, do something.
“Oh, did she now?”
Hughie nods, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, eyeing Butcher up and down. The older man has that glint in his eyes that he gets whenever Hughie brings up his girlfriend. It’s like striking a match, the thrill of we shouldn’t be doing this . Something caught between possessive, hungry, and homicidal.
This could definitely be used to Hughie’s advantage.