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Subconscious Desire

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He’s hard. Achingly hard and wet and empty. There’s a whine building in the back of his throat. Something is pinning him down, and it’s a wonderful weight — heavy and warm and so obviously alpha. Even face down, nose pressed into the sheets, he can smell the pheromones in the air. The alpha’s arousal is thick, heady. Hughie tries to press back into them, his dripping hole clenching down painfully around nothing.

The alpha grunts and ruts up against him. His cock is pure heat against Hughie’s lower back, and the glide is oddly smooth.

When it registers that a slick smear of precome is responsible, he jolts awake with a gasp, because he doesn’t have an alpha. He doesn’t even live with one, not anymore.

Not since he and the others were in hiding.

He digs his fingers into the cheap sheets and shudders. The more and more aware he becomes, the more he realizes he knows that scent. “Butcher,” he tries.

Silence. Butcher doesn’t pause or even slow. He’s still wearing his boxers, his hard cock having escaped through the fly.

Hughie squirms, torn between arousal and finding out what the fuck is going on, and he manages to shift away a little —

But then Butcher wraps an arm around him and rolls them onto their sides, his hips still firm against his ass. He lets out an annoyed grunt as his hand dips below the band of Hughie’s boxers to grip his bare hip. There’s no insult or a quip, because he’s asleep.

Hughie rubs at his eyes with a stuttered moan. Yep, Butcher’s still asleep, his features contorted in pleasure, focused but distinctly lacking awareness. Fuck.

This honestly hadn’t occurred to either of them. Sharing a bed on this mission wasn’t supposed to be an issue. An inconvenience, sure, especially since Hughie had asked for his own damn bed, but Butcher hadn’t set anything up ahead of time, and the motel only had one room with a single. It shouldn’t have mattered that they were alpha and omega. It wasn’t like they’d been all over each other before. They weren’t slaves to their biology even if Hughie maybe definitely found Butcher attractive in a dangerous this is a horrible idea sort of way.

Except he hasn’t been this slick outside of a heat in ages. The familiar heat against his back and the smell of Butcher’s arousal thick around him is hitting him hard, and half-asleep, it’s difficult to remember why he should be pulling away.

Butcher scrapes his teeth against his shoulder. It’s clumsy and too harsh.

Hughie whimpers. He arches back into him and tugs at his own boxers in desperation. Shit, he shouldn’t but —

Taking advantage of the new stretch of bare skin, Butcher rolls his hips, his dick slipping in the slick between his cheeks.

And, fuck, Butcher might kill him for it, but Hughie can barely think of why he shouldn’t be reaching back and gripping that thick cock, angling it where he needs it most. Another rock of the alpha’s hips, and he’s filled with a squelch. He trembles and digs his short nails into Butcher’s arm.

Butcher’s hold on him tightens. He makes a questioning noise into the crook of his neck but fucks into him anyway, setting a brutal pace now that he’s deep in the tight clutch of his ass. His knot is already beginning to swell, probably has been for a while. He nips and licks at Hughie’s neck with more purpose now.

Maybe this is a dream. It would have to be a very realistic one, because Hughie can feel the way his skin throbs from the attention. He’s aware of the blunt edge of Butcher’s teeth and the way his growing knot catches on every thrust. Sparks zing up his spine, and he’s gasping for breath. “Fuck, please knot me.”

“That’s the plan, Hughie,” Butcher grunts, voice husky and heavy with sleep.

Hughie freezes.

It doesn’t faze Butcher. He thrusts harder, and his knot pops in and out with a filthy noise. “Bloody good way to wake up.”

“Butcher, fuck, I —” He’s not sure what to say, or if there’s anything he can say.

“Shh, don’t.” With a groan, Butcher snaps his hips hard and fast once more to fit his swollen cock in, and then he’s rolling them in little circles as he comes. The hand on Hughie’s hip slides over to wrap around him, jerking him lazily.

And, god, Hughie already feels so fucking full. He has a strong feeling there’s going to be a bulge by the time Butcher is done, and that combined with the hand on him — rough and calloused and Butcher’s — drags his orgasm out of him in such a rush he sobs with the force of it.

“That’s it,” Butcher says smugly. Rubbing his hand on the sheets, he shifts both of them into a more comfortable position. “Won’t be long.” His arm cradles the developing swell of the skinny omega’s stomach.

It won’t be, since Hughie’s not in heat and Butcher not in rut, at least from what Hughie can smell. He tries to catch his breath and shudders as he feels another pulse from the alpha’s cock. “Sorry. I woke up and you were — you were humping me, and —” His tongue feels three times too big for his mouth, thick and clumsy.

“I was dreaming,” Butcher admits, and there’s something reluctant there.

Of Becca, Hughie’s mind helpfully fills in. He winces. It’s only been about a year since she died, and fuck now he feels even worse.

Butcher scoffs like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. “Of you, princess.” Maybe he does.

“Oh.” Warmth fills his chest, and Hughie’s glad they’re not facing each other, because he can feel the stupid grin that covers his face.

The way Butcher holds him isn’t exactly tender, but it’s… peaceful. They rest together, sleepy and satisfied, until his knot starts to soften. He eases out of Hughie then, and a small gush of his come follows.

Hughie jerks when he feels two fingers scoop some of it up and push it back in. “It’s going to come right back out,” he breathes out.

Butcher hums. “We’ll get you a nice big plug for next time. How’s that sound?” He wanders into the attached bathroom.

The thought of being stuffed with him longer, of feeling so obscenely full and knowing exactly why, makes his cock twitch.

The knowledge that Butcher wants to do this again makes his cheeks burn. “Sure,” Hughie says. “Next time.”