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Mirror, Mirror

Summary:

Prompt: Butcher filthy talking while getting busy i feel in like an alleyway or the service hallway in a bar or similar. Somewhere crowded and dirty, like actually dirty

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“Two Budweiser bottles and two Tin Cups for the pretty boys in the corner.” She wipes her hands on a bar rag and shakes her long black waves over her shoulders as she sips ice water through one lucky fucken straw.

Butcher’s been watching her for the last hour and a half. Apart from his dearly departed, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen — self-possessed and even-tempered with a voice like candied peaches. He wants to fuck the sweet right out of that voice.

So when she says pretty boys, he’s curious about what that means to her.

He takes a discreet look over his shoulder toward the men in question. Carhartt, flannel, logger boots... Butcher’s confused by what’s pretty about them.

“Outta Tin Cup,” the bar back states, sliding her the beers.

She shrugs. “Bulleit, then. BRB.”

She turns on her heel and strides toward the table in the corner. Her thin, white t-shirt and jeans hug every curve, and as she nears the table, the one with short hair rakes his eyes over her. Butcher can’t blame him.

Her bronzed arms flex as she stretches and bends to set their beers down in front of them. He knows exactly what those men are thinking because he’s thinking the same thing.

“Bulleit up, Keeks.”

She looks over her shoulder at the bar before tossing another word to the men. Butcher and the pretty boys watch her tongue swipe her full bare lips, and Butcher wonders what they’d look like painted red. Her throaty laugh makes the men each shift in their seats as they watch her walk away.

She scoops up the shots before casually directing her attention to Butcher. “If you want me to wait on you, you’ll need to sit in the bar.” When she finally rests her pointed gaze on him, Butcher blinks rapidly.

“And what makes you fink I wan’ you to wait on me?” he asks, swiveling his bar stool until he’s fully facing her.

His dick’s so hard it’s practically a character in their little scene.

Without missing a beat, she replies, “everybody does.”

And then she’s back on the floor.

The mouth on her, the temerity. He wants to take her down a few notches just to see if he can, but his chinos are too tight to move.

So he waits and watches. The shorter of the two men in the corner gives her his phone number, and Butcher rolls his eyes.

He’s sipping his whiskey when she sidles up next to him.

“I’m off in 20,” she says giving more attention to the cash she’s pulling from her denim pockets than to his reaction. She nods toward the back of the bar where dim fluorescent light spills through a doorway. “Meet me in the service hallway.”

He doesn’t have any excuse not to, but he hates that she’s keeping the upper hand.

The back hallway is dingy and stinking like sour milk and old beer. Service carts and discarded bus bins line the wall, covered in crusted-over cleaning rags.

He spots her at the dark end of the hall, in front of a locker, fishing through her bag. He takes the necessary steps to reach her, and once he’s mere inches from her, she flicks her dark eyes up to meet his.

Some would say doe-eyes because they’re dark and wide, but there ain’t nothin’ demure about her.

She drags her gaze from his eyes and down. He gravitates toward the fan of her thick, black lashes, shadowing her cheeks. Then she slams her locker shut and shoves him backward.

He stumbles, not because she’s strong, but because he wasn’t expecting that at all.

“Condom,” she says as she produces the foil packet between her middle and pointer fingers and prowls after him with a knowing smirk.

For the first time that night, he gets a full view of her smile. He has a serious conversation with himself because he’s not about to let a 5’2” woman shove him around, no matter how badly he wants to bend her over the stack of pallets at his side.

Butcher snatches the condom from her and pockets it then wraps his hand around her slim, delicate wrist and yanks.

She gasps in the way a woman gasps when she gets what she wants, not from surprise. He wonders if he can surprise her.

He dips in and claims her mouth with his, twisting lips and swiping tongues. She hums and drapes her free arm around his neck, rising up on the tips of her toes.

“Wha’ happened t’yer pretty boys?” he murmurs, spinning and hoisting her up onto the stack of rotting wood.

She breathes a deep chuckle, and the sound of it shoots straight to his dick.  

“They aren’t mine,” she replies, sliding her slender fingertips up through his hair and pulling him down to lick and bite his lips into her mouth.

What a fucken answer.

He lets her kiss him as he wrestles with the frivolous little knot tied at her waist. It’s infuriating, just like the rest of her. Why not just tuck the fucken thing in.

He swears under his breath, yanking and tearing at it until he’s worn a hole in the thin material of her t-shirt.

She shakes her head and chuckles again. There’s an edge of smooth condescension to everything she says and does, and he can’t wait to tear her apart.

He rips her shirt open from the hole and upward between her breasts, shredding it further to shove over her sharp collarbones and shoulders. He briefly chastises himself for not getting her somewhere he can get her completely naked and really show her what he’s made of.

Butcher pulls back to look at her. Her eyes are almost black, and she’s out of breath, ravenous. She’s like looking in a mirror.

He pushes and pulls, yanks the button of her jeans from its hole, and jerks the denim over her lush hips.

“You're easier to move than you look, sweetheart.”

Her jeans are bunched around her ankles, so now he can almost see all of her — swirls and dips and curves of creamy, tanned skin, flawless and smooth. He wants to eat her alive.

“That’s not a compliment,” she replies, her voice deeper and huskier than it was in the bar.

“Just sayin’,” he reaches for the stretchy cups of her bra and pulls them down under her full tits until there’s nothing stopping him from ducking in and feasting on them.

“Tits’re heavy, ass’s heavy,” he mumbles around more than a mouthful of supple, mouthwatering flesh.

“I don’t need a refresher on my own body type, sweetheart. Are we gonna fuck or not?”

His skin prickles at her tone, and he’s suddenly in a frenzy.

Butcher takes one handful of black, silken tresses and another to spin her again until she’s face down on the pallets, her legs dangling from the floor. Her hips are finally at the perfect height for him to tear into her.

“Ya look like y’need a good hard fuck. How long’s it been, since lunch?”

She huffs a wry laugh and pushes up on her palms, her back arching painfully and gorgeously. Butcher runs two fingers down along her spine then reaches for the top of her sheer white panties and rips.

She gasps another hoarse laugh and tosses her head back. Her fucken hair’s obstructing his view, so he winds it around his fist and wrist as he unbuckles his belt and tucks in close to her ass.

“Y’wanted to suck those pretty boys off, didn’t y’love? Take those big cocks down that smooth, delicate throat o’yours?”

“Jesus,” she whispers a groan and grinds her ass back against him.

Butcher lets his pants drop to the floor so that he’s bare — so hard and hot he’s afraid he’ll come before he even gets inside what will undoubtedly be the pussy of a lifetime. He fumbles for the condom she gave him and rips it open with his teeth then spits the foil aside.

“God, you’ve got a filthy mouth,” she mutters, peeking over her shoulder with a wild look in her eyes.

“’N you got a mouth made fer cock.” He hums, turning his attention to where he wants to be. “Hold on, now, while I suit up.” He tosses her hair over her shoulder, and she drops to her elbows and watches him roll the condom over his length.

He wraps an arm around her waist before stepping on her jeans to push them over her sneakers and to the floor. Otherwise, he doesn’t waste time working his way inside her tight, wet heat.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathes, pushing back up to her palms and lifting one knee up onto the stack.

“How’re y’so tight?” he grunts, gripping her hips and setting a pace. “So soft and tight.”

He wants to wreck her, leave marks on her.

“Mmm, you feel good,” she groans. “You’re gonna make me come. Bite me... fuck, please?”

Her begging almost knocks him on his ass. He slams into her twice more before dipping in and taking her shoulder blade between his teeth.

She arches her neck and shouts. “Fuck yes!”

She’s convulsing and squeezing his cock as he deliberately rails into her hard. He claws at the fleshiest part of her hips and ass as he roars his own release.