This fic is rated M for a reason. It gets a tad smutty. I've written a couple more chapters so who knows where this'll end up. Anyway, this is a Harkness/Butch fic inspired by RustyPaperClip's story Trouble (fanfiction(.)net/s/6231462/1/Trouble).

Chapter One

'Come on chief, I got somethin' to show ya.'

There was that distinctive DeLoria smirk; the tunnel snake's lips curved upwards, a tongue flicking out across a rosy lower lip. He was the very definition of 'confident'. The tilt of his head. How his eyes narrowed just a little; some foreign emotion filtering across them, dark lashes framing his deep, blue eyes. Hands dug into the pockets of his leather jacket. And that mouth. That snake tongue.

But Harkness could tell he was nervous. His head titled just a little too high (02.08%) trying not to alert Harkness of the sweat that dotted his brow. And his hands in his pockets kept shifting; rubbing fingers together; sweaty palms. His eyes flickered between Harkness and the door anxiously, as if wondering if he would follow. But that smirk. Nervous or not, that smirk was all Butch.

'Sure.' He choked out, unaware that he'd been holding his breath.

Butch laced his fingers into Harkness's hand and suddenly he was being dragged along through the rusty corridors of Rivet City, down, past the Muddy Rudder, down into the dank belly of the ship. Had it been anyone else, Harkness probably would've put up a fight. No way would he voluntarily traipse about in half darkness while being led who knows where. But he didn't fight it. He didn't even think of fighting it. Because he was barely aware of anything, too focused on the warmth of Butch's hand in his. 89.5º F ... 89.4º F … 89.6º F … He'd been staring at it the whole way down and wondering why he couldn't comprehend the feeling that surged through him like heat.

Neither of them spoke as they wandered through the empty hallways and the ship groaned louder than usual as if to make up for the pressing silence. They must've been getting close to the broken off bow of the ship, where the wind rushed around the steel columns and the ship creaked as it struggled to keep itself together. But it was warm here. Butch's hand in his. Holding it tightly.

Suddenly they stopped. Harkness, so caught up in thinking about Butch's hand, bumped right into the back of him. Butch let out a low grunt but didn't turn around or say anything more and Harkness wouldn't have apologised even if he did. Butch's hand slipped from Harkness's to press the switch on the door in front of them. Butch moved inside and Harkness followed, the door shutting with a soft 'hiss' and 'click' behind them.

Inside, Butch shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. There was a small bed in the corner and a desk that was littered with scraps of paper and whiskey bottles, both empty and full (but 73.5% empty). This must be where Butch went when he wasn't causing trouble or hanging around in his room at the Weatherly Hotel. Harkness stood awkwardly in the middle of the room trying not to stare at his hand and its fading warmth. 89.2º F... 89.1º F...

Butch had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and was staring at him expectantly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. After a moment, he coughed and Harkness snapped to attention.

'So what was it you wanted to show me?' Harkness followed Butch's hands with his eyes as they fiddled with the zipper on his vault suit and then slowly, slowly dragged it down, revealing more of his white undershirt underneath.

Butch ignored Harkness's question, leisurely stripping the suit off down to his waist, working his arms out of the sleeves. There was a moment's pause and then the undershirt was peeled off too, Butch yanking it off over his head and throwing it in the general direction of the chair which held his jacket. He grinned. Cocky.

Harkness's mouth went dry. He stared; heat flashing up inside him again. He stared at the broad, tanned, shoulders. Stared at the paler chest; faded tan lines framing his upper arms and neck. The taut expanse of muscle. The faint freckles that dusted his skin. The dark mahogany of his nipples. Another burst of heat sparked in him. Butch leaned back on the bed, arms stretched out behind him, stomach on display now, no longer hidden behind the vault suit that was bunched up around his waist, a hint of dark hair spread down from his navel. A flash of uncertainty suddenly passed Butch's face but was gone as quickly as it came.

Harkness swallowed hard. He suddenly felt very overdressed.

'C'mere chief.' Butch glanced at him, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips again, allowing a glint of white teeth, confident although a bead of sweat ran down his cheek and his arms seemed to be shaking where they held his lean form upright.

It took Harkness a moment (04.7 seconds) before he moved towards the other man, cautiously taking a seat down beside him on the bed, mattress squeaking under his weight. He turned to him, trying to keep his gaze level. Keeping his hands to himself. Folded in his lap. Trying not to think about all that skin. All that warmth.

'What was it you...' The words died in his throat.

A hand breached his cheek, sliding knuckles across his jaw. A thumb touched the corner of his mouth and his system stuttered. Sent it reeling. Struggled with the information. All the variables to consider. The pads of Butch's fingers were now gently stroking his neck as he inched closer, inhaling him. His eyes. Blue, staring intently. Uncertain. His lips parted, wet, pink and plush. He flicked his gaze down, and then up again. Yearning. Leaned in a fraction more. Fingers trembled on Harkness's neck.

Without thinking, Harkness closed the breath of distance between them, exhaling shakily as he grazed his palms against Butch's neck, drawing him in, his mouth pressing into the one offered up to him. Harkness kissed him. Kissed him as if it was all he had wanted to do ever since he had laid eyes on the Tunnel Snake. Kissed him hard. His tongue touching those lips, parting them. Deepening their kiss. Butch's lips pliant under his. Kissing back. Warmth flooded him, made his skin prickle. And all sound was drowned out save for the low, almost inaudible sound of Butch's frantic pulse humming beneath his fingers and the slight hitch of his breath.

'Harkness, we need you downstairs.' The transceiver clipped to his belt crackled to life. 'A brawl's broken out in the Muddy Rudder and Sister's about to glass someone.' In the background, he could hear shouting and the sound of glass being smashed, presumably over someone's head. 'Said he won't listen to anyone but you. Who knows why.'

Butch tensed under his hand, lingering a moment. Then the heat was gone and Butch was dragging up his vault suit, tying the sleeves around his waist and pulling his shirt back on while Harkness sat dizzily on the bed and stared at his back, wondering why he suddenly felt so cold.

'Harkness?' The female voice persisted.

He fumbled with his belt, clicking a button on the device and speaking into it. 'Right. Be there in a second.' But he made no motion to move. He clicked the device off and exhaled deeply. 'Uh, listen... Just now...'

What the hell had that been? Butch had caught him off guard. It was a mistake. He must be malfunctioning. Must've been. Crossed wires somewhere. Butch DeLoria? If he desired human companionship so desperately there were much better alternatives. Or more sane alternatives, anyway. Like Vera Weatherly, or Angela, or if he was so inclined, Seagrave-fucking-Holmes. Anyone was surely better than the twenty-one year old barber from Vault 101 who had more audacity than he had common sense. And speaking of which, where the hell had this all come from? Harkness touched his lips, brows creasing. Was this some sort of trick? ...Why the hell had he kissed him back? Had he been drugged?

Pulling his jacket on, Butch cut him a glance over his shoulder, watching. A smile touched his lips but didn't quite reach his eyes. 'I'll see ya round, Chief.'

—

Oh God oh God oh God.

Butch slammed the door shut behind him. No, not the door, slammed his palm against the switch. The door closed softly. A quiet hiss in the heavy drone of silence. Fuck. It didn't matter. Butch was too impatient for it. Quick. Fuck. Quick. He had to... Fuck.

Butch was panting, pulling open the front of his vault suit and fighting to pull his underwear down. Couldn't do it fast enough. Fuck. He hissed when his dick sprang free, throbbing and flushed, pre-come dribbling down its length. Didn't even make it to the bed before he had wrapped a fist around the thick length and began to pump it. Fuck. It wasn't enough. He needed more. He couldn't stand it. It was so hot. He was burning up. He fell forwards, pants around his ankles, rutting against the mattress, desperate for friction. Still had his leather jacket on. Fuck it. Didn't matter. One hand on the edge of the bed, bracing himself. He thrust his hips into his grip, crying out, hand straining around it.

Harkness had... Fuck. He'd kissed him, hadn't he? Oh God, he didn't think he'd really do it. He had wanted him to but he really didn't think he'd actually do it. But he was so... so... A hot flash of pleasure washed over him as he remembered those lips on his, the hand on his neck, pulling him in, the rough scrape of Harkness's stubble against his skin, that tongue in his mouth. Butch let out a low gasp, eyes squeezed tightly shut, running his thumb across the head of his cock and smearing pre-come across it. He was so hard. He couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop his hands because Harkness had kissed him. Oh fuck, he'd really fucking kissed him.

God, he needed to calm down. His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He didn't know what had come over him but whatever it was, he couldn't stop it.

Maybe Harkness would wanna fuck him too. Bend him over like this; Butch shuddered as he ran a shaky palm over the curve of his bare ass. And fuck him. Another jolt of pleasure shot through him as he slid his fingers down the cleft of his ass, no, as Harkness slid his fingers down. These were Harkness's hands. Yes. His fingers. Slowly pressing inside of him, pushing against that hot ring of muscle. And he was arched over him, murmuring in his ear, telling Butch how badly he wanted him. Wanted to fuck him. Wanted to have him. All of him.

Yes, oh God, yes.

Butch's hand on his dick was frantic, his sweaty forehead pressed into the mattress, quaking legs arched himself back and forwards into his hand, into the friction of both his fist and fingers. He let out a shaky sigh, trying to relax himself long enough to slip a finger past the tight muscle, trying to control the wild bucking of his hips. Impatiently, he sunk his middle finger in, flesh relenting against his force, breath hitching as his knuckle nudged against his asshole. And it burned with pain yes, but Butch couldn't stop himself. Couldn't stop himself from twisting his finger in himself. He wanted it too much. Needed it. And the ache dispersed as his need grew, fleeting under the heat of pleasure. He moaned. Ground his ass down against his hand. Thought about Harkness. Harkness opening him up like this. White hot shocks of pleasure shot up the back of his thighs like electricity.

'Oh, fuck. Come on Chief. Come on. Fuck me. Just fucking fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.' Butch gasped into the mattress, bucking back into his fingers, pushing his index finger against the open hole and working it inside of him. And when it finally, slid inside, wedged next to the first, it tore lightning up his spine.

Oh and it burned. Differently, now. Blinding heat flashing before his eyes, twisting a knot in the pit of his stomach. But he wanted it. Wanted it so badly. Even though his arms ached with the feverish pace of his fist around his cock, and strained with the motion of his fingers driving in and out of his ass. All he could do was push himself backwards, spread his legs and groan. He couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.

And it was Harkness now. Harkness's cock inside of him. Harkness who thrusted into him, sparking heat in him like it was fire. And he was alight. He was burning. Burning as Harkness took him and fucked him. And he couldn't stop now. Didn't matter that his hands were shaking with effort. Didn't matter that his thighs trembled with exhaustion. Because he was so close, he was right there, almost there, there, there, on the fringe of it and Harkness was tearing it from him. And Butch keened; another twist of his fist around his leaking cock and he was lost to it. He thrust. Forwards. Then backwards. Fingers curling inside himself. And Harkness was there and suddenly he was coming, yes, oh God coming, yesyesfuck coming and then all he saw was white.

When Butch could finally draw the strength to lift himself off the bed, he grunted with the exertion. Sluggishly, he dragged himself onto the mattress, kicking the come soaked sheet off on the floor (but not before wiping his hands on it) and rolled onto his back with his arms crossed behind his head. He lay there for a while, quietly satisfied, the cool air touching his bare skin from the waist down.

And he was tired, yes, but he was also restless. As he stared up at the grey, metal ceiling of his small room in Rivet City, he still thought of Harkness. In fact, he'd been thinking about him all week. Now he imagined he was here next to him, Harkness running his hands over his skin and kissing his temples. He could even touch his hair too if he wanted. Ain't no one else that could do that. And he'd be talking to him. 'Bout whatever. Didn't even matter so long as it was the chief.

Shit. Butch choked back a sharp breath. When the hell did he become such a flit, anyway? This wasn't like him at all. Didn't even like men. So why was he getting so worked up over the fuckin' chief for? That guy was a stiff. Butch exhaled deeply. He needed to calm the hell down.

But he couldn't. And it didn't matter anyway, because he had already decided that he was gonna go see him. He pushed himself up off the bed and made his way to the door. See him and kiss him and then maybe drag him back downstairs and convince him to fuck him. A sudden rush of cold air made him stop, however. He looked down and flushed. Right. Pants first. Then the chief.