it’s definitely not the time.

billy just lost his wife not that long ago, so you really shouldn’t be so impulsive. right now.

granted, yes, you both have had some drinks. and you were both being a little self-destructive — you’re a similar pair, after all.

still, though, was kissing him really the right decision? no, not really.

you’d blame it on just the spur of the moment, if it weren’t for the feelings you’ve been carrying for him around and burying.

“oi, love, what the hell are ya doin’?” the single question after pulling back from you, who was practically in his lap at this point, has you snapping out of it.

so, without another word, you’d pulled back and crawled back into your spot, in surprise of what you’d just done, but buzzed enough to not feel any crippling guilt. just surprise and numb shock.

while you’re quiet, staring at the bottle of the almost empty vodka that’s on the table across from the both of you, butcher’s still trying to process it, and push down thoughts he definitely does not want to be thinking.

so much so, that he can’t help the small little familiar curse word that leaves his lips, “bollocks.”

that could’ve been the end of it, really — you could’ve just pretended it didn’t happen.

except, you’re already grabbing the bottle and chugging the rest of the contents in it, before slamming it back down on the table, wiping at your mouth to swipe away the remaining liquid on your lips and catching your breath from that big drink as you try to fight that strong temptation to try again.

butcher watches you with raised eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything as he looks down at you.

it’s a long time of growing sexual tension, before you turn to him again, the eye contact consuming you both enough that this time, when you go for it again, oh, does butcher return it.

full of tongue, heat, and groans and moans of a want that you both never wanted to feel. you in his lap with his hands gripping onto your bare thighs and your hands tangled in his now messy hair.