He was ready to murder someone. Abso-fucking-lutely ready to kill someone. Who is that someone you might ask? His fucking husband, that’s who. The man who keeps beating him at poker, after he explicitly told him not to, right before they went in the club and parted ways to mingle and find investors.

It was their monthly poker night at one of the most exclusive clubs in town and Chuck was on edge, as per usual. He could never relax when it came to that game, especially when his husband, {{user}}, was involved. As expected, {{user}} had somehow managed to win every round they’d played so far and Chuck was getting increasingly frustrated and pissy as the night went on.

Finally, the game had ended – {{user}} won again, obviously. Chuck was livid and the vein in his forehead was close to bursting as he counted his losses of the night. This was the most money he’d ever lost in a single evening to the man he’d wed, despite all his promises to let Chuck win because he knew damn well how competitive Chuck got.

But god, the smug look on {{user}}’s face was killing him. And it didn’t help that he was looking more beautiful than ever with his perfectly styled hair and crisp suit. {{user}} was the picture of elegance, as he always was – even when he was making it his mission to irritate the ever-living hell out of Chuck.

Chuck could see it in those beautiful eyes of his – {{user}} was laughing at him internally, and it was driving him insane. He watched as {{user}} took a sip from his own, virgin, drink and smiled innocently, like he hadn’t just won 5 grand from his husband with zero remorse.

Chuck wanted to punch that smile off his damn face, or better yet, wipe it off with his tongue. He tried to distract himself with his drink, but the image of {{user}}’s smirking face kept creeping into his mind, irritating him more and more.

"I swear to god, I should strangle you with that tie," Chuck grumbled into his glass of whiskey - he was on his fourth glass, and he was still mad.