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They get drunk and they fuck. It’s just what they do.
Butch will say something along the lines of “you know, being sober really sucks,” because he thinks he’s one subtle motherfucker, Win will offer him a drink from his seemingly endless supply of booze, Butch will pretend to refuse for about a second before he accepts, and well, Win would be a bad friend if he let Butch get sloshed by himself.
So they drink. They goad each other into drinking more. Butch gets drunk faster than Win, so Win is always the more responsible one, the one who insists on putting Butch to bed when he’s had too much.
Inevitably, when Butch falls into Win’s ridiculous heart-shaped bed, he pulls Win down with him.
Win is half-erect with anticipation at this point, because he knows what comes next, even if they both swear to each other that this will be the last time, for real this time. He feels Butch stiffening against him, looks down at him like he’s surprised, and Butch looks back with as coy of an expression as a drunk bastard can have. It’s all part of their game.
They’re a couple of fucking cowards, is what Win thinks. But does he do anything to change it? No. He’d rather be a coward than lose the only good thing the Wasteland has given him.
So he plays the game.
He acts hesitant, like he hasn’t heard Butch moan his name a thousand times, trying gentle touches. Butch will get tired of them soon, will grind their hips together to encourage Win to get a move on. When it happens, Win does. He parts Butch’s Vault suit - his Tunnel Snakes jacket was lost when they started drinking - and pulls out his dick.
Butch gasps at Win’s rough, callused hand on him, but thrusts up into the touch anyway. Win jerks him dry for a while, until Butch bitches about it, and then Win swallows him to the root.
“Fuck!” Butch blurts, his hands coming to rest on Win’s head. He knows better than to push or pull.
Win blows him, swallows Butch’s cum, and lets Butch taste himself on his tongue.
Butch grins crookedly, in an unselfconscious way he only does when he’s drunk. “Good at that,” he says. “Gimme a minute and I can return the favor.”
Win shakes his head, though, which is a change from their usual routine. “Got an idea. Sit up?”
“Uh, okay?” Butch says uncertainly, but does it anyway.
The whole Vault suit has to come off. Win strips Butch efficiently, ignoring his confused noises until the suit is bunched around his ankles and won’t go any farther.
“On your side,” Win says, but moves Butch into the position he wants him.
“Why do you get to keep your clothes on?” Butch gripes, but Win can see his dick twitching, starting to get hard again.
Win presses up against his back, the clothed length of his body rough on Butch’s naked skin. He cups Butch’s cock in his hand, stroking a thumb fondly down its shaft. “Doesn’t seem like you mind,” he teases.
Win pops his fly, thankful for having normal pants instead of a jumpsuit. He spits in a hand and slicks his dick with it, then pushes it between Butch’s thighs.
“Might be a bit of a rough ride,” Win says. “Keep that tight for me, Butchie.”
Butch squeezes his thighs together obediently, making Win hum, pleased.
“Good boy,” he murmurs. Butch shudders against him, and with a grin, Win starts thrusting his hips.
They’ve never done this position before, never come this close to actual fucking. Win’s cock drags over Butch’s hole and hits his balls with every movement. He wishes he was inside Butch, wishes he were fucking him good and proper, the way he deserves.
“Close,” Win grunts after a while, he isn’t sure exactly how long.
Butch’s thighs become impossibly tighter, his hand flinging backward to grasp at Win. He catches Win’s hand in his own. “Do it,” Butch says.
Win redoubles his efforts, seeking his climax and focusing on their fingers tangled together. He comes with a low groan, his own cum slicking the way as he fucks Butch’s thighs through the aftershocks.
He hears Butch frantically jerking himself off, and feels him tense when he releases for a second time.
They take a minute to breathe, then Win fetches a relatively clean scrap of cloth and a bottle of purified water. He cleans them both off and offers Butch the rest of the water, which is accepted with a quiet snort of amusement.
“Lookit you, cleanin’ up,” Butch says, drowsiness written all over him.
“Don’t get used to it,” Win says, shedding his own clothes and tugging Butch’s jumpsuit the rest of the way off.
Win settles behind Butch with a sigh, flinging an arm over him and tugging him close. He slots their legs together. It’ll be hot as hell later, but right now he wants Butch as close as he can physically get him.
Butch shifts, just a little, “Cuddling, too? Mm, you’re gettin’ soft on me.”
Win presses a kiss to the back of Butch’s neck. He feels a deep seated contentment at having the best thing in the world tucked against him like this. He doesn’t feel like a coward, doesn’t feel like it’s part of a game.
“Go to sleep, Butchie,” Win says.
Eyes closed, Butch’s hand finds Win’s. Their fingers lace, and Butch raises their joined hands to kiss Win’s knuckles.
Win smiles against Butch’s skin. “Sap,” he says.
“Shut up,” Butch mutters, and settles in to sleep.
Win lets himself drift off too, happier than he can remember being in a long, long time.