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The bottle of whiskey Butcher sloshed around was dwindling by the minute as he continued rotting on his couch, ashtray overflowing with weeks old cigarettes. A year, maybe a year and a half of this shite left, that’s what the doctor told him as his brain continued to leak out of his ears and nose. Butcher attempted his best impression of stoicism, tried to keep himself apathetic to the news but his gut was roiling with an immeasurably deep, human fear of death, of an end.
He knew he’d most likely die in his decade long pursuit for vengeance but there it was, laid out in front of him, plain as day. It was daunting to see the reaper right around the corner, as ready to take Butcher as it was his father, hopefully the latter before the former, the least Butcher could receive on his deathbed was the closure of beating his old man in death.
If Butcher was lucky, maybe he’d die in a fiery blaze of glory, killing Homelander right alongside himself; too poetic for Butcher but he’d take it over rotting away, letting a tumor eat his brain until there was no gray matter left in his decaying skull. He put the bottle of cheap, dollar store whiskey up to his lips, taking back another shot, alcohol dribbling out of the corner of his lips and staining his beard.
Fatalistic, that’s how Butcher would describe all of what had transpired within the last week alone; Butcher would always end up face down in the muck of everything, his destiny was rot and decay, blood and bone as that cunt had said. Butcher’s eyes burned, some sort of phantom pain pulsing against his irises at the thought of Homelander. One more shot of temp V and maybe that would do it, fair and square, just the two of them tearing down the world in a whirlwind of horrific violence, one of them remaining or neither of them, ideally.
A soft, familiar thud came from his balcony and Butcher wondered if the cunt could actually read his mind. He didn’t move to open the door, out of apathy or sheer exhaustion, Butcher couldn’t tell anymore, besides the balcony door was unlocked; Butcher wouldn’t ever admit it aloud but he’d left it unlocked since Homelander’s first visit.
The door opened with some apprehension and Butcher could feel a presence hovering just past his peripheral vision. He didn’t look and didn’t pay him any mind, knowing that would drive the cunt up the wall, until he was standing in sight, hands behind his back and a grimace etched into his features.
“You smell like death, William.” Homelander spoke and Butcher could feel his eyes wandering across his slumped over form, assessing the mess in front of him. A small, humorless chuckle left Butcher’s lips as he finally glanced up at the star spangled cunt, head aching with the effort to crane his neck upward.
“Good evenin’ to you too, cunt.” The sarcasm oozed into his tone as he offered a shit-eating smirk, though he could feel himself grinding his teeth together, a headache coming on with the unexpected visit. “Now, if ya ain’t gonna put me outta me misery, then kindly fuck off. Gotta finish the rest ‘a this bottle.” For emphasis, Butcher swung the whiskey back and forth, the remaining quarter of it sloshing against the glass.
Homelander sighed, rolling his eyes before taking his cape in hand and soon occupied the space next to Butcher on his couch. “Oh, please, you’d haunt me as a ghost for eternity if I killed you like a sick, pathetic dog.” His voice was flippant but Butcher detected a hint of strain, of true frustration; he knew why and thought that was the reason the cunt was here at all. After a beat of silence between them, the air was thick with tension, some type of spring ready to snap. “I’m never going to forgive you, you know?”
“Ain’t that a cryin’ fuckin’ shame.” Butcher leaned forward, setting the bottle next to his television and fished in his pocket for the crumpled pack of cigarettes that were nearly empty and the lighter that had been dying on him for the last month; how apt. As he shoved the filter of the cigarette between his lips, the stick was quickly taken from him. “Oi!” Anger bubbled into his voice in an instant, the agitation of Homelander’s mere presence catching up with him. “Give it, ya fuckin’ cunt.” Butcher reached for the cigarette and Homelander easily pulled it away from Butcher’s reach.
“You tainted our game, William, you cheated and maybe dying such an ignominious and unnecessary death is what you deserve.” Homelander’s voice had slipped from flippancy to poison and he crumpled the cigarette in his glove, letting the detritus fall to the floor and wiping the rest onto the couch. His eyes scanned over Butcher’s face and suddenly Butcher felt incredibly exposed, he attempted to jerk back away from the overly intense stare Homelander was giving him.
“If all ya came here to do was chastise me, then why don’tcha just fuckin’ leave cause I ain’t in the mood-“ Butcher’s voice was cut short as Homelander grabbed his jaw, closing in on his side of the couch with absolutely no regard for personal space. In some sort of instinctual self preservation, Butcher pressed his hands against the cunt’s shoulders, knowing damn well he couldn’t push him away if he tried. “What’re you…” his voice trailed off into a painful grunt as Homelander moved his head from side to side, sloshing around whatever brackish slurry his skull was now containing.
“Man, that V24 shit really is turning your brain to swiss cheese.” Homelander sounded rather intrigued, eyes glued to the side of Butcher’s head and suddenly he felt nauseous, most likely from being manhandled in such a way but he swallowed the feeling, detesting the acidic bile that crept up his throat. Butcher saw the mania that cast itself across Homelander’s face and once their eyes met again, suddenly he felt like a rabbit caught between a coyote’s gnashing jaw. “I’d love to fuck those holes in your head.”
“Yer a fuckin’ sick puppy, ya know that?” Butcher attempted to keep his apathetic stoicism at the forefront but the way Homelander’s other hand fisted the buttons of his shirt, he felt his heart suddenly spike before he could calm it down. But he knew the cunt could hear that single lapse in self control. Homelander leaned in, nuzzling his face against the side of Butcher’s head, lips above his ear as he took in a deep breath, a satisfied groan rumbling against Butcher’s ear and he shivered against Homelander.
“Your cancer smells fucking disgusting, I bet I could fuck it out of you.” He mused, canines grazing against the shell of Butcher’s ear. “Crack that skull of yours open and shove my dick where no one has ever touched you.”
“Fuck. Off.” He growled, jerking his head away from Homelander’s grip and he felt him let go on purpose, that made the wrath simmering in Butcher’s chest flare with a vengeance. Homelander looked at him like an interesting toy, like a child having gotten their first pet and Butcher couldn’t describe how much he detested this and now he was being dissected by the cunt’s x-ray vision.
“It really is fun when you act like you don’t love this.” Homelander’s voice was a purr as he moved his leg between Butcher’s own, knee pressing up against his crotch and only then did Butcher acknowledge his half-hard cock, surprised he could even get it up in the state he was in. “I just think you need a little punishment after all you did, William.” He spoke once more, hand coming back to grab Butcher by the throat, fingers pressing against the carotid artery on either side of his neck. “Don’t bother struggling, I know when you’ll pass out.”
As if Butcher’s struggle would matter either way. Adjusting himself on the couch, Butcher rubbed against Homelander’s knee, a groan pushing past his lips as his breath was cut off. Blue eyes darted around Butcher’s face, attempting to see something that Butcher was unaware of. He scratched his nails into the cunts suit, growing lightheaded by the second as Homelander would not let up on the grip around his throat.
“I don’t think that tumor of yours appreciates oxygen deprivation.” Homelander said and Butcher wanted to retort with something snarky but was moments away from passing out, his vision spotting before the hand around his neck released. Butcher inhaled sharply, his chest rising up and down heavily with a need for air.
“I don’t ‘preciate it much either.” Butcher’s hand felt the column of his throat, knowing it would be bruised by tomorrow. Homelander crawled closer to him, now sitting on his lap, grinding his ass down against Butcher’s crotch, coaxing a few groans and grunts from the man beneath him.
Butcher’s hands found Homelander’s hips and the cunt grabbed onto Butcher’s right hand, placing it against the obvious hard-on through his suit. The leather of Homelander’s gloves made Butcher’s hands feel clammy, then he noticed how much he had been sweating, perspiration dripping down his forehead; his decaying body was not up for any of this but god, Butcher was delirious and at least he would get a decent orgasm out of this whole ordeal.
“W-would you let me?” Homelander’s voice began to waver, looking down at Butcher through hooded, wanton eyes. Butcher rubbed his hand against the hard cock beneath cobalt blue, noticing a wet stain beginning to form at Homelander’s tip. Licking his lips, his hand met the pace of writhing hips on top of his, grinding himself against Homelander’s pert ass.
“Do what, love?” The term of endearment slipped from his lips before he could realize, Homelander mewled softly and his hands pressed against Butcher’s chest, leather gloves scrunching up the silky fabric of his button down and he could feel how much the cunt was holding back. Before speaking again, Homelander had to gather himself, Butcher could tell he was attempting not to cum so soon and a sardonic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Skull fuck you until you’re cancer’s gone.” His voice was breathy, heavy with need as he closed his eyes. Butcher could see the flush against his cheeks at the streetlights pouring in through the balcony window; his hand not occupied with Homelander’s clothed cock wandered up to the supe’s face, fingers touching his cheekbone and feeling how truly hot he was running. Homelander’s eyes snapped open at the gentle touch, looking to Butcher’s hand before those fingers migrated toward his slightly parted mouth and exposed canine teeth.
Greedily, Homelander let Butcher’s fore and middle finger past his lips, tongue licking between the appendages and groaning against them. “I’d let ya do whatever you like if I got this mouth around me cock.” Butcher’s voice was gravelly as he rutted up against Homelander, watching how deep he let Butcher shove his fingers into his mouth, all wet and warm and inviting; god, Butcher was fucked. “Would ya do that, love? Let me use this pretty mouth ‘a yours? Make ya swallow everything I give ya?”
He nodded his head vigorously before Butcher hit his gag reflex, slightly choking around his fingers but still keeping them in ever so obediently. The supe was so eager to please, all bristle and dominance but once Butcher turned it around on him, he was like a bitch in heat. “Y-yesh.” He slurred around Butcher’s fingers, humming as the appendages caressed across his tongue.
“Take anything I’ll give you, like the good boy you are.” Butcher groaned, nearly under his breath as he thrusted up into Homelander, cock rubbing against his jeans in such a deliciously uncomfortable way. His thumb pressed roughly against the head of Homelander’s cock as he moaned around Butcher’s fingers, cumming inside of his suit at the pressure and the approving words. Until he was nearly weeping, Butcher kept stroking his thumb across the outline of Homelander’s overstimulated cock. Once a few tears sprang to the cunt’s eyes, Butcher felt his abdominal muscles tighten, the already melting brain swirling disorientingly inside his skull as he climaxed, his boxers growing uncomfortably wet rather quickly.
In the afterglow of both their depravity, Butcher took his hand away from Homelander’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting them before it broke. Their breaths were heavy and Butcher could barely make out the man in front of him as his brain was catching up with the rest of his body, vision blurred. Butcher could feel something viscous coming down his nose as Homelander crawled off of him, attempting to fix his tousled hair.
“You’re bleeding.” He pointed out, rather unconcerned while Butcher attempted to sit up, the rush of gravity caused whatever dislodged from his brain to slide down the back of his throat, mucous-like and acidic and Butcher ran to his kitchen sink, puking violently on top of some dirty dishes he’d been neglecting.
He could feel Homelander’s eyes on him the whole time as he attempted to catch his breath, hands white-knuckling the counter. With no sign of shame and shaking from how harshly his body expelled whatever was poisoning him, Butcher washed out his mouth with tap water then leaned against the sink. “Ya gonna leave or do ya just like watchin’ me suffer?” He said, less of a question and more of a shitty remark.
Homelander was wringing his hands together and had a look across his face that Butcher couldn’t quite recognize, something like pity mixed with apprehension if Butcher had to put a name to it. He opened his mouth, his lip twitching slightly, contemplating his next words carefully. Butcher stood silently, letting the supe stew on whatever was bothering him so terribly.
“Have you just consigned yourself to death?” Homelander suddenly snapped, his voice ringing with frustration, hands shooting down to his sides in balled up fists, like a child not being given what they want. “You’re better than that, William. We are better than that, we are meant for better than that!” He sounded overly whiny as if Butcher had gotten cancer on purpose to simply spite him, which as a concept sounded rather humorous.
“Better than cancer? Mate, this is my shit filled just deserts.” Butcher scoffed, a shaky hand instinctively reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, wanting something, anything to distract himself from wherever this conversation was leading.
“Not just cancer, you fucking numbskull.” The cunt rolled his eyes as if the meaning behind his words was crystal fucking clear to Butcher who was still reeling from throwing up stomach acid and chunks of his own brain into the sink. “I’m talking about death! You should be atop the hill with me, not wallowing in such trivialities with the rest of those fucking mud-people.”
Butcher stared at him for a moment, attempting to take in what Homelander was saying but christ, was the headache pressing against his skull unbearable in that moment. Eventually, he fished out his last cigarette from the pack and grabbed one of his extra lighters lying on the counter before sparking it to life, granted it took a few tries. “Yer a crazy cunt, y’know that?” He took in the cigarette, letting the smoke filter out through his lips without taking the stick from his mouth.
“And you’re in denial.” Homelander spat back, crossing his arms over his chest as Butcher took a few more drags from the cigarette; some relief came to his rattled brain but it wasn’t enough anymore, as if it was ever enough. “You know what?” The supe crossed into the kitchen and up to Butcher, snagging his cigarette once more, being met with another agitated groan as he threw the stick into the sink and on top of the sickly green, mucousy vomit making its way down the drain. “I’m gonna bring you some real medicine the next time I visit.” A smile quirked its way across Homelander’s lips and Butcher recoiled, something truly vile hiding beneath that human skin he wore.
“Fuck’re you goin’ on about?” Butcher growled, tired of this dance between them, tired of the cunt’s presence looming in his apartment, and tired of being constantly reminded of his imminent demise. Before he got any sort of answer and faster than his failing eyes could meaningfully keep track of, Homelander was out of his kitchen, his curtains billowing from the supe’s speed.
Grumbling frustrated nonsense to himself, Butcher trudged over to his balcony, slamming the door shut but leaving it unlocked. He dragged himself to his bathroom, shucking off the clothes that felt far too grimy and disgusting to him after having came in his pants and then vomited in a rather quick succession of each other. As water sputtered over him, he attempted to rattle through what the fuck that cunt had been referring to but his thoughts felt like static and all he could think about was how Homelander’s mouth felt around his fingers.
Butcher’s cock twitched at the memory and he slammed his head against the tiled wall of his shower, as if that would knock some sense into him; it didn’t.