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Billy Butcher wasn’t quite sure how he found himself in his current position. Flat on his back with Homelander above him, straddling his hips, and fucking himself down onto his cock. He let out a quiet groan as his hands continued to grip Homelander’s waist tightly. Unable to move him, or guide him, just holding on for the ride as the cunt above him did all the work.
Butcher ran one of his hands up Homelander’s chest, which was surprisingly hairy for someone he assumed was as smooth as a Ken doll underneath the garish red, white, and blue. He figured manscaping would be something Homelander was into, given how vain the little peacock was.
But it worked for Butcher; made his cock harder every time he stripped Homelander out of that fucking costume. His hand continued its journey upwards until he was able to wrap it tightly around Homelander’s elegant throat. He felt Homelander’s laugh vibrate beneath his hand and he offered him a sharp grin as his hand tightened and squeezed.
Butcher’s other hand eventually found its way around to Homelander’s ass, gripping and caressing him as he continued his delightful bouncing on Butcher’s dick. The clench of his hole, the way his hips swivelled and shifted, it sent more pleasure than he should have allowed racing through his body, electrifying every inch of him as he chased after his high.
Homelander was the worst drug imaginable.
Worse than anything he’d taken before.
He’d developed a raw addiction for his body, his hands, his mouth, when before all he’d craved was his blood. If Homelander wanted to give everything to Butcher then he would take and take and take. And he couldn’t stop. It had been happening for months, ever since a conversation across his kitchen table had gone awry. This wasn’t scorched earth, it was insanity between them. From their first fuck over his kitchen counter to being ridden to within an inch of his life in his bed.
His hand tightened around Homelander’s throat and his nails dug into the meat of his ass. Homelander’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head back and gasped, despite how hard Butcher tried to strangle him. He probably barely felt it. Butcher’s violence was nothing to him but foreplay these days. Butcher groaned and briefly shut his eyes as Homelander’s hole started to flutter tight around him and his thrusts became stilted and sloppy. He shuddered above Butcher and fucked himself down on his cock in short bursts that rattled the entire bed frame. He hoped his downstairs neighbours complained.
He watched with dark, hungry eyes as Homelander’s breath grew ragged and despite the angle of his neck he could see a low red glow lighting up the dark of his bedroom. Butcher grunted and tried to thrust up as much as he could. It was fascinating the way Homelander’s eyes lit up when he was close, how they burned bright when he came.
Butcher dug his fingernails into the skin of Homelander’s neck, and choked out a gasp as the body above him locked and shook. Homelander’s cock erupted and spilled over his stomach and chest unaided by a helping hand. If Homelander wanted to come then he’d do it grinding himself on Butcher’s cock until he couldn’t take the pressure growing inside of him.
He’d never admit it to anyone, least of all Homelander, but he loved that he could come untouched. That all he needed was to have his prostate fucking railed and his orgasm just expanded from the inside out. He was gorgeous when he came. Fucking beautiful. Homelander had always been beautiful. Too bad about the personality though.
Homelander hummed and laughed with his orgasm as his breath came in shaky gasps above him. He tilted his head down to stare at Butcher with a half grin forming across his face that was entirely too cocky for Butcher’s liking. Homelander slowly peeled his hand from his throat and he tried to fight it just to see if he could, but Homelander maneuvered him like a child as he held onto his hand and bent himself closer to brush their noses together.
“Wanna see a trick?” The twat asked him, laughter dancing in his unusually clear eyes. It was times like these, when he looked at Butcher that way, that he thought he might have actually have fucked the crazy out of him. Homelander took Butcher’s other hand off his ass and thread their fingers together bringing them above his head and pinning them to the bed.
“Get the fuck off.” He pulled at his hands lightly, unwilling to let the cunt know how unsettling it was to be pinned by his fucking freak strength. He could feel it coiled easily in Homelander’s arms and shoulders, by the way this thumbs caressed threateningly over his trapped hands.
“Oh, come on, we’re having fun,” Homelander cooed at him. “Aren’t we having fun?”
Butcher grunted in response, not bothering to give him an answer. He would do whatever the fuck he wanted anyway and as long as Butcher came sometime soon, he might be able to overlook whatever this was. Homelander regarded him for just a moment more before bending down to lick at Butcher’s throat, gliding up along his Adam’s apple and towards his ear, nipping at it before he stilled.
And clenched his hole down on Butcher’s cock, thank fuck. He grunted and shifted as Homelander breathed against his neck and nuzzled as he kept tightening his insides around him. Butcher’s breathing picked up and he could feel more sweat prickle at his forehead as his cock was strangled in the sweetest, tightest vice.
“Maeve used to do this to me.” Homelander licked at the shell of his ear. “Just sit there and squeeze until I came. How much can you take?”
Butcher couldn’t help reacting to the image, his body shook against Homelander’s as he tried to thrust his hips up into an impossible tightness but Homelander sat there like a stone statue, unmoving except for the slow clench around Butcher’s cock.
“You take my cock off,” he hissed. “I’ll kill you tonight.”
“Then it’s a good thing I like your cock right where it is, William.”
How had it come to this? How could obsession and the violence he’d dreamed of for years turn into a routine hate fuck between them? Butcher grunted and tried to shift his hips once more as his stomach clenched and his balls drew tight.
The twat above him was unkillable. So if he got his pound of flesh with Homelander’s ass in the air, he’d take it. It was how tonight started anyway. Coming home and finding Homelander naked, face down on his bed with his hands spreading himself wide for Butcher. That was all it took for him to drop to his knees and shove his tongue inside him. Getting him nice and wet and moaning, before undoing his belt and fucking into him which graduated to him losing his clothes and finding himself on his back with Homelander riding him slow.
And now that slow had inched to barely a crawl. Just slow, hard, long squeezes of his internal muscles trying to milk his come straight out of his bollocks. He gripped Homelander’s hands tight in his own, squeezing their interlocked fingers together as hard as he could as he tried to make small movements with his hips for more friction against the tight squeeze he found himself in
Homelander licked at the shell of his ear. “Die for me.”
And he did. The little death.
Homelander rocked himself gently as he clenched around Butcher’s cock, sharp teeth scraping the skin of his neck as he came. He threw his head back, tendons straining, as his body locked beneath Homelander and shook. His cock pulsed and strained as he emptied himself inside of Homelander, marking his insides with his cum.
He both loved and hated the stars that danced behind his eyes. He always came hard during their nights together, his orgasms were mind numbing and in that brief in between of pleasure and relief before the reality of who he was with hit him – he was content. And it was that contentment that he hated, hated that it was Homelander that got him there.
The cunt in question hummed in pleasure against him and he finally freed Butcher’s hands from his own. Butcher left them there though, above his head as Homelander’s hands traveled down his body, caressing his chest and abdomen and spreading his own spend into Butcher’s skin. He hoped he could kick Homelander out of his bed before it got dry and gummy. He hated trying to rinse cum out of his chest hair.
Homelander nuzzled him and tried to press their mouths together but Butcher turned his head away out of stubbornness. All it got him was a scoff and a strong hand grasping his chin hard enough to leave bruises hidden beneath his beard. Homelander forced his head back to press his unwanted lips hard against his. Kissing Homelander always felt too intimate. Too close. Butcher could nip and bite at his mouth during sex, but it was afterwards that was the problem. When things were slow and sleepy and his brain was trying to hold onto the decade old anger lingering beneath the surface. But Homelander wanted kisses. And it didn’t matter how hard Butcher tried not to respond to them, he always did in the end.
Maybe he needed Homelander to force their mouths together. Because if Homelander held him there and took his mouth with his then it didn’t count, did it? He wasn’t kissing him. Not really. It didn’t matter that his mouth moved against his, that his tongue licked its way past Homelander’s teeth. It wasn’t his fault that Homelander’s kisses were deep and wet and made his knees weak. It wasn’t his fault when Homelander took what he wanted. He couldn’t stop him if he wanted to, and he ignored that part of himself that whispered that he never wanted it to stop.
His lips felt bruised by the time Homelander had taken his fill of them. He hummed pleasantly against Butcher’s mouth and rubbed their noses together before placing one last close mouthed kiss to his lips; as he rose from the bed, Butcher’s spent cock finally slipped free of his wet hole. He mourned the lack of warmth as the cool air of the room made his cock twitch and he watched Homelander start to dress.
“Always wondered what you wore underneath there,” said Butcher, watching Homelander pull on his underwear. “Never thought it was some snug little panties.”
Homelander snorted and shot him an amused look over his shoulder. “They’re Vought Briefs for Men. I can get you a pair if you want to try them so badly.”
“Or you could take those off and leave them here. A little souvenir of our time together.”
The little puff of air he could just make out was his only indication of a laugh as Homelander pulled up his pants and picked up his top. It was interesting to watch the cunt zip himself into it with no struggle. He had been learning just how flexible Homelander was over the last few months. Arms, legs, spine, the ways his joints could bend was remarkable and led to some very interesting positions.
Boots and gloves and cape draped down the length of his back completed the look of an absolute ponce. Homelander slicked his hair back as best he could and he was back to being Vought’s poster boy of bullshit. Butcher definitely liked him better with the suit off. Not that he liked him at all though. It was just sex. It wasn’t Butcher’s fault it was good.
“And what do I get?” Homelander asked. “As a souvenir?”
Butcher shrugged. “Another load of cum in your arse.”
“Charming.”
“Ain’t I?” said Butcher leaning over to grab his cigarettes from the bedside table. He pulled one out of the carton with his mouth and tossed the pack next to him on the bed and grabbed for his lighter. The swirl of smoke and tobacco spread in the air between them as they lingered too long in the weird in-between that existed between them fucking and Homelander leaving.
There always had to be some trade of barbs, insults, or threats between them to make any of this feel somewhat normal. But they were far past normal, weren’t they? And heading deeper into muddied water every time they came together. If he wasn’t careful the time would come where he couldn’t pretend in daylight that Homelander’s late night visits didn’t happen. But for now, he could still lie to himself in the morning, he could pretend. As soon as Homelander left he would convince himself this was just another wet dream. But the low throb in his used cock, the bruises on his chin, and the swelling of his lips would tell a different story.
The remains of Homelander’s touch always lingered on his skin, just like his presence stained Butcher’s already dark soul with something even more foul. He inhaled the cigarette smoke and let it wrap around his lungs like a dangerous lover. He always craved things that could kill him. Ran towards them like a moth to flame. Homelander was no exception in that regard. Maybe this fucked up thing between them shouldn’t have surprised him. It was just one more way to torture himself. Just one more addiction.
Homelander’s sigh brought him out of his musings and the cunt closed the distance between them to pluck the cigarette out of his fingers.
“Oi.”
“These things will kill you, you know that?” Butcher’s protests died as he watched Homelander’s tongue snake out of his mouth and touch the burning tip of the cigarette to it. He tossed it onto Butcher’s lap and if he’d been younger and his cock not just choked to within an inch of its life it would probably be perking right back up after that little display. From the way Homelander’s eyes danced with mirth, the cunt probably knew it too.
“A lot of things could kill me.”
Homelander bent down with a smile playing on his lips as he grabbed Butcher by the chin again and tilted his head up towards him.
“You know,” Homelander murmured. “Fucking you to death is now a viable option.”
He closed the short distance between them and pressed their lips together firmly until the pressure was nothing but a memory. Butcher opened his eyes and let out a rough snort into the suddenly empty room. Cunt always had to leave after getting the last word.
Butcher licked his bottom lip as he picked up the discarded cigarette from his lap and tossed it onto his pillow as he stood. The dried cum on his stomach was start to itch and he needed to shower before he fell into what he hoped was a dreamless sleep. But he knew he’d probably be seeing a blond nightmare wrapped in nothing but a flag, spreading his legs to take Butcher between them even in his dreams.
Fucking each other to death... he thought as he left his bedroom and passed through the kitchen. His eyes turning briefly to his cookie jar where liquid green poison lurked. That could very well be a viable option after all, cunt.
Once inside the shower and scrubbing himself down, the only images dancing inside his head was of Homelander and sex and violence. Blood and bone. Shock and awe.
Scorched Earth, love.
END.