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“Go ahead and drink it, love.”
It was all the confirmation Homelander needed to hear before he grabbed the jug of milk tucked away in Butcher’s fridge. The ex-mercenary lounged on his recliner, beer against his lips, his deep green eyes trained on the television with disinterest. Homelander only vaguely felt a twinge of hurt that his current obsession couldn’t even spare him a glance, but all of his attention eventually settled on the milky white goodness in front of him.
It was cold and utterly full, clearly just bought only moments ago. Homelander’s lip curled into a small smile—Butcher had prepared for his visit. He ignored the way his traitorous heart fluttered pathetically and uncapped the lid. Like a kiss, his lips wrapped elegantly around the opening.
Sweet, sweet heaven.
A soft sound slipped him, his eyes falling shut in ecstasy. The milk caressed his tastebuds comfortingly. He didn’t even notice as Butcher shot him a knowing look, peeling his eyes away from whatever football game he was so damn interested in.
He really couldn’t believe it.
The world would lose their shit if they saw their dearest Ken doll standing in Butcher’s shabby, run-down apartment, American flag dangling around his ankles, swaying slightly as Homelander tilted his head back further and further. Butcher watched for the way his Adam's apple bobbed more rapidly as Homelander grew more and more eager—more and more comfortable to indulge.
He was quite a sight, as silly as it was; the curve of his neck, the attractive way his lashes fanned against the apple of his cheeks. Homelander sure made being weird look effortlessly beautiful. Butcher forced himself to look away, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that tried to stir within him.
As the jug became lighter and lighter and Homelander’s stomach became more and more full, the hero released an exasperated sigh before wiping a drop of milk that had escaped down his lip with the back of his glove. He placed the nearly empty jug on the counter, his hand coming to brace himself against the fridge for a moment before he turned around finally. His blue eyes, fulfilled and satisfied, settled on Butcher’s form, a smile on his face—like a baby that had just gotten its fix.
“So,” he chirped, clasping his hands together and making his way into Butcher’s living room, “wanna watch a Dawn of the Seven rerun?”
An exhausted groan filled the room.
The pressure was unbearable, like a weight had settled in his gut, threatening to explode out of him in the form of a tsunami. Homelander knelt over, his gloved hands clasped over his crotch in a pathetic attempt to prevent the inevitable. A strained groan slipped his thin lips, pink sheening with freshly drank milk. He knew it was too good to be true—that Butcher wouldn’t just let him gorge on milk so casually under his roof. He looked down, his eyes filled with panic and glossy with overwhelmed tears. Beneath his knee was a towel.
A fucking towel.
So, this was his plan the entire fucking time?
He could barely even register his own voice emitting from the television, spewing some heroic speech that he would never even think of saying.
“Ple–ah–ease…!” the blond rasped weakly into the open air before lifting his head, his blue eyes bleeding into Butcher’s relaxed form.
“Come on, mate, you’re missing your favorite bits, ain’t yah?” Butcher muttered, his boot inching closer and closer to the trembling man. “Take a bathroom break and you’ll miss it.”
Homelander glanced toward the television over his shoulder. Butcher let himself smile. It was absolutely perfect how he could view both the Homelander in the movie looking so confident and the real Homelander bent over on the floor, bordering on sobbing. He wanted Homelander to see it too—wanted to rub it in his face that he’ll never be what Vought paints him out to be.
The hero faced him again, inching closer to the man desperately, a knowing look in his eye that Butcher had grown used to, disappointingly.
“Oh,” Butcher leaned forward, finally setting the beer down that he had been nursing on the table nestled by his armrest, “that’s not what the problem is, huh?”
He could practically see the way Homelander swallowed his words, his voice untrusting and hesitant to let out his intentions. The man was so utterly beautiful like this.
“You want,” Butcher leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Homelander leaned forward as well, his lips trembling with the desire to be kissed, his brows furrowing with the hope that Butcher would give him what he wanted, “my permission to go, love?”
Homelander nodded, his eyes squinting with utter defeat when Butcher suddenly leaned back. They never kissed during these exchanges, but that didn’t mean Homelander couldn’t dream of it. The hero didn’t wallow in defeat long, however, because now he moved forward, tucking himself in between Butcher’s spread thighs. The man above him tried to pretend like the view wasn’t hot despite the smell of his arousal assaulting the supe’s advanced senses.
Butcher watched his pupils dilate.
The hero pressed his cheek into Butcher’s inner thigh, feeling the warmth of his flesh beneath his jeans seep into his own skin. His face flushed darker. There was nowhere he’d rather be.
“William… if you don’t let me go soon…,” Homelander breathed, slowly moving up Butcher’s leg, the leather of his gloves squeaking with the movement, “I’ll make a mess.”
“What’s a little mess gonna do?” Butcher, unmoving as the supe slotted himself into Butcher’s lap, his shaking body finding solace in Butcher’s stoic form.
“Please, William, I’m begging you to let me go—”
“Not until you do what I say,” Butcher finally spared him a touch, a rough grab of his chin as he yanked Homelander’s face closer and as he allowed himself to be yanked, “take off that disgusting fucking uniform. Let me see you—all of you.”
An estranged whimper later and Homelander was practically naked in front of the man, using his super speed to undress and showing his impatience. Butcher chuckled with slight amusement, his eyes gleaming with delight in having Homelander wrapped entirely around his finger, tighter than any Vought executive could ever have him. All that remained of Homelander’s clothing was his red panties that Butcher always made cheeky remarks about, endearment deep within his tone of voice.
“Panties too. I want you completely bare.” Butcher hummed, causing the hero to hesitate. He almost entirely forgot that he had to pee when it dawned on him, Butcher was still fully clothed. He blushed profusely, leaning down to quietly slip off the last garment. The fabric pooled sensually around his ankles before being kicked towards the heap that faintly resembled his suit.
“Good boy.” Butcher rasped, the sight of his lover naked before him, reducing him to something more feral.
It happened every time Homelander exposed his cunt to him, his lips delicious and pink, framed by a simple landing strip tuft of hair. It was erotic—hot—that Vought’s favorite hero was so willing to expose his deepest secret to him and him alone. Butcher’s hands settled on Homelander’s hips, the skin burning like a furnace, before guiding the man forward. That pretty cunt, T-dick swollen and enlarged from arousal, glistened at him. It was seeping with slick, awaiting stimulation. Butcher looked up for a moment, finding Homelander biting into his hand. Poor thing thought he could silence himself so early on.
Butcher didn’t waste anymore time. He slipped off of the recliner and onto his knees, burying his face into Homelander’s pussy. The hero gasped sweetly, the sensation of having to pee melting away for a moment as Butcher practically devoured him.
The ex-mercenary’s lips were plush, kissing Homelander’s cunt as his tongue salvaged the salty taste of his lover’s essence. Homelander’s dicket twitched with every drag of Butcher’s tongue, the head becoming entirely too sensitive. Butcher shot a warning gaze up towards the blond when he felt hands fly to his hair, gripping onto the locks and making it very known that he could very easily split Butcher’s skull. The grip loosened, turning into a more gentle guiding touch.
“I’m sorry… fuck… don’t fucking stop—!” Homelander moaned, utter bliss on his face as the television version of himself continued to speak uselessly behind him. The pressure in his loins was building again, but this time it was more sweet, something pleasant blooming within him that he found himself growing quite addicted to.
Butcher’s assault on his dicket was relentless. The strong muscle of his tongue pressed against it insistently, resulting in a strangled, gargled mess of words spilling from the man above. The way his beard oh-so fervently scratched against those milky inner thighs, the way his mustache kissed his landing strip so pleasantly. It was all becoming too much too fast.
And then it stopped.
A desperate whine filled the room as Butcher pulled away, his lips and facial hair damp with slick. The ex-mercenary licked his lips, his hungry eyes trailing up the body before him, drinking it in—devouring every inch of Homelander’s sacred, dangerous body. He stood, his chest smashed against Homelander’s.
“Lay down.” He commanded simply. The hero scurried to the couch, eager to please as he sunk into the cushions. His back pressed against the back of the couch, his knees spread and pulled up to his chest. His cunt was on full display, pink and clenching invitingly at his enemy. Homelander swallowed the urge to beg the human to hurry up as Butcher wordlessly unbuckled his belt.
His face was priceless, something that even Butcher couldn’t deny really spurred him on. Homelander’s brows furrowed, knitted up tightly while his lip was caught in his teeth. His cheeks were flushed a ruby red, contrasting with his icy blue, seductive eyes. Butcher leaned forward, fully clothed with just his cock jutting from the opening of his pants. Thick arms framed Homelander’s face, Butcher’s larger body blanketing the blond entirely.
His heavy cock slid against Homelander’s folds, the sound of his wet flesh squelching failed to break Butcher’s concentration. The hero beneath him jolted, the tips of their cocks kissing momentarily. His own T-dick throbbed and pulsed while pressed against Butcher’s much larger length. Homelander barely suppressed a whimper as his eyes flickered between their bodies, watching intently as Butcher lightly grinded against the sensitive bundle of nerves before tapping his dicklet with his hot member.
Homelander jolted again, shivers racking his spine and his voice hitching.
“Bi—Billy, shit.” The blond wrapped his legs around the man before him, his ankles hooking around his ass like a vice, urging Butcher to give him what he wanted.
Sweat clung to the hero’s skin as the urge to piss started to overwhelm his nerves once more.
“William, I have to fucking piss, please….”
The words fell on deaf ears as Butcher finally breached him, his cock head slipping inside the tight ring of muscle. With no preparation, it was a tight squeeze, aided only by Homelander’s wetness. Homelander gasped sharply, holding his breath and tightly securing his arms around Butcher’s shoulders.
His muscles clenched tightly in an attempt to keep his bladder from spilling over as Butcher’s cock fully sunk into him and insistently pressed against his insides.
“Mmh… Billy…!”
Butcher released a long groan at the sensation of his enemy’s walls fluttering violently around his sensitive cock. He let his head fall low between his shoulders, his gaze settling on the blond’s face, catching his eyes in the moment. They were pleading, but also swimming with too much stimulation.
Heavy breaths mingled, Butcher’s hips began rocking steadily against Homelander, his cunt a welcoming warmth that sucked him in. With each drag of his cock, Homelander’s walls clung to his member in a desperate attempt to not let him go.
“Jesus,” Butcher grunted, his thrusts speeding up, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, love.” His fingers embedded themselves tightly into the cushion behind Homelander’s head, his hips ramming in a wild race to chase his release.
He couldn’t ignore the way Homelander whimpered mindlessly, his parted lips drooling deliciously. The hero was losing himself, his sweaty thighs trembling partially from the pleasure, but mostly from trying to hold back the need building up inside him—the need to relieve himself.
His back arched off of the couch, his cunt pulsing lovingly.
“Now.” Butcher breathed hotly into his ear.
“What…?”
“Let go now,” he responded, a smile evident in his voice, “piss all over my cock. I wanna feel you mark me.”
Homelander sucked in a sharp breath at the demand. He squeezed his pretty eyes shut, his thick brows drawn together as struggle became evident on his face. He fought with the shame of it all, but ultimately, the need to pee won over.
It started as a simple spurt.
Then the dam broke and soon his pussy was gushing maddeningly against Butcher’s pistoning hips.
“Hah—ah! Ah!” Homelander cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. His abs rippled with each stuttering breath that filled his lungs. His steady stream splashed all over the both of them each time Butcher’s cock buried itself to the hilt, soaking Homelander’s stomach as well as the front of Butcher’s pants. The hero’s nails dug into the ex-mercenary’s shoulders, the fabric of his shirt protesting against his strength before ripping in half.
“That’s it, love. Good… good fuckin’ boy.” The younger man moaned. He basked in the cooling, wetness of Homelander’s piss and cum marking him, soaking into his clothes.
Homelander sobbed, his toes curling almost painfully as Butcher finally sheathed himself entirely, his own release spilling into Homelander’s spasming channel. The hero’s eyes rolled back, a flicker of red filling the room as his control over his powers slipped.
Butcher fell forward, Homelander’s wet skin slipping against Butcher’s drenched clothes. Butcher knew he could handle his weight and let himself go ragdoll in order to collect himself. Slowly, he raised himself on shaky arms forcing the blond beneath him to let go of his shoulders.
The younger man pulled away before wordlessly turning away and shedding his heavy clothes. He ignored the panting blond that seemed entirely melted into the cushions. Fabric thudded against the ground. Green eyes dragged across the living room, taking in the soaked carpet where Homelander had completely missed the towel.
Fuck. He really should’ve planned this out a little better.
Homelander flinched when the towel suddenly landed on his stomach. With an irritated sigh, the older man sat up a little, using the towel to wipe at the puddle on his stomach, the droplets decorating his pale chest. Such a fucking romantic, his lover was. Homelander resisted the urge to nail Butcher in the back of the head with the drenched towel.