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‘You alright down there, love?’
The Homelander doesn’t dignify the question with a response. As if there’s a world in which he’d not be alright. As if there’s a world where having his head between Butcher’s thighs would ever be a problem. Not that he’d admit that to Butcher, though he’s sure the man already knows, clued in by their current position.
‘You’re taking a while.’ Butcher continues above him, ignoring the lack of a response. He’s sitting on his sofa, legs spread for Homelander to kneel between. Kneeling inactive, that is, for the past few minutes. ‘If you’re feeling intimidated you can always fuck off.’ The smugness dripping from his voice pricks at Homelander’s skin. He doesn’t need to look up to know the bastard’s smirking.
‘Didn’t know you were so desperate, William. Been a while?’ He hisses back, keeping his voice as steady as he doesn’t feel. He glances up to glare at him, and Butcher’s smirk widens.
Of course, Homelander knows exactly when the last time Butcher had a mouth on his cock was, because it had been Homelander’s mouth. A few days ago. Only for a moment - a brief try of something new during one of their trysts that had caused Homelander to push him away and gag. ‘ Absolutely not,’ he’d spat as Butcher watched him languidly from the other end of his crappy sofa, ‘ Try that again and I’ll kill you.’ In the moment, he’d meant it. He’d never done anything like that before and he didn’t plan to. ‘ Your loss, love’ - Butcher had gruffed, but he took Homelander’s threat to heart. No hands pushed his head in that direction, there was no request for a second attempt. The idea was forgotten almost as quickly as it had come up.
Except, not by Homelander. The feeling of Butcher’s cock grazing against his lips - pushing past them the barest inch - lingered with him as he’d flown away from the shitty cramped apartment. Disgusting, a voice in the back of his mind hissed whilst he scrubbed his face clean in the shower, you feel disgusted. That was why he couldn’t forget it as he dried himself off, why he caught his fingers playing against his mouth as he dressed for bed. He’d never been with a man before this weird little arrangement he and Butcher had fallen into. He’d never wanted to, and there were some things that he still wouldn’t do.
It wasn’t until he was lying in bed, restless, that he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t repulsion that kept the memory in his mind. Maybe in the moment he had been disgusted - shocked by the new and unfamiliar territory - but the heat churning in his gut at the thought of it afterwards was caused by anything but. His mind went over the moment in stark detail as he lay rolling and warm beneath his sheets: the press of the heated tip against his lips, the bitter salt of the precome that had graced his tongue. It wasn’t long before his mind - traitorous, wicked thing - started adding details that were more fantasy than memory; the weight of Butcher’s cock tapping against his cheek, the coarse grate of his pubic hair, the sound of his voice when he came undone in Homelander’s mouth.
The taste of it.
A hand petting his hair, a voice - Butcher’s - telling him how good he’d been. Good, good boy.
He’d slicked up a two fingers and fucked himself through the fantasy, ashamed and aroused and coming embarrassingly quickly with ‘Billy’ gasped into the air of his dark bedroom. He’d forsaken the man’s flat after that for a few days, hoping the desire in him would burn out. When it hadn’t, he’d found himself in the kitchen, trying not to mumble his request.
‘You’re the one who asked for this,’ Butcher hums above him now. Fingers thread through chemical blonde locks. ‘Begged for it even. And after such a fuss last time.’
‘I didn’t beg,’ Homelander snaps. Part of him is starting to regret this entire situation, angry at his own desire. He could laser the man in half and leave, that part reminds him, go home to his Emperor bed and entertain himself for the night. More of him, though, wants to stay on his knees and finally taste what has been haunting him for the last few days. And nothing you could do alone would ever be as good as with William.
‘Do you want this or not?’ he asks - to regain some power as much as shake that last thought from his head. He gives Butcher a threatening stare - one well practiced - but being on his knees minimises the effect.
Butcher looks down at him lazily. ‘Suck my dick, love,’ he huffs out. It’s almost a laugh.
The hand detangles from his hair to rest somewhere out of sight. Homelander doesn’t take another second to ready himself, unbuttoning Butcher’s jeans. It’s not hard to fish his cock out after that; the man seemed insistent on going commando all the time. Or maybe just in preparation for these visits. He isn’t hard yet, to some small disappointment of Homelander’s. A few firm squeezes seem to wake him up though.
There’s a soft grunt above him. ‘Thought you wanted me in your mouth?’
‘Desperate,’ Homelander repeats with a scoff, before bringing his lips to the half-hard end. He’s watched enough porn and had his own dick sucked enough times to have some idea of what to do. Still, he’s uncertain. He can’t let Butcher see him hesitate any further though, so he does the first thing that comes to mind and places a kiss against the flushed head of Butcher’s cock.
That seems to get a positive response - a pleased little hum - and so he does it again, more certain this time. Homelander’s eyes flutter shut, a familiar heat bubbles in his stomach. There’s that taste he remembers.
He continues to press kisses along the shaft, down to the base and even a little into the pubic hair before making his way back up. The tip of his tongue peaks out as he works along the length, and Butcher sighs above him. The sound drips into Homelander’s brain and clogs it; the bubbling heat in his stomach turns molten. Butcher is fully hard now, tip leaking beads of pearlescent precome. Homelander glances up through his lashes, and the sight is invigorating; Butcher looks blissful. There’s a redness to his face that Homelander has only glimpsed in the dim light of the flat on occasion, and the man’s lips are slightly parted. He’s clearly trying to play it cool, evident by the lazy eyebrow quirk he gives when he notices Homelander watching him, but his heart rate betrays his excitement. As does the quick flash of his tongue across his lips.
You did this to him, Homelander thinks, he’s like this because of you.
Without any further delay, Homelander takes the head of Butcher’s cock into his mouth and sucks. Above him, Butcher groans: ‘ Jesus Christ ’. A hand threads back into Homelander’s hair, twisting through the tresses. There’s a subtle command in the grip; Butcher doesn’t try to move his head, but the firm press of his fingers into Homelander’s scalp tells him that’s what he wants.
Homelander obeys - something he finds himself doing often during these meetings - taking Butcher’s length into his mouth inch by inch until his nose is pressed against the hair that curls at its base. He pushes further even, forcing the man as far into his mouth as he can. He feels him hit the back of his throat, hot and leaking. Once more, his eyes flutter shut. He grips Butcher’s thighs. Pulsing heat sinks down through his body, and he realises, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’s gotten hard in his suit, cock pressed taut against the padding. His mind doesn’t linger on it though; Butcher moans above him and the sound squeezes the remaining thoughts from his head. He feels foggy in a way it only does with Butcher.
‘Just like that,’ Butcher encourages. ‘So good for me. So greedy.’
Homelander groans around the cock in his mouth before pulling back to the tip, tongue running along the underside as he does. He stops before it’s fully out of his mouth, suckling for a lingering second before pushing back forwards. The slick, messy slide of his mouth causes Butcher’s hips to jerk. He repeats the action again and again, taking Butcher as deep as he can manage each time before drawing back to the tip. There’s an obscene, vulgar squelching in his ears, mixing with the volley of grunts and moans that Butcher is letting out. When Homelander takes the opportunity to peek at him, he sees that his head has fallen back slightly, lips parted. Homelander groans at the sight.
Seeing Homelander looking up at him with his cock in his mouth must also do something for Butcher, because his head falls back further, and a deep moan rumbles up from his chest.
‘Fucking hell,’ he grits out as Homelander traces his tongue along a vein. The hand curls and pulls in his hair. If he’d been human, it might have hurt.
‘Good boy,’ Butcher praises, ‘ Good boy, John.’
Suddenly, Homelander feels like he’s starving. He speeds up the bobbing of his head, whimpering around the cock in his mouth. It twitches in response, and a heavy flow of precome drips into the back of his throat. A string of saliva escapes and dribbles down his chin, and in any other circumstance he might have been angered by how embarrassing and filthy it felt. Now though, he removes a hand from where it clings to Butcher's thigh and reaches down to palm the length of his dick.
The intensity of the feeling startles him, and he whines as he spills into his suit. A mess to be worried about when he gets home. His head halts as he comes, Butcher’s cock buried in his throat as he bucks his own hips up into his hand. Homelander moans, and that seems to send Butcher over the edge as well. Searing spurts of Butcher’s release splash across his tongue and down his throat. Bitter and new and not unpleasant. Butcher’s hands hold his head in place, stopping him from pulling back as he gags and swallows. If it were anyone else, he’d kill them for that. His mind is too foggy to consider why with Butcher it’s different. Instead, he continues to work the cock in his mouth, tongue still lapping over the shaft to coax out and more come.
Butcher’s hips buck and stutter at his efforts.
‘That’s it.’ The hands are suddenly pulling him back and off of Butcher’s cock, ‘That’s all, my lovely.’
Even as though the thick, syrupy pleasure his brain is still suspended in, he catches the possessive. It’s just because he’s English, part of him knows, but that doesn’t stop the shiver that flits up his spine. He could get hard again, he thinks, from just those words.
They sit in silence for a moment. Homelander’s senses come back to him quickly, and he’s surprised because he isn’t quite sure when they left him. The humming of Butcher’s fridge, the stench of sweat and leather that he associates with his flat. Outside, a car goes past. There’s an odd tension in his jaw, and it takes him a moment to realise that it's an ache.
Don’t be stupid, he tells himself, you didn’t get hurt from sucking William Butcher’s dick.
Still, he tests his jaw a few times, just to feel it click. Above him, there’s a rustle as Butcher moves his hands to the fly of his jeans. He stops before he can tuck himself away, glancing down at Homelander.
‘Is that all you came for, love?’ he asks, ‘Or are you just taking a time out?’ He smirks like he hadn’t just come undone under Homelander’s tongue.
Homelander glares at him. ‘Neither,’ he replies, rising from his knees.
‘Come on then.’ Butcher grins, and pulls him into his lap.