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Against all odds, Ryan Butcher makes it five years under Homelander’s care without killing a single person.
Sure, he witnesses a lot of murder, thanks to his dad. But Homelander is just protecting him. That’s the thing about Homelander—he doesn’t strike unprovoked. He’s just doing his job: being a hero. Being a father.
But, inevitably, Ryan ages into teenagerhood. He starts to struggle against the restraints his father has kept him in for the last few years. Homelander affords Ryan the illusion of freedom, but the prison he keeps him in isn’t so different from the one Ryan was in for the rest of his childhood. He can forget having friends, not to mention dating. Homelander’s death grip is too tight for such things.
They start to fight. Homelander doesn’t know how to make a point without resorting to threats, which fall on deaf ears, because Ryan knows Homelander won’t hurt him. He’d never forgive himself if he did.
After a particularly bad fight one night, Ryan sneaks out. Not that that’s truly possible—he knows Homelander is always listening, but miraculously, he doesn’t try to stop him. Maybe it’s some kind of test of loyalty, or maybe Homelander is just curious where Ryan is going to go. Either way, Ryan has already made up his mind.
It hadn’t taken much to intimidate one of Vought’s staff at the Tower into giving him the name and address of a Supe club, so that’s where Ryan finds himself. The bouncer reluctantly lets him in when Ryan stares him down with a red glint in his eyes. He’s well aware that he doesn’t look anything close to legal, but he’s also well aware that no one here would dare stop him from getting what he wants.
Ryan has never seen Homelander so much as look at alcohol, so he’s not sure it’s even possible for him to get drunk. But Ryan—Ryan has a human mother. So it should have some effect, right? He eyes the bar. Only one way to find out.
When it’s his turn to order, he flounders. Listens in on the other patrons.
“Uh—a vodka tonic, I guess?”
The bartender gives him a skeptical look.
“You asking me or telling me, kid?”
Ryan feels his cheeks heat up. He tries to think of what Homelander would say.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he retorts, trying his best to sound intimidating. The bartender scoffs, starting to roll his eyes as he turns away and makes the drink. Ryan’s lip twitches in irritation. Doesn’t this guy know that he could laser everyone here in an instant if he wanted to? The least he can do is pay him some respect.
Ryan sulks, glaring at the bartender’s back until he returns with his drink. He gives him a begrudging nod as thanks—because Becca’s voice still lingers in the back of his mind, reminding him to be polite—then takes a large mouthful of the drink.
It’s a mistake. He almost gags, but manages to force it down despite how badly it burns on the way. The bartender quickly turns away and Ryan just knows he’s hiding his laughter. Determined, he takes another, smaller, swallow of the drink. It goes down easier this time.
Before he knows it, he’s drained the glass. When he looks back up at the mass of people on the dance floor, the edges blur a little. Everything feels a little bit slow, a little bit muffled, like it’s not quite real. If it’s not real, he can do whatever he wants. At the moment, that’s ordering another drink, because he wants to hold onto this feeling.
The next drink is much easier to swallow. His throat feels a little numb. Along with his other extremities. He can feel the music pulsing through his body, drawing him towards the crowd of moving figures. There’s a pressure building inside of him, an energy he needs to release, and dancing seems like the best way to relieve that at the moment. He gets up, fully intending on staying near the edge of the crowd, but once he’s there, he gets absorbed into the mass of people, hands fastening onto his wrists and biceps and waist.
The music almost seems to put a trance over the entire crowd, causing them all to move in unison. Ryan has no choice but to move with them. He’s not sure how, but he ends up grinding against some scantily clad blonde girl, whose blue eyes meet his and draw him in closer.
Where does he know that shade of blue from? And why does it make his stomach lurch like that?
The thought is gone as quickly as it had arrived and he goes back to mindlessly grinding against the girl—no, the woman, who’s definitely at least five years his senior. She effortlessly guides the two of them through the crowd, never missing a beat, until they’re at the edge of it, near the back door of the club. She leans against it, looking Ryan up and down. It’s too loud to talk, but Ryan, despite his lack of experience, understands what that look means. He follows her outside, into the alley.
Once the door falls shut behind them, the pulsing beat of the music fades and is replaced by a faint ringing in his ears and the silence of the night. The woman presses him up against the dirty brick wall of the building and Ryan responds purely on instinct, pulling her closer to kiss her. He’s never done this before and maybe he should care that he doesn’t even know this woman’s name but right now that doesn’t matter, because he still feels like none of this is really happening.
Just before their lips meet, there’s a familiar whooshing sound that leaves a pit in Ryan’s stomach. He jerks away, looking past the woman at the figure that had just landed behind her. The lighting in the alley is dark, but even if it had been pitch black, Ryan would’ve recognized his scent. Leather and blood cut with the gentle aroma of his lavender shampoo. Homelander steps closer. Ryan watches his gloved hands as they clench into fists.
“Get away from him.”
Ryan feels the woman freeze. She must recognize Homelander’s voice, like any patriotic American citizen would. She backs away. Ryan can hear her heart pounding, even faster than it had been when she was about to kiss him.
Homelander grabs one of Ryan’s hands, pulling him away from the wall and to his side. His other hand finds its way to Ryan’s face, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look him in the eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Homelander hisses, his gaze darting between Ryan’s eyes as he searches for an answer.
Oh.
That’s where he knows that shade of blue from.
Homelander leans in close to his ear, his hand coming to rest on Ryan’s shoulder.
“She doesn’t give a fuck about you. None of them do. Not like I do. I need you to understand that, Ryan.”
Ryan looks between Homelander and the woman and it dawns on him that Homelander is right. There’s nothing but fear in her eyes. The only one who’s never looked at him like that is his father. Ryan starts to nod, but Homelander clicks his tongue.
“I’m going to need you to show me you understand. Kill her.”
Ryan wishes that he could say he hesitated. He wishes he could say he was apprehensive about it. He wishes he could say he deliberated before committing his first cold-blooded murder.
But he doesn’t.
His eyes heat up almost before Homelander is finished speaking, searing a clean line straight through the woman’s torso. She doesn’t even have time to scream. The two smoldering hunks of lifeless flesh fall to the ground. It’s easy to pretend she was never alive in the first place. It’s easy to pretend he hasn’t done anything wrong, especially when Homelander is running an affectionate hand through his hair and telling him what a good job he’s done.
Moments later, strong, gloved hands are wrapping around him, scooping him off the ground. Homelander is flying him back to the tower. There’s no way he could’ve flown himself in his current state, but still, Ryan finds himself wanting to curl in on himself in embarrassment. His dad is holding him in his arms, helping him along like he’s still a little kid. It’s humiliating, but even more humiliating is how much he actually likes it.
Homelander takes them directly back to his suite on the 99th floor. After Ryan had taken up residence in Vought Tower, Homelander had had Vought modify his apartment to accommodate the both of them. But even with the modifications, neither of them have much privacy. Ryan is starting to get the notion that that was by design.
Homelander sets Ryan down delicately on the edge of his bed, then sits down next to him. Ryan blinks at him a few times, trying to will his vision to focus. Homelander’s jarringly blue eyes bore into him. They’re like the core of a flame in their unwavering intensity, the threat of scorching crimson lurking just beneath the surface.
“We don’t need anyone else,” Homelander reminds him, tugging off his gloves to cup Ryan’s face, skin to skin. He’s done this before, but Ryan doesn’t remember ever being so aware of his dad’s lips, and his tongue, and the way his mouth moves as he speaks.
“Remember what we are, Ryan?” Homelander asks. When did his other hand make its way to Ryan’s thigh? Ryan’s too caught up in the realization to respond right away, so Homelander answers his own question.
“We’re gods. Gods deserve each other. Nothing less.”
One thumb caresses Ryan’s cheek while the other creeps up his inseam. Heat blossoms wherever Homelander touches him. It’s partially because Homelander always runs hot and partially because Ryan has been worked up ever since that woman started grinding on him.
“Come on, son,” Homelander urges, his voice low and gravely. It sends a shiver down Ryan’s spine. “Let me show you.”
Homelander stills and Ryan realizes he’s waiting for him to make a move. The last of his doubts evaporate. Homelander’s right, like he always is. If Homelander is willing to give him everything, why would Ryan ever need anyone else? Why seek attention from mere humans when he has a god right here in his room?
Ryan scoots closer to Homelander on the bed, close enough that their legs brush up against each other. He angles his head up, craning his neck so that their faces are only centimeters apart. Homelander makes a quiet sighing sound as his eyes flutter closed. Ryan tingles with excitement when he realizes that his dad is letting him take control of the situation.
Ryan leans the rest of the way in and presses a kiss to Homelander’s lips. Ryan had always kind of imagined that his first kiss might taste like fruity chapstick, or booze, or a combination of the two. What he hadn’t anticipated was it tasting distinctly like his dad—almost completely flavorless save for a slight metallic tang. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where that came from.
All of his previous expectations melt away as Homelander’s lips press gently against his own, insistent but not overpowering. Ryan leans into him, his small hands pressed to Homelander’s broad chest.
Homelander gathers him in his arms, engulfing Ryan in his hold. Ryan feels small by comparison, but he doesn’t feel helpless. In fact, he feels more powerful than he’s ever felt. He has his dad, The Homelander, eating out of the palm of his hand.
It hadn’t occurred to him before, but it seems obvious now: Homelander has always been the only real candidate to whom Ryan might lose his virginity. The two of them are a different breed, two of a kind. A human—someone with a weaker mind—might think of this as wrong, but Ryan knows better.
Ryan experimentally presses his tongue into Homelander’s mouth. Homelander’s hand fists in his hair as he makes a sound that goes straight to Ryan’s dick. Being a teenage boy, he doesn’t have much by way of restraint, so he palms himself through his jeans. Homelander’s hand finds his and moves it out of the way to replace it with his own.
“Good,” Homelander says, voice rough. “I’ll make you feel good. Just let me.”
Ryan doesn’t need any further convincing, but the words send a shiver through him anyway. He lets Homelander unzip his pants, shifting his weight on the bed to push them down his legs. His briefs follow shortly, after a moment’s hesitation. Homelander wraps his hand around Ryan’s cock; it covers the entire length. Ryan has to bite his lip to refrain from thrusting into Homelander’s fist.
“Go ahead, son,” Homelander coaxes him, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. Ryan exhales shakily, unable to hold out any longer even if he’d wanted to. He fucks into Homelander’s fist, his eyes fluttering closed at the warm friction of it. His head tilts back, his eyes still closed, so he doesn’t notice when Homelander’s position changes, until the tight warmth of his hand is replaced by something wet and even hotter.
Ryan’s eyes fly open when he realizes that’s Homelander’s mouth. His dad just took his cock down his throat without hesitation. Ryan moans, head swimming at how sickeningly hot it is. His hand finds its way to the back of Homelander’s head and he finds himself tugging at his hair encouragingly. It just feels so good, he doesn’t want Homelander to let up just yet. Homelander doesn’t seem to mind, though, even if he can’t breathe; he just swirls his tongue around Ryan’s cock and swallows, making the tight wetness impossibly tighter.
To a fourteen year old boy who's never even had his dick touched before, it’s a lot. To make things worse, Homelander has started moaning and palming himself through his suit. The vibrations nearly make Ryan come on the spot.
“Th-that’s—I mean, I’m gonna come, dad, please,” Ryan pleads. He doesn’t know how he’ll live down the humiliation if he accidentally comes down his dad’s throat. His pleas seem to fall on Homelander’s deaf ears though, because instead of letting up, he only doubles down, pressing forward even further until Ryan’s cock is buried up to the hilt in his mouth. Homelander’s nose is nestled against Ryan’s lower belly, making him self conscious about his thin smattering of pubic hair.
But when Ryan glances down at Homelander, he looks like he couldn’t be any more blissed out. It hits him that Homelander has probably thought about this. Did he ever get himself off to the thought of Ryan’s cock, with only the thin wall of his suite between them? The idea of it has Ryan’s hips stuttering, his thighs twitching in effort not to lose control. Then Homelander reaches up, under his shirt, wrapping his hand around Ryan’s torso and letting his thumb brush against his nipple.
Ryan’s never really thought to pay attention to his nipples before when touching himself, so the arousal that jolts through him at the touch comes entirely unexpected. Before he knows it, he’s gripping the back of Homelander’s head and holding him firmly in place while he comes. Homelander milks every drop of it from him, not stopping until Ryan physically drags him off. There’s drool running down Homelander’s chin, but he licks his lips and swallows again. He’s looking at Ryan with an expression Ryan has never seen before: his eyes glazed over and dark, his lips parted as he pants. If Ryan hadn’t just come, he’d be getting hard again at the way Homelander looks like this: on his knees, at Ryan’s feet.
He’s still touching himself, desperately, over his suit. A part of Ryan is relieved that Homelander isn’t expecting him to reciprocate the blowjob—that he’s still willing to let Ryan have the upper hand. Homelander’s hand stills when he realizes Ryan is looking at him. He looks back at him expectantly, waiting for Ryan to tell him what to do.
Despite Homelander’s submissive behavior, Ryan is still sure that if he tried to walk out the door, Homelander would be there in an instant to block his exit. He’s already gone too far. No take backs. He, of all people, knows just how deep Homelander’s possessive streak runs, and the lengths he’s willing to go to for it. It reminds him of his mom—but Homelander is willing to go further than she ever could. He knows he’s loved, unconditionally, so he’s not scared, not anymore. He finds it… almost romantic. He swallows and brings a hand to Homelander’s face, pressing it to his cheek like Homelander has done to him so many times.
Homelander tilts his head into the touch and catches Ryan’s thumb in his mouth, curling around the digit and sucking. Somehow, it feels almost as good as having his dick sucked.
“That’s…that’s good,” Ryan says, a little unsure of what Homelander is looking for him to say. Homelander’s hand is still frozen in place, so Ryan tries again.
“Don’t stop. I want—I want to watch you.”
Homelander closes his eyes and moans around Ryan’s finger as he presses his palm against the crotch of his suit and resumes grinding against it. Ryan’s expecting to have to do more, or say more, or something, but to his surprise, Homelander is shuddering, his hips losing any semblance of rhythm, after only a few strokes of his hand against the suit fabric. Does Ryan really have that strong of an effect on him?
After he catches his breath, Homelander stands up, clearing his throat.
“I think it would be best if you sleep here tonight.”
It’s not up for debate. Ryan nods, hardly about to argue when his eyes are already getting heavy with the combination of the alcohol and his post orgasm haze. Ryan pulls his briefs back on and crawls into Homelander’s bed. Homelander sheds his suit, joining Ryan once he’s fully naked. He wraps his arms around him, pressing his face to the back of Ryan’s neck and sighing contently.
“You see, son? Why would we ever need anybody else?”