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Butcher woke up with a splitting headache. Consequences of his brain knitting itself back together. The sun streamed in through the windows. Bastard left the fucking curtains open again . Butcher buried his face in the pillows, trying to block out the light stabbing him in the eyes. He really didn't want to fucking get up. He wanted to go back to sleep, at least when he was asleep he didn't have to deal with the goddamn symptoms.
Damn Temp V making his brain melt out his ears. Healing from it was almost as bad as dying. Maybe worse. Keep breathing, he reminded himself. Keep breathing for Ryan.
You made a deal. Deal with it.
Was this the worst situation he'd ever found himself in? No. Had he been thrilled by the prospect of literally falling into bed with the enemy? Also no. That was the price of living and staying in contact with Ryan after his failed attempt on Homelander's life. They'd fix him in exchange for being Homelander's…whatever the fuck he was. Pet? Emotional support whore? Wet nurse? All of the above?
At least the room service was decent.
Butcher gave up on trying to fall back asleep. No matter how he twisted and turned the sun was too much of a bother. He sighed and rolled out of bed, bare feet padding over to the window. He tugged the curtains closed, plunging the room back into blissful darkness. While he was standing he might as well deal with the morning medication round. The sooner that was done the sooner he could lay down again.
When he rounded into the kitchenette there was breakfast already waiting for him - still hot. Was his timing really that predictable? Eggs and toast and nutrition shake that had the worst texture were sitting next to his giant pile of pills. There was a note sitting on top of his plate.
Flew out early, I'll be back tonight. Took the liberty of ordering for you. Drink up!
Butcher crumpled up the note and tossed it into the trash. He sat, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair, black strands sticking up even more messily. He chewed mindlessly through breakfast. His stomach needed to be full before he could medicate. Butcher sipped the damn required shake he couldn't escape from and Christ, how the fuck did a liquid dry out his mouth?
He swallowed the last of the horrible stuff and could finally turn his attention to his morning drug doses. This pill made him drowsy, that one made his heart race, and he was pretty sure the little white one was the culprit in turning his piss bright orange. He threw the whole lot into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
Another sharp pang shot through his head. Butcher gave up on trying to remain upright. The mornings were always miserable for him. He shuffled back to bed, collapsing into the sheets. Hopefully the drowsiness hit before the heart palpitations and he could sleep the worst of it off. His head hurt, his chest hurt, everything fucking hurt. He rolled onto his side, grabbing one of the pillows and holding it to his chest. It smelled like Homelander.
Butcher didn't know if he hated that or not.
When Butcher woke up again he had to book it to the toilet. He wasn't going to vomit in Homelander's bed even out of spite; he had to sleep there too. His body shook as his stomach emptied itself of breakfast. It looked just as unappetizing coming out as it had going in.
Shit.
He leaned against the cool tile wall, shivering and waiting for the last of the nausea to pass. Butcher stood when he could. The man that looked back at him from the mirror was a sad excuse of a bastard. Pale-faced and clammy, with the darkest circles Butcher had ever seen under his eyes. Pathetic and sick. He shook his head and grabbed for his toothbrush.
Butcher peeled himself out of the clothes that were sticking to him and climbed into the shower. Chills racked his body until warm water hit his skin. At least there was still some relief to be had in this world. He grabbed the soap, trying to rinse the sweat off of himself. Homelander's soap. Butcher didn't even have the autonomy to pick out his own fucking soap anymore.
His tits hurt, a constant reminder of his place here. That cunt had flown off early and now Butcher had to deal with the consequences. He massaged his chest, trying to relieve some of the ache. Butcher closed his eyes and pinched his nipples, trying to manually express himself. He didn't want to see himself leaking. If Homelander wasn't going to be here then Butcher was going to make sure that what he wanted went to waste. Washed down the drain with the rest of his sick.
He got dressed as quickly as he could to stave off the cold. Sweatpants and socks and hoodie that were all decently soft. Butcher wandered over to the couch, wrapped himself in a blanket, and crashed onto the cushions. He mindlessly flipped through channels. Propaganda, propaganda, more fucking Vought propaganda. Butcher eventually settled on a nature program. Just zone out and watch the fucking fish and not think about his reality.
It wasn't long before Butcher was becoming restless. He needed a smoke badly . Even that pleasure had been taken from him. He had fought Homelander on that one hard but to no avail. He was "healing" and smoking was a "nasty habit" anyways. He'd barely won the right to get nicotine patches instead of being forced to quit cold turkey.
Butcher left the comfortable safety of the couch to put on a patch and try to fill the empty void in his stomach. He was pretty confident that he wouldn't vomit again. The only sound in the apartment was the quiet lull of the TV as he chewed through an overly sweet banana.
What the fuck was he doing? Trying to stay alive, sure, but why? Was it for Ryan or for his own cowardice? 'I don't want to die! Save me Homelander!' Was he really that much of a bitch to let that bastard keep him just so he wouldn't die?
Apparently.
His days passed in such a haze it was hard to figure out exactly how long he'd been sequestered in Homelander's apartment. Definitely on the scale of weeks, long enough that he'd stopped bleeding from the ears and had forgotten what fresh air smelled like. Long enough for Butcher to adjust to his new role: being Homelander's fucking milk bag.
The Vought doctors assured him lactating was a common side effect of the medication he was on. Considering Homelander's neuroticism it wouldn't surprise him if he was being slipped something to make it happen on purpose. He could always find out the hard way by refusing to take any meds at all, but that would either result in his death or in being chained to a bed and drip fed the stuff. What it ultimately meant for him was that it was near impossible to detach Homelander from his tits when he was around. He was sore, damnit!
The sex was easier to understand.
It was blatantly apparent that Homelander was desperate for attention and approval. Daddy and Mommy issues abound, not that Butcher himself was much better. Homelander wanted to be told that he was perfect and he wanted someone that couldn't leave him.
So now Butcher played Daddy.
He was half asleep on the couch when Homelander returned. It was near dark outside, city lights starting to glitter outside the window. Butcher didn't stir or open his eyes. If he looked dead there was a low chance that Homelander wouldn't bother him. Very, very low. He could hear Homelander talking; it didn't sound like someone else was in the room.
A gloved hand pet through his hair. He couldn't doze any longer. Time to play the game. He cracked his eyes open to see Homelander smiling down at him.
"Hey there. Sleep all day again?"
"Yeah," croaked Butcher. His voice sounded so fucked and it occurred to him that it was the first time he'd spoken today.
"Well, get up. I brought dinner."
Homelander grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. Butcher's body protested the sudden movement and he nearly heaved the remaining contents of his stomach onto the floor. He swallowed and let himself be led back to the table. Another plate of food, another pile of pills, another damn nutrition shake.
There was no escaping Homelander's piercing blue stare as he ate. Every movement of his jaw, every swallow he took was on display. He was getting sick of the silence so he shook his glass at Homelander, metal straw clinking against the sides.
"You know these taste like shit."
"Fenugreek and spinach are good for you, Billy. The goal is to try and get you healthy again, remember? You smell less sick today." Homelander's gaze was fixed directly onto Butcher's chest as he spoke, his nose twitching slightly.
Butcher certainly didn't feel less sick but he sure as shit wasn't going to argue with the Supe. "Can I see Ryan?" It was a request not often fulfilled. Good behavior seemed to get him what he wanted more often than not. Play nice and get nicotine patches and visitation. Be a cunt and get lasered through the brain.
"Maybe when he gets back from his school trip. He's gone for a bit," said Homelander.
"Oh. Okay."
Silence fell between them again. Butcher picked at his food, trying to summon the will to finish it. It was a constant battle between wanting to combat the hollowness inside of him and not wanting to throw everything up again later. He gave up, swallowing the next load of pills. Homelander watched him, no doubt watching the things slide down his throat.
"Aren't you hungry?" Butcher asked him more snidely than he probably should.
"No, I ate earlier."
Oh, so this was how it was gonna go tonight. Was this Homelander being shy or was this some weird test? Not in the mood? Doubtful. Butcher had to sense out whatever this was. He leaned back in his chair, just barely skating his hands over his chest.
"You sure about that?"
Homelander's nostrils flared. Butcher smirked; the Supe was too easy to tease. Push the right buttons and Homelander melted right into a puddle. He left his seat to lean up right next to the man.
"So, Johnny boy," said Butcher, barely tapping his knee against Homelander's. "You want something or am I gonna go pass out on the couch again?"
Homelander's tongue flicked out between his lips. "You know what I want."
"Then say it. Daddy can't give you what you want if you don't tell him."
"I want to fucking taste you."
There was a pout forming on Homelander's face, one Butcher needed to soothe away. He carded his fingers through blond hair, resting his palm against Homelander's cheek. The man leaned into the touch and nipped at the tip of Butcher's thumb.
"Was that so hard to say? You have me," said Butcher.
Homelander's patience seemed to be at an end. He took Butcher's wrist and pulled him over to the couch. The Supe sat down expectantly, the need apparent on his face. Butcher pulled his hoodie off and straddled Homelander. A mouth was enclosed over his nipple in an instant, tonguing over the sensitive bud to get it to harden.
Gonna be here a fucking while.
Homelander's hands were on Butcher's back, keeping him in place while his tit was nearly suctioned off. Dying had made him so sensitive to everything, touch included. He tried not to shiver with every pull and lick that ran over his nipple. Homelander hummed happily underneath him when he started to leak into his mouth. Butcher guessed he tasted good; he sure as shit wasn't going to find out for himself.
He couldn't let his mind drift like this but he at least could be passive through it. Rest on his knees and let Homelander take what he needed. It was almost enjoyable, nearly meditative aside from the electricity coursing through his chest. A sharp pain brought him out of his flow state.
"Hey! Teeth!" Butcher flicked Homelander's ear to try and get him to stop biting. Bright blue eyes glared their refusal up at him. "Hey, c'mon lad, at least switch sides for me if you're gonna do that. Sensitive."
Homelander let go of him completely. "You didn't seem that sensitive milking yourself in the shower."
Butcher tried to not shudder at that. He never knew when Homelander was watching him. There was no privacy when the fucker could see through walls. He rubbed Homelander's shoulders, trying to guide him back to the moment.
"Keeping an eye on Daddy, huh? You left early. Hurts if I leave it in all day. Don't want to be leaking into my clothes, do I?"
"You should pump then. Stick it in the fridge, I'll drink it," said Homelander, pouting more than chastising Butcher.
Shitshitnope! Butcher wasn't a fucking cow! Absolutely not, he was not fucking doing that. Spin it, Billy, don't give him that option! He pulled on Homelander's hair sharply, tugging his head back so he could look him in the face.
"Don't try and tell Daddy how he should feed his boy."
He let an edge of disapproval creep into his voice. Homelander's face was a mix of reactions. Petulant rage at being refused, melting submission at being ordered around so easily. Time to sell it completely. He pet through his hair, gentle as could be.
"Want to keep you close," he said, pulling Homelander back to his chest.
A happy sigh puffed against his skin before the Supe latched back onto his chest. Boy soothed, bomb defused.
They sat there for a while, Homelander drinking down every drop Butcher had to give. It was peaceful, definitely not the worst way to spend the evening. Butcher watched every twitch and shift on Homelander's face. There were two tiny flecks of blood in his ear, and as he breathed Butcher could smell the faint aroma of shampoo in the man's hair. Missed a spot in the scrub up? What grotesque violence had he committed this time? Homelander had never been shy about coming back to the apartment bloody before.
Why hide it from him?
Butcher had his eyes closed with his hands resting on the Supe's shoulders. He was choosing not to wonder this time. Butcher didn’t want to fucking know. If he didn’t think about it, he could just live in this new reality. He was fine, truly fine, until severe pain shot through his head.
Fuck, no, not now not now!
Damn cancer had a way of fucking him over at the worst times. His head flopped uncontrollably onto Homelander's as he let out a pained groan, feeling like someone had stabbed him through the fucking eye. Homelander didn't take much notice of Butcher's distress. He could do nothing but ride out the worst of the pain limp against the other man. Why couldn't he just enjoy this without a painful reminder of why he was here?
When Butcher could finally crack open his eyes he realized he wasn't on the couch anymore. Homelander had them floating ten feet in the air while he sucked on Butcher's tit. He shook his head; it was almost cute when this happened. The man was too lost in the bliss of feeding to realize what he was doing.
He tapped on Homelander's shoulder. "Hey, John. Johnny boy. You're levitating us."
Homelander let out a muffled, "Huh?"
"Baby boy we're not on the ground. Back to the couch."
"Hm, better idea."
Better idea? Butcher didn't have long to wonder what that meant before Homelander was flying them off towards the bed. He was dropped onto the mattress, his body bouncing before the Supe was climbing on top of him. Homelander pinched and pulled at his nipples, rolling the puffy brown buds between his fingers. He let out a quiet groan as he watched milk drip from Butcher's tits, bending down to lick it up.
Butcher hummed underneath Homelander, the tightness in his chest finally being relieved. This could go on all night if he let it. Sometimes they didn't even fuck after; Homelander would roll off and sleep with his head tucked under Butcher's arm. He could feel the Supe getting hard against his leg, though.
Seemed they both needed more release tonight.
"Hey lad, I'm dry. Finished it all," said Butcher. He rested his palm against the man's cheek. "You were hungry."
Homelander shrugged and nuzzled into Butcher's hand. His hips twitched, grinding his cock against Butcher.
"What do you need, Johnny boy? Tell Daddy."
"Want sex," said Homelander petulantly.
"Well then, go on. Get undressed."
Homelander pulled off his suit as quickly as he could while Butcher tugged his sweatpants down. He pumped his cock, stroking it to full hardness. Homelander was a gorgeous man, no one could deny that. Not nearly as bulky as his costume made him look, swirling patterns in his chest hair drawing the eye right to his pecs.
Butcher hissed as cold lube was drizzled right over his cock. He grabbed onto Homelander's hips as the man straddled him.
"Baby, you need to be opened."
"It's not gonna hurt, not gonna fucking hurt," said Homelander as he lined up Butcher's cock with his hole.
"Don't be impatient- Jesus fuck," moaned Butcher as impossibly tight heat engulfed his cock.
Homelander groaned above him, trying to force himself down Butcher's considerable length. Stubborn fucking boy . He pulled Homelander down against his chest, halting his motion.
"Relax. You're going to tear if you keep that shit up," said Butcher. He traced soothing circles over the man's back. "What's got you in such a rush, huh? We have all night."
"I need you."
"And you have me. I'm not going anywhere, John. Take a breath and adjust."
He stroked Homelander's hair while he held him. The Supe's hole spasmed around his cock as he adjusted.
"Mm, that's a good boy," lulled Butcher.
Homelander's bottom lip stuck out. "Daddy, I wanna have sex."
"We are, Johnny boy, we are." Butcher slowly rolled his hips up into him. "I just don't want you to hurt yourself. Want you to feel good, baby."
He felt Homelander melt against his chest. A few sweet words and he would have the man in the palm of his hand for the night. Butcher took his time fucking into Homelander. He was still so tight around him. It wasn't long before he earned pretty little moans for his efforts. Homelander mouthed at his shoulder, teeth scraping over Butcher's skin.
"Need something in your mouth?" Butcher asked him, his hands squeezing Homelander's sides.
Homelander's lips parted expectantly. Butcher slid two fingers over his tongue, the man already lapping at the digits. They rocked together in a learned harmony. Homelander's eyes glazed over as he suckled on Butcher's fingers.
"Daddy's perfect boy," said Butcher. It broke his brain to see the most dangerous man on Earth go boneless with every scrap of praise.
Homelander sighed around the fingers in his mouth. Butcher pushed him up to sitting, guiding him to a more favorable angle.
"Go on sweets, you came in here in such a mood. Take what you need bouncing on Daddy's cock."
"Daddy…" Homelander whined with his mouth full.
He started to fuck himself on Butcher in earnest. Drool dripped down his chin as he rode. There was something to be said about that super endurance; Homelander could bounce on Butcher's cock for as long as he wanted. Butcher didn't even have to do anything but occasionally coo up at the man. Easiest fucking job in the world sometimes.
Homelander braced his hands on Butcher's chest and rode him hard. He snaked his free hand between them, grasping Homelander's cock in his fist. Precome steadily dripped from the tip. Butcher could see the man’s stomach trembling as he got closer and closer, and could hear how breathy his moans got. He wanted to make him fall apart. This was the one place that Butcher had any fucking control - making Homelander sob on his cock.
“Daddy!!” Homelander was getting needier by the second.
“Come on, Johnny boy, that’s a good lad. Cum for Daddy, that’s it, my good boy.”
Cum shot over Butcher’s chest as Homelander fell apart. He stroked him through his orgasm, wringing every drop of cum out he could. Homelander could stand a bit of overstimulation; it wasn’t as if Butcher could force him to feel it if he didn’t want to. He’d rip Butcher’s arms off if he tried anything he hated. He fucked up into Homelander’s heat hard, chasing after his own high. Butcher watched Homelander’s blue eyes glaze over as he rode his high. Electricity shot through Butcher’s spine as he reached the precipice of his orgasm. Homelander was still sucking on his fingers, eyes half-lidded and unseeing. He looked so pathetic like that.
“Fuck!” Butcher growled as his climax ripped through him.
Homelander whimpered as he was filled with hot cum. He gave up on sitting up straight and collapsed back down onto Butcher’s chest. It was silent save for the little sighs of contentment Homelander let out. Butcher caught his breath, squeezing at the Supe’s shoulder.
“Come on, go clean up.”
“Uh uh.” Homelander shook his head against Butcher’s, refusing to move.
“What do you mean no?”
“I want a plug.”
So bloody demanding. “Need to stay full, baby? Get up then, let Daddy help you.”
Homelander slid off of Butcher onto his stomach, staring at him while he waited. Butcher reached over to dig through the nightstand, coming back with the lube and a plug. He slid it inside Homelander’s cum slick hole, the man looking finally sated as he pillowed himself on his arms. Butcher’s skin was starting to feel sticky.
“Gonna go rinse off,” he grunted as he climbed off the bed.
“Don’t take long.”
Butcher showered as slowly as he dared. He pointed his body away from the bedroom, Homelander no doubt watching him through the wall. He left the towel on the floor just to be an ass. Homelander was on him the instant he laid down, throwing himself over Butcher’s body. The man ran hot, a fact that Butcher appreciated when the chemo left him constantly freezing. He was tucked under Butcher’s arm, holding tight as he settled down. Butcher stared at the ceiling, mindlessly playing with Homelander’s hair.
“G’night,” said the small voice at his side.
“Night, baby boy.”
Butcher didn’t let his mind run. He needed to sleep and in his permanent exhaustion it wasn’t hard to do. Homelander still slipped off before him, leaving Butcher alone in the darkness. It was hard to hate him like this, in the soft and the quiet. Hard to hate when he got all sweet like this. Not impossible. It was easier to not think about it. There wouldn’t be any complexity if Butcher’s soul stayed frozen. Psychopath and good boy. Captor and savior.
Fuck.