Chapter Text
"It's really not that funny."
"Agree to disagree." Butcher can barely get the words out before he cracks up again.
"This is entirely your fault, you know, beginning to end."
"Oh yeah, how do you figure that?"
"If you didn't fucking--" Homelander sighs and presses his lips together in frustration, looking pained to even say it. "... fucking use my cape as a rag and get it dirty in the first place..."
"Did I insist you keep your top on the whole time? Did you really need your security blanket with you while getting shagged?"
"I had the cape out of the way. It wasn't going to get dirty until you decided to clean up with it."
"You were leaking all over the place! Easier to wash your cape than all of the bedding." Butcher tries to keep a straight face, but a smile is hard to suppress when he can see the supe get more irate with each word, shaking his head.
"Don't even--! Your entire bed smells like cigarettes most days of the week! Maybe you should have just washed your sheets instead of throwing my cape into your godforsaken basement washing machine!"
"I'm sorry, love. I'm sure Vought will provide ya with a new one."
"It's not about that." Homelander rolls his eyes. "It's not something you can just throw in the trash."
"Why not?"
"Because you're not allowed to throw an American flag in the trash, idiot. Even if it's been desecrated by some British barbarian."
"Desecrated, huh? Pretty sure you're not supposed to wear an American flag either."
"I'm not some nobody. I honor it by wearing it."
"Then stop bitching and keep wearing it! Maybe you'll start a new trend."
Homelander looks like he's contemplating lasering Butcher in half, but his eyes don't go red.
"It might look better like this, you know. Make you look taller."
"You didn't just shrink it."
"Didn't see a tag that said 'cold wash only'." Butcher shrugs. "And I was always told that 'these colors don't run'."
"You are so fucking disrespectful and so fucking proud of it too," Homelander says, shaking his head. "Insulting every vet who ever died defending this country and what this flag stands for."
"Oh please, there's only one person I'm disrespecting." Butcher checks something on his phone. "Well, you're right. You're not supposed to throw the flag in with rubbish. You're supposed to burn it. Funny that, always thought that was more of a 'Death to America' kind of spectacle."
"Fine by me," Homelander says and before Butcher can protest sets the shrunken, red-and-pink striped cape he's holding at arm's length on fire, right in the middle of the living room. Charred, black pieces of it float down to the wooden floor.
"Oi! You tryin'a burn my flat down just for ruining one of your stupid capes?!"
Homelander's eyes fade back to their cool unnerving blue. "William. I can burn your dingy little apartment down in much more efficient ways if you give me cause."
"Cause?" Butcher asks as he sweeps up the ash into a dustpan. "Like what? Tryin' to kill ya?"
"Like not giving me an I'm-sorry blowjob right fucking now," Homelander says, seating himself on the couch, leaning back and spreading his thighs.
Butcher looks him over, smirks at the supe's brazen eagerness despite getting so worked up about a piece of his uniform getting ruined. "Only if you actually undress this time."
Homelander hesitates, evidently much more comfortable taking off his pants than anything above the waist, but relents. Butcher can't help but snigger when he sees the supe fold his stiff padded suit up carefully and drape it over the back of one of the chairs near the kitchen, making sure it's out of easy reach of where he reseats himself.
Butcher knows when to humor the cunt, and slides down to his knees between Homelander's legs. But he can't help himself, hooks his hands on the insides of Homeland's knees, and pulls them over his shoulders, tilting the pelvis in front of him. Homelander doesn't fight it and instantly, magically looks thrown off his game-- that annoying look of sitting on a throne awaiting service is nowhere to be seen anymore.
"You sure you don't want me to run the rest of it through the wash?"
"Shut up and get on with it already," Homelander hisses, not trying to hide his irritation in the slightest, but still throwing a nervous look over to where his clothes are, out of harm's way, at least for now.
"You don't look half bad with your top off, you know," Butcher says, working Homelander's erection with one hand while sneaking his hand up and tweaking one of the newly uncovered nipples. "And I don’t think you ever really fooled anyone with those pushup padded tits."
Homelander doesn't even deign to respond, turns away with a huff. His face is red... is this shameless son of a bitch blushing because he's actually embarrassed? By this of all things? There's no way Butcher won't take advantage of it.
"You scared to be seen shirtless? Scared to have your nips out? Scared someone might do... this?" Butcher pushes upwards, pulls the supe's knees up right along with him, still hooked over his shoulders, and breathes softly against Homelander's chest and watches his small nipples pull up even tighter. Homelander lets out a delicious, pained sound when Butcher runs his tongue against one of them, still panting as he wraps his arms protectively around his chest.
"My cock's down there," he mumbles, motioning down with his gaze, trying so hard to sound mean.
"Yeah, think I saw it on the way up here."
"William, I've been nothing but patient and never once pulled you or pushed you."
"That's very kind of you."
"Don't make this the first time I have to shove your head down."
"Your cock will get its turn, don't you worry. Soon as I get my fill of being up here, watchin' ya squirm."
Homelander's arms only pull in more tightly, refusing access. Butcher kisses one of his forearms.
"I'm gonna put your whole clownsuit through the wash if you keep acting coy," Butcher threatens the other man, but deep down he wonders why this supe seems so uncomfortable showing his upper body to anyone.
"And I'm gonna laser you in the face," Homelander mutters, but relents and opens his arms.
"Fair trade," Butcher says before running his tongue across the other nipple, enjoying Homelander’s feeble attempt to suppress a moan.