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"I'll fucking suck you dick." The desperate words came out, presumably from the mouth on the face hanging low as if trying to hide from the shame they created.
As Butcher met his gaze, the drowning blue, watery eyes silently confirmed the origin of the voice rendered unrecognizable by fear and despair laced into it, his lips twisted in disgust.
He squinted, his eyes burning through the shell of a man used to be his life's obsession, the man that was now whimpering for his life on his knees before him. The oozing desperation from this formerly great and formidable man-god made the wave of revulsion raise up inside him, almost completely consuming and silencing his mind so he could barely hold himself back from finishing him off like one would reflexively squish a cockroach with the sole of a foot -- an instinctive reaction to something primally disgusting. And yet he could feel the rush of a different kind burning through him at the thought of such a strong, ruthless, arrogant man rendered pathetic by him. The feeling of victory and excitement from battle got his blood pumping through him, eagerly sending it even to the furthest corners of his body--
"Why would I let a dirty, genocidal rapist like you touch me." Butcher asked, without having much interest in the answer, but seeing as Homelander, or rather what was left of him, is inevitably going to be dead soon, why not prolong the pleasure a bit longer? The thought of them finally changing roles, him being the one who could at the simple strike of a hand decide the fate of the other was intoxicating, he wasn’t ready to part so quickly with it.
"Don't act all innocent, ~William~." John's voice sounded steadier, whether putting a front now that he hoped he found a weakness he could exploit and escape, whether simply from the sheer relief of getting to live for a bit longer. Somehow, after that degrading display from earlier, he didn’t strike him as much of a strategist, but they say to never underestimate your enemy.
"I- know you want it.” He started reaching, although slowly and with shaky hands, to the buckle of his belt, tensing at every slight twirl of the crowbar in Butcher’s right hand. John glanced up at his face and down again, eyeing the weapon from the corner of his eye, ready to stop at any slight sign of rejection. John swallowed thickly. “Felt it when you were… smashing my body with yours during the fight. And I sensed it before, too, you know, when we–"
Billy inclined his head to the side, his heart picking up speed slightly, while face kept its dark, stoic expression, trying to–. Right, he doesn’t need to work at concealing things any more, the guy can’t sense anything beyond your average Joe’s capabilities. The old excitement Butcher used to feel in his presence that started to stir inside him, once again died down.
Butcher threw aside the crowbar, John flinched back at the sudden movement and watched it hit the floor with a loud thud. Then, he glanced up again, giving Butcher a look of a kicked puppy, as if taking offence at Butcher scaring him. "Might have wanted it when you were still something worth breaking, where's excitement now in having such a pathetic nobody, who’s so eagerly offering himself up, slathering all over my cock.” Contrary to his words, he took a little step forward, giving a silent permission for John to continue. “Even your fishfucker friend could make you suck his cock at this point. But bet you don't even know how to suck cock properly. Bet you lasered it off every guy who simply dared to imply you'd be interested in it, didn't you?"
As he was talking, John reached for the zipper, still looking at him from under his brow. Butcher’s mocking voice drowned out the noise of its opening, preventing it from cutting through the dead stillness of the office with an embarrassing, unambiguous loudness.
Butcher had all the control now, could end it any moment, for now he wanted to sate his curiosity of how far John would go, how far he'd debase himself to prolong his worthless life. What was John even clinging to? The Homelander was gone along with his legacy, no family or friends to talk about, the life he was clinging to was full of nothing but misery and solitude, didn't he do all this for love? No love was waiting for him on this side of the life. Well, perhaps it was a mere primal, human part of him acting up — awakened by the evolutionary need of survival.
Either way, it didn’t matter to him. Butcher wanted this ultimate form of humiliation to happen to him, especially so because it was offered up by the man himself. He’d never--, well, that would be a lie. For a moment, he was tempted by the thought of keeping the man alive after all, maybe fuck him filming on the camera laying somewhere nearby for a good measure, if it was still even working, he wanted him to know what’s it like to live with what his Becca had to live with, but without even the meager dignity of being able to keep the shame hidden away from the other people’s eyes. He didn't deserve shit.
If nothing else, perhaps the memories of this moment will keep him warm during the empty in their lack of purpose, cold in their aloneness nights he imagined after his quest for vengeance was complete. He smirked at the passing image of a Homelander tied up in his apartment, what a nice toy he’d make for Terror. Butcher could have him around to keep him company, to relish in the utter debasement of god among humans, all because of him, all for him, only him. The thought made a ripple of desire rush through him and as Homelander hesitantly, still gauging his reactions by studying his facial expression, wrapped his hand around his cock, it was already red and hard, straining with the volume of blood engorging it. Now that Butcher had him, he can't pass up a chance to break him in every way imaginable.
John looked lost, staring at this big, monstrous flesh in his hand, his tongue momentarily peeking out from his mouth, licking off some blood that had already started drying from around his lips.
"Well, don't be shy. We don't have all day, still have some killing to do until Ryan wakes up." He smirked his devil smile, which cut even deeper in his cheek as he noticed the way John's eyes rounded momentarily, his lower lip trembled despite his best efforts, his breath hitching. John licked his lips again nervously before taking him in his mouth.
Butcher hummed in enjoyment as he felt the wet velvety heat around his cock, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off the man for a moment. He wasn't stupid to let his guard down in a moment like this, the moment he's been chasing for years. At least he's not stupid enough for that, because he is stupid to let this happen at all. But, oh, well, knowing there won’t be another time, he can't just let it pass. "I'll fucking have you", he said to Homelander and now he had him, on his knees, a snivelling mess, the words coming true in this way made him feel giddy like when he was a teenager and saw a pair of tits for the first time. Something hungry and possessively cruel awakened inside him, making him want to tear into the flesh of this god turned human with his teeth.
The thought of warning him against biting his dick popped in his mind and he snorted at it. He knew John wouldn't even try, scared enough he was. Utterly pathetic.
"Don't think you're dumb enough to think that some cocksucking, even if it's decent enough, could save your life." A harsh, loud breath was ripped out of his throat with the especially skillful twist of the tongue, his palm landed on top of John's head, who seemed to start working at him with renewed vigour at the touch.
"Where'd you even learn that? Is cocksucking a mandatory course taken before joining Vought?" He studied the bloodied and beaten up face of the man, which was fascinating in its own way. Unbreakable skin of an unkillable man, soon both words will be rendered obsolete by his own two hands.
He looked closer. Something scratched his heart at seeing a peaceful, tranquil expression on his face all surrounded by the marks of abuse he put there. He grinded his teeth.
"Did you just want some comfort before your death, ay, that it?" He brushed his thumb lightly against the break on the skin of his cheekbone. John's eyelids fluttered. Butcher teased the edges of the wound with his fingernail. John froze, wincing, his breath hitched. Still shocked at feeling pain, wasn't he?
"You're doing so good, love." He cooed softly, watching John's reaction with perverse enjoyment of toying with him. "So good for me. Such a good boy." John whimpered, pressing his cheek against his palm for a moment before starting to move his head even more earnestly, the movements of his tongue tinged with frantic desperation to please.
Momentarily John’s movements slowed down in a desire to catch Butcher’s gaze and as soon his unspilled oceans of sadness for eyes hit against Butcher’s dark burning pits of hatred, he looked down again, like a rabbit would skitter at the sight of a wolf.
Butcher pulled at his blonde, greasy with product hair, making him look up.
"No, you look at me. I want you to remember this moment for however short an amount of time is left for you to soil this earth with your existence. I want you to remember who made you fall this low, who turned the all-mighty Homelander into nothing but a pathetic whore, so desperate for a cock." He said it as his hand stayed at the back of his head, his fingers barely pulling at this point as they met no resistance from the kneeling man, so the back of his head became simply cradled in Butcher’s palm. And John seemed to relish even in this accidentally gentle touch as his eyelids lowered, his features softened even as the cruel words cut through his skin, getting stuck in his heart, worrying it with its jagged edges. He whimpered, the movements of his head and tongue became slaggish, the drool started spilling out of his mouth without his notice or care in a disgusting display of wantonness.
Butcher let go of his head, feeling uneasy, his lips pursed with revulsion. A whine tore from the back of John's throat at the loss of contact, the vibration traveled through his cock to the bottom of his belly. Butcher bit the inside of his lip at the sensation. John stopped completely, mouth wrapped half-way down the cock.
Butcher pulled John off himself.
"Oi, are you going to finish what you've started or what?" The glazed over eyes looked at him, devoid of any comprehension. "If it's your genius ploy to stave off your death, I'm going to disappoint you, it's not gonna work. I'll just jerk off on your face and be fucking done with it." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a display of his signature smirk, glowing with cruelty.
He wrapped his palm around his cock, planning to do exactly that, but Homender stirred, the action seemed to cut through the fog of his brain more efficiently than the words; his tongue moved reluctantly in his mouth, forming words that were barely a step above a meaningless groan.
"N-no…" His hand fluttered up, falling clumsily on top of Butcher's hand wrapped around his cock before dropping as would a limb of a puppet with cut strings.
"N-no," he tried louder, this time trying to shake his head from side to side. His words were still barely anything more than animal sounds.
Butcher stopped, staring down at the hooded teary eyes, curious to see where this was going.
Homelander licked his lips, his brow creased as if it took utmost effort for him to weave words into a phrase.
As he squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, a dozen wrinkles tore through the plains of his skin. So human. Butcher wanted to press the pads of his fingers against them to get an undeniable confirmation of their existence. He remembered how eagerly he used to study every public appearance of Homelander, gauging how human and thus vulnerable he was. Every new wrinkle he found on his face seemed like a small win, a small proof that he wasn’t invincible, that he could be defeated.
Finally John looked up, seeming to gain some lucidity.
"P-please. Use me. My mouth, my hands." The words didn’t sound desperate and frantic like his initial offer did, as if he were a drowning man reaching for the least probable straw in hopes of saving himself. He sounded soft, listless in his resignation. He licked his lips. "Whatever you--. I-I want to d-die (the word fell apart somewhere in his throat before it could be fully formed) knowing that I atoned for at least one thing I did. That-that I wasn't all bad... I wasn't all bad, I tried– I really tried to– Didn’t–” He shook his head at some of his inner thoughts or memories or whatever Butcher wasn’t privy to and honestly didn’t care. “I-I want you to remember it too. I want someone to… have some nice memory of me." As John looked up at him, his eyes all innocence and melancholy of winter’s sunless sky, Butcher could see tears finishing up their running lanes on his cheeks.
As he watched this spectacle in front of him, he thought how bitter and hollow he became to not be affected by it; in passing, he wondered how many years ago that’d be enough to make him stop. Years… no…perhaps, decades. Nevertheless, there was a passing shadow of some uneasy feeling at seeing such a broken, deranged display of sincere naivety that put a slight damper on his heated feelings. He couldn’t let it linger any longer.
"Shut your fucking mouth." He pushed his cock down the man’s throat until John's broken nose smashed against his belly. His mouth opened wide momentarily as he gasped in pain, pushing with his weak, human hands against his body, reflexively trying to get away from the feeling. The pain from his swelling, bruised knuckles flared up with the strong grip he got on John’s hair and Butcher welcomed the sensation, letting himself be grounded by it, letting it overwhelm all the other conflicts inside himself.
"Atoning for Becca? Is that what you are doing? As if it was only about Becca, you cunt. As if you could EVER atone for all the shit you did. As if anything you did could ever be enough. Fucking. Cunt." He pulled John’s head up and down his cock without care, chasing the orgasm that seemed so close and beyond the reach at the same time, a ghost that you can sense but never grasp. He needed to finish and kill him already, he can’t let it go on for any longer, it needed to be finally done.
As he pounded in his mouth, John gradually grew more slack under him, until none of the rough jerks of Butcher’s hand on his head met any resistance. His throat went completely lax and unresponsive to the assault, no muscle constrictions to indicate that it wasn't a corpse kneeling between his legs.
“Yes, you were made for it. So pliant for anyone to put their cocks inside you, nothing more than a jizz jar for people stronger than you, aren’t you? Exactly what you deserve after what you did to all the innocent fucking people. You’ll never atone for it, not even if you let every fucking viewer of your stupid little—”
And then he noticed— the cunt couldn’t be?
“The fuck are you smiling about?” He pulled him off himself, giving John a chance to speak. John’s eyes had a giddy, glazed over expression, completely devoid of a coherent thought. A thick string of spit stretched disgustingly between puffed, caked in blood lips and his dark red dick, not willing to break until John started to speak.
“The people who did things to me…When I was...A kid. They atoned. In blood. I made them to. I forced them to. Now I'm atoning for what I did to–” he chuckled. “Well…” Homelander purred as he tilted his head from side to side as if estimating the number of his victims. “...to a lot of people.” He gave him a playful look. “Isn't it funny? Violence begets violence begeeeets violence.” His lips creased into a humourless smile, revealing his blood-stained teeth. “And it's never going to end.” He snarled. “Because it's in our blood,” He made a fist and then pointed with his index finger towards Butcher, the leather of his glove creaking as if in ridicule. “Not supes’ blood. Human blood.” His hands balled into fists. “To be violent and relish in violence. That’s the way of the world. And you’re crucifying me for this? THIS?” He said with fervour, his voice hoarse with anger and bitterness, his eyes open wide and wild. His sharp, almost canine teeth contrasted by the circle of dried blood around his mouth made him look even more animalistic.
“I’ve always been nothing but a loyal son of humanity.” He spit the words out and held Butcher’s gaze for a moment as if trying to shove the words deep inside his head with the intensity of the look and then he threw his head back, laughing a stifled, almost soundless laugh.
Butcher looked on dispassionately, clenching his teeth. Finally this spurt of energy seemed to run out and he lowered his head again, piercing him by the dark look from under his brow.
"So just fucking finish with it already and kill me." Homelander said, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out in defiant invitation, his gaze full of dull disdain.
"So eager to die all of the sudden when you were sniveling and whimpering for your life not a minute ago." Butcher said, stroking his cock with rough jerks of his hand, fueled by the burn of lust he felt at the glimpse of the steely, arrogant gaze the supe used to possess. There’s beauty in the destruction of things, but not so much after the doing, so he cherished the opportunity to defile Homelander all over again.
As Homelander’s eyes looked on hatefully from the beaten up face, the man all broken but whole again, the thought of holding his dignity, his sanity, his life in his hands made every stroke of his hand on his cock feel more keenly. Butcher bit the inside of his lip, not taking his eyes away from Homelander, his breathing grew imperceptibly more rapid.
"Eager to see you debasing yourself for me." Homelander said sharply, his voice laced with sweet poison. “Wiliam Butcher, getting it on with a man who raped his wife. Who beaten up his fucking kid half fo death. What a fucking hero to rid the world of a big bad evil Homelander. Come on, show the world who you really are. Nothing but a pathetic man, who doesn’t care about anything but himself.”
Butcher exhaled loudly and clutched Homelander’s hair in his fist, pushing the head of his cock past his lips, the tongue of the former supe eagerly, firmly lapped at the head, as if threatening to break through the skin. Maybe sometimes he could have, would have. Not anymore. He made him a weak, useless human. A formidable god turned into nothing but a sniveling mess. By him. By him. By his own two hands. His death belonged to him and only him.
It took another ten strokes of his hand before he pushed deep into his throat, emptying himself inside, basking in the choked off, gargling sounds that reached him, cutting through the fog of his orgasm.
“Such a good boy for swallowing it all up.” He whispered, giving in to the temptation of letting his rational mind be flooded and washed away by a wave of pleasure. John tried to whimper at the nice words. “Such a good boy.”
When Butcher was done, he pulled off just far enough to be able to look in John’s eyes, still keeping the head of his cock in John’s mouth. His grip on John’s head gradually slackened, but the hand stayed lying on top of it. John was comforted by Butcher's non-offer of non-intimacy, lapping gently at the salty skin of his cock as if in gratitude or a plea.
His eyes never left John's and John's Butchers. For a moment everything else between them, all the past and imminent future were wrapped by the silence of the office and temporarily hidden, rotting out of sight.
But you can’t hide from the smell of rot forever.
Butcher watched as John’s face slowly crumbled as the realization of the imminent death slowly spread through his mind, taking over his thoughts once again. His eyes skittered wildly from side to side as if trying to find some solution, but not finding it, they finally jumped up to appeal to the judge, the jury, the executioner. Butcher took his cock out of John’s mouth and started to tuck himself in.
"P-please…" John tried, unsure, unconvinced himself of the power of his words, looking up pitifully, innocently with spit-covered chin and lips and a new batch of tears in his eyes.
Buckling up his pants, Butcher shook his head from side to side in denial.
"Sorry, love. As I said, time is up. But don't worry, I'll be gentle."