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As Homelander writhed and sobbed with his cock in Butcher’s hand, the thought popped into Butcher’s mind that all of this was Frenchie’s fault.
Homelander gasped, mumbling something incoherent as his hips twitched up. Honestly, Butcher thought, if Frenchie didn’t take that stupid fucking pollen from Fort Harmony, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
___
“Butcher, could you come here for une momente s'il vous plait?” yelled Frenchie, voice muffled.
After all the bullshit in Fort Harmony things had been tense, to say the least. Even after all that heartfelt, lovey dovey power of friendship bullshit that they all said after the fact, there had been a palpable air of something in the hideout. So Butcher, against his better judgement, went into the makeshift lab area. To keep the peace and what-not.
“Ici, over here,” said Frenchie, wearing a respirator mask and holding an open vial of something yellow-gold.
Butcher was just about to ask if he needed a mask too, when Frenchie threw the liquid onto him.
He reminded himself of the merits that Frenchie brought to the team and the danger in throwing him to the metaphorical Vought wolves, or shooting him, or doing any of the plethora of things coming to his mind at the moment.
“Frenchie?” Butcher said, voice significantly calmer than he felt. “What the *Fuck* did you throw on me?”
Frenchie, for his part, looked mildly apologetic.
“Pardonne-moi, perhaps I should have explained first. It’s an experiment of sorts, oui? Just to ask, how are you feeling?”
Butcher shot him a look.
“You sprayed me before fucking testing it? I’m glad I’m not fucking feeling anything.” he said, tersely.
“Eh, yeah,” Frenchie said. “Back to the drawing board. I assumed l’homme on the wall might have had something that could help with the virus. Though it may be different avec the temp-V. However, monsieur, tell me if you feel any side effects, anything at all. I’m going to test it some more!”
Butcher irritatedly turned on his heel to exit the room. Fucking hell, he had just worn this shirt too. What he wanted was his old wardrobe.
Actually, what he wanted was his old goddamn flat. It had been shitty, sure, but having an actual bed instead of sleeping in a middle school like some kind of nonce had its perks.
Hell, it wasn’t too far from here.
…
There were some picture frames he had left there.
___
After a two hour drive, his decision taken on a whim seemed less and less sensical. He wasn’t even the type for that sentimental bollocks, he wasn’t even entirely sure why he came without even stopping to let the other people in the team know and little protection other than his ever present Glock. But pulling up to the flat gave him some sort of feeling. He nearly smiled while pressing the elevator button. The elevator dinged, and-
“Hello, William!”
Fuck.
A gaudy ensemble of red, white, and fucking blue was there to greet him, pressing the button to close the door behind him. The Homelander, Cunt supreme, was grinning ear to ear like he was greeting an old friend.
"What the hell," Billy said. “Do you want?”
He did *Not* want to deal with this right now, he needed a hot shower and an even hotter cup of tea to even consider talking to someone he liked, with the day he was having. Let alone the red white and blue bastard blocking his exit in front of him.
"C’mon buddy,” Homelander said, gleefully, “You really didn’t think we’d be tracking your last known residence? Vought’s got cameras all around this place! God, William, maybe you’re losing your edge.”
The elevator started to move back to the first floor, and Homelander sighed and lasered the front of it shut in an X, welding them both in.
“Anyways,” Homelander said, clapping his hands together. “Down to business!”
This was it, Billy thought. He was going to die in the stupidest fucking way imaginable. Hell, the other Boys wouldn’t even know where he was.
"Like I said, what the hell Do. You. Want."
"Well... "Homelander rolled his eyes, sniffed, and continued, "We’ve had our fun, you and I. All that ‘Scorched earth! Blood and bone’ jazz~" Homelander sniffed again and furrowed his brows.
Homelander stepped over, and Butcher was lifted up by his throat. Instinctively, he started hitting and kicking at him, to no avail. He could feel his vision getting blurred at the edges.
“But we both know this couldn't go on forever, right?” Homelander said with a mock sigh. “Thank you, William, for being on of the closest to killing me, but-”
The dulcet tones of the Spice Girls through a tinny phone speaker cut him off. Frenchie’s ringtone seemed a lot less funny at the current moment.
Homelander let out an irritated noise and rolled his jaw, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. He pulled out the phone from Butcher’s pocket, his grip involuntarily slackening a bit. Butcher slumped to the ground, and between gasps for air he noticed the phone go to voicemail.
“Butcher!” Frenchie’s nervous voice rang out from the phone, and he could see Homelander pause for a moment.
“Ok, so, *merde*,” Frenchie sucked in his teeth. “You know the thing I sprayed you with? It was something like pollen for the man on the wall. So he could, *ahem* proliferate.”
Frenchie’s voice became a little awkward, and he could hear some weird rustling noises on the other end of the phone. “Basically, if you ingest it and meet a supe, the supe becomes, well here's the good part, they become depowered until they get *close contact* with the person who has it.”
A panicked look shot across Homelander’s face, having put two and two together. He used his laser eyes, but they rapidly spluttered out. His eyes widened and his whole face twitched.
“Shit!” he said.
Butcher pulled his gun out of his holster and shot him almost on instinct, but the bullet bounced off of him and ricocheted into the elevator wall.
Homelander let out a slight whimper, then shoved a gloved hand in his mouth, horrified. There was some heavy breathing over the phone.
Frenchie continued. “Some powers like, uh, regeneration par exemple, are retained. But until the supe and the person’s DNA interacts, they’re in a travail of sorts, suffering for a bit.” As if to accentuate the statement, Homelander doubled over, facing away from him.
“I predict it’ll last a couple of days normally, but some, ah, experiments seem to reveal that le petit mort, if you know what I mean, will allow it to wear off. So stay away from Annie, and Kimiko late-”
Homelander crushed the phone, and it occurred to Butcher what the sounds during the pauses on the other end of the phone was. He frowned, Frenchie and Kimiko really were freaks sometimes.
Homelander erratically tried to fly into the door, and instead of breaking through the steel, he crumpled to the floor in a heap. He looked bad: breathing labored, and face flushed.
Well, Butcher’s day kept getting better and better. He was welded in a small metal box with the supe who put them in there depowered, and not even vulnerable enough to kill.
“Mmmph” a small whimper came from the man on the floor.
“What the *Fuck* have you done, William!?” Homelander snarled, face a mix of rage and poorly masked fear.
He stepped past Homelander where he inspected the ruined control panel, still smoldering, and tried to press the Fire Department button to no avail.
“Oi!” Butcher kicked the whimpering Homelander. “Can’t you, fucking, open this?”
Homelander pushed himself up, with a great deal of effort it seemed. He looked even worse, eyes teary and face screwed up in, uh, pain? or-
“I can barely…” he trailed off, “Barely stand, and-and your neighbors are all fucking evacuated”
Fuck. Butcher had thought the lot had looked emptier than usual when pulling his truck in. Coupled with the fact that he hadn’t told anyone where he’d run off to, and his shots of getting out of this were grim.
Still, he felt like he’d have a better shot at making it than Homelander, he was like this after 5 minutes, let alone how he would be after a few days of it.
Homelander whined, then spoke again. “C-can’t you- spit or something? That has DNA, right?”
Billy looked over and he was flushed even more red, almost matching the stripes on his cape now. All he wanted was to be in any other situation than the one at the present. He contemplated just letting him suffer until it wore off, but while it may be fun to enjoy the schadenfreude and see the usually haughty Homelander reduced to this frankly pathetic state, he didn’t fancy getting lasered once it did wear off.
Fuck him, this was actually bloody happening.
Butcher sighed, and stepped over to Homelander, looking embarrassed and affronted. He rolled his eyes and when Homelander held out a shaking hand he hawked and spit into it.
“Turn around I– I don’t want you looking” he said, while turning to the other corner and unbuckling his pants.
“Bloody hell, you think I want to look at that shit?” Butcher said, while walking to the opposite side, observing the ruined control panel.
He sighed and closed his eyes when he heard a telltale wet noise start up slowly. What was his luck, what were his sins to have to go through this hell. Well, quite a few actually, but that wasn’t relevant at the moment. He continued messing with the control panel in vain, hoping to find a quicker way out, while the breathing from the other side got even more labored and heavy.
He heard a frustrated “Fuck!” ring out around him in the enclosed space.
"Will–William," Homelander whispered, barely audible. "It’s not… *fuck!* It’s not working!" He let out a choked whimper.
Butcher silently weighed the pros and cons of actually jerking off Homelander.
The Fucking Homelander.
He sighed through his nostrils, debating it. On the one hand, it would be more than what he deserved for him to suffer for days on end. Yet on the other hand, Butcher’d probably most likely slowly starve to death next to a man futilely trying to wank. And then said guy would kill every single one of the boys.
He closed his eyes. This had to be some fucking sort of divine punishment. Not that he believed in God capital G, and even less in the fake plastic effigy that thought he was one, but this seemed like something he’d do for a lark.
“Okay”, Butcher said, “what's in it for me?"
There was no way in hell he was going to give a hand job, give The Homelander a handy, if he didn't have a damn good reason for it.
Homelander's eyes widened, then narrowed in anger.
"You're- you're fucking negotiating now?!" he said, incredulously. “You piece of shit, you don't wanna be fuck– fucking stuck here for days!"
"See, I can probably handle a couple of days in here,” Billy bluffed, hoping Homelander in this state would forget about the various needs of normal humans. “But I don't think you can take it". He gestured to Homelander, whose head was now cradled in his gloved hand.
"So, like I asked, what do I fucking get out of this."
Homelander let out a half chuckle and a half sob, and sank further against the wall.
"Fuck... fuck! You have to make everything so goddamn annoying William! I'll fucking... I'll kill you when I get out of here" he said.
Homelander was so out of it that he barely noticed Butcher walk over and kneel next to where he was sitting. He eyed where Homelander's pants were hastily unbuckled, bright goddamn red underwear shoved down to expose his still wet cock.
This wasn't the weirdest thing he had ever done.
Okay, well, maybe it was. But Butcher could tell that Homelander couldn't take four straight days of this, and Billy knew he just needed a little shove. And then, Billy had a whole fucking lot of blackmail and negotiating power he stood to gain.
Butcher grazed his dick with his hand, and even though he barely touched him, Homelander tipped his head back and moaned, hips stuttering up to try and get more contact, futilely.
Butcher pulled his hand back; from this close he could see how absolutely wrecked he looked with his pupils blown out, face flushed, and a sheen of sweat covering his whole body.
"No- *mmph* no! Don't you dare take your hands off you-" he was cut off by a full body shudder, when Butcher placed his hand lightly below his dick. When Homelander bucked up again, Billy pulled back off, and Homelander scrabbled uselessly to try and place his hand back on.
"Okay! okay! Fuck, please! Please what do you-" he yelped when Butcher started slowly jerking him, and started to beg when he took his hand off again.
“Please, *please* William, please what do you- what do you want, I'll give you anything!"
Fuck him, Butcher was in a very good position here. Minus the having to jerk him off part, though it wasn't like he hadn’t gotten his hands dirty in other missions.
"Hmmm," he murmured, feigning nonchalance, "Anything, eh?" he said, while placing his hand and stroking him slowly again.
Homelander let out a cry of relief once his hand was back on.
"Please- fuck! Anything y-you and your friends want just, *Please* don't take your fucking hands off" he said, the words tumbling out without him even thinking.
Well, well, well, Butcher had a real blank cheque here.
"Oi!" he said, jerking his hand back, causing Homelander to writhe against the wall and sob. "Anything, eh? Ryan, then," he said, continuing his slow strokes. "You leave him alone and I can talk to him whenever I want to, without you listening or throwing a hissy fit whenever we do?"
Homelander whined and nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head hit the back wall of the elevator.
"Say it" Butcher said, stopping his movements completely.
Homelander’s expression twitched to pure unadulterated rage, usually a precursor to getting your head lasered off. The thing is, power was a dangerous, addicting thing, and the way he saw it, Billy had all of it right now, literally in the palm of his hand. Homelander whimpered, and continued.
"Yes!" he said, desperately. "You, *fuck!* you can talk to Ryan whenever just please, William!”
"How do I know you'll keep your promises, and you won't just kill me after?"
Homelander let out a pathetic whimper, and when a gloved hand reached up to Billy's arm to brace himself, Butcher let go of his dick to shove it off.
"Oi, get your disgusting fucking hands off of me cunt, and give me an answer"
"Please, William, p-please I swear!" he said, obediently letting his hands fall to his sides instead, grasping at the air. As he let out another sob, a wave of frustrated tears cascaded from his closed eyes.
"I- I swear Butcher, please, just please! I- *hah* I swear I'll keep- I swear William please I-I won't I-"
"So you will or you won’t?" he said, a cruel smile on his face.
Butcher continued stroking, slowly, but when Homelander's hips bucked up he took his hand off completely, gripping his throat instead, while Homelander tipped his head back and whined.
"Stop bucking up," Billy said, sharply, "You're not fucking my hand like its a bloody fleshlight."
Homelander let out a frustrated keen, and nodded.
"No, I- I wont please just- *William*, please" he begged, and let out a moan when Butcher placed the hand not choking him back onto his dick.
This was a fucking turn up, wasn’t it? Having Homelander beg for once. And gun to his head Billy wouldn’t admit it, but he’d imagined Homelander at his mercy, begging and crying so much that the specific circumstances didn’t even matter to him. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to have a little bit of fun with it.
Homelander’s hips twitched involuntarily, and he stopped moving his hand.
“Tsk tsk,” Butcher said mockingly. “We can’t have that, now can we?” he squeezed his throat for emphasis. Homelander’s pleads reached a here-to-fore unseen octave, and Billy was fucking reveling in being this fucking mean when edging him.
“If only all your fans could see you now,” Butcher said gleefully, continuing his leisurely strokes, stilling completely for every involuntary twitch of his hips.
His pace would have been unpleasant for a regular person, but for Homelander, and like *this*, it was probably downright torturous. But still, Homelander looked like he was exerting all his willpower to not buck up, completely at Butcher's mercy, having to take whatever he gave him.
“God on earth, eh?” Butcher mocked. “I’ve got Jesus fucking reincarnate’s dick in my hands! Maybe I could sell some of your spunk to some church cunt for a nice chunk of change.”
Homelander opened a bright blue eye and looked at him with a mix of rage and lust. Fuck, if only the rest of the team were here to see him looking so utterly pathetic.
On second thoughts, considering the circumstances that probably wouldn’t be the best idea.
Homelander whined and screwed his eyes shut when Butcher ran his thumb over his head, squeezing his throat at the same time. It couldn't do any damage, but Homelander's hand still twitched to grab his arm, then flopped pathetically down to squeeze his coat, other still flexing uselessly.
"Wi- *mmph* Butcher, can I..." he whispered, trailing off into incoherence. He swallowed thickly and opened his eyes, pupils fully blown out.
"Speak up cunt, you got to use your words."
"Can I… come?" he asked, averting his eyes,
Butcher let out a cruel bark of a laugh, relishing the mixture of hatred and humiliation on Homelander's face. "You're *asking* if you can come? What do you think I’d say if I told you no?"
“Fuck you-” Homelander said with vitriol, gaining some of his fight back.
Butcher, cutting him off, tightened his grip at the base of Homelander's length. Homelander gasped and widened his eyes, a look of regret on his face. Billy seriously considered ruining it, leaving him frustrated after the whole fucking ordeal. It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it.
"Apologize. For what you did to- hell, to everyone. All the people you’ve killed all the lives you ruined." Butcher slowly spoke, every word filled with hatred. Homelander keened, his eyes snapping wide, a look of actual fear on his face. Fear, that *Butcher* made him feel.
No matter how cruel he was, every bit of it was deserved for a person as awful as Homelander.
"I-Im sorry William, I- I swear, I- " Homelander spoke, the words tumbling out.
Butcher cut him off, earning him a strangled moan "You're just fucking saying that to get off, are you?" he said in mock anger.
And if the panicked, fucked out look on Homelander’s face in response was causing his pants to strain it was Butcher’s fucking business, thank you very much. A sick, disgusting heat was building in his abdomen.
Homelander twitched again, eyes wide and teary.
"I swear, please! I-I'm sorry please! I swear I'm sorry for what I did! I-"
"Fucking pathetic,” Butcher said while stroking again, Homelander thrashing at the sudden renewal of friction.
"Please, William- *fuck*, please I swear- please! I-"
"Alright then, you can fucking come."
Billy had always been fucking hunky-dory with the concept of dying, most probably in a horrible and painful way. Risk of the occupation and whatnot.
Yet looking at the molten gash in the wall behind him, smelling singed hair from a laser that nearly scalped him, and feeling the sticky evidence of defiling a multibillion dollar product, he very seriously contemplated a career change. Or a vacation. Or probably, most realistically, wanking in the shower while trying not to think about the day's events.
Butcher sighed, and disgustedly wiped his hands on Homelander’s cape to little resistance. Homelander’s eyes were glazed over in a mix of pleasure, disgust, and pure hatred. Butcher averted his eyes as Homelander pulled up his pants, then stalked over to the door, opening it with a sickening crunch of metal.
Homelander looked back at him, looking as if he was about to say something or, God-forbid, fucking thank him. His eyes twitched down to Butcher’s very obviously straining jeans. He opened his mouth, paused, and just let out a puff of air.
Butcher looked him in the eyes, and in a blink, he was gone.
—
“Butcher, man, where were you?” MM said cheerily. “Frenchie was just telling us about this new breakthrough…” he petered off when he saw the glare on Butcher’s face.
MM squinted at the back of his head.
“Is your hair… burnt?”
“No.”