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Billy Butcher was not a voyeur. He was much more into participating, without a doubt. Always one for the hands on approach. This had been a particularly difficult, interesting and opportune situation that he needed to take advantage of.
Thanks to Starlight and Queen Maeve, he had access to a under-renovation floor, Hughie’s time and a davit for him to be quietly lowered and lifted just enough to peek into Homelander’s apartment with a pair of binoculars. Flying close to the Eagle’s Nest. Staying ahead, even if it was a half step in front of Homelander, was more than enough of an opportunity to be grateful for.
Butcher was not as worried as the panicking man pacing on the rooftop above. Vought CEO Ashley Barrett is the one who actually looked worried. She was keeping Homelander occupied, and whatever was lurking outside his apartment windows probably wasn’t going to catch his radar of awareness. Butcher scanned the rest of the horribly tacky apartment space; a governor’s office, a Washington DC museum, and the inside of an American Flag rolled into a massive mess. Butcher was no interior designer, but this was awful. He didn’t need a woman’s touch to know it.
Miss Barrett was just another bumbling office worker, another overworked CEO with anxiety, overwhelmed with fear, beyond no capability of handling Homelander. She didn’t have intelligence, no focus, nothing but a piece of paper, pen and a clipboard, holding them out in such a weak manner, her body shaking in front of him as he punched a hole through the wall beside her head to show his strength versus… perhaps her skull.
It sends her cowering to her kitten heels, back on her ass and scrambling back toward the elevator. She tries to go back, on hands and knees, to the clip board and Butcher can’t even watch the pathetic display. She gives up and leaves through the elevator, which Butcher assumes is disabled for access to that floor behind her.
While Hughie isn’t comfortable having a good laugh about it with Butcher, they both quiet down when Homelander looks toward the windows, missing the Englishman by seconds before the two realize with dual sighs of relief that he wasn’t looking out the window, he was just moving to pick up the clipboard and toss it on a rich mahogany coffee table, picking up a remote to put some Vought News channel on that was running some typical shit about his latest talk-show appearance and leaving up the stairs of his room. So much to do. Too much time.
Butcher motions for the davit to be adjusted.
There was nothing compelling about this supe in his private life.
Homelander had been at that interview for hours last night. Too long. From the position on the ground that MM had, it was longer than the time for adoring fans to leave the backstage area, giving up on photos and autographs. Frenchie and Kimiko fell asleep in the van, and Butcher was watching the program with Hughie.
It didn’t go off without a hitch.
Homelander was destroying an entire studio while Butcher spent the night waiting for him. It gave MM something exciting to watch besides groveling fans.
Butcher spent the night waiting for him, waiting to taunt him, waiting for everything to break loose. Nothing does.
Homelander has a smile on his face that is decidedly too sneaky, too devious. When he reappeared, the ridiculous cape and top half of his hero uniform was gone. He’s stretching and lounging across his flag-print bed.
There it was. That little something that made Homelander compelling; all head to literal toe as he stripped from his boots, kicking them off with his pants following, every inch of perfect looks on display.
Butcher feels his cock stirring, hardening at every movement on the bed, every flex and pose. It was like a private show. His own peep show. He feels Homelander looking directly into his eyes, his glacier blue eyes piercing and knowing. It was enough that the Brit almost backed away. Almost. Then he realized he was on the outside of a skyscraper and Homelander was … not looking at him after all? Close call. Again…
He grabs something nearby that actually caught his attention, and leaves into another room.
It gives Butcher time to put the binoculars down and rub his face, soothing out the imprints of the circles currently burrowed into his eyes. He needs to be more vigilant.
Hughie’s begging for attention. He can hear Butcher’s heavy breathing through their comms. Nobody ever came this close to catching him before - but his hard-on had never been more obvious either. He knows that the rest of the boys are getting suspicious about his obsession and that he’s practically on every street corner handing out the latest paper of information on his hatred turned obsession and need to fuck this god damned supe. It isn’t like Homelander is not doing the same in turn.
Bloody hell if it wasn't hot to be the object of that laser red focus.
It’s a long, long wait. Butcher takes the time to talk for Hughie’s neediness, ignore whatever was going on between him and Starlight, the romance, the drama, their next date. Something about wine and bread…. and turn his attention to taking in the awful apartment home. They’re about to give up and leave after realizing planting bugs isn’t going to happen today, until Butcher chokes on his own breath and saliva.
Homelander cames back out after fourty-five minutes, soaking wet, wearing nothing but an American flag towel over his hair and a smirk. His cell phone in hand - it must have been that thing the blonde grabbed when Butcher thought he had been spotted. He moved while he texted, but made no move to get dressed.
Now he guesses, it might be idiotic to have plants in the room when someone spent so much time alone, they were probably texting and not talking to anyone.
Homelander moves back and forth so slowly, every stop of movement looks like a new pose. Butcher’s eyes roam freely down the supe’s perfect body. He was strong, slender and toned, his muscles perfect in a way that Billy Butcher could never be - just the thought of grabbing those hips made him breathe harder. He looked so much better without that bulletproof padding to protect an already bulletproof body.
He was picturing that toned, tanned, pretty body spread out on the flag sheets under his own body. The muscular solidify of his own body, built up by real work and not laboratory made. The phone is placed down for a moment, blonde hair tousled and dried, towel dropped. Butcher pressed the binoculars to his eyes tighter without realizing the strain was gaining. Releasing the snakelike grip on one side, that free hand is busy unzipping his straining pants, too uncomfortable to even palm his own erection.
Homelander laid across the bed again, hair still slightly damp. The davit offered the perfect line of sight. He couldn’t have asked for better if he was a sniper. The blonde was ignoring his phone now, tugging on his cock with one hand and the other on his chest. Did he always do this after a shower?
Butcher didn’t even know where to focus. The movements of Homelander’s hand were so slow and purposeful, his head tipped back, a few droplets of water hitting the floor, his mouth hanging open and licking his lips. Even with his mouth open, he still had that weird smirk, that creepy smile on that punchable face. Those blue eyes fluttered closed with the rhythm of his hand picking up speed.
“Surveillance,” Butcher told himself, told Hughie it was “exhausting.” This was the enemy, you had to get close to the danger.
Homelander was practically asking to be spied on; but there was no way anyone would have been as ballsy as Billy Butcher to do this. He has every power to murder someone for doing this, to find someone doing this. There’s also the advantage of no other skyscraper nearly as tall to even get a glimpse into his apartment. He has no worry about shying away from windows in this current… state of undress. Homelander couldn’t be ashamed of himself - not with that body, or those powers, but he also clearly assumed he was alone.
Butcher unzipped his pants, putting the binoculars down for a minute and freed his dripping cock, he was making a mess of himself already. He wishes they had that damn bug in the room by a bedside table, or directly into the supe’s phone that was by his side… he imagines being able to hear all of the sounds that are coming from him, his open mouth waiting for Billy to cum in it, the way his eyes glow when he’s close and his hair leaves a wet spot in the sheets, his teeth grinded shut. Was he even making a sound during that little motion? His mouth hung open again and Butcher stroked himself to each thrust of Homelander’s mechanical like hips.
“Butcher, what the fuck are you doing?” Hughie keeps asking. Butcher turns the com off and shoved it into his pocket.
Homelander gives himself one last stroke and cums across his stomach. Butcher’s own orgasm tears through him so fast, he keeps the binoculars firmly pressed to his eyes while he rides out every wave of pleasure watching Homelander’s body.
Billy Butcher shoots his load onto the window in front of him.
He gasps for breath, and realizes he definitely has no way to clean this up. They don’t even have window washer supplies on the davit - idiots. He stuffs himself back into his pants and looks up again to see Homelander kneeling down directly in front of the window in front of the Brit, smiling.
The supe winks.