Chapter Text
New York City is dry tonight, no one looking appetizing to the demon. Homelander has a particular interest in mind, looking for something he can break in, like a good pair of boots, or a stallion. It’s slim pickings though, every man he sees not good enough for his piqued taste. That is, until he sees him.
Billy Butcher. USDA prime beef. Muscled but not overly so, with just the slightest beer gut. Thighs that could crush Homelander’s head (not really, it’d probably hurt the human more than it hurt him). Beard like a goddamn truck stop biker, just a little neater. God, he wants to ride that man till dawn, wants to suck the soul out of him like one of those weird milky concoctions humans make that he loves so much. God, what are they called? Milkshakes! Wants to suck him down and finish him off like a vanilla milkshake.
There’s just a tiny problem; dear Billy’s accompanied by his friends tonight, and it’s as if they have no plans to separate yet. Homelander watches them from his perch up high, balancing delicately at the top of a street light. They’ve been to a pub, seen a live show, grabbed a bite to eat. Don’t they want to part ways and go home? Don’t they realize that Homelander’s hungry?
“God fucking damn it, are they… Are they going for shawarma?!” He hisses to himself in anger; the group of humans just ate not too long ago, why are they visiting yet another restaurant? The blond whines to himself, petulant and impatient. He bets Maeve’s probably found some hot piece of ass already, the bitch. She’d rub it in his face if she knew how long he’s been looking tonight.
The night passes like this, a Friday evening on the town, humans getting drunk and eating out on restaurant patios, fairy lights stringed up, the air heavy with the scent of perennial flowers, fast food, car exhaust and the slightest odour of sewage. It’s expected of large cities, and it has its own unique charm. New York is bustling, especially during the summer months.
Homelander eventually floats off of his perch, gently drifting down but not touching the pavement. No one can see him, not unless he wills it. It’s getting closer to midnight, but the crowds aren’t dying down. He almost gives up on Billy, the thought of just seducing another man passes in his mind but it feels wrong. He wants Butcher, can feel his abdomen warm at the thought, as if beckoning what it needs. He places his hand there, soothing over himself.
He perks up when he sees the man wave goodbye to his friends, exiting the shawarma shop and turning to walk home. Time to make his move.
Homelander’s human persona, John, makes an appearance then. It’s as if he phases into a corporal being, wearing the simplest of clothing. Red t-shirt, jeans, and a light jacket. Not his most imaginative outfit, but he doesn’t need clothing to make humans fall for him. No, he has that all covered.
John bumps his shoulder in passing Butcher, orchestrating it as if it was an accident. It’s busy after all. He even makes a show of falling because of it. Butcher reaches for him without a thought, pulling him out of one of the large floral garden beds planted by the city.
“Jesus fuck, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Butcher hurriedly says, standing John upright, hands dusting dirt and wood mulch off his shoulders. Homelander thinks it’s cute, that the other man cares so much.
He shines a smile, teeth pearly white. “It’s no worries, man. Happens to the best of us, huh?” He fakes a wince, then, feigns a hurt ankle when he leans his weight on one of his legs. That’ll frazzle Butcher even more, the incubus thinks smugly to himself.
“Aw fuck, you okay? That don’t hurt, do it?”
“A little, seems it may’ve twisted in the fall,” John smiles weakly.
“We’re close to my flat, I can wrap that in no time and have you on your way lickety split if you’ll indulge me? Feels wrong to leave you here like this,” Butcher pleads, so earnest to help a stranger out. Anyone else would say fuck that and limp away, not willing to become a murder victim. But this is exactly what John was hoping for.
“No sir, I don’t wanna be a burden. It’s okay, see?” He puts weight on his ankle, before hissing. “Never better.”
“Right, c’mon then. I’ll even ice it for ya.”
“Well, if it’s not too much trouble…”
Butcher wraps an arm around John’s waist, prompting the incubus to wrap his own around the bigger man’s shoulders. It warms his body to be so close to him.
“Name’s Billy Butcher, you?”
“John Gilman. Nice to meet you Billy, even under these circumstances,” Homelander chuckles, letting the man lead the way. The apartment really was close by, and before he knew it they were entering Butcher’s living room. John gently seats himself on the sofa, Butcher grabbing a cushion to prop his foot up.
“I’ll be right back, just gonna get some stuff.”
Homelander takes the opportunity to scan the apartment, eyes flitting over pictures and miscellaneous items strewn about. The man’s single, not that it would stop him from pursuing him otherwise, but it definitely makes his job easier. His womb mark sears him at being so close to his latest conquest, eager to get the night going.
Billy returns with a roll of compression bandages and an ice pack. He sits down beside John, looking to him with a question in his eyes as if asking if it’s okay to proceed. John nods with a grateful smile on his face.
He removes John’s tennis shoe and his sock, rolling the hem of his jeans up for better access to his ankle. It’s not swollen or bruised, but John decides to play it up a bit when he winces at the soft touches, even lets a little ‘fuck’ slip.
“Sorry, sorry. Just need to wrap this up, lemme know if it’s too much, yeah?” Butcher says apologetically.
John nods back, pursing his lips in supposed pain.
It feels good, having the larger man’s hands cradle his ankle gently, wrapping the bandage around a few times before tucking the end piece into itself. John blushes, genuinely blushes at the treatment. He’s never had anyone handle him so… Softly. He’s a demon, his pain tolerance is beyond human comprehension. He’s never had the need for medical care. It’s nice, he thinks to himself.
And if Butcher’s hands linger a little longer than necessary on his ankle, neither of them question it. John certainly won’t complain. He looks up at Billy in curiosity, head tilted like he’s trying to figure out what the other man is thinking. Butcher doesn’t look up though, feeling caught by John’s gaze and knowing that if he looks up now, he’ll be embarrassed about his very slow, deliberate movements.
He doesn’t mean to keep John here, would never think to even bullshit his way into getting the blond to stay a while longer. He genuinely felt bad for causing him this pain, however he couldn’t help but notice that the shorter man was so very, very attractive. Butcher feels caught in a way he doesn’t mind, but he won’t act on it unless it’s a mutual magnetism.
The apartment feels quiet, is quiet, save for their breaths. Billy’s hand is a warm weight on John’s ankle, propped up between them and keeping each other on opposite ends of the sofa. His fingers gently skim up, just to the edge of John’s rolled up pants leg. It’s not very high up, but the movement elicits a hitched sound from the blond.
“Billy…” John murmurs.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Butcher whispers back.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
At that, Billy makes his move. He stands, lifting John into his arms in a bridal carry. It has the incubus shaking in excitement, the virility and strength of this human doing something to his insides. He feels like he’s hit the jackpot. He’s carried to Butcher’s bedroom, lowered to the mattress like a virgin bride. John makes a show of fluttering his lashes, breaths stuttering. Part of his reaction is real, he thinks; the blond’s never been on the receiving end of such care.
“Lemme take care of you, love, it’ll be my apology for knocking over a pretty thing like you,” Butcher smirks, bending to join him on the bed. Their first kiss is filthy, like fucking with their tongues and lips and teeth. There is no domination, just a reciprocity of feeling, an exchange of pure, unadulterated want between the two. It drives Homelander into a heated desperation, hungry for what he’s been waiting for all night. It’s lewd and wet, obscene sounds shlicking between them.
“Ahh… Billy,” John mumbles between kisses, pulling the man down on top of him. Butcher’s weight is a secure thing, pressing him down into the mattress. He almost forgets he’s supposed to have an injured ankle, so he only wraps one of his legs around the Brit’s flank, locking himself against him.
“You’re a sweet thing, ain’t ya?” Butcher chuckles against his lips, sharing the same breath. He grinds himself against John, bringing their hips together in a slow movement, both of them moaning at the feeling. John’s arms wrap tightly around Butcher, nails digging into his garish Hawaiian print shirt. It’s a reminder that they’re entirely too clothed for his liking, so he claws at the other man, mumbling a hurried clothes off.
“Impatient too, eh?”
“Shut up and take off your clothes.”
“Ohhh, feisty!”
They make quick work of their clothes, and if the buttons of Billy’s shirt go flying, the man doesn’t seem to care in his excitement to move forward. It serves to rile them both up, smirking at each other, eyes wild in anticipation of what’s to come. Billy reaches to his nightstand, fumbling in the dark for a condom and lube he conveniently keeps there for times like these. It dampens John’s fever just a tad, but he quickly hides it before the man can see; he was hoping to do it raw tonight, wanting to feel Butcher unload in him but he knows it’d be too much to ask of a stranger. Another time, maybe.
“How do you want this, love?” Billy offers.
It flatters John that he’d ask, no one usually does. He’s found himself a considerate lover tonight, it seems, one he’s starting to steadily become possessive of.
“Want you in me, please.”
“You’re a beaut, y’know that?” Butcher mutters in awe, “Gonna make you feel so good.” His hands slide over John’s hips, up his sides, just feeling. It makes the incubus snort a bit, ticklish with the light touches. It ends on a breathy moan when Billy’s hands fondle his chest, holding and squeezing them like he would a woman’s. His nipples perk up at the indirect stimulation; it makes him squirm, the way Butcher’s deliberate movements make everything in him come alive.
He shouts when Billy suddenly descends on one of them, laving his nipple, sucking and pulling with his teeth until it’s reddened and swollen. It’s electrifying, the way it shoots down into his aching centre, makes him break out into a sweat. He loves foreplay, don’t get him wrong, but Homelander’s been waiting all too long tonight, and these touches are riling him up, ratcheting that anxiety in him for more.
“Want you, Billy, want you now, please.” John doesn’t even care how desperate he sounds, knows that one of his gifts of seduction as an incubus is his desperation. The energy behind it always lures his partners in, like a siren calling to a seaman. Butcher nods, pulling back to kiss down his chest, and in a moment of spontaneity and maybe a little mischief, blows a raspberry in John’s navel, causing the man to burst out in laughter.
“Stop it, I’m serious,” he says between laughs, pushing Billy’s shoulders down so he can get on with the main event.
“Sorry, love, couldn’t help m’self,” Butcher responds with a roguish grin. Who knew the man was so fun? Homelander’s never had anyone like this before, it’s invigorating to say the least.
His apology comes with a swipe of his tongue along John’s dick, the blond’s legs kicking out at the sudden stimulation. Butcher’s mouth is hot, so hot it feels like his insides are about to combust. He presses open mouthed kisses along the length of it, sucking and licking. Drool mixes with precome, the slide of his mouth wet and messy.
John shudders, his body wracking with barely restrained need. He feels like he’s on the verge of coming with the way pleasure builds up in his core.
“Mmmn, Billy… Billy, I’m gonna come,” John pants out, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at Butcher servicing him, before he gently pushes the other man back by the shoulder.
The incubus grabs Butcher, hands framing that darkly bearded face, pulling him in for a kiss. He mumbles between kisses, panting into Butcher’s mouth.
“Want you,” punctuated with a hard kiss, “Want you in me right now, okay?” Another kiss for good measure.
Butcher growls low in his throat, incensed by this wanton being. “You want it that bad, huh? Pretty little thing, so desperate for it, hm?” He reaches his hand blindly to the side where he laid the bottle of lube out, uncapping it and getting to work on fingering John open. He starts with his middle finger, finds that tight hole that radiates a heat he knows he’ll melt into soon. He rubs at the rim, smearing lube and making it glossy wet. He hopes this isn’t a one off thing, because he’d love to fuck his tongue into that hole sometime soon.
Homelander whines, so close to what he wants, a gaping emptiness in him that needs filling. The finger slowly sinks in, punching out a breath he’s been holding. Butcher doesn’t know that this isn’t necessary, his body is made for carnal pleasures and could easily accommodate him without preparation. He’ll allow this though, simply enjoying it as a small teaser.
Butcher slides his ring finger in next, a snug fit that feels sinfully tight around his digits. He groans at the feeling, watching perversely as his fingers fuck in and out of John, the way they disappear and reappear. That concentrated look on his face is dark, possessive; he looks like he wants to devour the blond.
“Like that, pretty boy?” God, his voice is rugged, just like the rest of him.
“Mhmm, feels— ah, feels good,” John moans out, head thrown back. “Need more, please, need you.”
“Eager cunt with an eager cunt. Look at you taking my fingers, like you’re trying to pull me in.” Billy brushes a kiss to the inside of one of his thighs, then bites down on the sensitive skin there. He sucks and nibbles at the mark while he fucks another finger into John, crooking them just so. And when he finds that spot, evident by the blond’s moans going higher in pitch, he continues with slow motions over and over and over again against his prostate.
“Billy, fuck me, c’mon fuck me, please.” He’s sobbing at this point, tears overflowing down reddened cheeks. His hair is a mess, tangled out of its style with the way his head’s been thrashing from side to side.
The larger man acquiesces, pulling his fingers out gently, watching that pink hole clench around nothing. He quickly slides a condom on, and generously lubes himself up before he drags the head of his dick to catch on John’s rim. Let’s it sit there like a threat, like a promise.
Oh god he’s big, it’s all John can feel. The way he slides into him with purpose, thick and hot and claiming. He makes fucked out little noises, chirps that have Billy smirking darkly. It’s a predatory look, almost deranged, the way his eyes get wide. He loves watching his dick get swallowed up in that wet heat, the way John’s eyes roll back, his breath stuck in his throat at the feeling.
He lets John get used to the feeling, the blond looking up at him in amazement. John slides his own hand to his abdomen, resting it against the sensation of being so, so full. It’s all he’s wanted, it’s all he’s ever wanted.
Before he can even think about what he’s going to say, John blurts out “I want you to fuck me like you wanna breed me.”
The smirk leaves Butcher’s face at the demand, shock replacing his features. That’s… Well. He can do that. Fuck it, he can definitely do that. He warms to the idea surprisingly fast, like it’s something he never knew he’d want until the opportunity presented itself.
“Yeah? That what you want?”
“Uh huh, I want it. Wanna feel you here,” he rubs his belly to demonstrate, “Wanna be full of you always.”
“Gonna put a baby in ya, eh? Fuck you full till you’re carrying?” He moves his hips then, his thrusts slow and sensuous, driving his point home every time he bottoms out. “Want daddy to keep trying till it takes?”
“Ye—AH, yes, yes daddy, need it!”
Butcher speeds up his thrusts, filling Homelander over and over again until he feels like a cup spilling over. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but his womb mark shines through weakly below his belly button, a brief red glow before it fades away. Butcher catches it and immediately pauses, looking up at John with wide eyes.
“Mate, what the fuck was that?” Oh God, oh God, oh God. He was so close, so fucking close and he just had to lose control like that. John doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have any capacity to think straight right now given that up until a few moments ago, he was being fucked stupid. He could hear a pin drop in his mind for how empty it was.
“It’s, um, it’s a tattoo.”
A scoff, then. “That ain’t no fucking tattoo. Seriously, what was that?”
“A… Womb mark?” He gives in. There is absolutely no logical explanation for this so he might as well spill it out now.
“A fucking what?”
“It’s a womb mark, idiot. For mating, I guess!” He’s frustrated from this conversation and from the interruption to their fucking. He feels like there’s an uncomfortable spotlight on him now. Homelander moves to get up, decides that this is the end of their night together. It was going so well, too.
“Now just hold on a minute, love. Don’t think you can just up and leave without an explanation. Why do you have a ‘womb mark,’ exactly?” Butcher doesn’t grab John, but he certainly pins him in place with the question.
“I’m an incubus, okay? A sex demon, if you want it in simpler terms. God, you really know how to kill a guy’s mood, you know that?” He’s getting defensive, they both see it. Billy lifts his hands up in a gesture of backing off.
“Okay, alright, take it easy, sweetheart. I’m not judging, okay? It’s just— it’s not everyday you see something glowing out of the skin of the guy you’re fucking, yeah? Caught me by surprise, is all.”
John still looks hesitant, but he doesn’t move off of the bed. “So you’re an incubus, eh? Can’t say I’ve ever believed in that shite, but it’s not the most unbelievable thing I’ve encountered.”
John’s eyes don’t know where to focus, so they simply dodge to the side in a self-conscious motion. He feels a little hopeful by Billy’s attempt to calm him, though. He eventually looks up at the human, whose hands have moved to gently pet over John’s thighs, soothing both of their nerves.
“You’re not… Scared?”
“Can’t say that I am. I’m not wetting the bed, am I?” Billy says with a good natured grin. “One time, my brother Lenny scared the absolute shit outta me in the middle of the night. Snuck into my room wearing a witch’s mask. I pissed the bed, and I swear one of my balls retreated into my body that night.”
They sit there in silence for a moment, before laughter bursts forth from the both of them. It quickly dispels any hesitation between the two. Billy leans into John, bringing a hand up to frame the blond’s face.
“Now, I ain’t gonna force ya into anything you don’t want. But if you’re gonna run off ‘cause you think I’m turned off, I want you to know I’d still like to continue our evening. How does that sound?” His thumb soothes little circles into his cheek. John leans into it, then presses a kiss to the centre of his palm.
“Mhm, sounds good,” he says with a shy smile.
It doesn’t take much for them to heat up again, their kisses a little more desperate, a little more deep. It’s like the shared knowledge of John being not human motivates Butcher, driving him into a heated frenzy.
He moves back to fuck into him again, but pauses briefly to ask John something that’s pressing on his mind. “You think you can do your lil magic thing and show me your mark? I wanna see it when I push you over the edge.” He even wiggles his fingers daintily, the silly man, as if that’s how John’s powers work.
Homelander nearly chokes at the request; never in all of his existence did he imagine he would be able to openly show a human his womb mark. It’s not out of a sense of privacy that he hides it, it’s preservation. He doesn’t know how people will react to their partner being a demon.
It’s strangely intimate, he realizes, when he lets the mark surface to his skin. It’s delicate and symmetric and swirly, etched into him like a piece of art. It glows a light red, and when Billy traces it with a rough finger, the muscles in John’s abdomen twitch. It’s sensitive; he never knew that about himself. Huh.
“It’s beautiful.”
And oh, that compliment make the demon want to melt. His face and chest heat up, eyes blinking back moisture that came to them unbidden.
Butcher slides home, then, fast and determined. He wants to fulfill John’s earlier request, to breed him. He touches his whole hand to that glowing mark, fingers splayed wide to cover it completely in a possessive move of ownership. The thought of John taking pleasure from this very scenario drives Butcher insane; it tastes like victory in his mouth.
John isn’t faring any better, eyes wild and unseeing. He clutches to Billy with arms and legs, his ‘injured’ ankle completely forgotten. Butcher growls in his ear, promises of John becoming round with his seed pushing the blond over the edge. He feels whole inside, like a void was just filled after being empty for centuries. John convulses, his channel throbbing and clenching on Billy’s dick relentlessly. His partner thrusts a few more times, hard, punishing movements before reaching his peak.
Butcher slumps over the blond, forearms holding him up as he gazes down at John. They’re both panting, sweat dripping down their bodies. They share a gentle kiss, meshing their lips together but going no further than that. It feels like a private moment, basking in the afterglow of the greatest sex they’ve both ever had.
He falls to the side so he doesn’t crush John, remembers to pull off the condom, tying and launching it to the side before pulling the man close to hold him in his arms. He has questions, Homelander can tell.
“So…”
“So?”
“Incubus, huh? You planned that whole ‘oops lemme just fall over into some flowers and twist my ankle’ business then?”
“Maybe.” John tries to play coy but knows he’s been caught. He kisses over Butcher’s chest, nuzzling into the hair there in a playful manner. “Not like it didn’t work. Who invites a complete stranger into their apartment to patch them up? Do you have a death wish?”
“Nah, love, just wanted to help out a pretty thing like you. I felt bad, y’know? Reckon there’s nothing actually wrong with your ankle though, right?”
“No, it’s all good. Your touch healed it.” Butcher laughs at that, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That’s the corniest load of shit I’ve ever heard, John.”
“It’s true!”