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It’s almost been a year since Hughie’s last tasted any semblance of freedom.
Sleep eludes him. Eating has become a meaningless obligation. If he sees one more American flag brandishing stars and stripes across his vision, he thinks he’s going to gouge his fucking eyes out.
The small group of people that he does have here is the only saving grace for Hughie’s sanity. Thoughts of Annie still plague him, thinking of conversations they should’ve had when they still had time to have them. He can no longer remember the softness of her touch, forgotten in a place that holds contempt for the very concept.
When news comes of his imminent, upcoming execution—Hughie doesn’t feel much of anything. His odds have been on the winning end to such a staggering degree that he can no longer count on unfathomable luck alone. Statiscally, it’s just not possible.
Butcher would likely come at any cost. Hughie can only hope that Annie doesn’t rise to the bait, needing her to stay as far away from this hellhole as humanly possible. Knowing he would put the target on himself if he thought it would keep her safe from Homelander’s sight.
The molotov cocktails are a good idea, important enough to keep him motivated as he occupies his limited time. Hughie is even willing to crawl across the piss-stained floor on all-fours, dubious as to whether they’ve been cleaned in the year since his imprisonment. Shaking his head, he meets MM and Frenchie in their hiding place below.
When they run out of resin, fingers sticky with its residue, Hughie moves on autopilot. Blocking out the cheery voice that echoes through the camp speakers, feedback from the surrounding prisoners continues droning around him. It puts him on edge as he stalks towards the central barrack.
He can smell the iron tang in the air before he sees the full extent of the carnage. Blood is so familiar a sight that he hardly registers it at first—until he sees it dripping sluggishly off of a lifeless hand. Mounds of viscera lay scattered around him, more red than the stripes stretched out across the floor.
“‘Well, Annie, today marks two months. It’s a little insane how much I’ve missed you.’”
Homelander sounds almost giddy as he reads Hughie’s words aloud, sitting languidly on top of what little that remains.
“‘I’ve been having trouble eating. Every day, I see people giving up, but not me… because I have you.’ It’s very, very sweet.”
His words are sickeningly cloying, a mock of genuine sympathy. Hughie wants to scream at the top of his lungs, nausea sweeping through him over the deaths now added to a countless toll. A number that continues to increase by his mere association.
“They were innocent.”
“Oh,” Homelander turns, glancing at the bodies as if he forgot they were there. “Well, I’d hardly call them innocent. They lied to me. Played dumb about your little stash in the wall there—we’ve known about that for quite some time.”
Hughie’s blood seems to freeze in his veins. His gaze is drawn to the ripped hole at the center of the poster, no longer covering the carved space hiding their meager supplies. Bottles piled on top of the stains that gather below.
“But I just wanted to give you a little hope,” Homelander finishes, smugly smacking his dry lips together with a grin.
Fury wells inside Hughie. “You’re not the one who gave it to me, asshole.”
The sound that purrs out of Homelander’s throat has his heart kicking against his ribcage a moment later. “Ooh, I like Internment Camp Hughie. She’s zesty.”
“Fuck you,” Hughie spits, trying to ignore how the leering gaze that drags against his skin makes his heart pound for more traitorous reasons. He openly spreads his arms at his sides. “Do it.”
“What?”
“Kill me.”
Homelander raises a finger, smiling placidly at his words. “Not until we flush out Butcher and Starlight.”
“You think they’re dumb enough to just… walk into your trap?”
“Let’s not insult each other. We both know they’re coming.”
The sound of Hughie’s notebook crashing against the laminate flooring shocks him from his reverie, eyes pinned to the patches of red blossoming around the paper edges.
“Do you remember when we first met?”
The question forces a bitter smile to quirk at the corners of his lips. Hughie mockingly replies, “How could I forget?
“Believe Festival. I tried to cleanse your soul.”
The unmistakable memory of being submerged under Homelander’s iron-clad grip floods panic into every nerve. Hughie doesn’t think he can speak, tongue thick against the roof of his mouth.
“I remember thinking,” Homelander concedes with a sigh, “‘Why him?’ What does Starlight see in this gangly simp that reeks of fear and Strawberry Smoothie kids’ shampoo?”
The color rises on Hughie’s face.
“You know, William and Victoria Neuman love you, too. I mean, I see it from your perspective. You’re punching up. Good for you.”
Homelander moves to his feet, folding his hands in front of him as he lazily saunters forward. His boots brush carelessly against any scattered remains that block his path.
“But why are they so hopelessly devoted to such staggering mediocrity?” he gestures at Hughie, mouth taut. “Why would Starlight and Butcher piss away their lives to try and rescue you?”
When Hughie formulates a reply, it settles into place just how right he actually is.
“Because I’d do it for them.”
Homelander waits for him to inevitably continue. When Hughie remains silent, he shakes his head in disbelief, eyes flittering back and forth as he processes his statement.
“Really? That’s it?” comes Homelander’s laughing reply. “You don’t have some big, emotional speech planned that’s gonna bring me to tears?”
Hughie turns his back on him, dripping derision onto every word. “Maybe you just aren’t worth the effort.”
He expects a familiar display of rage. For Homelander to obliterate him, twin beams of fury slicing his skull clean in half. What Hughie doesn’t expect is the gloved hand that wraps around his shoulder, holding him in place as Homelander presses against him, a furnace of heat burning hot across his back.
“That all depends. What would you be willing to do for me in exchange?”
The words are whispered demurely against his ear. Hughie goes rigid, blinking rapidly when he feels warm air shifting against his skin.
“What?”
“You’re so eager to offer your life,” Homelander counters, dragging his hand over the jut of Hughie’s elbow. “If you don’t actually mean it, how are you going to repay me for keeping you alive? What could you possibly have to offer?”
Adrenaline bullies through his veins, sweat beading at Hughie’s nape as lips drag possessively against his skin. The weight of Homelander’s demand cannot be ignored, erection digging impatiently against the generous curve of his ass.
He isn’t quick enough to answer his reply. A gasp of air cuts from his lungs as he’s shoved against the barrack wall, blinking back tears at the force of the motion, blood pooling along the well of his cheek.
Homelander noses at the curls gathering near the back of his skull. Hughie jumps with each greedy inhalation, puffs of damp air tickling the goosebumps forming on his skin. When a tongue slides messily down his throat, he can’t hold back a high-pitched whine, dormant arousal shuttering out his well-acquainted fear.
“Hah—if you think this means anything, you’re wrong,” Hughie groans, pushing back against the impenetrable weight crushed against him.
“I can still smell it on you.”
“What?”
“I can still smell it on you,” Homelander snarls, shoving his face against Hughie’s scalp. “Always right there, just for me to know about.”
Another snap of his hips has Hughie keening at the pressure. Cock trapped between his body and the wall, it angles down the length of his thigh, already wet at the head, dripping. Momentarily disoriented when he’s finally released, Hughie finds himself facing the distinct mania that paints Homelander’s features head-on.
“I see it, now, why they keep you around. This is what you’re good for,” he sighs, clutching Hughie around the chin. Forcing him not to break eye-contact. “This is where you belong. How else can you explain the effect you have on them? On me?”
Fabric rips around Hughie’s legs before he realizes Homelander is settled between them. His obsessive gaze drops to the mirrored image of his face, stretched over the front of Hughie’s faded pullover. The salacious grin that greets him makes Hughie burn with something far stronger than shame.
When Homelander kisses him, he can do nothing to stop the eager tongue that drags across the seam of his mouth. Sucking the blood collecting at the well of his lips, selfish with intent as teeth grind against his flesh, digging into the jutted curve of Hughie’s bottom lip.
The first slide of fingers slinking down his thigh has Hughie gasping into Homelander’s mouth, squirming at the knowing touch. His knees bend into an arch, trying to temper the arousal that grips him unwillingly, head hitting back against the wall.
Wet fingertips stroke impatiently at his entrance, knocking between Hughie’s shaking limbs. A hand grips the underside of his thigh, hoisting it over Homelander’s hip as his other moves in frantic circles against his hole, persistant with every touch.
“Already so wet for me, aren’t you? That’s my good girl.”
Hughie wants to bite through the meat of his tongue. His cock is still hard despite the lack of attention, hole clenching in anticipation as Homelander continues his tirade. It’s disgusting how ready his body is prepared for this.
“Being so good for me,” Homelander groans in appreciation, mouthing at Hughie’s collarbone. “Knew you needed this when I saw you. That you needed me to save you.”
The first dip of fingers inside him is enough to make Hughie scream, three broad digits pressing into him all at once. Homelander’s skin is surprisingly bare as he pistons them deeper, eyeing his target before Hughie can register the pleasure that blooms in response.
“Ah—fuck! Homelander—please,” Hughie babbles pathetically, desperately trying to lift himself off the intruding digits, firmly held in place by an unrelenting grip. “I can’t—God.”
Homelander hasn’t blinked once. His forehead creases, brows furrowing in concentration as he presses his nose against Hughie’s curls, sucking in his scent with every breath.
“Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you. I want to hear you say it, or I’ll find that little bitch and make her watch.”
Anger nearly causes Hughie to come undone—if not for the demanding, unrelenting pace of Homelander’s fingers inside him, gasping at the accuracy of each intentional, targeted movement. His hole clenches wildly as they withdraw from his body, already missing the familiar pressure bumping against his frenzied nerves.
“I—I want you,” Hughie pants, hating himself for every word. Wishing Homelander would just end it all here. “Need you to fuck me, please.”
Homelander bites back a sound, hoisting Hughie further up the wall. Death still surrounds them on all sides, now nothing more than a ritualistic scene of worship at his alter.
“Fuck. Gonna be so good for me, Mommy.”
It’s an unexpected word, forcing Hughie to stop in his tracks. Homelander quickly manoevers him, wrapping slender legs down the length of his back, crossing them at the ankles with ease.
“Aren’t you going to take care of your baby? C’mon, Mommy, tell me.”
His mouth sets in a crooked line, masseters tightly clenched. Hughie can’t tell if this is still a test. It’s maddening that he no longer cares, cock bumping incessantly against the dip of his stomach; twitching with new, terrifying interest.
If this is all it takes, Hughie’s certain he could do far worse. Knows at the bottom of his heart that he already has. Setting a hand over the curve of Homelander’s jaw, he scrapes the pads of his fingers against the last few remnants of stubble that remain.
“Yes, baby. Whatever you need.”
A full-bodied shiver wracks down Homelander’s spine. It’s enough to make Hughie feel heady with it, heat curling in the pit of his stomach. Guilt melts into something sharper, less tangible. Stroked by the unexpected display of submission.
Homelander hardly waits before he’s stripping out of his suit. His cock is flushed, weeping at the head as he cups himself in hand, slick fluid coating the length of his fingers with every stroke.
When Hughie feels it prodding at his entrance, he tries to relax. Remembers how Robin would always talk him through it. How she’d hold his hand, telling him to breathe, always right there by his side.
The memory hits him unexpectedly, muscles tensing up from the shock of it. His face screws as the head of Homelander’s cock breaches him; all his progress wasted as he’s impaled in one quick motion, straight to the hilt.
“Ah—you’re so… shit, Mommy, fuck—”
Hughie tries easing into it as best as he can; bouncing on Homelander’s cock as he sets a relentless pace, pressing his face into the harsh line of his jaw. Canines dig at Homelander’s bottom lip, blonde hair fanning messily across his forehead. He grunts when Hughie looks at him, skin taut around his mouth, eyes unblinking with every thrust.
Hughie’s body is no longer his own. Unable to drown out the staccato moans that pour from his throat, he finds himself reaching for Homelander’s shoulders, clenching onto him with what little strength he still has left. His grip falters with every smack of skin against his own, the full weight of Homelander’s cock sinking against his insides, striking him right where he needs it most. Intimately precise, building pleasure where pain resides.
“Tell me how good I am,” he begs against Hughie’s throat. “Tell your baby how good he’s making you feel.”
Hughie digs his blunt nails against Homelander’s skin, unable do much else. Tears prick at the corners of his blurred gaze.
“You’re—you’re doing so good,” he whispers, voice catching on every word, broken by the rhythm of Homelander’s hips. “So perfect for me, for Mommy.”
Hughie feels his weight shift, knees crushed against his chest as Homelander raises them off the ground. His cock leaks messily onto his sweatshirt, slick at the head as it drags against the material, teasing the wetness that gathers there. He reaches downward, no longer thinking about the consequences.
Homelander snarls, arm snapping around the curve of his waist. Swatting Hughie’s hand away, he teases a thumb down the slit of his cock, circling the head as he continues fucking into him.
“Please,” Hughie cries, nerves alight with every perfect strike of his hips. From the fingers tracing shapes against his cock. “God, please—”
“That’s right,” Homelander groans into his ear, sounding wrecked. “Tell your baby what you need. How nobody else gets to touch you like this. Tell me exactly how you’re mine, Hughie.”
His body sings with every drag of Homelander’s hips, no longer fighting the intrusion burning against his insides. Hughie wonders if he can even speak, crying out in pleasure as he greedily chases Homelander’s hold, fucking into a loosely-held fist.
If he ever gets out of here alive, Hughie knows he’ll never be able to purge this feeling from his memory.
Dopamine scatters across his brain. Clenching on the cock that pistons inside him, Hughie looks back at the gaze that hasn’t severed from him once, half-lidded as it drags against his face.
“Yours, Homelander. Only yours.”
The groan that echoes throughout the room settles possessively in Hughie’s abdomen. Homelander drops his jaw over the curve of Hughie’s chest, lifting the edge of his sweatshirt to expose his pale skin, the sparse hairs that travel down his sternum.
Teeth latch like a vice around one of his nipples. Hughie wails at the unexpected pressure, muscles quaking when Homelander sucks it hard into his mouth, tongue swirling to take its fill.
Like he’s trying to feed off of him.
He’s so close to coming that he’s practically at the edge, ready to slide over the precipice before Homelander jolts to a stop, hand withdrawing from around him. Mouth no longer moving against him.
“Homelander, no, I’m so fucking close.”
“If only they could see you now… I think Butcher would be vindicated to learn just how quickly you offered to become my whore. That you didn’t even put up much of a fight, really.”
Tears race down Hughie’s cheeks. Homelander is quick to rove his tongue over the remaining tracks, humming appreciatively at the salt that coats his tastebuds.
When his pace kicks back to its former degree, Hughie immediately feels the peak that races to meet him. Cock slapping against his navel, he grinds his hips to meet the frantic beat of Homelander’s cock, greedily sucking air into his lungs.
His orgasm rips like lightning across his nerves. Practically screamimg himself through it, Hughie hardly registers how his body is now folded over one of the overturned bunks surrounding him, metals legs scraping noisily against the floor.
Homelander is quick to follow, moan stretching into a sigh, echoing past his open mouth as he comes. His cock pulses relentlessly inside him, wet heat flooding Hughie as deep as it can go. Marking him. Leaning the brunt of his weight against Hughie’s back, he groans his name repeatedly, gently thrusting against him.
“Stop,” Hughie begs, far past the threshold of his limit.
When Homelander pulls out of him, he collapses against the wall, feet smacking against the ground before he crashes to his knees. His release slides down the stretch of Hughie’s leg, running over the trembling muscles at his calf, dripping more red against the floor.
Hughie doesn’t realize he’s clenching his eyes shut. Not until he feels a hand gripping the curled strands of his hair, tilting his head by the scalp.
Blinking open his gaze, Hughie finds himself frozen. Homelander’s cape is cradled in the curve of his arm, detached from the golden eagle spires that sit proudly at his shouders. Slinging it across Hughie’s back, he wraps both ends together, dressing him as if he were a doll, fastening the ends together with ease.
Everything starts fading at the edges of his vision. He can still smell blood when Homelander hoists him back into his hold, wrapping Hughie’s arms around his neck, firm grip settling warm against his spine.
The wind that whips against him isn’t freeing. It’s just one more memory for Hughie to forget, stolen in the wide expanse of Homelander’s limitless influence.