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Late Night Promises

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Hughie showed up the next morning, and didn’t react well to the state of Billy’s face. Ever the opportunist, Billy told a few half-truths: some Supes got killed, Homelander thought Billy had something to do with it, had cornered him in a side street to rough him up a bit, and made some colorful threats to Frenchie’s life. 

 

MM hadn’t bought it: “If he hit you, how the fuck are you in one piece?” I'm never going to get to hit you again unless it's to KILL YOU. God, Billy hated how clear the cunt’s voice sounded in his head. Almost as clear as MM’s was at that moment. “And you hit him back, huh?” 

 

“Oh, this?” His hand had scabbed over again, and this time, he’d actually bothered to bandage it. Said bandages twisted as he flexed his aching fingers. “Nah, mate, this was from hittin’ something else entirely. And the cunt wanted answers, not a corpse. Convinced him I was innocent, and he fucked off. Simple as that.” 

 

Nobody bought that either, and Annie, Hughie, and MM each independently cornered him to accuse him of taking another dose of Temp V. Word was getting around about the three dead Supes, and Annie seemed convinced he’d done it himself. Almost took the credit, just to see her seethe. 

 

“Haven’t the foggiest who killed them cunts, love. Scout’s honor.” He was assaulted with a vivid image of Homelander ripping the wall of the office apart and putting his fist right through Annie’s gut, turning to Billy with that horrible smile and chirping Oh Billy, that’s MY pet name. You know how jealous I get! 

 

“Hughie says you called him 4 times that night. You never left a message–” 

 

“Barely even remember doin’ that! Look can we focus on what’s important here–” 

 

The telly was on, showing a carousel of completely shite news. Neuman’s smiling cunt face cutting back and forth to Homelander’s smiling cunt face, the press twisting the campaign up in knots with the search to fill out the Seven’s line-up. Hopefully he’ll be scraping the bottom of the barrel. D-listers and cruddy powers and weaklings. There can’t be that many good ones left willing to look past all the shite of the last few years. 

 

Ever since the ‘killed a civilian over a thrown can’ incident, he’d only been bringing Ryan out rarely, in more controlled circumstances. Made Billy a bit sick. Kid was too young to be paraded about like that. Had messed up Starlight– Annie –right good in the head, and Ryan wasn’t exactly on solid ground to begin with. That cunt’s probably just making it worse. 

 

He missed Ryan. He missed Ryan a lot, but he didn’t want to deal with that right then, so he buried it under plots against Neuman and daydreams about Homelander’s skull caving under his hands. Buried under Ryan was Becca, and honestly, he was thinking about cementing that over. 

 

Recent events made him doubt he deserved to ever dig it up again.      

 

***

It had been over a month–six weeks actually–since Soldier Boy had had his swan song, and he was only halfway out of the dog house. Annie still scowled every time she saw him: not that he cared, he reminded himself every time he saw it. Frenchie wasn’t warmin’ up to him any quicker. His little grand-stand had been the preamble; most of Billy’s increasingly rare comments were met with sneers and retorts. Kimiko seemed downright chuffed about it, so, no help from her. Hughie just looked a bit pained and awkward during most of their meetings, which he hated; MM was so far past furious that he was usually treating Billy like he was part of the wallpaper, which honestly hurt more than he thought it ought to. 

 

The only time he got any sign that they still gave a fuck was when he was visibly in pain. Maybe because he’d always forced it down and gritted his teeth through it before. Regardless, a loud whine and covering his eyes, or stumbling midstep to sag against the wall, or being found on the office floor, curled up in a ball because his head had been hurting too badly to walk home, could earn him a few moments of affection. 

 

He refused to admit it was a silver-lining, and actually fought harder to reign in any hint of distress. I’ll fuckin’ die before I ham it up for a hug I’ll fuckin’ die you hear me– He had no idea who he was talking to as he wretched into the sink of the office bathroom. Waiting until all of them had left for lunch had been hard, but he barely deserved the little attention he did get. Extra was out of the bleedin’ question. 

 

His phone rang. 

 

PICK UP NOW 

 

He’d put his contacts back the way they’d been before, but hadn’t deleted the new one. Or changed it yet. Couldn’t think of something he liked enough to replace it with. Besides, seeing it still pissed him off, and that gave him a kick like an Adderall straight up the nose. 

 

Mouth still burning and tasting of sick, he fumbled his cell off the counter and accepted the call. 

 

“Hey, pal. You not feeling good?” 

 

“Darling, you can’t call me at work, you know this is where I cheat on you.” 

 

Homelander barked a laugh, and then said: “I can see you right now. You barely ate breakfast, was that just bile?” 

 

“Oh, christ, don’t tell me you’ve got a fetish for this too.” 

 

“Don’t be disgusting, William–” Billy pretended he wasn’t wondering what happened to ‘Billy’. “I’m concerned, not turned on. Are you in a lot of pain?” 

 

Billy shuffled out of the bathroom and into the rest of the office. Noting with relief that his head wasn’t currently throbbing in response to the light, he made his way to one of the windows. Sky looked free of cunts at the moment. “Where the fuck are you?” 

 

“Mmm. Doesn’t matter. Are you in pain?” 

 

Him asking twice was…interesting. He actually wanted to know the answer, then. Curious why, Billy obliged. “Nah. Only feelin’ half-dead today, mate. Won’t last…” He turned and slowly picked his way to the windows on the other side. Homelander chuckled, and Billy froze. 

 

And looked at the ceiling. 

 

“Hiya.” 

 

“Huh.” Holding his head like that was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure he could keep from looking up, now that he knew. “Pain’ll be back,” he repeated. “That’s the thing ‘bout ‘terminal’. Doesn’t get better.” 

 

“It could. You have a cure.” 

 

“That ain’t a cure. That’s the last bloody line I have to cross, and I’m done doin’ that. Sunk as far as I’m gonna sink, you got that?” He was grinning. Hadn’t meant to, but he was. 

 

So was Homelander; Billy could hear it in his voice, could almost feel it through the layers of concrete and wood between them. “There’s always further to sink, William. And I bring out the best in you.” 

 

Billy considered about twelve different responses to that. “I’m all alone down here,” was what he decided on in the end. 

 

“Oh, I guess you are.” 

 

“You could come and finish me off. Spare me a right grisly death. Come on, you said it yourself, I’m your equal. Show me a little respect. Snap me bloody neck.” Right. Got a question, guv. What are we gonna do if he takes us up on that? 

 

Homelander huffed into the phone. Or earpiece. Billy had no idea how he was placing this call. Maybe he had a phone built into his head or something. Regardless, he sounded irritated. “That’s pity. Not respect. I don’t pity you. But, if you want to fight now, I have the V with me already. We’ll go somewhere private. When you’re ready, we can have it out. Brawl until we’re shaking and bruised–” 

 

The Supe was clearly getting himself worked up, and Billy ran his tongue over his teeth. Wondered when the others would get back. Decided he probably had time. “And then you’ll put me outta me misery?” He said it half a taunt, half a dare. Waited for the correction he knew was coming. 

 

“If, by some miracle, you win that little showdown, you’re welcome to snap mine–But when I win, because I’m just better at this than you are, well…I’m going to make it up to you. Give you what you’re really craving–Ah.” 

 

Billy realized he was palming his cock, and snatched his hand away. “What?” 

 

“Your friends are coming back. About a block away…I can give you a lift out of here. Last chance until tonight, Billy.”  

 

“Fucking hell. You’re really gonna come ‘round every night?” 

 

“Every night. Until you take your medicine.” 

 

“Or until I d–” 

 

“I WON’T LET THAT HAPPEN.” Billy jumped, and stared at the phone. Homelander audibly took a deep breath. “I’ll see you tonight, Wil–Billy. I’ll bring the V, and maybe, I’ll take something I want from you.” 

 

“You can try,” Billy told the ended call, and willed his erection away. 

***

 

His head was pain-free for nearly a week before the headaches started coming back. He’d actually gone a few days without a drink, and that seemed like a good enough reason to switch things up. So that’s where Billy was at the moment, leaning against the open door of the balcony, staring at the drying plaster covering the holes in his wall. He’d told his landlord that a one night stand went sideways, that the crazy bitch had trashed the place during a tantrum. 

 

Homelander had been back every night since then, but hadn’t broken anything else yet. Just followed Billy from room to room and alternated between coaxing, seductive purrs and graphic threats to his friends’ lives. There hadn’t been another kiss: Homelander had been focused on groping him instead. 

 

Billy choked on the bourbon he’d been taking straight from the bottle and winced at the ache behind his eyes. God, he could still feel that, the heat of his palms and the strength of his fingers, even through the gloves and his own clothes. The cunt was handsy, to say the least. He kept finding opportunities to corner him, crowd in close enough that Billy could feel his breath, hear his heart, and then the petting would start. Grabbing his waist, his hair, his thighs. His arse, if Billy didn’t snarl loudly enough or hit him with something.

 

It usually ended the same way: Homelander’s face buried in Billy’s neck, grinding against his thigh while palming his cock through his clothes. His whispers against Billy’s throat and jaw shifted fluidly between pornographic and grisly. Sometimes both at once, promising to fuck Billy boneless and then twist him in half, or, sometimes, if he was feeling creative, the other way around. Which wasn’t sexy AT ALL, Billy reminded himself in the present, as he looked from his patched walls to the flat, black sky. 

 

The not-at-all-sexy grinding and whispering would only go on for a minute or two: just long enough to make them both pant. Or, in Billy’s case, mewl like a particularly desperate porn star. He’d taken to biting the inside of his cheek to hold back from spreading his legs and begging for something . But he wasn’t sure how long that was going to last. For him or for Homelander. 

 

Last night, there’d been something sharp in the Supe’s eyes when he’d come into Billy’s flat, and he hadn’t wasted time like he normally did. No, instead, he’d gone straight to Billy, hadn’t even given him time to speak, and had yanked him close, dragging him by the hips. Billy’s lips curled in the present as he remembered the exchange that had followed: 

 

Get the hell off me– 

 

I saw you today. 

 

Saw me WHERE? 

 

You switched pharmacies, and didn’t tell me. I noticed your phone at a new address, so I went to check on you. 

 

Oh bloody hell, I refuse to believe you don’t have better things to do than– 

 

That pharmacist was flirting with you. 

 

Oh, was she? 

 

You flirted back. 

 

Did not. 

 

Were you trying to make me jealous? Because I am, Billy–why are you laughing?! 

 

I knew you were tracking my phone, I BLOODY knew it, and you just confirmed it, over a fucking pharmicist chatting me up. I keep forgetting you’re a complete moron– 

 

The cunt had pinned him to the ceiling and dry-humped him, mouthing Billy’s neck and telling him, in explicit detail, what he'd do to anyone who tried to touch his ‘property’. Which, again, not sexy at all, twisted and sick, that’s what that had been, and Billy had absolutely not begged to hear more or to be humped faster or for another kiss, he had definitely not–

 

His body ached at the memory. The hand not holding the bottle twitched, almost going to reach for his fly–he stopped himself, because he’d actually stroked his cock while in this exact position a couple of nights ago, after the Supe flounced off, and once could be forgiven but not twice. 

 

Okay, so, last night, he had sort of begged. A little. But just when he felt Homelander smirking against his collarbone, and then wafting back down to the floor to dump Billy on the couch. And really, it was more like demanding than begging, and it wasn’t like he was the only one there who was turned on and wild-eyed. 

 

Nobody gets to touch you anymore but me. 

 

Then come over here and touch me– Nope, no, he HAD not said that, he refused to believe he’d said that. 

 

Take the V and I’ll fuck you against the ceiling until dawn.  

 

NO. It had taken a lot of willpower to not ask “Literally until dawn?” 

 

Pity. We’re both going to bed frustrated. Again. Because YOU’RE being stubborn. And don’t even think about going somewhere else for it. You’re mine to kill, mine to fuck, all mine, and I don’t share my property.  

 

Taking a few swallows that burned more than a bit, Billy talked to the empty balcony and the sky beyond it. “Not your bloody property. I don’t belong to no one but me and Becca. Certainly not to you.” You belong to me, to be clear though. If anybody else tries to stake a claim on your head, I’ll rip them to bits. But that’s a perfectly normal thing. Not this mental shite YOU’RE pulling. 

 

It had been raining on and off all day, and the night was boarding on muggy. The air felt thick and hard to take in, and he heaved a sigh, exasperated at himself and lonely in a way he couldn’t ignore just then. He’d been watching Ryan’s video earlier, wishing he had others saved. Standing on the balcony now, he told himself that someday, if he fucked-up as little as possible, he might get to see new ones. 

 

Homelander still hadn’t shown up.   

 

These little nighttime visits were the only real news that Billy got about him. Before Homelander left, he always told Billy something about Ryan. What they’d done that day. A joke he’d told. A new food he’d tried and hated but had been a good sport about. It hurt. Every word hurt right down to his bloody soul, but it was miles better than hearing nothing.  

 

And that was it. Had nothing at all to do with that smile, the one that had actual warmth in it. The one Billy had only seen during these psychosexual home invasions, and pretty much only when he was talking about Ryan. The cunt was capable of actual affection after all. It was fascinating. And disturbing. Once or twice or constantly, Billy had been wondering if anyone else had ever gotten that smile. 

 

He threw a look at the clock in his kitchen and grimaced. Quarter to three. Awfully late for Homelander. Never showed up before one. Never after 3, but usually well before now. Maybe he was skipping tonight. Shame. Billy had finally come up with a new way to discard the vial of V that always got left there. He’d been planning on going up to the roof and using an actual slingshot to fire it against the wall of the neighboring building. Billy’s throat burned and his head throbbed as he took another swallow.  

 

Ten to three. The doorframe was digging into his back, and he was trying not to get angry. Getting angry would imply that he wanted the cunt to show up, that he wanted to be pawed at and threatened, that he wanted to feel the cool glass of a vial of pretty blue poison under his fingers again. He wanted to hear about Ryan, he wanted to ask about Ryan , he was not furious at the fact that the only person who’d really touched him in weeks was suddenly not keeping his standing appointment. 

 

Okay, being pinned to the ceiling, completely supported by the body under him, was not inherently unappealing. Would’ve been fun, honestly, if it had been, you know, somebody else doing it. Not the unhinged fascist who’d raped his wife and murdered quite literally hundreds of people. 

 

“Nobody can make you feel like I could,” He’d whispered, and Billy believed him. “If you want to be fucked so badly, take the V and we’ll celebrate.” He forced Billy’s head back, biting under his chin. Well, not biting. More like mouthing. Kissing. But with teeth. “God. Imagine the hate sex.” 

 

“Told you, you’re gunna have to force me–” 

 

“I’ll fuck you when I feel like it, regardless of if you’re ready or not.” And Billy had almost dared him, had almost kissed him rough and deep and hissed into his mouth then fucking do it already I’m gonna bloody die of suspense you cunt so just fucking take me but thankfully Homelander hadn’t been done. “The V you’re taking by choice or not at all.” 

 

Three am. The sky was empty, and his phone was silent, and okay, right, Billy was bloody pissed, and he had every bloody right to be. Only stumbling a little, he staggered across the balcony and half-leaned, half-fell against the railing. Staring at the lifeless sky above him, he let his fingers go slack around the now-empty bottle. He didn’t watch it drop, but he heard the distant sound of the glass bursting apart on the pavement below. Idylly, he thought about how, maybe, he shoulda checked that nobody was lurking down there. But, no, on second thought, he couldn’t be fucked to care, because that fucking cunt had stood him up

 

“You know,” he said to the sky, “ I actually did have better things to do.” 

 

Like venting some of the frustration currently making him clench his teeth and his fists so tightly it hurt. 

 

The Supe’s teasing–because that’s what it was, teasing , dirty, wicked, teasing –had left him aching for some proper attention. When the pain in his skull had returned, he’d almost gone out to drown his sorrows. Had cleaned himself up, and had touched himself in the shower, entertaining the idea of finding a bloke with broad shoulders and a nice voice to hold him down and fuck the self-loathing right out of his head. Maybe, if he picked the right one, got drunker than him fast enough, and teased as badly as Homelander did, said bloke would go hard and mean, callhim nasty names, hit him a few times. 

 

Maybe be okay to keep going if Billy wanted to say “No” when he obviously meant “yes harder more”. 

 

Billy wanted another drink, and he’d finished the bourbon, so he shoved himself off the railing and made his way back inside. 

 

When he’d stayed home instead, he’d told himself it was so he could hear about Ryan. About 15 minutes after that, he told himself that it was because he didn't want the Supe comin’ after him, makin’ a scene and killin’ whoever Billy had brought home with him. And about ten minutes after that, he told the cookie jar that it was because he didn’t want to be in bed with a stranger if a lesion started to leak. 

 

Honestly, every new excuse was just a thin coat of paint covering up the ugly stain the truth had left. When he’d compared the thought of some random, powerless human man holding him down and fucking him and pretending to ignore his pleas, to the memory of Homelander nipping his neck and teasing his bulge, there hadn’t been much of a contest. 

 

He switched to beer, since it was late and all, and went back out onto the balcony. 

 

He’d been dreaming about the Supe. Nearly every night, in fact. Most of the time, in these dreams, he was on one last dose of Temp V. Final stand. Shock and awe. Scorched Earth. After brutalizing each other for hours, bodies battered and eyes full of gleeful malice, one of them got the other pinned on his back, and fucked them into something that was almost submission. It always ended with a snapped neck for one of them, and Billy usually woke up covered in his own drying cum. 

 

Yeah, he should’ve gone out, anything was better than being this wound up. Maybe, if he’d left early enough, had been patient enough and lucky enough, he could have found somebody with bright blue eyes and– 

 

His phone was buzzing inside, and Billy absolutely did not sprint to answer it. 

 

“Damn. I’d nearly convinced myself you were dead. What’s the matter, go out to kill a few stray cats for fun and lose track of time?” 

 

Homelander was panting. 

 

And moaning. 

 

And whispering his name. “Billy…oh, oh fuck, Billy, you’re so fucking tight–” 

 

Billy dropped the can he was holding. It bounced off the floor and poured foaming beer all over his feet, but he barely noticed. “Are you…” He obviously was, so Billy didn’t finish the question. 

 

After a few seconds of frantic, needy sounds, Homelander laughed into the phone. “Mmmm. Yeah. Have been. For over an HOUR.” He sounded…angry, almost, a little, and Billy eyed the phone, like he could discern his expression through it. 

 

“Heh. Havin’ a bad reaction to the other blue shite that starts with V, are we?” He quipped, for lack of a better response. His own cock was getting a bit heavy in his pants, but he wasn’t going to join in . Not unless. You know. Homelander threatened to kill Hughie or burn down a public library for deaf kids or something equally twisted that Billy had to bribe him out of. He cleared his throat and finally stepped out of the sticky puddle he’d been standing in. “Well, you’ve seen the commercials. If it doesn’t go down in a couple of hours–” 

 

“Keep talking–” Homelander made a low, rough noise that had Billy’s heart skipping several beats. “I fucking love your voice. Don’t even care that you’re being juvenile, just keep talking to me .”  

 

His whole body started to get a bit hot, and his cock was going from heavy to hard, and he kept talking, because what was he supposed to do, not mock the pathetic git? “Oh? You like my voice, love?” Somebody, who sounded a bit like MM, spoke up in his head, cursing him out and telling him exactly how bloody stupid that was. But he barely cared when Homelander full on growled in response. It made something inside him kick, had him fighting a grin. “Heh, take a peek at Daddy’s porn or something? What’s got you so worked up?” He put an extra layer of taunt into a few of the words, just to hear the Supe whine. 

 

Instead of taking the bait, Homelander chose to flirt. “Besides you?” Stop blushing stop fucking blushing; YOU’RE the pathetic git– “Mmm. Fuck, fuck, call me love again and I’ll tell you…” 

 

If Billy really strained his ears, he was positive he could hear the sound of skin slapping over skin as Homelander touched himself, and he’d always been a tad too curious for his own good, so, he went along with the little trade. “You’re so needy, love. Tell me why.” 

 

Homelander huffed out a few tense laughs, and then his noises changed. Got softer, more languid, and Billy couldn’t help picturing him. Sprawled out on his bed and naked, hand leaving his cock to tease one of his nipples instead. Fuck, he sounded like he was leaking already. Me. He’s worked up like that for me. Fuck, bet he’d scream if I licked his cock. Held his hips down and just traced the veins until– 

 

Billy’s jaw ached and his mouth watered just a little, and he found himself walking into his bedroom. He was going to take care of his own hard-on as soon as he talked the cunt into hanging up, and wanted to waste as little time as possible. 

 

“...You know OakenAsh?” Homelander asked, voice labored as he talked past his own moans. 

 

“Huh?” Billy blinked at his ceiling; he’d fallen into bed and was getting himself comfortable when he’d heard that. “The…the plant-bender Supe?” His mind wasn’t coming up with a face: just snatches of green hair and green skin and a twink wrapped up in leaves.  

 

“Ecoterrorist,” Homelander corrected, and then whispered, “Yes, fuck, swallow me down, look at me, wanna see your pretty eyes–” 

 

Billy whined and palmed his throbbing cock, and whined again as he realized how closely this mirrored the first night. Except, now, he was listening to something too. He almost asked the Supe if he was naked, almost asked him if he was touching his cock or something else, almost asked if he could come over and hear those noises in person. 

 

“Ecoterrorist,” Homelander repeated. “But, yes. Plant-bender, and a walking…” He groaned, loudly, and the bed on the other end of the call squeaked. He was in bed, and it sounded like he’d started fucking his own fist. “Ride me,” he ordered breathlessly, and Billy was now very, very glad he’d stayed home. “A walking pheromone bomb,” Homelander finished, like he was speaking through his teeth. “He was trying to do something pointless–killing loggers, I think–and when I show up to tell him to do his Green Peace nonsense more quietly , instead of surrendering like a SANE person, he spits this…this pollen into my face–” 

 

Billy snorted in amusement and toyed with the tab of his zipper. Oh, this was going to be fun. “And your hand wasn’t good enough, hmm? You wanted my voice, needed my voice, love ?”  

 

“Wish I could fuck your throat while still hearing you speak,” Homelander snarled, and Billy shivered. “Wanna hear the sounds you make when you take my cock with no prep. You like that, right? You seem like you’d fucking like that.” 

 

He did like that. But that wasn’t Homelander’s business, so he didn’t confirm it. “Mmm. Sorry. Not interested in a Nazi’s sloppy seconds.” 

 

“If you ever fucking mention her again, I’ll pull Starlight’s limbs off one by one and make that moron you pal around with watch.” He said it so sharply, so utterly devoid of eroticism, that Billy’s blood went cold and his erection flagged. 

 

“...Understood,” he said, not meekly, just non-combatively, and now the pants and moans were coming back. 

 

“I almost came over. When I realized that my hand wasn’t going to be enough, I almost came over. Thought I could use your dirty, smirking mouth and pull your hair and–” He stopped, and his bed was squeaking louder, faster, and Billy really wished this wasn’t working for him. “But. No. It would be hard enough to…MMM, yes , fuck, Billy just like that …to control myself on a normal day. But right now? Right now, with Oaken’s bullshit filling up my head? Oh, Billy, I’d kill you.”  

 

Tell me more. Walk me through it. Seriously. Do you have visual references? “Getting close? Sound close.” 

 

“Heh. I wish. No, I’m closer …your voice is…mmm. Good. Your voice is good…” His words got slow and heavy, like his hand was slowing down too, and Billy licked his lips. 

 

One thumb rubbed the button of his jeans, but he didn’t open them. Just whispered: “Slow down. Tease yourself, I want to hear you whine.” 

 

“AH!” Homelander cried out a few more times, and Billy rolled his eyes. 

 

“That finish you off, Johnny boy?” 

 

“Nope, sorry. Still hard, so, don’t hang up.” 

 

If he couldn’t hurt the Supe, he could at least humiliate him. So, Billy scoffed, even as he palmed his cock. “Not gunna sit and listen to you wank all night! If you can’t get off, that’s not my bloody concern.” Gonna make you beg for it, you pathetic cunt. If you’re sweet enough, I’ll talk you off.  

 

“Oh, I’ll make it your concern.” 

 

There was something hot and aggressive in Homelander’s voice, and Billy swallowed hard, feeling just a smidge less in control. “How you gunna do that, love?” He might have purred the pet name, just a little. So the Supe would squirm and make those needy little noises again. 

 

Didn’t work. He could hear the smile in Homelander’s voice, knew it was the one he’d gotten on the first night. That twisted rictus grin he’d had when he’d first offered Billy a shot of the real stuff. “I’ll find that pharmacist that was drooling all over you and fuck her so hard her skeleton’s ground to dust. It wouldn’t be hard; I saw her coat, through the wall, so I know her name, where she works, what she looks like–” 

 

Once, when Billy was 18, he was shagging this girl he’d known back in school, and she'd gotten a bit more attached than he was. Word got back to her that he hadn’t exactly been faithful (though he pointed out later that they’d technically never agreed to be exclusive or nothin’), and she went and cut the other bloke’s brakes. Nearly bloody killed him. 

 

He hadn’t thought about Gemma in years. Or about how hard he’d fucked her afterwards. 

 

But here in the present, well. He couldn’t just ignore a threat like that. “What do I have to do to keep that from happening?” Gemma…Gemma…what happened with Gemma, in the end? 

 

“Jerk your cock. Talk to me while you do. Listen while I tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you, as soon as I’m ready to make your body mine.” He hissed in pleasure and Billy heard him adjusting the phone, maybe putting it on speaker. “I’m desperate here, you know. If you don’t keep me… entertained …” Another soft, pleased sound, and Billy bit his tongue to keep from asking what he was doing. “I’ll have to find somebody else and take it out on them. Somebody warm and soft and with big, pretty eyes that can fill up with tears before I rip them in two.” 

 

Oh, right, Gemma attacked me with a cricket bat and got hauled off to a bloody asylum. Sweet girl. Miss her. “Don’t you got a couple Supes left in that chrome dildo of a Tower you lurk around in? Why don’t you go downstairs and make one of them useful?” Say it’s cuz you only want me. Say it and I’ll send you a fucking video of me cumming all over myself. 

 

When Gemma had shouldered open the door of his flat and come at him with the bat, she’d been wild-eyed and gasping, like she’d just cum, and had told him through a deranged smile that if she had to choose between watching him die and watching him be with someone else, she’d pick watching him die. 

 

Homelander said something better. “They’re boring,” he spat. “I already control them; you’re still fighting me. You’re more fun, Billy.” Then he added: “You should be taking your clothes off by now.”    

 

The phone fell to the bed as he sat up and more or less tore his shirt off. Throwing it to the side, he fell onto his back; his nipples were hard and his body was hot all over. Any power he had in this situation had evaporated. Not even in the same room and he was at the cunt’s mercy. 

 

Not sexy at all. Not even a little bit. 

 

Now holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Billy fumbled with his fly. His cock was throbbing already, and Homelander was full on bloody growling. “Are you naked yet?” 

 

Biting off a moan at the threat lurking behind the words, Billy answered him. “Not yet, fuck, need a tick–” He’d left his jeans on for a reason. He’d been hoping that the denim would be one too many layers. That the Supe would get frustrated, would strip him naked to touch his skin directly. Or, at the very least, undo Billy’s zipper to reach inside his trousers; that would’ve been plenty. 

 

Now, though, it just meant more time between him and jerking his cock. Which was not ideal. 

 

Finally, he kicked his pants off too, and lay naked on his bed. “Oh. Oh good boy,” Homelander said softly, and Billy couldn’t help himself. 

 

“Oi, no, not bloody that, okay? Say whatever the fuck else you want, but if you try to call me that again–” 

 

He almost sounded disappointed when he answered: “You don’t like that?” 

 

“No,” Billy repeated firmly. He might not actually be given the chance to set ground rules, but if the cunt let him, he’d take advantage. “If that’s a deal-breaker, I’m sure that slimy perv in the scales would die for a little of your affection.” 

 

“Not a deal breaker. Mmm. I was just looking forward to praising you, that’s all. What do you like?” 

 

“H-huh?” He wasn’t really jerking his cock yet. Just rubbing the head with his fingertips and occasionally cupping his bollocks. “Just fuckin’ get this over with it. You make me sick, I don’t want to hear you wanking your rapist cock all bloody night.” 

 

“No. Tell me how you like to be talked to. Tell me some of what you like. Then we’ll get to the really good stuff.” There was a loud creak on the other end of the call, like the Supe had changed positions or something. “I like making you feel good, Billy. Nothing else hurts quite as much as wanting me, does it?” 

 

His breath hitched, and he tightened his grip on his cock. Squeezing the head, Billy squirmed and whined: “What’ll you do if I don’t?” 

 

Homelander laughed at him again, and Billy pictured him kneeling on his bed, knees digging into the plush mattress, fucking his fist like it was Billy’s mouth. “Let’s see. What’ll I do if you don’t. How about this…if you don’t tell me what you like to be called in bed, I’m going to hunt down that mute girl and I’m going to–” 

 

“No,” Billy cut him off, and stroked his cock a few times. “No, me, threaten me –”

 

There was a pause. For a few seconds, the only sound he heard was his hand sliding up and down his shaft, and Homelander panting as he did the same. “Ah.” A different ‘ah’ from earlier. This one was soft, a little unbelieving, and then he purred in response: “I should have known. Okay. Okay, baby–” 

 

“Not that.” 

 

“Picky! If you don’t tell me your dirty fantasies, I’ll come by for a visit, and I’ll choke you to death on my cock.” Billy gasped, loudly, and nodded at the phone as if the other man could see him. "I mean it. I’ve jerked off thinking about that before. Hmm. Maybe that’s how I’ll do it, in the end.” 

 

Billy spat into his palm and jerked himself faster, face burning with shame, quaking with something he really wished was terror. “C-call it a punishment,” he muttered, cringing at himself even as his cock twitched under his fingers. “When you’re fucking me, tell me it’s a punishment.” 

 

Distantly, he could hear the bed creaking again through the phone. “That’s what turns you on, huh? Fuck, we’re gonna have so much fun after I get the real you back. I’ll be able to punish you as hard as you like.” When Billy only panted in response, Homelander chuckled at him. “Ready for your punishment?” 

 

Fucking hell, just the word had his eyes rolling back in his head, and he gasped into the phone. Becca had done that for him a few times. But she hadn’t liked it much, he could tell. They’d found the line, and it was several steps short of his darker kinks. Still, the sex was the best he’d ever had (while actually wanting it but that wasn’t a fact he acknowledged often) so he’d never minded much. 

 

But now…well, now he had to keep a violent god happy, and humiliating himself would do that, and besides, the more this degraded him now, the more furious he’d been when he survived, and he did his best work out of his skull on primal rage. So he fessed up a few more details and stroked himself furiously and hardly felt guilty at all. 

 

“Why the fuck did you start calling me Billy?” He couldn’t directly say what he meant yet. He had to know why. Had to know if the mad theory he’d been desperately wanking to was true or not before he said it out loud. “Tell me, please–” Cunt likes when I beg. So did Becca. And Maeve. Fuck, I know what I sound like when I say please, so –”Please!” Sound pretty when I beg. If I sound pretty he’ll let me live. I gotta beg, I get to beg– 

 

Homelander was panting harder now, and it took him a few seconds to answer. “Oh, I see. Do you like it?” He fuckin’ guessed?! “I do too. I always called you that, when I touched myself and thought about hurting you and fucking you and both at the same time.” Ah. Okay. So. He’s been wanking to the thought of me for a very long time. So. That is–

 

Another wave of pleasure rolled through his body, and Billy arched off the mattress. His hand was bordering on too rough, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s nicer to moan,” Homelander continued, and then cooed when Billy laughed, loud and startled. Partly at the statement; partly at the precum already beading in his slit. “And Billy isn’t a pet name. Come on, what do you like? Honey? Sweetheart? Angel?” He paused, as if pondering, and then scoffed. “Slut?” He offered dryly, and Billy whined. “Hmph. Thought so. Bad boy?” Oh dear god I’m going to bloody die. “Oh, Billy, I could hear your heart through the phone! Bad boy, huh? Bad boy, Billy, very bad boy–” 

 

Billy thrashed on his bed, feet kicking his sheets out of place as he tried to swallow down his screams. He’d nearly cum, but held back, not knowing how close Homelander was. Besides, the cunt might punish him for not waiting for permission and well…they wouldn’t want that, much. 

 

He didn’t quite hold back his screams that time, and Homelander growled into the phone. “Take your fucking V tomorrow.” He was not asking, and Billy almost said yes, just so he could beg for a preview of the celebration he’d been promised. “ Take it already; you’re being a goddamn tease.” 

 

“You’re the one teasing,” Billy panted back, and pinched one of his nipples, wishing it was a set of bloodied teeth instead. “Yourself, I mean. Take what you want–I’ll find another way to kill you for it.” 

 

“Heh. One game at a time, Billy. Right now, you’re trying to get me off without touching me at all.” He hissed in pleasure again, and then tried to turn his growl into a purr: “Beg me to tell you what I’d do to you.” After a brief pause, he added: “Or I’ll hurt you .” 

 

And for the record. Billy did NOT scream again. No matter what the Supe said years and years after the fact, the sound he let out was not a scream at all. It was more like a high-pitched whining squeal, if anything, and Billy was adamant with himself that it was out of disgust. Because that voice coming through his phone was dripping with condescension and mockery, like he was indulging in a lover’s embarrassing kink just to shame them for it. 

 

Which, of course, he was. 

 

“Don’t hurt me.” His balls tightened up and he shut his eyes tight, turning his head to bury it in his shoulder. His face, neck, and chest were burning with shame, and his brain was rigid with terror, but his cock loved it, and it had final say when it came to shagging, so– “Please, please love, don’t hurt me. Please, tell me how you’re gonna rape me someday. Please love.” 

 

“Listen to you. So dirty. Are you ashamed of yourself? Good. You should be. Are you close?” 

 

“Ye-yes!” 

 

“Fuck. I’m not.” 

 

His blood ran cold, because behind the lust and smugness, he detected a slight pang of worry. My voice ain’t gonna be enough. Nope. He was not dying like that. No way in hell. So, Billy wrestled down his shame and ramped it up a notch. “Punish me!” He sobbed the word ‘please’ on a loop and Homelander moaned in response. 

 

“Do you want to hear what I was going to do to you, on that first night? When you were too scared to let me use you?” He sounded breathless, more worked up than Billy had heard him so far, and he felt something in his chest go off like a firework. Relief, and something else. 

 

Always got more power than you think you do. Putting all his weight behind the tiny sliver of leverage he had, Billy gave the cunt what he needed. “Yes, yes please love. Tell me everything you were gonna do to me…want some inspiration for what I'm going to do to you , when I’ve got you on your knees, about to bite the big one.” Because he’s wager his last pound that the Supe liked that as much as he did. 

 

Another firework between his ribs: Homelander purred and chuckled and fumbled with his words, clearly flustered at the promise of another brawl. “I was going to rip your clothes to shreds,” he said, and Billy let himself make as many needy noises as he could. Good call; it was like bleedin’ cat-nip to the idiot. “And prep you with my tongue and nothing else. Slather my dick in lube and just force it in. Tell me you’d like that.” 

 

Don’t even have to lie, he’s makin’ it easy on me. “Love it. Want it now.” 

 

“Don’t say that. I need to control myself. Bad little slut, trying to tempt me. You need to be punished. Hard and deep and over and over and over again until the fucking sun comes up and all you can do is drool and take it .”  

 

Yep, this was working. He sounded much more gone than he had a moment before, and Billy could picture him breathless and flushed, hand a blur on his twitching cock. Keep him talking. “Can you really fuck all night?” He’d gone four hours straight once, drugged out of his mind on something he’d never learned the name of, in the bed of two people whose faces he couldn’t recall. 

 

He was pretty sure Homelander could beat four hours. 

 

“Oh. Yes. And then, if you let me rest for an hour…we can go for round two.” He sounded amused more than horny, and Billy flushed deeper. “After you take your medicine, that can be the first thing we test. Your new stamina .” He let Billy whine and plead and scoffed at him in response. “Naughty boy. You’re actually enjoying this?” Yes. Don’t tell anyone. “Good. I told you, that’s the best way to punish you. Mmm. I was gonna spend that first night letting you get used to my dick. Beat you off while I used you. Make your cock like the feeling of me filling up your ass. The second night, I was gonna start exploring your body…” 

 

If Billy could talk, he’d be asking questions: Gonna keep the suit on? Tell me yes. How do I make you fuck me against the ceiling? Can you fuck me in the sky? Did you promise to do that already or did I daydream that? 

 

Voice falling back into moans and keens, Homelander continued: “Really exploring it, I mean. Was gonna tie you to your bed–or mine, if I wanted to kidnap you first–” Oh be my fucking guest. “–And torture you. Candlewax, ice, clamps, electric shocks. Pull your hair and finger your slutty mouth and cut you a little, choke you a little too. Just to see which ones made your heart race, made your cock twitch and your mouth drool.” 

 

Billy considered lying and telling him None of the above, sorry mate, thanks for playing, but he was a bit busy trying to fight off a rising orgasm. It got harder as Homelander kept talking, clearly encouraged by Billy’s sharp, desperate cries. “I don’t trust you to always tell me what you like. And besides, there’s a lot of stuff you used to hate that I’ll convince you to love…when I do it properly .” 

 

His mouth moved on its own, asking the question his cock had submitted from approval. “L-like what–” 

 

“You’re gonna learn to like being a good boy.” 

 

So. Billy came so hard he blacked-out for a few seconds, and when he came back to reality Homelander was laughing again. Tense, breathless laughs: every time Billy heard them he was vividly reminded of knife-wielding nutters hiding in girls’ closets. “Mmm. Oh. Oh Billy …” And there was the closet door creaking open, and Billy legitimately looked round the room, now feeling watched and not alone. 

 

He was, but that didn’t ease the sudden terror. “I don’t think this is enough…” Something squelched, and Billy whined. Just a little. His cum was cooling on his chest and stomach, and his cock felt oversensitive and twitchy. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, I’m using lube because I need something wet . Wet like your dirty mouth.” 

 

 “N-no,” he said, breathlessly. “No, love, we can’t, remember, I’m too delicate–” His mouth watered and his cock stirred, trying to get hard again.

 

“Take the V.” 

 

He sounds desperate. And not the fun kind of desperate. “S-smashed the stuff, I don’t got none.” Billy was also not doing the fun sort of pleading anymore.  

 

“Oh. Shame.” Homelander purred, and Billy heard more wet sounds through the phone. “I’ll just have to control myself.” 

 

“You said you can’t!” 

 

A growl. Short and mean and frustrated. “Well! I’ll have to.” More squishing, faster now. In his mind’s eye, Billy could see the clear, shiny lube drooling down his shaft, squishing between his unbreakable fingers and down between his thighs to stain the sheets. “Because this isn’t enough .” A loud, wet sound: he’d thrust hard into his own fist emphasis, and Billy’s jaw ached again.  

 

“I’m…I’m not coming over there!” His cock was succeeding in getting hard again, and Billy went back to fucking his fist, using his own cum as lube now. 

 

“Mmmmm. Of course not. Of course not, don’t be stupid , I’ll come to you. I want to fuck you in your bed at least once before the end. Wanna make your sheets smell like my skin and then carry your scent back with me.” 

 

“No!” 

 

“Oh, you don’t mean that, you want it–” 

 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK. His heart was doing double-time, robbing his brain of oxygen and heightening the staticy, almost-too-much pleasure of his hand on his cock.“No, you can’t control yourself!” 

 

“I’ll hold still. Let you get on top. Rub our dicks together until we both cum. Mmm. Wanna see you cum again.” 

 

“Again?!” He’s watching me, he has to be, where the fuck is he–  

 

“I’ve watched you. A few times now. I’ve listened more than that. Hell, I listened before I–” He moaned, low and desperate. “I need you. Billy, I need you, so I’ll just have to hold still and control myself–” His bed creaked, reminding Billy that the Supe was well across town. 

 

Not that that actually made him safer, but it gave him another barricade to throw in front of this approaching train. “Can’t you fuck somebody else?!” Surely there are a few people who deserve Death By Iron Cock more than me?! At least TWO, right?!  

 

But Homelander wasn’t having it, and his bed was creaking louder as he bounced his hips off the mattress. “No! It has to be YOU and your voice isn’t enough, telling you what I’d do to you isn’t ENOUGH– Mmm. Talk more. Talk to me . Tell me what you’d do to me.”   

 

So Billy told him. In excruciating detail. About how he’d get on his knees and worship his cock, give it his full fuckin’ attention, for hours if that’s what Love wanted, and Homelander egged him on. Billy was too busy to be disgusted with himself, so he kept talking. 

 

Through his own moans, he explained how he’d put the Supe on his back and straddle his thighs and hump their cocks together just like Love asked, and how he’d do it as fast or slow as Love liked, and could Love pretty, pretty please leave the gloves on if he touched his bad boy’s needy cock? 

 

And if there were more fireworks exploding in his chest when Homelander growled and keened and whispered his name, that was because he was going to live another day, not out of pride or arousal or anything. “What about when I use my fingers in your slutty hole, huh? Do you want my gloves on then, too?” 

 

For the first time in a couple of days, heat rose behind Billy’s eyes. A brief swell of shame and fury at what he was about to say next. But that didn’t stop him. He shut his eyes and moaned in his best i’m-your-pretty-fucktoy voice: “Bad boys don’t get fingers, they hold still and take it.” 

 

And now Homelander was the one swallowing down screams; he sounded delighted, and the bouncing on the other end was continuous now. “Cl-close, Billy! I’m close! Keep fucking talking to me!” 

 

Second orgasm already building, Billy obeyed, describing a few more fantasies for him, even as his eyes repeatedly flared orange-yellow and Gobi desert hot. “–and after the third orgasm you force out of me, when I’m bloody crying for mercy, you kiss my back and tell me you were filming the whole thing–” 

 

He sounded like he was in heat. Yowling Billy’s name in between possessive snarls. It made his eyes roll back in his head, and he almost asked if anybody else had ever turned the cunt on this much. 

 

But he already knew the answer was ‘No’, so he kept talking. “I can still see that cheeky little note you left on me mirror, but it’s fading, I keep waitin’ for you to leave a new one, so I know you were here while I was asleep–” At this point, he was embracing the shame. Like the humiliation (which were different things to him, thank you very much), it was fuel to the fire he’d be starting later. How dare the cunt do this to him? Not just violate him, but twist it all around so he liked it? Evil. Unforgivable. Motivation for Billy to keep finding new and creative ways to kill the disgusting bastard. 

 

Mouth forcing itself back into the shape of a grin–the same one he’d had in the office a week ago, the same one he’d had at Herogasm when he’d come at the Supe with fire in his eyes and blood in his teeth–Billy put an extra layer of bass into his voice and kept right on talking. 

 

“Been dreaming about you!” He sobbed, and nearly cheered when the Supe screamed in pleasure. “About you putting me back in my place. Hurting me, and then pinning me down and forcing your cock into me. I wake up dirty; cummin’ all over myself for you when I’m fuckin’ asleep–” 

 

More screams, louder and sharper and longer, and the bed springs were positively shrieking through the phone, and Billy knew he was at the tipping point but still kicked him the rest of the way over. “Don’t fuck me until after the V,” he begged, and Homelander made a noise Billy had literally never heard before. Grin threatening to ruin his tone, Billy moaned like a whore: “Not until I can take a proper beating! Please, I want it to hurt, I want bruises, pretty bruises like I left on you–” 

 

He had to let the phone drop the bed again as Homelander wailed his name, thrashing so violently on his own bed that Billy was a mite concerned for the floor. He barely noticed his own climax, busy riding a different high.

Smug glee. A rare combination, one Billy had only experienced towards a few people in his life. One had been a genuinely mental tosser named Freddie Arthur, whom Billy had once baited into pulling a ruddy gun during an argument. Wrenching it clean out of the moron’s hands and pistol-whipping him so hard his jaw never recovered had been a bliss that Billy floated around in for days. 

 

It was a right pale shadow to what he was feeling right now, as Homelander came down from an orgasm so good it left him laughing and speechless. “Billy, oh my god, Billy …” 

 

Annnd there it is. Upper hand successfully wrestled back, Billy used his clean hand to tap SPEAKER on his phone, and then tucked it under his skull. His headache, he noted, wasn’t gone, but it had dulled significantly. Briefly, he studied the ceiling and wondered if he should gloat or if he should feign being whipped. “Put back in his place” and all that nonsense. 

 

Choosing neither, he flipped his switch back to rage, and spat the phone: “There! I bloody well held up my end of the deal! So I’m hangin’ the fuck up–” 

 

“Hey, don’t! That’s rude. Running off right after sex.” He dropped his voice to a coo, and Billy growled wordlessly as he talked: “I said some mean things. Shouldn’t I soothe you? Kiss your wounds? Tell you that you’re a good–” 

 

“Watch it,” Billy warned, and groped for his shirt. He was far too tired to be bothered to get up for a towel, but some of his spunk had to come off, or he was never getting to sleep. “Mean it, mate, I hate that shite.” 

 

“Fine. Have it your way…” There was some brief shuffling on the other end. “So. Not to kill the mood–” 

 

“Why not, you kill everything else I care about.” 

 

“–But Ryan said something…odd?” 

 

Billy froze. Suddenly more awake, he sat up, and tossed the soiled shirt aside. He picked up the phone and asked: “Odd?” Anxiety crept up his spine. Which kinda odd do you mean? Nazi odd? Serial killer odd? Or ‘i’m fuckin’ 11’ odd? 

 

Homelander snorted, and his bed creaked again. Like he was getting more comfortable. “Calm down. He…” A soft laugh. “He referenced Better Call Saul, at me? I–I don’t think he’s old enough for–”

 

Billy groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The cunt was chuckling. Almost sounded a little embarrassed. Billy tried to hate it, but he was busy trying to be a bloody parent. “Have you set ANY ground rules with him?” 

 

“Of course I did.” 

 

“About the telly?” The hesitation answered the question, and Billy swore at him a few times. That just made the Supe laugh again, and Billy’s eyes were blazing as he snapped: “You have to tell him what he can and can’t watch, you bleedin’ idiot! Kids is curious, AND stupid! For fuck’s sake, didn’t you–” 

 

The laughter died. There was a pause, and Billy frowned at the phone. “Of course I had rules about that.” His tone was flat now, and Billy cringed despite himself. “That’s why I didn’t want– I thought he’d.” He trailed off, and Billy heaved a sigh at him. 

 

“Look, whatever. S’alright. Just, tell him that…I’m not fucking sure, you just gotta set boundaries for him, he ain’t old enough to do that himself yet. Understand?” 

 

“...I can try. I don’t know how to do that, but. Yeah.” 

 

Another silence hung between them. Billy knew instinctively not to end the call yet. 

 

The reason why came to him a few seconds later; kicking himself at not thinking of it before now, he blurted out: “He also needs a bleedin’ therapist , while you’re at it.”

 

That fact had occurred to him earlier that day. He’d been watching another one of Homelander’s insufferable interviews, one of the ones where they let him stand, and had once again been studying his posture. Scowling at the telly, watching those muscle-bound arms disappear behind the Supe’s back, he remembered that psychiatrist from over a bleedin’ decade prior. 

 

He’d been lagered, three thousand sheets to the wind, and he’d slurred up at her from the party host’s couch: Kay then love, what the fuck do you make of this? Couldn’t remember what wretched episode of his life he’d dumped on her lap. Just remembered her kneeling next to him and telling him, very gently, that he should have seen a therapist. That trauma could fester like an infected wound, could lurk in the dark corners of your cracked up head, not pouncing until years later. 

 

He didn’t want Ryan to be like him. And he’d die to keep him from being like the cunt on the other end of this phone call. 

 

Homelander was quiet for several seconds. “Shit. I can’t argue with that.” 

 

Billy blinked at the phone. “Damn right you can’t. Kid’s been through the bloody ringer. Get him a head shrinker, a good one, and maybe, we can salvage him before he’s a fuckin’ thing like you.” 

 

“So hurtful. Are you always this testy after sex?” 

 

“That wasn’t sex, you stupid cunt. That was a long distance rape. You’re a talented predator, I’ll give you that.” Assured that Ryan wasn’t fully corrupted yet, he slumped back down on his pillow. The phone he set beside his head, and closed his eyes. 

 

“Not satisfied?” Homelander asked softly. Billy was picturing him again. Under his own sheets, holding the phone to his ear again, hair mussed and face still flushed from what Billy had done to him with just his voice. Heh. If only you knew exactly how satisfied I am, love. “I could always come over still. Give you a few more, until you’re happy. My head’s clear now, I promise.” There was a tease in those words. Like he really was in control of himself, but was willing to pretend that he wasn’t. 

 

“NO. I’m knackered; I'm going to sleep, so I can wake up and rinse off the scum you just left on my soul. Do not come sniffin’ around for another go, got it? This was one time!”

 

Homelander sounded lazy and pleased when he answered: “Of course, William, anything you want. One time, never again. You know. Until I change my mind.” A brief pause, and once again, Billy really did feel like he was being watched. Or maybe he was just sensing Homelander hearing his heartbeat through the phone as it started to speed up again. “This was so much fun, gorgeous.” Billy bit his lip, refusing to make any sound at all. “You made it so good for me. Worked so hard.” Heat was gathering in his ears now; in his eyes, no lasers, only stars. More fireworks were popping inside his chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Wait up for me?” 

 

“...Not like I want you creepin’ around while I sleep,” Billy lied hoarsely, and Homelander cooed again, wishing him sweet dreams before hanging up. 

 

Billy came twice more before he finally passed out. 

 

It wouldn’t be until morning that he remembered his balcony doors were hanging open. In fact, he wouldn’t remember that until he shuffles, bleary-eyed and dehydrated, from his bedroom, and found them shut tight. After gaping at them for a few seconds, he’ll turn around, and fight the urge to run as he goes to his bathroom. 

 

Breath coming fast and excited, Billy will twist the knobs in his shower, getting water boiling hot, and watch with anticipation as the mirror fogs up. And there it will be, another note, just a precise and neat and skin-crawling as before: YOU TALK IN YOUR SLEEP. 

 

He’ll then read it over and over again as he sits on the edge of the tub and jerks his cock until it’s sore, already quivering with excitement over what’s coming later.