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Homelander isn’t sure what has been going on today. What he assumed would be a nice way to reconcile and maybe get better acquainted with his father turned into a miserably inefficient hike through the woods during which all they did was trade barbs. The ratio is about 3:1 by Homelander’s count because he hadn’t been looking for a fight— had even been touched that Soldier Boy wanted to help him locate the V1. But Soldier Boy seems intent on making every single thing that Homelander does or says into fodder for the next insult.
It gets to the point that Homelander is considering flying off and leaving him to find his own way, even though his father does not seem blessed with a superhuman sense of direction and might not find Fort Harmony on his own before nightfall. But just as he considers this, they finally make it to the clearing and see the abandoned research building they were looking for. As they walk towards it, Homelander wants to make amends, and take back some of what he said earlier, even if his father won’t deign to do the same. He opens his mouth several times, closing it again when he can’t find the right words. Fortunately he’s walking behind Soldier Boy and his father sees none of this hesitant behavior. But as they near the doorway, Homelander can’t help himself. He’s still overwhelmingly grateful for the help, however grudgingly provided, and without really considering what he’s doing grabs at Soldier Boy’s hand so they can walk in together.
Soldier Boy yanks his hand away violently, as if he’s been burned, and Homelander has to resist the urge to fight to hold on.
“You afraid of the dark or something?” his father growls.
Homelander doesn’t have any snappy retort, surprised at himself for even trying. But as they walk down the dank hallway, dimly lit and only because many of the windows have been blown out and are letting in sunlight, he keeps feeling the urge to turn around and not only hold hands but hug his father. It’s becoming a strangely unbearable impulse and it’s taking all of Homelander’s concentration not to turn around and force his repressed stick-in-the-mud of a father into a warm embrace. They peek into various rooms, stopping in the ones that still have some remnants of storage furniture that could potentially hold some leftover V1 within them. Homelander watches as his father rattles metal drawers of desks and cabinets open, often tearing them off the hinges in his impatient haste, and he realizes he starts to feel a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, his entire body starting to itch at the absurd prospect of sitting in his father’s lap. It’s an innocent enough desire, but Homelander needs to physically blink the vision away and breathe deeply.
“What’re you staring at, you creep?”
“N-nothing,” Homelander supplies a little too quickly, averting his gaze elsewhere around the room, pretending to search for V1 while his thoughts are racing. It’s hard not to feel guiltily caught in the act when his father’s words sound so harsh.
“Good,” Soldier Boy grumbles. “Because I was beginning to think you wanted to fuck me again.”
“Ok— for the record—“ Homelander points his finger right back at his accuser. “I never wanted to fuck you, and you’re the one who brought it up for some reason. I just assumed coming out of cryostorage scrambled your brain a little bit, but you seem really obsessed with this id—“ Homelander realizes he’s talking a bit too animatedly and at length but even as he cuts himself off, Soldier Boy slams him into the wall and starts making out with him.
Homelander somehow experiences a mixture of intense physical relief and very strong mental distress. This is his father. He doesn’t feel like he can shove him away. But every part of his brain is screaming that this is wrong. He doesn’t do anything, goes limp and passive, horrified to find that the sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach has evolved into an unmistakable erection. He feels his eyes lighting up, and tears running down his cheeks, cheeks that feel like they’re burning up with shame, because this is just wrong, he didn’t want this, he just wanted some bonding, some physical touch from his father, not marred by some perverted lust. He’s in such a daze that his guard is down and Soldier Boy manages to shove him away, slam his head right through a plaster and brick wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, and Homelander realizes he sounds just as rattled as Homelander feels.
“What am I doing?” Homelander asks, scandalized. He’s the one climbing out of the broken wall and his father is blaming him? “I have a better question, what are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” Soldier Boys says as he stomps out of the room. “I am not, and will never be attracted to someone like you!” his voice echoes down the hallway as he apparently walks even faster once out of sight.
“Who the fuck is asking,” Homelander mutters to himself, but there’s clearly something amiss with both of them. As freaky as it felt to be molested by his own dad, Homelander still felt gratified to have their bodies touch in so many places. Against his own will seemingly, pictures of them rubbing against each other, Soldier Boy pushing him into the wall with his hips, start to cloud his mind. Homelander feels overheated. He breathes hard, as if that could cool him down but immediately notices how musty and stale the air is in the building. Not only is it damp, it’s full of dust that he can see floating around where the sunlight streams in through the broken glass. He breathes in a lungful of air, trying to bring his body back to normal, but things only get worse. The feeling in the pit of his stomach has spread to his erection, yes, but it’s also spreading elsewhere, his balls, his taint, his ass, even his lower back which he tilts back to relieve the strange feeling. His fingertips tingle, desperate to… sink into flesh. He so desperately wants to touch someone that it’s making him cry, and he gets down on his knees to cope with the borderline painful sensations of desire in his body. He has no idea where Soldier Boy is by now. He hears voices, many voices actually, so there’s someone else here, which should worry him, but he can’t seem to focus or care about anything except wishing whoever it is would get closer instead of yelling expletives and slamming doors.
His wish seems to come true when a random guy runs into the room he’s in and stops in his tracks with comic abruptness. Or at least Homelander would find it comical if he wasn’t in such severe discomfort.
“Please…” he croaks out, surprised at how raspy his voice sounds. He can’t hold up on his knees anymore, he sinks to all fours, his back and most of his body just throbbing with wanting to be touched. He can’t say much, because his mouth is hanging open, panting.
“Mais, c’est quoi ce bordel?!!” the man who scurried in shouts in disbelief, and Homelander realizes he knows who this is. Not that it matters. Nothing seems to matter at the moment. Homelander isn’t even sure what he wants at this point, except to be touched. “Even you are a victim to this thing?”
Homelander is irritated because he can barely parse what the man is saying and certainly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Before he has a chance to try to say anything, the man, the French one— Homelander can never remember his name because he had 50 aliases or something— bounds out as quickly as he appeared.
Homelander feels sick. He lets out a very undignified moan, but he can’t care anymore. Let his father complain. If Homelander ever even sees him again. It feels like he’s trapped in some insane nightmare, to the point where Homelander wonders if he’s about to wake up with a start in his apartment any moment now— as soon as the next disturbing thing happens.
Maybe it’s about to happen. Homelander hears footsteps. Traipsing, meandering footsteps, nothing like the spry scamper of the French guy. This sounds like it could be some sort of monster or half dead zombie— Homelander never really watched horror movies so he isn’t well versed in this stuff, and he wonders if he can even conjure up a traditional monster in his dream. At least the setting seems appropriate, and at least that thing with his father didn’t actually happen, although it’s disturbing that his brain even went there at all.
The footsteps sound like they’re traveling down a different corridor, and whatever this is just might walk past him. Homelander is keen to just wake up already so he moans again, purposely this time, hoping to summon whoever this. He hears the steps change course, start nearing him, and is gratified that he’s lucid enough to control his nightmare this much at least.
What rounds the corner isn’t any monster though, but none other than William Butcher. He’s not moving as Homelander has ever seen him move— hand on the wall to steady himself, feet dragging. He’s sweating buckets. Is William sick again in his dream?
“William,” Homelander manages to say, and even gives a cordial tilt of the head even though he’s still down on all fours and doesn’t feel capable of getting up. He almost says ‘help me’ out loud, but that’s ridiculous. Why would William, his most worthy adversary, help him when he’s down. It’s not like he ever plays by any gentlemanly rules.
“Omelander…” William intones right back. They sound like drooling idiots, just saying each other’s names. Homelander realizes he really is drooling a little bit, mouth watering at the prospect of being touched. Maybe this is a tiny slice of reality from where his body is asleep in bed, mouth open.
They don’t say anything else. William careens towards him, barely makes it around him before slumping down on his back, hips lined up.
Homelander saw it coming but is still surprised at the sudden weight on him, at the sudden insistent press of William’s jeans against his ass, his hips nudging him forward. It feels like such a relief that Homelander is crying tears, laughing a little bit, gets down on his elbows and buries his eyes into his forearms enjoying William’s body forcing him down. Homelander’s body is still throbbing, his back still only feeling comfortable if he’s arching backwards.
“Get this bloody cape outta the way…” William mutters with the same tone his father has when he talks about his cape. He rips it violently off of Homelander’s shoulders and throws it on the dirty floor. The objection dies on Homelander’s tongue because he just can’t be bothered— not when they’re so close. William yanks his pants down and slaps his ass hard. Homelander sometimes forgets that William is endowed with super strength now, but his dream apparently keeps track of such things.
“I’ll have ya,” William mutters close to his ear because he’s leaned down against his back again, guiding himself in between Homelander’s cheeks.
“Go ahead already, fuck,” Homelander groans, toes and fingers tensing as he feels something pushing him open.
“I’m going to kill ya one of these days,” William says, his words seemingly more coherent and his movements more coordinated now that they’re locked together.
“Go ahead and try,” Homelander mutters, breathing hard because his body isn’t used to this sensation, and he finds it both exhilarating and frightening that it feels as amazingly satisfying as it does— as if this is something his body has been awaiting for decades.
William fucks him hard— jackhammers him, really— and it’s dry and shouldn’t be pleasant but Homelander’s head is lolling around on the floor, not even caring about the dirt that’s getting into his hair and his eyes and his drooling mouth. But in the midst of this, somewhere far away they hear an explosion and there’s a very strange sensation, like a shiver, but it doesn’t pass just through Homelander’s body, or William’s body, but feels like it affects the entire building. Homelander’s eyes snap open and suddenly the world around him feels topsy turvy. It feels like he wakes up from a dream but he’s very far from his bed, his face still pressed into the floor, William Butcher’s hand still grabbing his hair, holding his head down, their bodies flush against each other, in flagrante. William’s not moving anymore though, stock still, and slowly releases his hand from Homelander’s head, slowly pulls out and stands up, looking confused. Were they both just in some trance? Neither one has anything to say, both staring at the floor. Homelander gets up, hikes his pants back up, refastens them, refastens his belt, ignoring the throbbing sensation in his ass. His cape looks awful when he lifts it off the floor— damp from landing in some unidentifiable puddle that Homelander can only hope is rainwater that permeated the building, but he puts it on anyway. William throws him a strange look, as if he’s blaming him for this whole thing. He’s also back in order, although he had a lot less to fix about himself than Homelander did
“Fort Harmony eh?” William finally says to break the awkward silence. They seem to have independently come to the same resolution— to pretend nothing happened in this room, even though their bodies are still far from calming down, ready to resume.
“Weird place,” Homelander says.
“Vought seems to own a lot o’those.”
Homelander wants the small talk to end and figure out where his father is right now, and what he may have gotten himself into in this psychotropic labyrinth while Homelander was incapacitated.
“Cheers then,” William ends the conversation for him, and saunters out of the room. Homelander follows him out a minute later, making sure to head down the opposite direction he saw William take.