tachipirina 500

There’s nothing quite like drawing blood everywhere… I’ll let myself out….

leafs crunch beneath their boots. it’s been hours since they started walking— their legs don’t ache, thanks to they’re super bodies. technically they don’t even get physically tired over walking such distances, but homelander sure is getting tired of seeing tree after tree after…

“are you sure you don’t wanna fly the rest of the way?”

this is the third time he asks. anyone else would have a pant in their voice by now, but homelander’s breath is steady.

“jesus… no, stop fucking asking me that. have you ever actually used your feet before or they just as useless as your cape?”

despite expecting this answer from soldier boy, he was hoping he would agree this time. 

of course he’s glad that his dad actually agreed to spend time with him. somehow —by standing nervously outside his room until soldier boy had to yell "alright, enough standing out there like some creep. if you want something come in and ask for it like a man."— he managed to convince him to take a day off to visit his cabin with him.

he wasn’t even expecting him to agree, so when he did, homelander had to restrain himself from doing a few happy jumps. he didn’t wanna be too obvious about how excited he was to spend some quality time with his daddy.

but this isn’t what he had in mind at all.

his cape keeps getting caught in bushes and the sound of twigs snapping is starting to annoy him. it’ll take atleast another 20 minutes until they reach his cabin.

even though homelander is the one leading the way, he walks a few paces behind his dad— falling in line comes naturally to him when he’s with the soldier.

“I’m just saying..”

soldier’s boys head whips around and he glares at him so hard, he forgets to finish his sentence.

“if you ask me that one more time, I’ll shove my fist so far up your ass it’ll come out on the other side.”

homelander stares back at him with wide eyes.

“we clear?”

for a moment he splutters.

“yeah, yeah, i got it..”

the rest of the way conversation is sparse.

————

when homelander finally spots the wooden logs making up the cabin instead of a tree, he sighs out in relief. the sun is almost done setting by the time they arrive.

soldier boy doesn’t even ask before opening the door and letting himself in. homelander stands waiting in the doorframe, while his father scans over the place.

he doesn’t say anything, just nods with a frown that says “not bad” and it almost feels like approval.

homelander finally lets himself in and closes the door behind him. the walls muffle the sounds of the forest— the only thing he hears now are soldier boy’s footsteps as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

he follows him, taking his gloves off and laying them onto the counter.

“i hope your fridge is stocked, I’m dying for a drink.”

it sounds more like an order than a question. either way he doesn’t get the chance to answer before the fridge is popped open.

of course it’s stocked, it always is. homelander has never bothered with it before, since vought has always taken care of that.

his father grabs a beer and hands it over to him.

but homelander doesn’t drink alcohol— one of the only few times he drank was when he ordered that manhattan in order to impress soldier boy…

he ended up only drinking a single sip before leaving the rest standing out for the next cleaning lady to collect.

it didn’t even taste good. he doesn’t understand why everyone is so—

he must’ve been staring for too long, because soldier boy raises his brows.

“are you gonna keep eye fucking that all night?”

he nudges him with the bottle to emphasise his point.

reluctantly homelander takes it from his hand. the cold glass feels wet against his palm.

he tries to act like the prospect of drinking alcohol, beer out of all things, doesn’t make bile rise in his throat. but soldier boy is already furrowing his brows and shaking his head.

“fuckin’ weirdo..”

he says under his breath while reaching for a second beer.

he makes his way towards the couch, stepping around homelander like he’s just another piece of furniture. like this isn’t even his cabin.

his brain takes its sweet time catching up, before he once again follows the soldier— this time towards the couch.

his father pats the empty space next to him. it’s such a small gesture, yet it makes the blonde’s chest bloom with warmth.

his cape is promptly swooped aside as he joins his father on the couch.

he’s about to reach for the bottle opener laying on the couch table, but soldier boy snaps of the cap with his bare thumb. right. he almost forgot they could do that..

he copies the motion. it’s not as elegant as when his father does it, but that stops mattering as soon as he realises his dad is watching him with the slightest hint of a smile.

there’s no way of knowing wether it was just his imagination and he doesn't get the chance to check before soldier boy takes his first swig of beer.

he choses to believe it was real.

homelander sniffs the liquid first. his nose scrunches up automatically when the bitter aroma hits him. he takes a small sip anyway and of course it tastes just as bad as it smells.

he struggles to swallow, meanwhile soldier boy is already taking the next big sip and relaxing into the couch.

"what's with that face, boy?"

the husky voice interrupts. homelander makes a dissatisfied hum before answering.

"how can you drink this stuff?"

it's a genuine question.

soldier boy blinks at him. there's that furrow in his brows again.

“what, you don’t like beer?”

“well, no.. it’s just—“

"you’re acting like you never drank booze before."

homelander has that exaggerated look of shock on his face again, same one he had back when he asked him if he fucked him after being defrozen.

"what? no, of course I've drank before.. plenty of times..."

he trails of and soldier boy just stares at him like he's some kind of alien.

...

"what?!"

"you're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying. why would I lie about that?"

"I don't fucking know.."

soldier boy sighs in exasperation. seriously, could his son get any weirder? what kind of 40 something year old doesn’t drink??

"..you seriously never been sauced before?"

“sauced?”

“drunk.”

“of course I have, just.. don’t do it often.”

yeah, that’s a bad liar if he’s ever seen one.

“take a proper swig then.”

homelander wants to refuse.

he can’t.

not when his dad gives him that expecting look while commanding him like a soldier. his eyes are all over him and homelander can’t help but feel the need to prove himself in them.

the bottle meets his lips in a hurry, the liquor floods his mouth. immediately his body begins to fight.

he chokes and has to pull back from the bottle again. he slaps his hand across his mouth and forces himself to swallow.

the aftertaste leaves him shivering as little droplets of liquor dribble from the corner of his mouth.

“christ.. that’s just pathetic. give me that.”

soldier boy rips the bottle from his hands.

he messed up, didn’t he?

how embarrassing. choking on his liquor like that and in front of the one man he actually respects out of all people. he should just—

his head is yanked back harshly, fingers finding their way between blonde strands. he can’t stop the yelp that escapes him.

“open wide.”

his mouth stays open. he doesn’t get the chance to understand what’s happening before the bitter taste violates his tongue again.

the hand in his hair holds his neck at an uncomfortable but steady angle. he should try fighting out of it, he probably could.

instead he goes limp lime a kitten that’s been grabbed by the scruff.

it’s embarrassing that a little touch like that is enough to make him pliant. dazed eyes shift towards his father.

his flexed biceps bulge against the fabric— strong arms that could protect him. hold him. his fingers are thick, hands calloused, big, manly. he looks at them like they could hold the world.

the touch is already gone, leaving homelander cold and needy. he leans in, chasing after it. the liquid getting stale inside his mouth.

“swallow.”

he does as he’s told with a sour expression.

still, it goes down much easier this time.

“can’t do shit by yourself, can you?”

brows furrow above those wet little eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” he’s out of breath.

he buries his face in his father’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweat and sandalwood.

“what the fuck.”

rough hands shove him away by the shoulders. the rejection hurts much more than the bruising grip. actually, he doesn’t mind the physical pain at all, the lack of it is much worse.

when he reopens his eyes, his father is no longer sitting beside him, but standing in front of him instead.

“wait— don’t go, I’m sorry—“

that gets him a slap in the face. it stings— he wants to cuddle up in the burn. a child who keeps putting his hand on the burning stove just because it’s warm.

“stop fucking apologising.”

disappointment is written all over his face, but there’s something else too. pity perhaps.

how that sniveling excuse of a man came out of his balls eludes him. he should leave him and his daddy issues right then and there. he should walk out the door and never look back— go on with his life and pretend like he never happened.

but he doesn’t, something stops him— an itch he can’t quite scratch and doesn’t want to name. the so very primal urge to look after his young.

despite everything, they still share the same blood. he wishes he wouldn’t remind him so much of himself. before he got used to being beaten bloody, of course.

but that’s how you teach ‘em, isn’t it?

maybe he couldn’t raise him back then, but maybe he can fix him.

who else do they have, if not each other?

“you need daddy’s help so fucking bad? then ask for it, you goddamn pussy.”

homelander is taken aback.

is he serious? or is he just looking for a way to humiliate him? 

“wha— I..”

another slap echoes through the room.

“wrong answer, buddy.”

he just needs to roughen him up a little, that’s it. it worked for him after all.

“either you cooperate, or I walk. right now.”

it’s an empty threat, but it fills his son with dread nonetheless. he figures he doesn’t have much dignity left to lose anyway.

“hold on! ok, I— help me. please. they— no one ever taught me how to do anything on my own.. I’m stupid a— and dumb and I need you… dad.”

adorable, like a little rabbit who is faced with death he scrambles. but death never comes. the hand on his head doesn’t kill, it ruffles his hair.

“see, that wasn’t so hard, kiddo.”

homelander feels like he just snorted a line of cocaine. (probably, he wouldn’t actually know.)

all that fatherly validation he’s been craving since the day he gained consciousness was just served to him on a silver platter.

a little touch and some praise. that’s all it took. kiddo.

john, a man starved to the bone and ben, who just offered him a feast. 

they lock eyes, he looks at him like he’s something divine. all slaps forgotten.

“you think you can drink that on your own now, big boy?”

homelander can barely form a coherent thought, let alone make a decision. he shakes his head.

“you need daddy’s help?”

john crumbles.

he nods.

strongest man alive, what a joke. here he is begging his daddy for help. ben should punish him for being so weak, it’s what his dad would’ve done.

“say it.”

so why does he go easy on him?

“help me.. please.”

a fond smile graces soldier boy’s lips. seems like his boy can take an order, maybe he can teach him a thing or two after all.

“I’ll help you this time, but next time you try it in on your own, ok?”

his baby blues light up at the prospect of there being a next time. he doesn’t even care what it is that soldier boy wants from him, he’d nod eagerly either way.

anything to make his daddy proud.

his free hand finds its way to john’s cheek. without hesitation he nuzzles into it. he’s needy with it, closing his eyes and whimpering sweetly.

his father pushes his thumb against his lips. he wraps them around it instinctively, but soldier boy shakes his head.

“no. open up.”

his eyes and mouth open at the same time. ben’s thumb is on his lower lip, forcing his mouth to stay parted.

“atta boy.”

the moan he responds with is obscene. it goes straight to ben’s cock—

wait.

what.

ben realises, with horror, that he has officially sunken down to his son’s level of weirdness and that, with even more horror, he’s not exactly opposed to it.

it might be too late to stop now (it’s not), so he lifts the bottle and takes a sip himself first (he really doesn’t want to stop). the boy watches his demonstration with eager eyes, that follow the bottle even after it’s pulled away and laid unto his lower lip.

ben tips the bottle and john accepts the liquid without resistance this time. he barely tastes it, all he knows now are the fingers on his skin and the pair of eyes eyes set on him.

the scene is absurd and he just knows john is getting off on it, given what he knows about his history of questionable kinks.

not that he’s in any position to judge him.

he‘s sucking and moaning around the bottle like it‘s something else entirely. what a sight.

god, this is so wrong.

before he knows it the bottle is empty. it’s pulled away with an obscene squelch. opening slick with spit, that glistens in the moonlight spilling through the windows.

what a perfect thought.

he doesn’t know what comes over him as he catches his son’s wet lips with his own. the kiss tastes of malt and rotten innocence.

john moans into it and he uses the chance to push his tongue into his mouth. obedient little thing that he is, he lets him.

more than that, he just melts right under him.

there’s no fight for dominance. john takes everything he gives him like a good little soldier and it irritates him beyond comprehension.

he pulls away with a grunt.

“you kiss like a girl.”

john blinks at him, head fuzzy with affection and alcohol.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

ben scoffs at the look of genuine confusion on his face.

“if you want something, you gotta take it. don’t just lay there. come on. show me what you got. kiss me like a man.”

john stills for a moment.

slowly, tremblings hands creep towards his chest, gripping him by the vest. he doesn’t pull just yet.

“what are you waiting for?”

his boy looks up at him, forehead wrinkled. he takes a deep, shuddering breath. his hands keep squeezing the vest, making it creak under the pressure.

“you don’t need to wait for a start signal, kid. take what’s yours already.”

ben feels the fingers tighten before he is lunged forward. teeth crash against teeth, the couch protests beneath them.

john’s grip doesn’t loosen, like he’s afraid he might vanish if he lets him go.

it’s filthy, the way their spit mingles, tongues pressed against one another. this time john actually tries to put a fight.

not that it amounts to much.

ben pushes his tongue down, exploring every inch of his son’s mouth till he’s almost gagging.

he yanks him away by the hair, hot breaths still stirring in the air.

john’s a mess, all dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. cute.

“stop going easy on me, boy. you couldn’t break me if you tried.”

john straight up growls— an animalistic noise from the back of his throat, teeth bared and lips curled.

he doesn’t expect to be thrown against couch table. or rather, straight through it. with the force his son throws him, it splits in half. ben lands on the floor with shards scattering all around him.

john crawls onto him, uncaring of the splinters that try to bore through his unbreakable skin. 

he presses their hips flush together, panting hard into his dad’s face. like an animal, that is seconds away from losing its restraint.

he leans down, they’re mouths crash together. messy and rough. fucking perfect.

john starts grinding into him, their erections straining against too tight suits. but no force could pull them apart at this moment.

his hands explore everywhere they can reach. his shoulders, chest, hips. it feels so good to touch him, really touch him.

like he’s been waiting for this all along.

the way his muscles contort beneath his hands, the way his body is hot and heavy and real beneath him. he’s almost glad the suit prevents them from skin to skin contact, he’s not sure if he could handle it.

he grinds faster, harder, moaning into his father’s mouth. ben’s hand reaches into his hair again, the other lands on his hip.

with inhumane strength he cradles his baby even closer. bodies pressed flush together until they could be mistaken as one. in a way they are.

the room smells of sex even though neither of them have taken off a single peace of clothing.

it’s so much better than smelling the straps inside the cryochamber. this way john’s sensitive nose can pick up everything. the fresh sweat, the liquor on his breath, traces of shampoo from this morning’s shower. the arousal all over his body.

he holds him down like his life depends on it. ben could probably push him off, yet he doesn’t. he lets himself be used as some fucked up sort of practice doll.

learning by doing, right?

john finally pulls away from his mouth to catch his breath, but he never stops feverishly rutting against him. ben grabs him by the hips, guiding them into shared rhythm where they meets each others thrusts.

“that’s more like it, baby. doing so good.”

john drops his heavy head into the crook of his neck, whimpering sweet noises into the skin. ben shivers at the vibration of his voice.

“f—fuck, oh god…” john mewls.

he presses kisses, more tongue than lip, onto his throat, licking up the salty sweat like it’s honey. it tastes of salvation.

his dad plants a kiss on the top of his head in response. john almost dies right then and there.

his orgasm crashes over him with the all gentleness of a hammer. he can’t help but whine and drool all over his daddy’s suit as his hands guide his trembling hips through his orgasm. 

“yeahh, let it all out.”

when the high finally dies down, he practically collapses onto the soldier. his underwear soaked in cum, his eyes soaked in tears.

huh. where did those come from?

his dad gently rubs his back, while he sniffles quietly into his chest.

“I’m so—“

he catches himself. 

“shh, it’s okay. i got you, kid.”

they let themselves quietly sink into the embrace. for the first time john feels safe in someone else’s arms. 

his breathing calms, when he nuzzles into his father’s chest. big, warm hands continue to pet him. sobs getting quieter.

it’s been a long time since he last enjoyed feeling small.

ben presses playful kisses into his hair, getting a whiff of milk with undertones of blood. the combination is oddly fitting for him.

he feels the boy suddenly tense in his arms. he unburies his face, looks at him with those big eyes, furrows his brows, looks down, looks up, looks down again—

“what’s wrong?”

“you didn’t..” he mumbles.

ah.

ben can’t stop himself from chuckling.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head, daddy can take of himself.” he ruffles his hair again.

john doesn’t look very satisfied with his answer. 

“you told me i should take what i want.”

“yes?”

instead of responding, john reaches down to unbuckle his dad’s belt. oh, so that’s where this is going.

ben decides to let it play out.

he pulls down his pants, just enough to reveal his underwear. drool collects in his mouth at the sight of the very visible outline.

one deep breath later he pulls his cock out and his hands start to tremble again.

a gloved hand covers his own. they lock eyes silently. it’s okay, you’re safe.

he begins to stroke, ben guides him with his hand.

slow strokes turn faster quickly.

he knows the rhythm is right when his father begins to groan under him and his hand falls to the side.

he thinks about what he himself likes doing while masturbating. he tries teasing the slit with his thumb, which gets him an actual moan.

fuck, that sounded nice.

“you like that?” am i doing good? 

“hah— you ain’t half bad.”

his own breathing suddenly grows heavier, as he gathers up drops of precum and uses them to slick things up. he has to resist the urge to lick them from his fingers instead.

“don’t give me that shit— tell me you like it.” tell me I’m doing good. please. 

“fucking christ—“

“say it.”

a harsh glare.

“I won’t let you cum unless you do.”

his hand stills.

ben scoffs.

“you little bastard.”, he rolls his eyes, “fine.”

his hand starts slowly moving again, even though he hasn’t said anything yet.

“f—fuck, it feels good. you’re doing good.”

the hand twitches. huh.

“doing such a good job, my boy. mmgh— come on, make your daddy proud.”

it looks like john is the one getting a hand job with the way his brows scrunch upwards and his mouth falls open at the praise. but that doesn’t last for long—

ben won’t last much longer. he tries to keep his noises low, but a few moans slip out anyway.

“h—holy fuck. just like that. ah— atta boy.”

ben’s head falls back, eyes closing, as he spills into his son’s hand. he strokes him through it, trying to replicate what his daddy did for him earlier. quick learner, huh?

he thinks they’re finally done, but john decides it’s a good idea to lift his hand to his mouth and lick the cum from his fingers.

it’s just salty semen, kind of disgusting if you think about it, but he acts like it’s 5 star meal. moaning around his fingers, looking at his daddy through his lashes like some fucking freak.

if he didn’t just cum, the sight would’ve probably gotten him hard

when he’s finally done cleaning his fingers he presses one last kiss to his dad’s mouth, before laying down next to him.

ben stuffs his cock back into his underwear, zips his pants up and pull out a pack of cigarettes from god knows where.

he puts one between his lips, turning towards his son.

“you got a lighter?”

he doesn’t except him to use his fucking laser eyes to light it, but it happens so quickly he can’t even react.

“…or that works too.”

smoke fills his lungs, cigarette set snugly between his fingers. john cuddles closer to him, tangling their legs together.

this really wasn’t what he had in mind for bonding time with his dad, but he can’t say he’s complaining.

“i love you, dad.”

ben wraps an arms around around his shoulder, pulls him closer and kisses his forehead.

“no idea what you’re talking about..”

he turns his head away, waits a few seconds until he thinks soldier boy isn’t watching anymore, turns his eyes towards him and immediately away again when he sees him staring straight back.

soldier boy scoffs, shakes his head, decides he can’t do this shit today.

he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, uncaring of the tower’s smoke alarms or precious, unstained walls.

homelander doesn’t stop him.

“you always fucking do this.” he takes a long and needed drag from the cigarette.

“do what?”

“see, that’s what i’m talking about. you walk around acting all pissy and when someone gives you the attention you’ve been whining for for the past hour, you act like you don’t want it.”

homelander looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. after all, no one ever calls him out on his bullshit. no one except for daddy dearest.

“…I don’t do that.”

“you’re literally doing it right fuckin’ now.”

somehow soldier boy is already halfway through his cigarette. they always seem to burn out quicker when he’s with homelander.

“I do not ‘whine for attention’. you’re the one who started this conversation, y’know? If you don’t wanna talk, feel free to leave.” he throws his hands up in defeat.

soldier boy pinches his furrowed brows with a groan.

“christ..”

he looks at the cigarette in his hand then at his son. he should just put the damn thing out on him.

hold up, what? no. that’s not— not a bad idea. actually it’s a great idea. he’s a fucking genius.

“c’mere.”

homelander perks up like a puppy, hands sinking to his sides again. with quick, timid steps he closes the distance between them.

if he had a tail, it would be wagging right now.

“stay still.”

every single muscle in his body freezes. he looks at him with those stupid, big eyes like he’s waiting for a reward.

soldier boy sets the cigarette between his lips. now, with both of his hands free, he can take one of his son’s arms in his hands.

homelander tenses, scared that one wrong movement might make his father change his mind about— about what? he doesn’t actually know.

he finds that he doesn’t particularly care, as long as he keeps touching him.

the glove is peeled of in a motion that comes across as oddly sensual. homelander’s inhales sharply and bites his tongue.

an involuntary shiver runs through him as his father runs his finger’s along the sensitive skin of his underarm. his big hand wraps easily around his wrist— he can feel his son’s pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

without a warning he presses the cigarette into his palm. homelander yelps, grinding his teeth together to keep any other noises from escaping.

his hand flinches instinctively, but his father’s grip on him is tight enough to keep it in place.

the cigarette doesn’t actually damage his skin, but it still fucking burns. his jaw is tight, brows drawn together and he can’t keep the pained whimpers contained.

meanwhile his dad looks as calm as ever, eyes resting lazily on the cigarette like this is the most normal thing in the world.

he twist it a little, enjoying the hiss he gets in response.

what soldier boy doesn’t know is that his son can tell he’s just pretending.

after the initial shock he notices immediately— hears the way his heartbeat quickens, feels how his fingers tighten slightly around his wrist, smells the sudden excess of sweat even through the smoke.

he’s enjoying this.

the reason he isn’t looking at his face, isn’t that he doesn’t care. it’s that he’s scared of how his body might react to his son’s pained expression.

the endorphins flooding his body to compensate for the pain and the feeling of knowing he has that kind of effect on his father mix into a cocktail of sudden mania.

“that’s for being a pain in the ass.” the cigarette is discarded.

despite himself a triumphant smile spreads across homelander’s face.

“what the hell’s got you smiling now, you freak.”

soldier boy gets his answer when he eyes his son’s crotch and finds a bulge that wasn’t there before.

he drops his arm like it burns.

“you gotta be kiddin’ me— i should’ve known you’d get off on this, jesus..”

“hey! don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it too. i can smell it on you.”

homelander tries to grab him by the wrist, but he pulls away immediately.

his chest suddenly feels tighter.

“don’t you involve me in your incest shit.”

“dad—“

soldier boy raises a warning finger, homelander shuts up at that.

“no. we are not doing this.”

he stands frozen as his father takes a step back, sliding a hand over his face with a sigh.

he doesn’t even look at him before turning away and walking towards the door. the heavy footsteps echoe in his ears, but he can’t seem to move. his bottom lip begins to tremble.

the door closes with a silencing thud—

soldier boy stomps through the hallway, high pitched ringing in his ears. employees dodge him left and right, pressing themselves against the walls just to get away from him. fucking pussies.