Viral Murder Puppies

Okay, it’ll be no one’s business, definitely not that cocky moron outside of the bathroom when Homelander touches himself a little. Growing up locked in a lab with all cameras on you will teach you how to enjoy lonely times you get like this! Though this time it weighs more ‘guilty’ than any other times. Shame surging up his back when he turns to face the tall mirror while he wraps a hand around himself. Breath comes out in form of stuttered gasp, face feeling hot.

How can you be like this? you’re desperate for him, aren’t you? Well, good news cause he doesn’t want you back the way you do, you’re sick in the head and I’m tired of dealing with you, John!

He opens the faucet, letting the shower water hide any noises he might make. Part of it can be for sensing the scalding warmth of droplets falling down his frame too, feels nice when he-

When you what?! When you touch yourself and think of another man?!

“do you want me to think of Maeve instead?!” he hisses back then immediately bites his lip. No no, keep it quiet!

“go away!” he frowns at his own picture in the mirror and tries to ignore it. think of something nice!...mhmm yes, maybe Cal decides to join in..

Buddy, I’m saying you need help! This obsession at this stage-

Cal comes in and sees John like this.. he whispers his name when he finishes..

-you two just started your travel! It’s about business, John! He doesn’t want you like that, maybe he has a girlfriend somewhere-

He comes forward, not angry. No, he cups the back of John’s head when they finally..

John! Listen to me, you need to stop!-

..when they finally kiss!

John finishes with a startled squeak, slams a hand on his mouth as earth-shuddering trembles takes him fully in. thighs shaking, he leans on the wall. Chest rising and falling as he watches the water stream washes away the white ropes down the drain with a smile. No one will know and no one is harmed! Who cares if he cums everytime with his ‘friend’s’ name on his lips?!

Done with bath routine, he dresses in a fluffy robe the hotel put in the bath for ‘the couple’ once he wants to leave the bathroom.

“didn’t you get the coffee ready? Doesn’t matter, I’ll have the room service bring some for us” he makes himself comfortable on the bed, grabs for the phone to order coffee with desserts, sweets and anything traditional they serve here.

And here John was, stepping out in a robe, pretending at normalcy. Talking coffee. Talking business. Acting boss. Cal’s grip on the armrest whitened until the cheap frame creaked, his fingers curling as though testing how easily it would snap—how easily John’s bones might, too. He didn’t look at him, not yet. The urge to laugh curdled in his chest until it tasted like bile. He swallowed thickly as it burned his throat with an acidic and sharp tang.

The straw shifted side to side, slow. Then his jaw set, and his voice came low and sharp, just enough to answer without lifting his eyes. “Coffee? Hm. Didn’t realize your arms were broken. Or your legs. Funny, you don’t look crippled.” He rose smoothly, silent as smoke, the laptop in hand. For a heartbeat he extended it—close enough to be taken—before freezing. His gaze dragged upward at last, eyes dull and unblinking, nostrils flaring at the cloying trace of the shower. Then he let the machine fall. The laptop hit the bed with a flat, lifeless thud settling on the sheets in finality.

No word followed. Instead, Cal peeled off his shirt, the fabric stiff with dried flecks of blood that cracked as it hit the floor. His hands moved slowly and methodically, dragging the fabric across his skin while savoring the silence. The pants went next as he popped the button and pulled the zipper down slowly. Then the boxers as he freed himself, his gaze never breaking from John’s face, flat and unfeeling. It wasn’t erotic; it wasn’t even intimate. It was anatomical. A body stripped bare like a carcass.

He turned and walked toward the bathroom, bare skin mapped with pale scars and jagged ridges like claw marks and burns crossing in violent lattices. Each step was a measured prowl, shoulders loose, back straight, the kind of grace born only from something that had hunted long enough to forget hesitation. The door shut with a hard punctuation, the lock clicking.

Water roared to life. Behind it, the phone kept looping the self-indulgent footage. His other self panting through bared teeth, flames licking his stomach as blood cascaded off him, bodies flung like playthings before he shifted back down, grinning wide and crimson-mouthed.