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Homelander has been pissing Soldierboy off lately.
Ever since he’s lost his powers he's been nothing but irritating as hell.
Always whining and complaining that Soldierboy didn’t do this, didn’t bring him that. Taking too long to find the fucking compound V. Acting like a fucking child.
Soldierboy is half tempted to bring him right back to Vought and have them execute the fucker.
It wasn’t like he was incompetent. He had found the compound V the day Homelander lost his powers. Hell, he had located the whole goddamn box in the little shits room.
When they had arrived at his nice apartment in Bogota, he locked the serums away in his room. Just threw all the vials and needles in a locked iron box and shoved it in the air ventilation above his bed.
He would give him some before he got too old. Perhaps, if he was good, in a couple of months even. He couldn’t bear to leave his kid without power for too long, something he never, ever, fucking thought he’d think.
Some kind of genetic parenting instinct must have rewired his brain that day, watching his boy snivel and cry after being beaten to a pulp.
Reaching his arms out as he saw Soldierboy enter the room and cry out for his daddy to come save him, Red bloodied snot and drool running down his face.
He sucks his teeth at the thought.
So fucking embarrassing.
It had only gotten worse from there. The guy had never lived a normal life, always waited on hand and foot by everyone around him. He couldn’t do shit for himself and wouldn’t bother to try, lazy fuck.
Soldierboy would be gone all day trying to have a semblance of a social life, only to find his boy weeping and moaning when he comes home that he’s hungry and hasn’t eaten all day, that he didn’t like the channels on the tv, that his hair was messy and he wanted him to brush it.
It was like the fucker couldn’t even try and do things for himself. He solely relied on the fear of others to get through an entire fucking day. Soldierboy was surprised that he even knew how to shit and wipe himself.
Even better, when he isn’t whining, he's locked in his room for days.
The walls between Soldierboys and Homelanders' –No, not Homelander. His and Johns’ rooms are so thin and the apartments so small. Even from the living room with the tv blasting, he can hear the most pitiful crying ever all day long. So god damn dramatic.
That and the slick sounds of him jerking himself. God, it was a routine. He cries for an hour, jacks it, then cries again. Fucking disgusting.
He’s never seen a guy cry so much. Not even men that were being torched on the double by Vought scientists. He supposed that's what happens when ‘god’ becomes man. But there’s no need to be so pathetic about it. Crying about it like his life was over. He was still alive wasn’t he? He’s got a nice place to live, good food to eat, and his very own father to rely on.
John was still an ungrateful little bastard in the soldier's eyes, but he allowed it.
Why did he allow it?
It could be the whiny voice that has nothing to fall back on.
Was it the eyes?
The pathetic wet sopping eyes that were rimmed red waiting for him at the door when he stayed out too long? How about the parental feeling he gets when he teaches the blonde something new, like washing dishes. Or how to use proper tools. Ironing a shirt. Basic shit.
Perhaps he liked the feeling of upsetting him knowing he can’t fight back.
Cursing him and calling him pathetic while they eat dinner. Dragging on how useless he is as he fails to do the most routine task. Groaning about how much of a slob he is while washing his clothes and forcing him into the shower after weeks of moping in his room.
How about actually sending him to his room after one of many arguments they have?
Telling him not to come out until he starts acting like a man.
Yeah. That's part of it.
Tonight however, was where he put his foot down. He comes home to find out the fucker standing at the door once more, upset as usual. He pushes past him, hitting their shoulders together quite harshly. The living room was torn apart. Motherfucker.
“What the fuck do you want?” His voice travels with him as he heads towards the kitchen-dining room area, cabinets and drawers flung open with junk all over the place.
“I know you have the Compound V. Give it to me.” John demands.
He turns just as quick as John finishes his sentence.
“What fuck did you say?”
“I know you have the fucking Compound V! Give it to me!”
“Or what? You're going to kick my ass? The guy that can’t brush his own hair is going to knock me on my ass?” He laughs at the idea. “Get the fuck out of my face.”
“Fuck you.” John grits.
That makes Soldierboy stop. He raises his eyebrows and sets his keys on the table, keeping an eye on his boy.
Slowly, he retorts, “You are an ungrateful little sack of shit, you know that?”
With whatever balls he has left, John leaps at the soldier, and they tussle. It’s not hard for Soldierboy to get the bastard into a headlock, bringing his face close to his.
“I’m not giving you jackshit, until you learn how to become a man. A real one.”
John claws at his bicep, trying to pull his head free from the lock before giving up, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Just–fucking kill me.” He says, near sobbing.
Soldierboy chuckles at this. He knows he doesn’t mean it. He ponders for a second before settling on an idea he had been ruminating for a long while.
“No. No I don't think I will. I’ll give you a real punishment, since you wanna act like an entitled brat.”
He shifts his head lock from his right arm to his left, leaving the blonde's backside exposed to him. He drags him over and takes a seat on the wooding diner chair, leaving the other man kneeling uncomfortable on the hard floor. Lucky for Soldierboy, the other man only bothered to wear T-shirts and boxers on a daily basis, too much of a pussy to go out anywhere and show his face. He tells him to shut up as he drags the blondes’ boxers down and removes his own belt, brown full grain leather. He skillfully wraps it into a tight loop with one hand and grips the end, playfully dragging it against the blonde's smooth skin.
“W-hat the fuck are you doing?” John chokes, not getting much air with the firm bicep choking him.
“Not me. You. You're going to count to ten. One number for one hit. If you fuck up, I’ll start over. Got that?”
“What?!” He tries to squirm out once again, kicking his legs forwards to pull his head out. The soldier doesn’t budge. “Fucking–let go of me!”
He tightens his bicep. “You better sit still, or I’ll hit more than just your fat ass.”
This shocks John enough to stop, panting and shaking all over now. Soldierboy lets him calm down for a minute before raising the belt, and landing a hard whipping blow to Johns ass. He yelps, or course. Tries to pull himself away again before giving up.
“I don’t hear a fucking number.” Soldierboy snaps.
John sniffles and chokes before letting out a faint, “O-One.”
Pleased, Soldierboy whips him again at about the same strength as the first. Another yelp and more sniffling occurs. “..T..Two..”
Whip! “T-hree..” He drawls. The soldier can feel the drool and other extremities running down his face.
“You're already crying? You haven’t even made it to five you fucking pussy.” He lines up the belt and hits harder than before, met with an immediate ‘four’, he quickly hits again.
“S-top! I'm sorry, sorry. dad…daddy…I’ll stop–” John pathetically whines between gasping breaths.
“That’s not a fucking number. We’re starting over.” Soldierboy barks, causing John to flail again, whimpering his sorry' and no's’.
The soldier doesn’t wait for him to calm down, whipping his thighs as they get in the way.
Johns practically hyperventilating at this point, ass bright red. Soldierboy slams the belt down with a particularly harsh crack.
“E-ugh-eight!” John chokes, sobbing like a child.
Whip!
“Nnnineee…” He drools.
For the last whipping, Soldierboy gets his thighs one last time.
A gasped ten rings out, and he throws the belt off the table. He doesn’t take his time, quickly standing up and removing the crying bitch from his headlock. He pulls his boxers up and grabs John's arm tightly, dragging him down the hallway and to the cry baby's own room, shoving him in and slamming the door.
Finally, he can relax.
After picking up all the junk strewn everywhere, he pops a beer and lights a cigar, turning up the volume of the television to drown out the crying of his son.
He had to grab a few tissues to rub off the snot on his arm and what he can only think to be pre, that isn’t his, on his pants. Sick fucker.
11:12 P.M.
After what seemed like hours, the crying stopped. Good. Soldierboy stretches, he could probably head to bed now, the first thing after his insomnia wouldn’t keep him awake now. He looks over towards the dark hallway.
Had he cried himself to sleep? Or was he jerking himself to completion? Maybe killed himself?
What the hell, why not check.
He steadily walks down the hall, not hiding his footsteps. He doesn’t knock either, opening the door to the room like he was about to catch his wife cheating. John's back was to the door, his body curled up in the fetal position over the cover. The way he was breathing Soldierboy knew he was still awake.
“Done bitching and moaning now?” He asks softly.
A sniffle. Then another. No reply.
“Sit up and face me like a man.” He commands, a bit impatient with the still whiny attitude. John seemingly wipes his face with his forearm before sitting up slowly on the bed, adjusting his ass to where it didn’t hurt the most. “Anything you wanna say to me?”
The blonde's lip quivers, a pout across his face. He keeps his eyes low to the ground.
“...sorry.”
“sorry?” Soldierboy warns.
“Sorry Si–Dad.” He mumbles, face hot.
The soldier leans against the door post, arms crossed. “For what?”
John huffs, obviously embarrassed. It takes him a second to find his words.
“I’m sorry for attacking you.”
It’s so pathetic he sighs and accepts it. “Yeah, you are sorry. I got semen all over my fucking pants because of you.”
John's jaw clenched. He mutters out another weak sorry.
“I don't think you are sorry.” Soldierboy says, walking towards his son. He grips blonde hair and shoves his son's face into his hard crotch, rubbing him quite harshly. John tries to push off confused and scared once more, but Soldierboy catches his jaw and grips it, not letting him go.
“You think I don’t hear you? Beating your fucking limp dick all night right next to my head? Don’t play fucking shy now.” He unzips his jeans and pulls himself free from his pants. “You wanna come so bad, show me how much you fucking want it.”
He wastes no time pulling his son's jaw open and shoving his cock in. It pulls a guttural groan from the older man as he hits the back of John's throat.
After a few more thrust the cry baby finally stopped resisting, hands by his side, and opened his mouth wider to be used like a cock sleeve.
A copious amount of drool covered Soldierboys cock, making it easier to slide in and out of the warm space, he had even let a few teeth scraps slide by. Just before he could come he pulled out, the blondes’ tongue following just after.
“Lay on your stomach and shut up.” He commanded.
John coughs and slowly crawls over, trembling as he lays on his stomach carefully and hides his face in a pillow. Soldierboy crawls over and sits on his thighs just before his ass, removing his boxers.
It's still bright red, and obviously stings, as John flinches when he starts groping him.
Smearing what's left of the slobber over the rest of his cock, he lines up with his ass. He’s not doing that teenage prep shit–his son will handle it like a man.
Soldierboy rams all the way to the base. John nearly rips his pillow in half. If he still had his powers, his laser eyes would have blasted through the wall. He tries to sit up, catch air, put an arm to his fathers stomach and tell him to stop, but the soldier doesn’t let him.
Instead he leans his entire body forward and headlocks his son once more, tightening his bicep as much as he can around the other man's throat. God–The last time he’s fucked this good was way before he was frozen. A woman no doubt, but not important enough to remember.
He’ll remember this for a long long time.
The obscene choked moans coming from his son's mouth as he slams in harshly, groaning at the virgin tightness of his ass. It’s blissful, he can feel his own face heating up, sweat dripping down his forehead.
John is completely overwhelmed. He’s never been fucked before and now with his powers gone, he’s completely fucking useless.
He can’t fight back; he can’t even fucking think straight with his daddy's fat cock slamming his prostate and poking to his stomach. His own dick is pressed down into the comforter, rubbing and rubbing against the soft fabric.
He can’t stop his mouth from hanging open and his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he comes for the first time, daddy's hot grunting in his ear not helping.
It’s so good, he can’t breathe.
He swears he must be turning blue and starts clawing Soldierboys' arms.
“M’ done! D-addy m’ done!” He gags, if he doesn’t stop he’ll suffocate at any moment
“You're not done until I fucking come.” Soldierboy grunts into his ear.
The line makes John's heart drop, but relief soon washes over him as the soldier releases his throat and lets his face drop back onto the pillow. John retches and coughs, taking the deep breaths he so dearly missed.
The relief doesn’t last long, as Soldier boy takes John's arms and pins them behind his back and lifts him to his knees, starting the voracious pounding once again.
From this angle John can actually see how deep his cock buries into him, his own soft dick hardening and bouncing at each slap of contact.
His whines and Soldierboys grunts mix together. Hot tears and snot run down his face and his eyes strain to the back of his head as he comes again, legs shaking.
He can’t take much more, but it doesn’t seem like the soldier will be stopping anytime soon.
John calls out to him, hoping to get some semblance of care, but it doesn’t compute, mixed in with moans and gasps. “I–Please. I can’t…”
“Shut the fuck up.” He says roughly, pulling John back far enough for them to be skin to skin. He’s grateful to be able to put his head on his daddy's shoulder. Even more so when he turns his head and kisses him. The quick tongue shoves in and hot sucking occurs not as long as John would have liked before he’s painfully coming a final time.
Soldierboy lets go of his arms and shoves his upper body back down into the bed, angling himself to reach deeper inside of him before spilling his thick semen deep inside.
He groans loudly, cursing into the air and mindlessly humping him a few minutes longer before pulling out and collapsing on his back next to him.
—
The next morning, Soldierboy wakes to a very warm golden rays touching his eyes. Half of his body is warm. Too warm.
He turns his head to find his son snuggled next to him, hugging him tightly, blissfully unaware of everything around him.
So it wasn’t a dream.
He ponders a bit and imagines how sex will go when he lets his boy have his powers back.