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[Yeah, he's not about to throw John around while he's got a fresh burn.

He leans his head a bit to the side, sliding his hands to John's lower back and rubbing gently, before pushing those swimshorts halfway down his ass. He keeps rubbing and kneading downwards, getting under the shorts.]

You can do whatever you want with me tonight.

[John will probably just want to pass out as soon as possible, but it's worth offering, at least.]

[It's nice and freeing to be out in the shorts and John makes a quiet approving noise at the warm hands groping him. Yes, this is more his speed. It's little wonder how Homelander hasn't accidentally snapped him in half before.]

That you offering to bend over and spread your arsecheeks?

[He's usually a lot more careful with his grip, when he's powered. As it is, he considers himself too pathetically weak to do any significant damage. He's probably not all that correct in that estimation.

John's very delicate phrasing has him swallowing an awkward little sound.]

Well, not in those words.

[Be more classy with how you address the royal buttcheeks, for fuck's sake.]

[They don't look very royal to him but maybe he's just got a weird viewing angle from here.]

You're just taking the piss aren't you? The one night I'm too tired to do sod all and you're offering to be me fuckboy.

[It's definitely the viewing angle. They're royal as shit.]

You keep talking like that and I'm not gonna offer squat.

[He gives John's lowborn buttcheeks a solid squeeze.]

Talking like what? [Just because he's 'lowborn' doesn't mean he isn't classy as fuck. Constantine exudes classiness. Especially with his trousers off.

John stumbles forward and groans as he smooshes himself against Homelander's chest again. It's nice and warm and soapy and apart from the fact that he's ruining that perfectly good bandage job, he's actually quite comfortable here.

A little bit of lowbrow never killed any superhero. Just saying.]

Are you the jazz music, slow dance in the living room sort?

[Yeah, John's got class coming out of his ass.

He keeps up the soapy butt massage, scoffing at that jazz dig.]

I'm the shut the fuck up and don't call me a fuckboy type.

[He doesn't even know what fuckboy means, but he refuses the title. It sounds like something you might call the Deep.]

[John is easy to please, easily silenced by thumbs rubbing circles around his buttcheeks and strong fingers kneading in. He makes a quiet noise and turns his head away from the water's spray. Draping his good arm around behind Homelander's lower back, water pours between his fingers as he smoothes his hand up Homelander's chest, brushing over his nipple.]

What do I call you?

[It's a question he's been dreading, but now it's out there hanging heavy between them. They're way past 'I had six tequilas and shit just happened territory.]

[He abandons John's butt once it's sufficiently rubbed and soaped up, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and squeezing some out onto the palm of his hand. He starts massaging it into John's scalp, slow and steady.]

What do you mean?

[They've already had that whole... cock-in-gob conversation.]

[Unfortunately John isn't going to go around introducing Homelander as the gob for his cock. Much to their chagrin, no doubt.]

I mean. [The shampoo is stinging his eyes so he can't quite make eye contact while he talks.] D'you have sommin' better than fuckboy? [It doesn't have to be a term for that nebulous space they occupy.]

[The shampoo-rubbing gets a little halted, as he tries to get at what John's asking, and why he's asking it now.

Everything is better than fuckboy.]

Like, uh. Like boyfriend?

[That sounds awkward and he immediately feels stupid for saying it. He's not even sure that's what John was talking about.]

[Constantine was humming very quietly to himself enjoying the scalp massage when the word 'boyfriend' cuts through like a skipped record. He probably shouldn't have burst out laughing but it's too late to take it back now.]

You aren't gonna- save that for someone ~special~? [You know, the petite kind with auburn hair who climbs into the passenger seat of Homelander's pickup truck when he's back home from a hard day's toiling at making America great again?]

[Is it possible to drown somebody in the shower? Homelander is suddenly itching to find out.

His hand goes slack in John's hair, then slips down away from him.]

Shut the fuck up.

[The tip of John's tongue flickers over his upper lip and he gropes around with his eyes closed looking for Homelander's wrists.]

I think you're special. Whatever that's worth to you. [Probably not much, to someone who hears it all the time from all directions, especially from people who know the real him enough to be scared shitless of him. At least, John doesn't think 'special' as in most bankable asset of the century or easiest marketable product, or someone who can destroy the planet in the blink of an eye, or some kind of fantasy wish fulfillment crazy fan thing. He doesn't know anything of that suped up corporate world.]

Just got a raw deal, made some mistakes, paying for someone else's sins. Happens to all of us. [And John, well. He doesn't think he'll ever stop paying for his own, let alone anyone else's. Even now the word 'boyfriend' just spells disaster to him. Like every single other boyfriend before, more of whom are dead than alive.]

You look better alive. [That probably makes little sense to Homelander since it's the continuation of a thought. John sighs and lets go, scratching at the foam atop his bowed head before he tries to slip out of the shower.]

[His heart starts going too fast, chest squeezing in, water stinging in his eyes. He stays stiff and motionless for a moment, before grabbing John by his healthy wrist to keep him from leaving.

John's made mistakes. Homelander is a mistake. A broken design. Everything about him is wrong, fundamentally. He's not sorry for the things he's done. He is sorry, sometimes, that he exists.

But not so much, lately. And not with John. Which is why it all sounds so fucking stupid to him, John's delusions of getting him killed. As if Homelander is remotely afraid of that.]

You're a moron.

[He presses his lips to John's, gentle but in a way that's a bit desperate.]

[He so desperately yearns for company, it almost feels alright and not selfish to kiss back in a way that betrays how fast and easy he plays his casual relationships. The dumb warlock just needed half a bad reason to stay and he's got a lot more than that right now, even if this might be a bad idea or who knows what it is.]

You taste like soap. [John makes a face and tries to get the shampoo that's washed out of his hair off his tongue. It's probably too late now to pretend he was just kidding and that he was only interested in the casual hookups and this isn't what he wanted, and all the rest of it.]

But I suppose you can stay, tonight. [They do need to lie in bed together and brainstorm a less... loaded word for this mistake.]

[It's John who tastes like soap, which Homelander confirms when he swipes his tongue over his shoulder blade.

He leads John back into the stream, rinsing the leftover shampoo out of his hair and the soap from his back and ass.

He turns the shower off and lets his mouth linger on John's shoulder in a tired, half-open kiss.]

[It's gentle and soothing and for a moment it almost feels like they're a world away from this one, in a hotel room nicer than the hundreds of rooms he's occupied before. Only Homelander isn't some horny bloke he picked up on Grindr, a transient fuck for the night. This feels like something more.

The kiss stretches on until the water turns cold on his skin. John shudders and pulls back a bit, pressing his lips together and swallowing hard.]

Bed. [He says quietly, hazel eyes lingering on those lips before he tries to pull his trunks completely off and grope around for a towel.]

[Homelander quickly dries off, not bothering to wrap the towel around him -- the no-pants policy encompasses makeshift pants so he might as well show off the royal buttcheeks.

The road to bed is short and luckily uneventful. He climbs in, stretches out like an obnoxious large cat, gaze set on John.]

[John can't lie still for very long. He wants to be on top and eventually he shuffles and crawls his way there. He doesn't have as lethal body slams as his resident mopey emotionally stunted walrus so he sprawls on top of Homelander without too much forethought with a lazy sigh, resting his head of damp hair against his broad, well-defined chest. For someone who's supposedly heartless and broken beyond redemption, Homelander has a steady heartbeat, and a definitive rhythm to his chest rising and falling with every breath.

It's hard to smell the damage after a nice, long shower. Homelander just- actually... kind of smells like John now. Since they're using the same soap, shampoo, toothpaste, aftershave... sleeping in the same sheets...]

I think I'm rubbing off on you. [And he doesn't mean where their dicks are currently rubbing.]

Is that so.

[He strokes his hand over that wet ferret hair, fingers drifting down to caress John's neck and shoulders, drawing little circular shapes on the skin.]

Haven't downed a bottle of whiskey and started burping out fireballs yet.

[But John's not wrong. Something about his scruffy, erratic rhythm has infected Homelander. He's been finding it easier to relax, lately.]

[It's a gradual shift from scoffing to snickering to laughing that probably signals more that he's tired than it is commentary about Homelander's humour.]

Is that what I do all day? Drink and burp fireballs? [It'd be insulting if it wasn't kind of true.]

[He brushes the shell of John's ear, scratches lightly into his hair. His other hand keeps drifting down his back, until he has a nice handful of butt.]

I guess you also stick your dick in all sorts of interesting places.

[But that goes without saying.]

Am I leaving something out?

[John is free to provide examples.]

I mean sometimes I save the world too, you know. [But speaking of dicks. He's currently got his stuck in an interesting place. John wriggles a bit to grind against Homelander's crotch.]

I haven't stuck it in your interesting place yet. [All roads lead back to the glorious butthole. This should be fairly obvious by now.]

[Yeah, yeah, fine. Saving the world in between dicking and burping sounds about right.

Homelander grunts quietly, sliding his hand over John's buttcheek and giving it an encouraging squeeze.]

Thought you were too tired after your daring rescue.

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