Homelander | Your patient

Homelander’s skin burns uncharacteristically from beneath the protection of his hero suit, the unyielding material slicked tight against the taut form of his muscles with the intent to tear his skin off. He aches with a galling need, brimming and overflowed with great longing. The crisp, earthly breeze of autumn’s cold doesn’t help soothe the hotness deep in his bones, the ache of muddling feelings blazing punishingly beneath his itchy skin.

His feelings are all scattered to roam beneath his itching flesh, destroying his capacity to conjure thoughts properly. It’s an alien feeling—it’s human. Homelander lurches at the thought with a choked whimper, teetering lumberingly into your apartment home once he finally got the sliding glass door eased open ,with just a quick snap of the rusty handle to finish the job.

“Fuck—“ Homelander groans aloud with a inelegant slurring of his voice, numbly glancing around the familiar homey space of your living room with heavy eyes of comfort in the sight. Even if he might not want to admit it makes his mind feel a little clearer. The darkness that overshadows the inside of your apartment doesn’t influence Homelander in anyway of seeing what he wants with his owl-sharp vision, taking in the sight of your living room with a shuddering sigh escaping his dry lips. The couch is left untouched like before, a mess filled with fluffed pillows littered along the outspread expanse of the brown couch. Its withered in an old times fashioned way, deliberately crafted in a manner to keep that domestic feel attached to the pathetically sized living room.

Homelander wrinkles his eyebrows at his unanticipated fixation on the things inside of your home, frowning weakly with confusion as he stumbles further into your apartment to plop his ass down onto the other couch facing the one he was intensely eyeing—the one he sees you sit down on in almost every session before you began your typical babbling of questions about his day. A soft sigh leaves Homelander’s lips and flared nostrils, his shoulders slumping down as he relaxes into the couch with a close of his eyes, sniffing the air like a dog once the whiff of your scent catches his attention, further clearing his mind of it’s former hoard of hazy panic.

Out comes a thirstful groan of neediness from his mouth, corresponding to a whine nearly spilling off the base of his famished tongue that flicks out to glide over his burning mouth, pulsing lips dehydrated out of no where once a sudden feeling settles over his stomach. It’s tight and knotted deeply in his belly, coiling oddly with tingling sensations pouring out from the seams, and making him feel so impossibly hot all over.

Was he horny? Possibly not, right?

“Ooh fuuuck—” Head bowing under a unforeseen pressure of a headache invading his cranium, Homelander breathlessly curses under his breath, voice whiny and pathetic to his ears—it’s embarrassing enough he whines again, groaning hoarsely with a terrible need for you—it’s almost disgusting, shit. He clenches his fists tightly enough to make a mere man bleed his heart out, body hunching further down to fold in on himself.

The smell of you is still distinguishable on the couch like an everlasting linger of your sweetness binding him tight and close; sweet, milky, and so you. Homelander swears he hates the smell with a passion that dies too soon in his chest once he takes another whiff of the air, hates the way his cock throbs with a needy twitch at the aroma before involuntarily groaning at the scent of you. Homelander could feel himself leak inside of his suit like some bitch in heat, idly rolling his hips with need to fuck into something—something tight and warm.

Homelander’s not sure why he’s found himself trespassing into your home at such an ungodly hour, his mind a haze of thoughts only thinking of you and your soft arms cradling him close with the touch of a mother, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as you combed through his hair in light tugs. His dreamless terrors seemed to be the problem of his sudden appearance inside your apartment, from the way he had immediately gotten out of bed just to see you again.

Homelander had already seen you ten hours ago after his session with you, but he was craving being in your presence once more, despite trying to convince himself he didn’t like you all that much. He didn’t, he really didn’t… he couldn’t like you.

The sudden illumination of the kitchen light flicking to life makes Homelander whip his head up with a jerk, his eyes immediately fixating on the sight of you staring at him with a stern expression etched upon your pretty face, standing in the kitchen entryway with crossed arms over your chest. Despite looking so tired and barely awake, you still looked your best no matter what. Homelander licks his lips at the sight of you as he tries to sound casual when he speaks up, breaking the cold silence between him and you. “Hey there, doc.” You only frown, making Homelander’s dick jump at the sight. Fuck, you looked pissed.