Once he's pierced through Homelander's defenses, it's almost too easy. This cunt's been trained to withstand impossible amounts of pain, but clearly nobody's prepared him for this. Billy is running his hands all over his stretched torso, and every time he finds a new spot, it sends a jolt through Homelander's body like an electric current, accompanied by frenzied laughter.

He could go on like this for hours, watching this jumpy cunt squirm and twist, but Billy's not a monster, so after a few minutes, he decides to give him a break.

The moment he stops, Homelander's body goes limp. A fine sheen of sweat has formed on the supe's forehead and his chest. He's panting for air, his face flushed a soft shade of pink. Butcher can't tell if it's from the physical exertion or from the embarrassment of having been reduced to a panicky giggling mess so easily. His head is turned to the side, as if refusing to look his tormentor in the eye could somehow annul this mortifying experience.

Cunt looks kind of pretty with that scowl on his face, Billy has to admit.

"Are you done?" Homelander is making a half-hearted attempt to sound bored now of all things, and it's pathetically unconvincing, really. His eyes signal upwards at his pipe-wrapped wrists. "Just let me go. I don't have time for your antics."

"Nah, mate. We got time." Cunt's practically beggin' him for more, and Billy's not about to let him go just because he's asking nicely.

"Christ. What do you want, William." It's exasperation in Homelander's voice this time, and it's not an act.

Butcher leans forward to deliver the line he's been itching to say this whole time. "We spend so much time together. I want to get to know you, love."

"Ah, right." Homelander exhales forcefully. "And you think this is the way to get to know me?"

Billy ponders the question for a moment. He's learned quite a bit in the last few minutes. He knows that when he scribbles a finger over his collarbone, Homelander will try to pin it with his chin but always ends up making himself more vulnerable in the process. Scratching lightly over the inside of his elbows will produce the sweetest, most innocent laughter, much to the supe's embarrassment. (Same's true for the cunt's ears of all places.) Even the softest touch on his ribcage and sides reliably leaves the supe disoriented and squealing with laughter. And then there's that spot right above his hip bones that will make Homelander shriek and thrash uncontrollably if Billy's hands come anywhere near it.

"Yeah," Billy says. "Don't see why not. Learned a lot already. Pretty sure I can build on that."

He pulls out his mobile, and the supe's face actually turns white.

"Tell me you're not going to record this."

Of course that's precisely what Billy's going to do. When this is over, he's going to need some kind of insurance. But the cunt doesn't need to know that right now, it's just going to spoil the mood, so he shakes his head. "Nah, just need a timer, love. We're gonna play a little game, you and me." He presses record and sets the phone down outside what he hopes is the supe's field of vision.

Homelander rolls his eyes, but he stays quiet for once.

"Rules are simple," Billy explains. "I ask you a question, you answer my question. I like your answer, I keep listening. I don't like your answer, there'll be a penalty. Penalty time goes up by let's say 30 second intervals each time you fuck up. Following me so far, beautiful?"

Homelander is looking at him for what feels awkwardly long. "Will you let me ask questions, too, William?" He finally asks.

Billy considers the request. "Sure," he says. He's probably going to regret this, but it's not like the cunt can sue him if he changes the rules down the line. And he's morbidly curious what Homelander wants to ask him. "Tell you what, we take turns with the questions, sound fair to you?"

"No," Homelander says. "Absolutely nothing about any of this is fair. But I don't have a choice, do I?"

"'fraid you're right about that." Butcher shifts position, making Homelander flinch away reflexively. "Let's start easy. What's your favourite colour, love?"

The supe is looking at him like he's lost his mind. "Is that a fucking joke?"

"Nah, just an easy question," Billy says, "I'm trying to be nice here. But suit yourself." Without warning, he digs his index fingers into Homelander's armpits.

"No no no, don't! Don't! It's blue! It's blue okay! Stop!" Homelander is trying to pull his arms down.

"Blue like your fucking fascist little costume." Billy pulls at the tatters that used to be Homelanders suit before sliding his hand back down into his armpit. "Should have figured." He's really beginning to like this single finger method. It's shockingly effective.

"Blue li-like like the s-s-sky," Homelander sputters between giggles. He can't pull his arms down, so instead he's pulling his body up to try to pin Butcher's fingers, all while blabbering on rather desperately about flying and the different shades of blue of the sky depending on the altitude and whatnot, like that's going to save him now.

"No cheating. You stay right here." Billy grabs him by the hips and yanks him back down. It feels awkward because that's how he likes to position his lovers, but it comes naturally, and the whole situation is already so fucking weird it doesn't really make much of a difference anymore, does it.

Of course he's come much too close to THE spot. Homelander yelps and starts struggling violently.

"Sorry, forgot that was your sweet spot, love," Billy says. He presses both his thumbs down, massaging the supe's protruding hip bones in small circular motions.

It's a death spot alright. Homelander looks like he's going to jump out of his skin. "Fuck fuck FUCK!" He screams before collapsing into panicked laughter. "Stop it stop it STOP!"

He's arching his back so hard Billy thinks it's going to snap any second now. "Oh god… Shit shit shit! Stop stop stop GOD STOP!"

"You can call me Billy, ya know," Billy says, a sadistic grin on his face. "No need to be formal."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW" Homelander screams.

"Right now?" Billy pretends to glance at the timer on his mobile. "Nothing, really. You have another ten seconds till your next question, love." He's not timing any of this, but he just can't resist fucking with the disoriented supe's perception of time. Between this and the loss of the senses he relies on most, this has got to be quite the agonizing experience.

After another minute or so, which he's sure must have felt like an hour to Homelander judging by the wild frantic despair in his eyes, he finally relents.

"You fucking freak." The cunt is struggling to breathe. "The fuck is wrong with you."

Billy shrugs. "A lot, probably."

He grins, scoots back and clasps his legs around Homelander's knees. He's going to need a good grip because even without his powers, this bloody supe's still putting up one hell of a fight if round one is anything to go by.

"I'm going to kill you, you know that, right?" He can barely breathe, but somehow the cunt's finding the air to issue threats. "I'm going to do it slowly. I'm going to break every single bone in your body. I'll-" he breaks off abruptly.

Billy's hand is hovering over his stomach.

"Fuck! Will you stop that!"

"What's that you're gonna do to me?" Billy asks. It's a refreshing change to be able to cut the cunt off anytime he wants just by wiggling his fingers in the air. "Say it again, love."

Homelander presses his eyes shut, maybe trying to pretend like that hand isn't there. "It's my turn," he says in as steady a voice as he can manage.

Billy shrugs. "Alright. Go ahead."

He regrets it immediately when a sly smile crosses the supe's face. It's staggering how fast this cunt can recover. "Why did you agree to working with me? You hate Vought, you hate my kind, you want to kill me, for God's sake. It makes no sense. So why, William?"

Fucking great, that's what he gets after throwing the cunt a softball question, Butcher thinks. "First of all, I agreed to nothing. And second, I'm not working with you," he says, a little more forcefully than he intended to. "I just happen to agree that Soldier Boy's a bloody menace and needs to go back to his little ice prison that's all."

"He did threaten Ryan," Homelander agrees, but that self-satisfied smirk is still right there on his face. Cunt scored a point, and he fucking knows it.

"My turn," Billy says. "Why are you working with me? If you tell me it's the fucking points, I swear I'm going to set that timer to thirty minutes."

Homelander chuckles. "Not a very original question, William."

"Thirty minutes," Butcher threatens. "I mean it." The bloody supe is right, of course. Having the upper hand is making him lazy.

"What can I say." Homelander rolls his eyes. "Clearly, it's because I am madly in love with you."

"Don't think I like that snark." Billy says, but before he can decide which spot to attack, Homelander has kneed him in the groin. It's a dull kind of pain, not too terrible thanks to the Temp V, but unpleasant enough. Premeditated, too. The supe's clearly waited for just the right moment to attack.

Butcher's gonna have to find a better way to pin him down, maybe tie the cunt's legs so at least he can't wiggle free so easily and kick in two different directions. He could try and tear the cape into strips, try to use that, but as appealing as the idea of destroying a U.S. flag is, he knows it's not going to hold for very long.

Homelander's belt though… It's a golden monstrosity and hard to look at, but with any luck, it'll do the job. He pulls it out from underneath the supe, who has started hurling curses at him again.

The moment he starts tugging at one of his red boots, Homelander kicks his legs violently, and Billy has to use all his strength to hold him down. Cunt practically never takes these off, and he is beginning to suspect it's a little more than just a misguided fashion statement.

Still, he manages to pull off both the boots and the pants so that the supe now lies in front of him with nothing but his briefs and the few pieces of cloth around his arms that Billy was too lazy to tear off because they weren't really in the way.

He wraps the belt around Homelander's ankles, then clicks the buckle closed. It fits perfectly. "Fuck me," Billy says, "Vought designed your fucking uniform so they could tie you up with it." He's only half serious, but it really is little too perfect a fit for this to be a bloody coincidence. He's gotta look into that, maybe this bloody company is more resourceful than he's giving them credit for.

Homelander opens his mouth for what Billy assumes is another cocky rejoinder, but when Butcher casually runs a finger over his instep, all that comes out is a high-pitched squeal.

"What, you got a fucking foot fetish, Butcher?" He hisses once he's recovered himself.

Billy does not. In fact, he thinks feet are kind of weird and he half regrets having gone down this route, but he can also sense he's closing in on another death spot, and he's not about to pass on that just because he's feeling awkward.

He sits down on Homelander's knees, facing away from him and bends both his big toes back with one hand. It's like pointing a gun at the cunt's head, except unlike a gun this actually works and he can feel the supe getting all tense.

"Let's try this again," Billy says. "Why do you love working with me so much that you practically forced Ashley to switch all the other team-ups in your schedule for me?"

Silence.

Unoriginal question my arse, he thinks, triumphant. "Yah, that's right, I know about that."

Homelander sighs. "You're not going to like this answer." He pauses, but Butcher can tell it's just for dramatic effect. "The truth is, I did it for you. I mean, who else would you be able to team up with otherwise? Nobody cares about you, William. People only like you as part of… well… as part of me, really. Without me, you are nothing."

Butcher starts laughing. Can it be true? Is this fucking cunt really so self-absorbed that he actually believes other people give a fuck about approval points?

"Nice one, love, nice one." He scribbles his fingers over the bottom of Homelander's left foot.

Homelander shrieks and tries to curl his toes and pull his feet away, but Billy is prepared and is holding him with an iron grip while his other hand is dancing over both stretched soles now.

He bends back all the toes on one foot and runs one finger over the soft underside.

He didn't think Homelander could laugh any harder, but it's another sweet spot, and it's working like fucking magic. The poor cunt is losing his mind behind him. He's howling and wheezing and desperately trying to free himself.

"Fuck me," Butcher mumbles. "You got ticklish toes, love."

"STOP FUCK I CAN'T I DON'T KNOW I DON'T STOPSTOPSTOP I DON'T I JUST YOU YOU ARE FUCK I CAN'T TAKE-"

It's another incoherent string of words pouring out of his mouth, and it takes Billy a while to realize Homelander is trying to answer his question.

"In case I wasn't clear earlier," he says without stopping, "rule is, when I ask you a question you get one chance to give me the best answer your pretty little head can come up with. You try being cute with me, that chance goes out the window. You hear me?"

Most likely not, Billy thinks. Homelander is too busy screaming and crying and blurting out absolute gibberish. He's sounding barely human at this point.

Out of nowhere, Billy feels two hot dots on his back. Cunt's fucking laser powers are returning. He's burning right through Butcher's jacket, but it's no more than a soft tingle on his skin; he's on Temp V and it will be hours before Homelander regains his full strength.

He stops and turns around, a grin on his face, just in time to see the soft red glow in Homelander's eyes flicker and go out.

"Your powers're coming back, love. Means your supe senses are coming back. Heard that makes you lot extra sensitive."

Maybe it's just a rumour, how many people have even tried to tickle a supe and lived to tell the tale?, but Billy is never going to forgive himself if he passes up the chance to verify this particular piece of information.

It's a gamble; Homelander might be able to break out of his bondage at some point, but Billy Butcher's not one to shy away from a bit of risk. And using the cunt's super powers against him is just too fucking poetic, really is what it is.

First things first though. He lies down next to Homelander, brushes the hair out of his face and places a kiss on his forehead. "Your turn, love."