Chapter Thirteen: Playing with Your Dinner Before Fucking It

"Please don't be afraid of me Olivia," Butcher whispered before he dropped his head and pressed his lips urgently to hers. He spoke in between dragging his lips from her mouth and down her neck, flicking his tongue against the soft hollow at the base of her throat before moving back to greedily find her mouth.

Butcher luxuriated in the feel of her lips under his, wanting to devour her. He had to fight every cell in his body where their lips touched. He fought to not wrap her up and return her kiss until they were both breathless.

"What's the house like?" she asked as his breath was hot against her skin.

Butcher wrapped her up in formidable embrace, ignoring her question to instead choose luxuriating in the feel and press of her naked body.

They laid together in the comfortable silence for a few minutes until Butcher felt some of the tension drain from her as he squeezed his arms around her as he asked. "What made you agreeable so fast?"

"It wasn't and isn't without effort." Olivia gave a humorless chuckle as she added, "I needed to start trying to…believe you."

"Do you believe me? Trust me?"

Olivia closed her eyes as he traced along her cheekbones and over her eyelids. "There's no wrong answer," he whispered.

"I'm trying but I'm still feeling cautious as hell," she murmured and opened her eyes to meet his gaze.

"That's understandable," he said as he traced the outline of her lips.

Olivia felt her chest grow tight at the nearly palpable weight of his gaze. She had to fight to not try and leap free, the tent was suffocating her.

"I really need to use the bathroom, I'm sure there's a tree or two nearby," she stammered.

Butcher eased his arms from around her, allowing her to freely move. Olivia sat up and pulled the long-sleeved shirt from the ground and quickly slipped it over her head. Butcher watched her turn and reach for her pants and let his eyes move over her. His gaze froze when it landed on the soft skin of her inner thigh and what looked like a scant amount of blood smeared on the smooth skin.

He looked up and met Olivia's eyes, her expression unreadable as she hurriedly yanked the sweatpants up to her waist.

Butcher felt a flash of nervousness; a foreign feeling and he cleared his throat. "Are you okay love?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," she said quickly and darted from the canvas flaps. Butcher slipped into his own clothes and found her rooting through the plastic bag to find a small rectangular package of store brand tissues.

He began to follow her as she walked toward a thicket of lush-leaved trees. "Can I have a bit of privacy please; I swear I'm not going to run away in the woods with no shoes."

"I'll be right here," he said and watched her pop behind a tree. The sound of her urinary stream blended with the sounds of the rushing river and flying insects. Olivia bit her lip at the ache in her lower body, the temperature had dropped, and her urine steamed on the forest floor.

Butcher watched her emerge from behind the tree and waited until she reached him before walking back to the camp site. "Better?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Mostly," she shrugged and neither of them spoke further. Olivia settled on the log bench and watched Butcher reinvigorate fiery life to the flames by feeding it small sticks and dry brush.

She brushed her fingers through her hair, making a face at the oiliness in each strand and the grit stuck to her scalp.

"What's on your mind?" he asked as he settled on the wood bench across from her.

"It's a stupid thing to even be thinking," she said blowing out a sharp breath before adding. "I would just really like to clean-up; I think we're near some hot springs.

Butcher glanced at the trees, their colors changing as dusk fell, "now?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather not navigate this in the dark, the morning would be better."

He looked at her across the tall flames, "morning it is."

His thoughts were jumbled, "say something comforting."

Olivia was staring off into space when his voice shook her to reality.

"Come here," he said and patted the space on the bench next to him.

She blinked at him slowly. "At some point, you need to really decide and then follow-through on this whole fight or acceptance. Is this the moment I have to decide?" her mind asked.

He patted the space more insistently and she slowly rose and walked towards him.

As Olivia settled next to his formidable frame and bathed in the heat from the fire, hours, and hours away back at the Vought building, Stormfront hovered over the shoulders of her nerd herds as they painted Olivia's social media page as one of supporting controversial subjects and provocative criminal ideals. There were even clips of her alleged manifesto that was leaked to the news.

By the time, the eight o'clock news aired, Doctor Olivia Phillips was a dangerous domestic terrorist and had partnered up with William Butcher, whose mugshot needed no words to instill chilling fear.

Stormfront smiled proudly as she watched Homelander being interviewed by a silver fox journalist about the rise of domestic terrorism. Before the interview went to an ad, a toll-free number flashed on the screen under pictures of Olivia and Butcher along with an obscenely large reward for credible tips leading to their capture and incarceration.

As the number of zeroes in Vought's reporter got everyone being a junior detective, from the junkie puking in the gutter to the pampered rich girl who carried her dog around in her leather purse, Olivia melted into Butcher's side as the sudden weight of the whirlwind since clocking into the Vought building on the otherwise regular kind of day settled around her and pressed against every bit of her body, threatening to compress her out of existence.

Butcher felt her shoulders shake as she covered her mouth to stifle her cries.

"What can I do love?" he murmured huskily and shifted until he could grip Olivia's chin and lift her face to meet his.

"What can I do to stop your tears beautiful?" Butcher asked on a strained voice as he fought to listen and not focus on the rapid rise and fall of her chest along with the small sighs that fell from her full, parted lips.

"Please don't let Vought hunt me down like an animal, they're dangerous," she murmured as Butcher wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he rose to his feet.

He checked that the fire was smoldering and settled Olivia in the plush sleeping bag before fetching a bottle of grain alcohol from the liquor store's colorful plastic bag.

Butcher cracked the seal and took a few burning swallows before passing the bottle to Olivia.

The two of them drank and Butcher was pleased to see Olivia smiling and happier as the level of the bottle fell. He knew she'd wake up hating the bright sun, but the tears would stay at bay for at least a night.

Relief washed through Butcher as Olivia eventually slurred herself to sleep. He slipped behind her and tugged her body against him, she fit against him like a perfect puzzle piece.

Butcher listened as her breathing eventually slowed, growing steady and even, as he followed her down the rabbit hole of dreamland. Olivia's dreams were benign and not memorable, but Butcher's mind was assaulted with a repetitive slideshow of his time on foreign soil, fighting an unnecessary war, death and blood danced behind his closed eyelids.

He was helpless and unable to defend himself while he traversed the world of his dreams. Olivia was stirred awake when Butcher began talking in his sleep. At first his words were barely decipherable and then they took on more flesh and she realized he was pleading repetitively, "don't, don't leave me."

Butcher unconsciously tightened his arms around Olivia as he spoke aloud in the darkened tent.

Olivia slipped out of his embrace and soaked a wad of paper towels with some tepid bottled water before she returned to him as he began thrashing in the confines of the sleeping bag. Olivia smoothed the cool towel across his forehead.

He awoke under her gentle touch as she moved the damp paper towel over his face and neck, in the dimness she could barely make out his features. But she clearly recognized the pain painted on his expression.

"You were dreaming, you're okay," Olivia whispered and smoothed the folded towel across his cheekbones.

Butcher opened his eyes and found himself staring up at her as she continued to move the folded square in a gentle path down his neck. She pressed her fingers over the large pulse in his neck, "you're okay."

Olivia caught a glimpse of his raw need and vulnerability, and she wanted nothing more than to soothe him. She stared down at his chapped lips before setting the cloth aside and cupping her hand to the side of his face. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Lust pushed aside everything thing else in his mind for a moment as Butcher pulled her hard against his body, his hands seemed to be everywhere at once.

Butcher moved his hands along her waist and slid down the smooth curvature of her lower back.

He groaned as he shifted dramatically in the sleeping bag and moved down the length of her body until he could press the side of his face against the smooth, taut skin of her belly. Butcher could feel the steady pulse of her abdominal aorta against his cheek.

Olivia felt the scratchy hair from his beard move along her bare skin as he shook himself free of the lingering hold from his dreams.

"You're okay," she murmured as she settled her hands on the tops of his broad shoulders as he closed his arms tighter around her midsection, squeezing her until she was breathless.

Butcher pressed his face against her smooth stomach and inhaled deeply, pulling her warmth deep into his lungs. It didn't take much for the feel of her naked skin under his hands and smell of her in his nose to shake the stranglehold of his dreams.

His touch turned insistence and soon near painful. Olivia was already uncomfortable with the awkward angle he had her pinned and began to squirm against him.

Butcher growled and kept his grip ironclad and unbreakable as he shifted until she was flat on her back, her thighs spread wide around him so he could settle impossible close to her pink, intimate center.

Olivia blinked rapidly as she stared up at Butcher, he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were glazed over from the combination of his surging lust, unchecked flow of adrenaline, and repressed anger.

Butcher captured her wrists in one hand and roughly pinned them over her head before she could try and gain any semblance of leverage. He shoved his free hand down the scant space between their naked bodies and stroked the length of his painfully hard cock. Butcher gripped his cock and teased the sensitive head against her tight opening, anxious to plunge inside, desperate to possess her.

Olivia gasped as she felt the smooth head of his cock teasing against her wet center, the tip sliding through her pink folds.

"William please," she said sharply.

Butcher's hand froze on his rigid length as it was in a mid-pass through her intimate folds, he paused as he was poised to plunge inside her as he brought his eyes to meet hers.

"William," she said again.

His name a second time on her lips, stopped Butcher dead in his tracks. The sound of his name made his red blood cells pause from circulating around her body.

Butcher watched tears form at the corners of her eyes as she sniffed hard.

"Talk to me love," he murmured gently.

Olivia surprised them both with a harsh laugh. "I knew what to expect from life before, there was a schedule of sorts. All of this though," she scoffed. "I don't know what to do with this?"

Butcher waited as she seemed to gather her next set of words. "I deal with millions of dollars of medical equipment, can run blood work analysis and diagnostics, but this has me feeling completely helpless and shattered."

"That's understandable," he finally said. "This is all a little unorthodox," he added wryly. "How do you want our life to be?" he asked before she could move her thoughts away from the intensity of the present moment.

As Olivia fought to summarize such a difficult question, back at Olivia's apartment turned crime-scene-Supe fuck fest, Homelander wiped his cock on the corner of Olivia's duvet cover as Stormfront adjusted her snug-fitting bodysuit.

"This'll look great on the website tonight," Stormfront said with a sadistic smirk as she took multiple photos of Dr. Craig Dalton's exsanguinated corpse. She tapped the screen and sent the pictures to her nerd fuck boys with a promise of pizza and chicken wings delivered later that night.

Homelander smoothed a few stray hairs back into place as he regarded his reflection in Olivia's antique cheval mirror. He watched Stormfront send message after message to her techie suck and fuck toys before her expression turned serious and before she abruptly spun until her back was facing him, he saw her eyes flick over to him briefly, shrouded in worry.

Homelander was across the room and plucking the phone from her gloved hands before she could blink.

"Hey," she shouted and reached for the phone as his eyes scanned the latest message before she could retrieve the phone.

"Who sent that?" Homelander asked, his anger growing furiously as his mind replayed the pixelated words he had just read from the square HD screen.

"Who sent what baby?" Stormfront asked breezily as she slid the phone deep down the front of her suit to nestle between her warm, rounded, pale cleavage before she slid her hand over the bulge of his flaccid cock behind the crotch of his suit.

Homelander's eyes lit up a vivid red as he closed one hand around Stormfront's throat and squeezed while he ripped the front of her suit open with his other hand until she could read from the phone's screen.

"You need to tell John soon, he's going to be angry," Homelander read as he threw her to the ground.

"Oh, that's nothing baby," Stormfront drawled and ripped the rest of her shredded suit free. "That's just company bureaucracy," she continued as she spread her thick thighs wide, her pink cunt was soon yawning open to him.

"Tell me then if it's nothing," Homelander ordered, his eyes no less blazing in their intensity.

Stormfront slipped her index and middle finger in her mouth and sucked on them until they were dripping wet with strings of her saliva.

"Just corporate bullshit baby, nothing more," Stormfront said as she began plunging her wet fingers into her rosy cunt hole. She was soon panting as she added, "just a little temporary arrangement of The Seven, to boost revenue and stock options."

"What does that mean?" Homelander asked as he clenched his hands into fists.

"Vought just wants to ride the country's currently political waves baby, that's all," Stormfront mewled as she pumped her fingers into her cunt, the tight flesh slurping to suck up the length of her fingers. "It's just for the optics, Vought needs to be pro-woman now."

Homelander's eyes simmered to a ruddy crimson shade as Stormfront began to make herself come as she described Vought's woman first/sisterhood campaign that Stormfront herself would be spearheading. "I'll be the public face of The Seven for a while with Queen Maeve by my side, Vought wants to capture both the young, middle and older women in this country, the world even. Women everywhere will support Vought and its future political endeavors when they see Queen Maeve and myself bringing down misogyny."

Homelander watched Stormfront's fingers expertly bring on a swift, second, wet orgasm as she climaxed thinking of herself at the top of Vought and towering over everyone, to become a Goddess unilaterally feared and worshipped.

Stormfront's ego was too large for the room and caused her to unwisely dismiss Homelander's strength.