#and this is what I bring you after the long absence lol pure id and self indulgence

[deliciouskeys]

@cozycornerkinktober's prompt lucky #13: Nursing/lactation

Another deleted scene from the Selfish Gene (Butchlander)

Warnings: Everyone's going to write about HL's canon nursing/breast milk fetish for this one. And uh... so am I. But in mine he's the one lactating so trigger warning for that upfront. Mpreg. Supe baby. Injuries. Weird fetishes. Probably a little bit more emo than I intended. @vanshoundd requested this one, but I'm not at all sure they'll be pleased with the result lol, but I tried! AO3 link.

Butcher’s nose was never that sensitive, but he starts to detect it as soon as he’s out of the elevator on the twenty fourth floor of their new hoity-toity high rise condo building. It hits him full force when he opens the door to the apartment, thick, cloying, notes of melted butter and even something a little like apple, all mixing together into a bouquet that now smells like his partner, like their child, like home. Butcher puts away the groceries he brought in before following the overly familiar, obnoxiously loud sound of the pump coming from their bedroom.

Homelander is sitting half propped up in bed, browsing on his phone, the wearable vest with suction cups stuck to his otherwise bare torso, both 150ml milk bottles half-full with creamy white liquid, frothing up slightly from the negative pressure. Lena’s sleeping soundly on top of his body and not in her crib— as far as Butcher knows she’s never been in her crib in the two weeks since being born, Homelander being completely engrossed with taking her everywhere and keeping her close at all times. He hasn’t really left the house except to go out on the balcony, despite having been so enthusiastic about having the house confinement officially nixed a few months ago. At least their new apartment overlooks Central Park and has two spacious bedrooms— not that Homelander has let Lena stay in her nursery yet. Butcher made a token attempt to convince him that sleeping together with your newborn in the same bed was ill-advised, but SIDS was just not something on Homelander’s list of worries. ‘How about you worry about Sudden Dad Death Syndrome,’ he said dismissively. Butcher had no intention to stay away and sleep in another room. If he’s going to get lasered for rolling over on his infant daughter, well, it was a good run. Homelander seems genuinely worried about that eventuality though, and keeps Lena between his own body and a pillow. Butcher’s not sure how much the pillow would really protect him, but he’s learned not to argue about most of these things. He’s also not sure how much Homelander actually sleeps during the night, because he’s still feeding the baby so often, and every time Butcher wakes up groggy during the night, Homelander’s either feeding, burping, changing, or pumping.

At the moment Lena’s sound asleep, positioned along Homelander’s belly, tiny legs flexibly curled up under her diaper, tiny ribcage visibly moving in and out underneath the tiny blanket draped over her.

“I don’t know how she can sleep through that racket going on near her head,” Butcher says as he lies down next to Homelander.

“It’s really not that loud.” Homelander rolls his eyes, finally putting away the phone.

“It’s pretty loud, love. And I think you’re going to break it soon if you don’t stop running it 24-7.”

Homelander huffs. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t store much inside my body?”

Supplement with formula maybe, Butcher thinks but doesn’t say out loud. It’s a really sore topic they’ve been over multiple times over the past couple of weeks. Homelander’s body responded to pregnancy by the textbook, golden colostrum letting down as soon as Lena rut her face into his chest, not even an hour after being born. But his milk supply never came in as plentifully as the lactation coach assured him it would. He produced milk quickly, but had little storage capacity. His chest was only a little bit more swollen and veiny than before pregnancy, and there was apparently just not enough volume for a satisfying feeding, even for a tiny newborn. Butcher had probably never seen him as upset as when he was frantically switching Lena from one nipple to the other, to no avail because she’d drained both in short order and was crying for more. “Why can’t I do this right?!” he’d lamented, sobbing about his failure, rather than the fact that their famished newborn’s suction was apparently strong enough to make his nipples’ skin chafe, pop, and bleed. Butcher fed Lena formula out of a bottle between her breast feedings during those first few days, and Homelander refused to even watch it happen, lying in bed turned away, weeping, depressed, and defeated. The mere sight of the bottle would send him into what, in Butcher’s mind, was irrational hysterics, but suggesting that there might be some postpartum depression at play here was angrily dismissed out of hand. Butcher found what was at least a stopgap solution, buying one of those supplemental nursing systems where breast milk could be mixed with formula to boost the volume and be used to feed the baby through a thin plastic tube taped to align right with the nipple. All the nice physical bonding of not using a bottle, without the anxiety about your baby going hungry, Butcher figured. But Homelander was still a purist, and wanted zero Similac in the mixture. That’s why he’d taken to pumping day and night, every hour except when Lena was actually latched on to him. For better or worse, it seemed to be working, his body slowly adjusting to meet the demand. In the past few days, he finally started having leftovers to freeze. 

“I just feel like I haven’t been able to talk to you without raising my voice over the din of that motor,” Butcher says, cupping Homelander’s face and kissing him on the cheek, then rubbing his hand against the rough beard bristles on his chin. Homelander was so focused on his baby that apparently he stopped prioritizing shaving every morning, brushing his hair, or showering.

“Sorry, I haven’t been taking care of myself today,” Homelander says defensively as Butcher’s hand runs along his jaw.

“D’you want to?” Butcher asks.

Homelander looks down at Lena and sighs.

“I can watch her while you take a fifteen minute shower,” Butcher says, both amused and annoyed. “You can’t keep being this much of a control freak.”

“If she wakes up-”

“I’ll inform you at once, commander-in-chief, Jesus.”

“And if she…”

He trails off but Butcher knows what Homelander is getting at without any more being said. Lena has yet to actually fire off a laser but her eyes have powered up a glow a couple of times in the past two weeks. They haven’t been able to pinpoint what seems to trigger it. Every time it’s happened she was latched on, feeding, and not fussing. Butcher thinks it’s overwhelmed-with-happiness-and-pleasure lasers, not rage-lasers, but they can’t know for sure.

“I’ll be careful and point her away from me. What do you want me to say?”

Homelander nods and slowly sits up. Lena makes a quiet whimper and he freezes but she seems to go right back to sleep, despite being held almost fully upright. Butcher takes her gently into his arms and cradles her. She turns toward his body but thankfully doesn’t wake up and start searching for milk. Homelander walks out of the bedroom with the pump still attached to him.

“Maybe you should take it off before you get in the shower,” Butcher mutters to himself under his breath, but Homelander hears him loud and clear, of course, even with the machine still on and says “Very funny” from the bathroom.

Butcher enjoys the rare opportunity to study this tiny creature snoozing in his arms, a creature he helped make. He leans down and inhales the scent of her head, her wispy dark hairs flying up when he does. He finally hears the pump being shut off and the shower running shortly after. Lena stays asleep, eyes sometimes moving underneath her thin eyelids, long eyelashes twitching slightly. She’s unbearably cute. Holding her, Butcher admits he can understand why her other parent doesn’t seem to want to let go of her for even a minute. He never would have imagined he’d feel like that about anything, let alone a newborn, but there’s some kind of biological or psychological program that’s kicked into gear in his brain once he finally saw her in the flesh. Somewhere in his deep memory he also recalls what it was like to see Lenny for the first time, and feel an overwhelming immediate sense of love for someone so tiny.

As he watches her sleep, his mind starts to drift as well, as if the sleepiness is contagious. He’s in this hypnotized state, so he’s not sure how it happens exactly, but Lena wakes up pretty suddenly. She doesn’t cry, just opens her eyes and next thing Butcher feels is her tiny fist finding and wrapping around the pinky of the hand he’s laid on top of her. Butcher immediately realizes his dire circumstances when he feels powerful force squeezing his finger and bone starting to crack. He stays stoically silent, looking down at her open eyes. They’re huge—sometimes it feels like they’re taking up half of her face— and a piercing blue. He’s heard babies’ eyes often darken as they grow, but as of now they’re the spitting image of Homelander’s. Maybe that’s why he feels just a tiny bit unsettled whenever she fixes them on him– some echo of their old antagonism still buried somewhere deep in his brain.

“Lena, love, let go of Daddy’s hand,” he says quietly through teeth clenching in pain, still smiling at her, already knowing talking like this is futile. He’s fairly sure he feels something fracturing and blinks back tears. She stares up at him, but doesn’t release her grip. He can’t even try to pry her hand off, with none of his hands free. The shower is turned off already, and loath as Butcher is to prove that he can’t watch Lena for fifteen minutes, he gets up and carefully makes his way to the bathroom.

“Can you help me out…” he says as he’s pushing the door open with an elbow and sees Homelander choke on something and press the back of his hand to his mouth. Although he’s at the sink, turned away from the door, Butcher can see in the mirror that he was sipping on one of the milk containers that he detached from his chest.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CAN YOU KNOCK?!” he explodes, apparently before he’s swallowed everything down because the first words come out with a gurgle.

“I actually couldn’t…” Butcher answers sheepishly, wincing because Lena’s grip tightened further around his already broken finger during the yelling.

Homelander looks over and sees the situation and his facial expression twists from anger to distress. He quickly approaches and pries her tiny fingers open, taking her into his own arms almost at the same time, cradling her close.

“She hurt you,” he says, frowning so dramatically that Butcher can’t help but feel amused at their predicament. A baby being able to mangle her father has some kind of dark humor to it.

“She’s fine. I was careless,” Butcher says, almost waving his injured hand dismissively before feeling a jolt of pain in his pinky at any movement.

“Your right hand. You need to go to the hospital,” Homelander laments, starting to sound panicked. 

“Hey, it’s not a big deal, alright? Leave it alone. I’ll take care of it later.”

Homelander looks unappeased by that, and it dawns on Butcher that he’s probably insecure about his child being perceived as a danger to normal people, the public. Perhaps to be locked away in a secure facility until all the powers are under control.

“Hey, I’m okay. I was just careless.” Butcher says, but he’s also starting to survey the scene he walked in on. Homelander’s standing naked, hair still wet, holding Lena in his arms who seems to recognize her feeder parent smell and is starting to root around his chest. Butcher sees the bottle of breast milk, almost drained. He doesn’t say anything, but Homelander seems to catch where his gaze went.

“I make enough for her! I’m not having anything that she needs!” he starts saying and Butcher doesn’t know where to start with this.

“Look, I don’t care what you do with it. You’re the one obsessed with not giving her formula. If you want to drink your own breast milk, I’m not going to be the one to stop you.”

Homelander chews on his lip, face crimson, and Butcher can’t believe that this is, of all the strange things this supe’s done, what he’s going to be mortified by.

“I’m not saying it’s normal, but you’re not harming anyone.”

“You don’t get it,” Homelander says, eyes fluttering when Lena finds his nipple and latches on but then he looks down at her and avoids eye contact with Butcher. “I obsess over it. I- I feel like I get turned on when she’s nursing. I even get a little turned on when I’m pumping. I’ve been wanting to drink it. I have real issues.”

Butcher rubs the bridge of his nose, remembering to use his left hand. “I mean, yeah, that sounds a bit sick, but it’s harmless I guess.”

“You never feel tempted to even just taste it?” Homelander asks. His tone is weird and desperate, as if he’s hoping to hear just a little bit of support for this freaky fixation.

“Can’t say I have,” Butcher says, but then adds. “I kind of like the way it smells. I’ll taste it if it makes you feel better.” He approaches and takes a small sip from the same bottle Homelander was drinking out of, smacking and trying to describe the taste like a connoisseur. “It’s really sweet. It’s not that bad. If I didn’t know what it was I might have though it was some kind of bland custard.”

Homelander watches him, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What?” Butcher asks. “What do you want me to say?”

“You’re not revolted?” Homelander asks cautiously.

“I don’t know, after watching you be in labor for more than a day and then give the bloodiest birth I’ve ever heard of at home on a shower curtain I spread out on our bed? I think I’m beyond being revolted.”

When they move back to the bedroom, Butcher holds Lena while Homelander puts on fresh sweatpants. He’s rushing, as if every second Butcher is holding her is borrowed time.

“You can’t do everything yourself.” Butcher sighs. “It’s just a broken finger. I don’t even feel like going to the ER. They’ll just put it in a splint.”

“Fix your hand,” Homelander answers him brusquely. “I don’t want you walking around with an ugly crooked finger and have it be this ‘Story’ about how Lena broke your pinky.”

“And here I thought you cared about my well-being.” Butcher chuckles.

“Maybe that too,” Homelander says morosely, as he lies back and switches Lena over to his other nipple. His expression softens whenever she’s latched on. “If you’re not going to the ER, can you…bring the bottles from the bathroom…?”

Butcher shrugs and carries the two containers back into the bedroom.

“Can you…” Homelander’s voice gets really quiet. “Can you feed me with it.”

Now Butcher’s a bit disturbed. “Can I what now?”

“Just put the bottle top on it with the nipple and just hold it to my mouth.”

Butcher sighs, incredulous, but does as he’s asked. He watches Lena sucking languidly on Homelander’s nipple– she’s not hungry, she’s mostly doing it out of habit and for comfort. He watches Homelander slowly downing the remaining milk in one bottle and then the other.

“Yeah, this is a bit fucked, love, I have to tell you.”

Homelander licks his lips when he’s drained everything. Lena leans back at about the same time, and the synchrony is vaguely disturbing to Butcher.

“I know,” Homelander says, looking off into the distance and avoiding eye contact. “But it makes me happy.”

A/N: The oxytocin released by the brain upon the sensation of breastfeeding doesn't bring people to orgasm, but it can turn some people on quite a bit. Socially unacceptable biological phenomena, but honestly it makes a lot of evolutionary sense that you'd get rewarded for feeding your brood.