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Movie nights never stay innocent for very long with Homelander around—no matter how many times you insist on doing things beyond just having sex.
While you take these moments to show him media outside of the Vought Cinematic Universe, hoping to introduce him to things that have not been Vought approved, Homelander is instead counting down the minutes til it’s appropriate to grope you. Very soon the movie of your choice loses his interest, and Homelander is spending the runtime observing you. Watching you. Feeling you next to him.
He thinks you’re oblivious to this but secretly you simply enjoy dragging out his torture for as long as possible. You feel his gaze burning into you, eyes undressing each part of you he can easily ogle. It didn’t take long for you to stop caring about how you looked under your clothes. If he wants to look where he’s not meant to he’ll have your worn out underwear where the print has long washed out and crumbled to deal with on his own.
For the last twenty minutes you’ve caught him either staring or groping; or a combination of both. You’re sitting by his side, legs thrown over his now bouncing legs while you rest against the arm of his gaudy couch. He’s always like this—a pulled bow string, quivering with the thrumming energy ready to release. His gloved hand rests on your knee, slowly itching up and up and up until he can freely squeeze the meat of your thigh.
You observe as he lets out a little sigh, his attention torn between the movie and watching his gloved fingers squeeze and release your flesh. It’s like he’s transfixed by the motion of something living and breathing, voluntarily occupying the space next to him.
It’s your turn to stop caring about the movie when you catch his brows furrow as his eyes go up from your thigh to your chest. This time it doesn’t feel like he’s staring underneath the cups of your bra. No, he’s looking deeper. Watching the steady beat of your heart thumping under your ribs.
“Hey, you okay?” You tear him out of his thoughts with a soft cradle of his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his military style clean shaved jaw. You’ve never felt anything beyond the slightest prickle of his facial hair against your fingers or lips. At the same time, you’ve never witnessed him shave either. Sure, you’re usually catching up on some sleep he stole from you in the middle of the night and in the meanwhile he’s in the bathroom going through his morning routine. But sometimes it just feels like a yet another mystery to unveil.
All worry dissolves from his face and he shoots you a bright smile. All pearly whites with his characteristic fangs peeking at the corners. You can’t help but feel that while the joy is genuine, the smile itself appears performative; as if defaulting to a familiar expression while his mind battles itself.
“Never been better.”
Now that you’ve set off the first touch he takes that as a blanket permission to drop any pretense of paying attention to the movie. He grasps your wrist, pinning it back against the arm rest next to your head as he follows the same trajectory, leaning over your body to capture your lips.
Homelander doesn’t know the meaning of slow. He eagerly kisses your lips open, giving you his all and more. Always more.
Letting go of your wrist and lips he instead spreads your legs, wiggling himself in between them, leaning over your torso, stealing your breath once more.
With each kiss he takes more. He gives more. It’s always like that with him.
More. More. More.
“Mhmm.” Overtaken with feeling you warm and pliant beneath him, he huffs into the kisses. Muffled moans fall freely, getting trapped in between the press of your lips against his.
At first you don’t resist his urgent kisses. You do, however, do your best to to slow down his feverish lust that has since grown into a raging bonfire over the course of a few touches.
Try as you might, your fingers softly raking through his hair as he attempts to devour you whole do nothing to deter him. Homelander instead moans wantonly, not ashamed to show you how much he wants this. How much he wants you. He kisses down your neck, obscenely sucking wet and hot kisses down the smooth skin.
It’s barely been a few minutes and he’s panting against your skin with a frenzy you’re not sure a normal man is capable of. His tongue licks up your neck just as his hips jerk forward.
You gasp. Your head snaps back, eyes rolling back with how good that felt. The hard sharp pressure against your crotch sends a shiver down your spine. Homelander rumbles appreciatively, still abusing your exposed neck; licking and kissing his way up to your jaw, nipping softly.
His eyelashes flutter against your skin. Now dark with lust, his eyes seek yours out. Almost checking to see if you’re just as excited.
You encourage him by pulling his jaw in, kissing him unreservedly. Showing him your own little set of pretty whines as you do your best to steal his breath. It works marvellously. He’s eating out of the palm of your hand, letting you lead the kiss.
You make it messy, sloppy. Gripping the back of his head you pull him into open-mouthed kisses. He grinds into you gently each time your tongue swipes his. The taste of him is so intoxicating you start losing yourself in the heady kiss. All the thoughts swimming through your head from earlier gone. He’s kissed, licked and touched all of them away.
Homelander slides his hands underneath your top and that’s the first thing that takes you out of the moment. The leather of his glove, while warm, feels freezing compared to the blazing temperature of your body.
He’s greedily squeezing your tits with both hands, squishing the bra cups and pushing your top all the way up to your armpits. While feeling him squeeze you and press against you feels good, it would feel a hell of a lot better if you weren’t surrounded by leather.
The leather couch is uncomfortably sticking to your back now that he’s pulled your top up. You feel like screaming.
Those stupid fucking gloves.
You’ve always wondered how much he gets out of being in the suit all day. Feeling his gloved hand roaming under your shirt is a perfect example of this. He can’t feel your body’s heat through the glove yet he’s acting as if your skin was gliding down his palm.
You wiggle your hands in between your bodies. Pushing flat-palmed at his chest. It doesn’t make him budge an inch, and he continues kissing you down your neck again when you stop giving his needy lips the same attention.
He’s… determined, to say the least.
He’s quickly losing all sense of time and space when he ignores your humble attempt at a shove. He’s too concerned with juggling making out and groping you. The teenage boy-like clumsiness of chasing the pleasure of a well-placed touch would be endearing any other time. But you want him to slow down. You want to appreciate each touch in its entirety. You don’t want to forget the feel of him in the whirlwind of his attempted speedrun. You want him to feel each kiss vividly. Not as just one more necessary step towards the finish.
You see it for what it is. During the short but electrifying time you’ve had together you’ve come to notice things about him.
He’s a very performative lover. Constantly raising the bar, making sure he doesn’t lose your attention for even a second. It’s clear he’s learned to be worried about the love he receives. Worried that as soon as he stops performing he loses you. Loses your attention. Worried that as soon as your senses aren’t being bombarded with pleasure you’ll have time to think about this. This relationship. Him.
He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand that he craves reassurance. With each kiss he begs and begs and begs you to not leave. Don’t go. Kiss. Don’t leave me. Kiss. Don’t leave me like the others. He says with each touch, squeeze and kiss.
He moans and whimpers, outwardly appreciating the act. Because that’s what you want right? You want to know that he’s enjoying himself, that you feel good. That he enjoys making you feel good. He gives and takes more each time he touches you.
He doesn’t want you bored, complacent, uninterested.
So, he performs.
His act is still of the hero you’ve seen in commercials, news programs, and magazines. So the suit stays on, the hero's smile never wavering, the kisses never-ending, touches endlessly scorching.
Of course he’s never told you this. You’ve been around him long enough to deduce this yourself. And while you were never sure how correct you were of your assessment of him, all your suspicions come true when you stop him.
You keep your hands on his chest, this time pushing with all your might. “Wait, wait, wait. Slow down a little.” You deliver your line with a chuckle as you catch your breath, not wanting him to feel rejected.
It has the opposite effect. Homelander’s hands come off your body as if burned. He lets your tits go, instead propping himself with his hands on the armrest, each one on either side of your head. “Wha—what’s wrong?” He blinks in a rapid succession as if he was rewinding the whole make out session to see where he’s gone wrong.
“Oh no, nothing! Nothing’s wrong.” You quickly attempt to soothe his ego, hugging his jaw with your palm. And the desperate for affection wounded animal that he is he immediately leans in, enjoying the feeling for a second with his eyes closed before the immersion breaks and he looks at you, demanding an explanation.
“I just wanted to slow down. You always go so fast.” The light-hearted chuckle that follows your words still does nothing to ease the learned tension in his body.
“So?” As soon as he realizes he didn’t cause a major offense he’s back on you. “You feel good.” With a hot breath he kisses another wet patch into the side of your neck. “You make me feel good.” And another one. Dragging his tongue up to your jaw. “I make you feel good.” And while you’re trying to make a point, your body doesn’t particularly care about your thoughts when his thick wet tongue makes your skin tingle with each lick.
“Why should we stop?” He huffs out, grinding himself into you. You feel the rigid outline of his cup digging into you. It feels good. Having something hard grinding into your clothed pussy has always felt good. But knowing you’re rubbing yourself against his suit and not the surely hard outline of his cock is what snaps you out of that mind-melting pleasure.
“Because,” you drag out in between a moan. You feel his lips tug into a smile against your neck. He’s well pleased with being able to reduce you to trembles and moans. You push him away a little again, just enough to separate his lips from your neck. “I don’t want it to be over so soon.”
While you’re not commenting on his sexual prowess and more the pace he’s locked himself into he still squints his eyes, a flash of hurt crossing them before he finds his performative grin again. “Well then we’ll go again. And again, and again and again.” With each again he places a softer kiss on parts of your face; each cheek, your nose and ending up with a kiss on your lips. “As many times as my queen wishes.”
This you like. This you need. Really feeling each kiss, letting yourself ride the anticipation train. More importantly, you want that for him.
“Queen?”
He shrugs, “every king needs a queen.” You shake your head with a silent chuckle.
You mindlessly run your fingers through his hair as you meet his gaze. “Still, slow down a little, hm?” He grumbles in response, placing another kiss on your lips. Even though he’s acting grumpy, he’s listening. His lips linger on yours a touch longer. You really get to feel each eager quiver of them. Holding back from devouring you whole like he originally planned.
“Have you got anywhere to be today?” You ask when he lets your lips go. Homelander shakes his head, the loose strands of hair tickling your skin when he nuzzles into you.
“Look, how about you let me take the reins today? Wouldn’t that be fun? You always give it your all. Maybe… it’s time for you to sit back and enjoy yourself.” You try to sell it as if it was something he’d choose for himself. You make it sound like you’re rewarding him. And you will. Just not by immediately riding his dick like he expects you to from the way his hand goes down to squeeze your hip already imagining himself underneath you.
“Mhmm, bossy you is pretty sexy.” He purrs into your ear before immediately switching gears.
“Righty-o, up you go.” Although clumsily, Homelander swaps you with him. He plops you down on top of his lap, purring when he runs his hands up and down your hips, his head propped up by the arm rest. His lips part, as if he’s tasting the air when he looks right at your pussy through your clothing. Cheater.
“Wait, hold on. Not here, there’s barely any space.” Seeing the flag cape draped just off the side of the couch with him now lying down irritates you. You can’t wait to rip the whole thing off him. “Take us to the bedroom.”
“Really?” He’s amused, wearing the same expression one would after winning a lengthy discourse. He’s all wild glittering eyes and sharp grin, trying to unsuccessfully twist his expression into something semi-nonchalant as he gestures towards the TV. “What happened to watching a movie?”
He’s back to that wolfish grin, unable to hold back from the joy of winning a bet that he’s fabricated in his head. “You made suuuch a big deal about it earlier. Now look at you. Can’t wait to fuck yourself on my cock.” He purrs.
You roll your eyes but the gesture carries no actual irritation.
“Charming. Aren’t you a gentleman?”
“What can I say, it’s my brand. I’m all about chivalry and good manners.”
“Well take your chivalry and good manners and carry me to bed.”
“But babe, the movie.” His shit-eating grin makes you playfully roll your eyes again while shaking your head.
“Fuck the movie.” As this leaves your lips his grin turns into an excited, a more genuine one.
“Now we’re talking.” Homelander slots his hands under your ass, hoisting you up as he gets off the couch. The effortless handling never fails to make your stomach flip.
The scene of him carrying you to the bedroom while stealing away kisses is one from a romantic movie. After saving the world, the hero finally gets to rest with his love by his side.
The end.
Except for Homelander, the story is never over. He doesn’t hang up the cape. The persona stays on. Even you haven’t been able to figure out if there even is a part of him that isn’t so intrinsically intertwined with the Homelander persona.
But at the very least you can try to look behind the curtain. Or well, the cape.
Homelander drops you on the bed, kicking off his boots—courtesy of your constant nagging as he’d like to call it—before following you, hands and knees on either side of you. Immediately zeroing in on your lips as he leans in to steal another kiss from you.
You extend your arm, meeting his lips with your palm, halting their path with a muffled mmph. He quickly recovers, kissing the centre of your palm with an obnoxious mwah. To make matters worse, Homelander licks your palm.
“Ew, what’s wrong with you!” You let out with a squeak, instinctively pulling your hand back which Homelander takes as the golden opportunity to get his paws and lips all over you.
“You don’t usually say ‘ew’ to me licking you.”
“Well—that’s different!” You hate how easy it is for him to fluster you. “And hey, don’t forget it’s meant to be my turn. Come on, you agreed.” It can be pretty hard to pull yourself away from his needy touches but your pouty tone does the job for you. Putting on the voice of disappointment works wonders on getting Homelander to do what you want.
“Alright, alright, alright. Don’t get all worked up, jeez. I’m just playing.” Homelander wraps his arms around your middle and rolls with you on the bed, stopping when you end up on top. He folds his arms behind his head, propping it up a little to get a better look at you as you settle your knees on either side of his hips. “You make it sound like I committed a fucking crime. Maybe I missed the news. Is it now a crime to show my girl some sweet sweet love?” He wags his eyebrows obnoxiously.
Homelander grinds his hips up into you. He even has the audacity to make it look like a mistake with his downturned lips and raised eyebrows. Amongst the whole kerfuffle he still manages to keep the same levels of continuous arousal. You just feel like you’re missing out by not being able to see just how much he’s raring to go.
“It’s a good thing I’ve got a hero here to stop this crime from happening.” You place your hands on his chest, tapping on the textured fabric with all your fingers. “Pass me your hand.”
“Why, are you gonna fucking cuff me?” He says incredulously, trying to follow your train of thought.
“Of course not. I’m gonna take your gloves off.” You rubbed your hands up and down his chest as if warming him up for what’s to come.
“Really? This is stupid.” He clicks his tongue. “You know what hands look like.” He scrunches his face with disdain and confusion; eyebrows drawn tight, his lips spread into a grimace.
“I don’t know what yours look like.” You lean over him to pull in the nearby pillow, slotting it under his head when he slides both hands from underneath his head.
“Okay, I may be the one spewing bullshit in front of the cameras sure, but now that is a dirty lie.” You grasp one of his hands. He’s not normally this reluctant to at least get his gloves off but at this point his vision of how this was meant to go is not being met, staining the fake reality in his head.
“Sure fine, I have seen them before. Is it such a big deal that I want to see them again? They’re pretty.” You say sheepishly.
“Pretty?” He echoes.
“Yeah. You’ve got lovely hands.” That’s it. Compliments.
“Lovely… Is that what you’re going with? What about manly? Strong. Powerful. Now that sounds better.” He squeezes his fists when he rattles off his adjectives. You nudge him to open his hands again so you can pinch the leather off each digit, until you’re able to slide the entire thing off his hand. You do the same thing to the other hand as he continues listing words that he deems better suited.
“I think beautiful covers it.” You say as you gently trace a line across the top of his hand, turning it around where you draw circles inside his palm. “Powerful, strong, or manly doesn’t. You don’t have the crude—ugly—calloused strength. Yours is unmatched on a level unknown to man and still it leaves your hands looking pristine. So… beautiful.” You bring his hand up to your lips where you tenderly kiss the tip of each finger before gliding your softly parted lips across his first set of knuckles. His skin is baby soft. Your lips tingle with the soft brush, vibrating with the friction as Homelander’s fingertips twitch with each pass of your lips.
Homelander catches his breath. He wasn't expecting this. With such a gentle touch you've managed to fluster him. As if his system was abruptly shutting down, his expressions mimic his internal panic. His eyes blink rapidly, his lips parting and closing in a cycle. It takes a forced huff of embarrassment and forcing out a raspberry to regain his composure.
“Pfft, Christ, if this is your idea of going slow we're gonna be here a long fucking while.”
“Mhm,” you open his palm, pressing three kisses where you'd expect to feel callouses. But you don't. His skin is silky soft. “You did say you had the rest of the day free.”
“Right. So now that my gloves are off can we finally get on with it? I’m gonna get blue balls with the way you’re holding out on me. Have mercy on me, babe.”
“Again with the rushing. You said it yourself, you have nowhere to be but here. With me.”
“Hm, I’d just like to get there before sundown.”
“Well, I can’t promise you that.”
“Aha! Right, of course… you’re getting off on this.” He makes it sound so accusatory. How dare you find doing things with your boyfriend arousing.
“Not in the way you imagine.”
Homelander ignores your response and continues. “Unless you’re upset with me and this is your way of getting back at me. Did I do something wrong?”
“Stop overanalyzing this. I’m just trying to change things up.”
“So you do have an issue with the way things have been going.” He takes his hands back and pushes himself up on his elbows to see you better. This makes you wobble on his lap, nearly losing your balance. You watch as his whole face twitches. He’s desperately trying to keep control of his expressions.
“Stop going down this rabbit hole. Have I ever given you the impression that I am unsatisfied?”
“Maybe you’re a better actress than I thought.”
You frown, this is not going down the way you wanted. You lean forward and wipe the distrust off his face with a long and involved kiss. Touching your forehead to his once you pull apart. Though his lips are already insisting on another kiss.
“Listen to me. I love you so much. I-I honestly don’t even have words to describe this feeling. And you make me feel so good. Everyday is a blessing with you. You take care of me so well…” You give in to his demand and kiss him again.
“Let me take care of you today.” You exhale with a furrowed brow, a sense of need and urgency palpable enough to throw even Homelander off his whole dismissive play.
He only manages to nod, with his forehead still against you.
“Good boy.” You purr and push him back down. A little thrill runs through you when he bucks up against you, a lewd whine pouring from his lips. That’s a piece of knowledge that’s certainly getting put in your back pocket.
“Will you be good and let me take the cape off, pretty please?” It feels like you’re cheating when you’re met with the most conflicting expression you’ve ever seen on him. Both eager to please yet reluctant to lose a piece of the Homelander puzzle. The gloves were an offensive gesture enough.
With an annoyed huff he props himself up and unclips the cape from his suit. It helps that he never sits or lies on the damned thing. You pull it away from him with a grateful stroke down his cheek that he leans into, bunching it up on the other side of the bed.
“Have you no respect for this great nation? At least hang it up properly.” You roll your eyes and click your tongue in annoyance but you get off him to hang up the cape on his suit hanger. There are battles you’re willing to fight today and this isn’t one of them.
“There, happy?” You go back to straddling him.
“All things considered.” He dramatically waves his hands in the air before letting them fall back on top of the bedding.
“Alright, smartass.” You’re already liking this look. Piece by piece you’re slowly stripping the façade away.
Your earlier snarky tone makes way for softness. You run your hand up and down his chest. You press over the ridges of the suit, nails raking down the subtle eagle texture. You gently push into the soft pecs, feeling the material give. Your fingers slide to the edges of the front panel, playing with the clasp and feeling around the glossy red piping.
While you’re having the time of your life, Homelander is less pleased. Eager and frustrated he nearly spits out “Jesus just—fuck—ah, just fucking let me inside you.”
“Be patient, slow makes it more exciting.”
“You’re plenty wet already, I know you want it, how much more excitement do you need?”
“Hey, no snooping.”
“Can’t help it, it’s all I can smell. I can almost taste it in the fucking air. I can feel how much you want me.” His hands land on your hips, finding comfort in the familiar gesture. He rubs his bare hands under your top. The skin on skin contact on your waist makes your head spin.
“Well, I want to feel you too. You said you’d let me take the lead right?”
“You can feel me just fine and dandy.” He grinds into you to prove his point. Admittedly, it does force a little gasp out of you, but you’re not going to let yourself succumb to his foul play.
“No, I'm feeling your suit. I wanna feel you. Without it.”
“You’re being fucking ridiculous. Think I can’t tell how much your pussy aches when I grind into you?”
“Potty mouth.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
You take a deep breath and release a long sigh. During it, your hands travel from his chest up to his face where you cup his jaw. It’s become your favourite gesture to get his attention with.
“Let me love you all the way, honey. Let me feel you.” You kiss his lips softly but soundly. A couple times until he’s pliant enough that he’s sighing into the kisses and running his hands over your back.
“Fine.” It’s a short, curt answer but it will do. Just as you’re about to reach for the fastening of the top portion of his suit he stops you. You’re expecting to have to go into another tirade of endless begging but all he says is, “belt has to go first.”
You nod with a soft smile. He’s being so good for you. You won’t abuse this moment to make jokes or tease him for his caginess.
You’re not stupid. Your relationship is still fairly fresh, yet you both bull-rushed into it—head over heels. Still, he’s managed to keep a lot of sides of him hidden away from you. You don’t spend every night at his penthouse but when you do, he changes into his pyjamas when it’s dark or when you’re already in bed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that your partner feels insecure over his body.
Can’t say you blame him with the image he’s forced to uphold. It’s quite a tall order to meet the image people have in mind when they think of the strongest supe of all time. You know the suit is a façade. You just want him comfortable enough to let you peer behind it.
You unclasp the golden belt, the metal clicking loudly in the quiet room. You put it to the side after Homelander lifts his hips to let you slide it out from underneath him, this time without his snarky remarks about putting it in the right place.
You smooth down your hands over the previously unseen section. It’s nothing more than a strip of the existing fabric, but the tiny gap you see between the top and bottom of the suit has you ravenous, nearly salivating at the thought of feeling him skin-to-skin to you.
You don’t understand why he feels the need to hide this from you. He couldn’t be anything less than perfect in your eyes if he tried. You even tease the sliver of exposed flesh by dragging your fingertip across it. You can feel Homelander vibrate with unspent energy where he’s got his hands on you.
You’re just about to work on the top part of his suit but his intense grip circles your wrist. You snap up to meet his gaze and notice the pained expression. Your giddy excitement fizzles out and gets replaced by heart-aching sympathy. It hurts to see him suffer so.
He lets out an empty chuckle, attempting to distract you from his self-doubt.
“You know this isn’t… I don’t look like—”
“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry, my love. If there’s one thing I want you to not worry about, it’s whether I find you attractive or not, okay? It’s a firm yes regardless.”
He nods curtly, his hand loosening around your wrist, before falling completely.
He aids you in taking the top part of his suit off; arms slipping out of the sleeves as he sheds the whole piece. You push it off to the side like the belt, surprised at just how heavy it really is.
When you look back down on him, you have to stop yourself from smiling too widely.
He’s perfect.
“Wow. In case there’s any doubt, it’s an even firmer yes now.” You can’t help but continue in line with your banter. You don't miss the way his cheeks tint pink at the comment.
You’re looking down at a very different figure without the suit. He’s slim, with very subtle muscle lines contouring his silhouette. You don’t understand what he was so worried about, he’s so much more pleasant to look at without the suit.
His shoulders—while tense—are beautiful, continuing down to arms that, no matter how large, could never portray the true extent of his strength. It makes sense. Without the suit in the way it’s like you can see the power just lying below the surface.
Your hands softly rest on his pecs. His torso is a beautiful, fuzzy chest leading into a surprisingly slender waist that has you blushing. Your fingers rake through the chest hair, gently applying pressure with your nails before swapping it around for your palms, dragging them down to his hips, feeling how buttery-smooth his skin feels. He has no blemishes, no scars.
While you’re having an incredible time exploring the parts of your lover that you’ve not been allowed access to before, he’s stuck in his own head, fighting a battle you’ll never have a chance of joining—let alone winning.
Being the strongest man in the world doesn’t bar him from requiring soft handling every once in a while. As tenderly as you can muster you whisper, “you still with me, honey?”
His eyes snap down from where they were looking into the ceiling mirror to yours.
“Mhm…” He sounds anything but convincing.
“Let’s get the rest of it off.” With little input from him, you pluck at the waistline to pull the pants down, equally awkward and heavy garment joining the pile of the rest of the suit. His legs are slimmer than the suit would make you believe—unsurprisingly. His thighs, while slim, have enough meat on them to make you want to bite into him. You wonder what his reaction would be.
Not to be left behind, you take your own clothes off, matching him by still leaving your underwear on.
You grind yourself against him, he’s certainly let anxiety dispel some of his usual crazed arousal but he’s still semi-hard for you.
“Wanna talk to me?” Usually when you’re on top of him, eagerly grinding against his cock he’s on you. You take his hands off your waist, pulling them with you and pinning them above his head when you lean in to kiss his neck. Slow but steady kisses lead down to the juncture of his neck, where you ever so slightly whisper, “or would you like me to do the talking?”
You can’t help but smile against his neck when you feel him get hard again and buck up into you.
“Mhmm, I love this.” You kiss down from his neck to his chest, your arms broadly stroking all available bare skin—from his tight shoulders to his arms. “You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his soft chest, strangely enjoying the soft fuzz smattering his pecs. You’ve only ever seen his pubes—which he tends to keep neatly trimmed—so it’s almost surprising to see the rest of his body hair. You’ve decided that you’re a fan.
“Is it weird to say that I really like your chest hair?” You say with a charmed little chuckle. You pull yourself up so you can see into his eyes, your hands never stopping their exploration of his upper body.
“You’ve said plenty of strange things before.” He dismisses it, it’s the first time he’s spoken in a while. His voice is uncharacteristically weak.
“Well… I really, really like it. Can you tell?” God, how is this getting to you so much? You feel your own cheeks warm just as his do. You’d be lying if you said his reactions didn’t make you throb and ache.
“It’s so soft… You gotta let me sleep on your chest from now on.”
“Anything you want.” His voice has a breathless quality to it that you find terribly endearing. It’s such a departure of what you’re used to with him.
“Good. I want more of this.” You grin at him widely, you see him slowly loosening up that tension he’s worked himself into. Time slips you when you place sweet touches and kisses all over his chest and stomach, strategically avoiding his cock.
You’re enjoying peppering hundreds of tiny kisses all over his skin while Homelander keeps his hands on you. Your hair, arms or waist—or anything else he can get his hands on really. You kiss and touch him all at the same time feeling like it will never be enough.
His voice breaks you from your indulging. “Greedy.”
“For you? Yeah.”
Homelander’s warm hands reach behind your back, unclasping your bra. He purrs as soon as the garment falls down, giving him unrestricted access to your pretty tits. You help him out by taking your arms out of the straps and throwing it over to the pile of his suit.
“Who’s greedy now?”
“It’s only fair I get to stare at your tits too.” He’s too taken in by the sight of them that he sits up, with you still on his lap as he nuzzles your breasts. Like a happy cat he purrs against you, mouthing at the skin in between your breasts with distinct hunger. His hands cup them from the side, giving them a squeeze.
He kisses his way over to the peak of your left breast, indulgingly twirling his tongue around your nipple before sucking it in between his lips entirely. He’s very vocal, sucking the bud so salaciously it has your lower belly warming instantaneously. Feeling his cock throb right against your clothed pussy feels obscene after such a long foreplay.
The little back and forth he does with your hips really makes you aware of how uncomfortably wet your underwear has gotten.
You let him suck on your other breast as well, raking your fingers through his locks before you push him back down. “It’s meant to be my turn.”
“Well you’re taking fucking forever, forgive me for wanting to blow off a little steam.”
“Sure, sure, you’re totally not enjoying this.” As a cheeky reminder you reach down to squeeze his erect cock through his red briefs.
“I’d be enjoying coming inside you a hell of a lot more.”
His hands on your hips rip the fabric of your underwear, pulling the tatters off you and throwing them off to the side. It’s not the first time he’s pulled this move, you were more ready this time round.
“Okay fine, I hear you loud and clear.” You can’t stop the smile stretching across your lips. His eagerness is cute. It’s nice to have a partner who wants you so desperately. As long as he’s willing to slow down ever so often.
You lean down to kiss his chest some more, kissing your way to his nipples to give him the taste of his very own medicine. Taste he seems to enjoy a lot more than you expected.
But you’re not going to torture the man for much longer. You’ve had your fun—at least the start of it. So you give him what he wants.
You pull down his cute red briefs that he helps kick down the rest of the way.
You’re a little blown away by how good he looks underneath you, all naked.
“Well?”
“Just admiring the goods—the whole package actually.” You gesture a sweeping gesture with your hands, framing him with your thumb and forefinger on each hand like a photographer would.
You sit back on his thighs, hand wrapping around his cock. You smear the precum across his tip with your thumb, listening in for his pretty little whimpers. He’s always so sensitive. “Look up for me, baby. Up into the mirror. I want you to watch yourself.”
You stroke his cock with one hand, massaging his balls with the other. Jesus, you could come watching him react the way he does.
His muscles quiver and tense with the sensations. He’s so much more interesting without the armour in the way. Seeing how everything affects his entire body is beautiful. This whole experience has you gaining a new appreciation for Homelander’s senses.
“Do you want me to suck you off?” The question catches him off guard and his gaze snaps down to yours, away from the mirror. Your hand doesn’t stop stroking.
“No-oh. Jus-just sit on it already.”
“As his majesty wishes.” You finally do the honours of slowly sitting down on his cock, the thick shaft fills you so fully you exhale with relief when he bottoms out.
“Ffffuck me.” Homelander’s whole body is strung tight, waiting to snap.
“I am.”
He throws you a withering look. “That’s my line.”
“Aren’t you meant to share things in a relationship?”
“Oh I’ve got something to share with you, just you wait.” Homelander digs his feet into the bedding, gaining leverage as he thrusts up into you. You can’t help but yelp when it goes from zero to a hundred within a second. You’re holding onto his hand on your hip while you support yourself with the other against his chest. Your moans come to you naturally, he’s filling you fully in each thrust. The delicious pull of his entire length seesawing in and out of you is what stole your breath the first time you fucked.
After all this teasing and waiting, it’s Homelander’s time to indulge in his fun. And you let him have it—not like it causes you much grief. He transforms between a pained grin each time you squeeze around him to a fully devilish smirk when he gets your legs to involuntarily shake around his.
“Goddamn, I nearly forgot how good your pussy feels with how long this took you.”
You’d answer if you had any coherence left in you but you’re currently getting the life fucked out of you. Not exactly the headspace for an answer.
Just as quickly as he picked up the pace he rolls you around on the bed, slotting you underneath him with ease. Automatically you wrap your legs around him, your arms going around his neck when he buries his face into yours.
He drives into you desperately. Each stroke leaves your spine tingling and pussy quivering.
“Can you come like this?” He comes across breathless, words coming out as gasps between him mouthing at and licking your neck.
“Prop my ass up.”
Homelander almost reluctantly leans back, settling himself on his knees as he pulls in the pillow he earlier had his head on. Like you weigh nothing at all, he props your ass up with one hand and shoves the pillow underneath with the other.
He doesn’t lean back over you again, instead easily picking up a new position. Your legs point up, resting against his shoulders as his cock sinks into you again. His hands settle over the top of your thighs, eagerly pulling you into each one of his strokes.
“Better?”
“Uh-huh.” You’re giving him very little feedback because all you’re focused on is the way his cock rubs against all your favourite spots, pushing you closer and closer towards your orgasm. God, he’s good. You don’t like telling him too often should he grow an even bigger ego, but he sure knows how to give it to you good.
You normally need Homelander to rub your clit simultaneously to be able to reach orgasm but today has you so worked up and the view of him is so pretty and this angle is so—
“Fuck, I’m gonna come…” You mumble, barely coherent as the next few thrusts push you over the edge. Your pussy tightly squeezes around his cock before relaxing into a softer throbbing sensation of your orgasm washing over you.
You didn’t even realise you had your eyes closed near the end as you open them again. You feel a little dizzy, smattering of stars appearing in your vision. A mop of blonde hair tickles your chin.
Homelander must have been on the verge of coming this whole time because you didn’t even realise he was right there with you, spilling deep inside you.
He’s now sprawled across the top of you, catching his breath while keeping the skin-on-skin contact. You’re sweaty and tacky—arguably it’s not at all comfortable. But you’ve fought hard to have this, so you can survive a bit of sweat. At least you’re no longer sticking to leather.
Homelander rolls off you with a huff, facing the ceiling mirror again.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Tiger.”
Of course he knows what he’s doing. Everything about you is different to what he’s used to.
He’s used to sex feeling like pure rush. From the occasional fan he’s fucked during a convention to a full-blown—though fabricated—relationship with Maeve. He’s used to the fever of the moment. Where you just go, go, go. Getting his partner off as quickly as possible. Keeping them engaged and wanton as long as possible so they can’t think and reconsider what they’re doing. He’s used to sex feeling like a race against time.
But you’re not like that. You’re not looking to escape as soon as you’ve had your fill.
He catches your eye in the mirror and you give him a pleased tired little smile, still catching your breath. You don’t hide away from him.
You’ve done the opposite of what he’s used to.
You’ve slowed him down, asked him to stop rushing you. Savouring each moment is a privilege he hasn’t had before you.
Fuck, he’s not sure anybody before you has actually wanted to be with him for him, rather than the prestige or power that comes with his name. He’s used to being the one to save everybody. He doesn’t need saving—of course not—yet, the sentimental part of him thinks that you just might.
You break him out of your thoughts by tapping his shoulder.
“Wanna take a bath together?”
“Now?” He slurs a bit.
“Yeah, so we can relax after your big—BIG performance.”
“Hm, okay. Let’s take a bath.” He’s closing his eyes, if not due to the exhaustion his release brought, then to escape him staring disapprovingly.
“I’ll go set it up.” You say. All he hears is the padding of your bare feet down the lacquered floors. The sound of flowing water after you turn the tap on is strangely soothing. He opens his eyes, looking up at himself, still sprawled naked across the bed.
Looking at himself right next to the pile of the bulky suit usually brings up thoughts he doesn’t enjoy dwelling on. Today, he can’t help but feel the nervous heat low in his belly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when he recalls the enthusiastic way you’ve explored him today.
“You shouldn’t be letting her get this close.”
“You shouldn’t have let her in.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you, buddy. You know nothing good ever comes from this. From… love.”
He makes the word sound so dirty, vile. What he’s experiencing with you is anything but. You’re good for him.
“But for how long?”
“How long until it turns out she’s just like the rest. Unreliable. Untrustworthy. Fake.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Do you really think she’s gonna stick around when she meets the real you?”
He doesn’t want to respond to him. Not today. Not at the very least now.
Homelander slides off the bed. It’s the only way he can escape his judgmental looks. Too lazy to take proper steps he lightly levitates off the ground, carrying himself up to the bathroom.
He tips his feet down to switch to walking, getting a view of you leaning over the vanity, removing whatever makeup and product you’ve got left on your face from the day. The bath is nearly full and bubbled up.
“Oh great—you’re here!” You smile at him through the mirror while you rub the mascara out of your lashes.
“Get in and let me know if it’s hot enough.”
The domesticity of this catches him off guard, suddenly blinking away the wet burn in his eyes. He does as he’s told, stepping over the bathtub’s edge and settling into the bubbles. He pushes some out of the way so they don’t get in his face.
“The temperature's fine.” He leans his head back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes and releasing a sigh.
“You okay there, baby?” He opens his eyes to the sound of your voice to see you still messing with your face.
“I will be if you stop fucking around and join me.” It’s meant to be a joke but part of him does feel a little antsy at not being close to you at all times. After today he doesn’t want to be even an inch away from you if he can help it.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”
“Do you want me to sit on the opposite side?” You put one foot in, sighing contently at the water’s hot embrace.
“Nope. On top of me.”
“Haven’t had enough of that today?” He loves your cheeky side, however infuriating you can be at times. It’s strangely liberating to not have to hold back what he says in front of you, you don’t get offended by his quips.
“Never.” When both of your legs are in he pulls you down on top of him, your back to his chest. The water splashes everywhere but he doesn’t have it in him to care, it’s not his problem anyway. You disagree.
“Easy! No need to flood the bathroom.” He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your shoulders when you tilt your body a little and he places his lips against your temple. He’s not kissing it as much as he’s just resting his lips there, really taking your presence in.
“It’s fine.” He mumbles against your temple.
You rest against each other for a while in silence. Your nails trace little lines across his forearms. It’s all so strangely soothing he can almost tune out the voice in his head warning him to not let his guard down.
He silences it by turning your head over to him, kissing you square on the lips. You still taste a little bit like the unscented cleanser you’ve used on your face but he’d rather have that than no taste of you at all.
He pulls away, unknowingly matching your tender smile.
“Thank you for today, I had a great time.” You speak up before he ever has the chance.
As a response he kisses you again. Slow and steady, like you’ve been asking for the whole day. You both spend this quiet time to just enjoy each other’s presence without any interruptions to your day. Just having the afternoon free is rare for Homelander. He’s glad you’ve ended up making it into a whole experience.
When your kisses fizzle out into just a few small pecks you slide down to slot yourself in between him a little more comfortably, your head settling on his chest with a pleased little hum.
To be loved is to be accepted. He believes he’s found both of those things in you. On an impulse, his gaze flickers to the mirror to meet his knowing look.
He just doesn’t know if you’ll accept all parts of him.