Funny, I can really feel my teeth!

Vought demanded a lot from your husband. As one of the newest managers in data analytics, he spent most of his waking hours twisting this number or that data point to make the Seven look as stellar as possible. You honestly didn't understand very much of his work; on the rare days he worked from home, the multiple screens he processed through looked like a sci-fi movie to you. The quirky but lovable coder hacks the government with three clicks. Luckily, you didn't need to understand the intricacies; you just had to ensure he ate and drank water between crunching enough percentages to make your head spin.

On the weeks when you scarcely saw his face, you had to remember the positives. His salary, for once, was enough to keep you both comfortable without you needing to contribute. You did, of course, but primarily out of guilt. Your husband, the unfairly wonderful man he is, reminded you repeatedly that the money didn't matter; he just wanted you to be happy. That was an additional positive.

Another one was the fact that his work events were absurdly over-the-top. Vought was determined to make each holiday celebration the best holiday celebration. Your favorite had become the Christmas gala. The tower became a winter wonderland; you could spend hours admiring the unique silver snowflakes that dotted each dining table, the stunningly ornamented pine trees that reached the ceilings, or simply the beautiful outfits the most important faces of the company put together - not to mention that this was the closest you ever got to the superheroes.

Your husband didn't speak much about or to the heroes. If something was terrible enough in data analytics for a supe to come directly to him, something had gone wrong. Starlight was his favorite, by far. She was kind, and genuine, and was still the only hero who had introduced herself to you at a gala.

"Your husband is a miracle worker," she told you warmly last year. "I don't know how he makes those numbers work, but he does."

You didn't know either, but it was nice to know that at least one of the Seven appreciated your husband’s long hours. The others were, at best, polite. His brief elevator interactions with Maeve were scarce, Black Noir's silent visits to the department were fine, and the Deep was an idiot. None of this surprised you. What intrigued you most were his comments on the Homelander.

"He's...focused." Your husband said one day over dinner when you asked. "I mean, if the head of the Seven has to come to my door, it's not a pleasure visit.”

You tilted your head curiously. "But what's he like?"

He smirked at you over his glass. "Besides stunningly handsome, you mean?"

You shot him a glare. Your little crush on the Homelander was a well-known secret between you. "Yeah, besides that."

He shrugged. "Nothing bad enough has happened for us to speak directly. But he seems...fine."

There was clearly more to it than that, but your cat knocking over a plate derailed the conversation. You never got a complete answer from him about the Homelander, and the curiosity carried you to the latest Christmas shindig.

As usual, Vought went all out. You are leaning against a standing table, tilting your head to admire the blue tapestries hung to mimic a night sky. A bright red drink is placed in front of you, and you look up to meet your husband's warm eyes.

"A merry, merry margarita for you," he says, holding a green concoction. “And a Christmas Cookie Cocktail for me."

You snort as you sip the margarita, cinnamon and tequila delicately touching your tongue. "These names get better every year."

"I clearly picked the wrong department." He looks across the room and makes accidental eye contact with a data director. "There it is. You sure you don't want to make handshaking rounds with me?"

You shake your head. "They want to talk to you, not me. I don't even know what I would say."

"Hello, maybe?"

You nudge his arm. "Go. I can survive on my own for a few minutes."

"Fair enough," He kisses your cheek and then steps away. "Don't let the Homnelander whisk you away, alright?"

You wave him off with a flush. "No promises."

You easily kept yourself busy as you meandered around the spacious room. You waved to a few familiar faces, refilled your cocktail, and even briefly conversed with Starlight about the carolers. They had apparently won a few Grammys. You finally end up next to the newest statues of the Seven in the middle of the celebration. Somebody, you could only assume a poor intern, placed Santa Clause hats on top of each solemn hero’s stony head. You can’t help but laugh under your breath.

You hear your first name from behind you. The voice is vaguely familiar, but you can’t place it. It’s a shock to your system when you turn to see the Homelander smiling at you. 

Your immediate instinct is to check around you because there's no way that the captain of the Seven is standing here and greeting you like an old friend. In events past, you only ever saw him swarmed with the top faces of the party. What is he doing here, alone, staring at you with a growingly puzzled expression?

Oh. You're staring at him now.

He tilts his head with a curious smirk. "I got your name right, didn't I?"

"Oh! Yes!" you say quickly, inwardly cringing at how breathless you sound. “I'm so sorry. I'm still not used to seeing heroes so close."

Dear God, that sounded awful.

Luckily, his grin just widens. "But this is your fifth gala, isn't it? Surely you're used to our faces by now."

Does he know you? You blink in surprise as he saunters closer to you, his arms gently folded behind him. "I'd be a horrible leader if I didn't know our best managers,” He explains.

He tilts his head again and asks you - more as a formality, it seems - if you are indeed your husband's wife. He uses your husband's first and last name, to be sure.

You nod with a smile, tightening your grip on your glass. "Yeah, that's me," you say softly, making the Homelander flash a grin with teeth. “Do you know everyone here?"

He glances at the crowd casually and then back at you. "Only the interesting people," He corrects. "Enjoying the party?"

Your nod. "Yeah. These galas get more fun every year."

"More crowded, you mean," He walks to stand beside you, close enough that your elbows touch, and sighs dramatically up at the statue. "This I did not agree to."

You follow his line of sight to the Santa hats. You giggle softly and hope he doesn’t notice your nerves - though you’re positive he does. "But it makes you all so festive. Besides, red is your color."

The Homelander turns to look at you with a new glint in his eye. "True…”

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar hand wrap around your elbow to the opposite side of Homelander. You look up to see your husband's face. He's smiling, but you know him. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his smile is too wide. He almost looks worried.

"Sorry that took so long, honey," He greets quickly, gently squeezing your arm. "I couldn't-"

The Homelander cuts off with an enthusiastic greeting of your husband's name. He turns to clap his shoulder, his red glove contrasting with your man's dark suit. The movement makes the three of you form a close triangle in front of the statue. When Homelander speaks, his voice is loud. Dominant, even.  "Can't thank you enough for your help on those point differentials in Montana. Gotta figure out who's in charge of things out there, huh?"

Your husband lets out a forced laugh. "Yeah, it's no problem."

Homelander is still holding onto his shoulder. "Quite a wife you have here," He says with a nod to you. "Hope you don't mind I stole her time...can't leave a gorgeous woman like this alone. You never know what might happen."

Before your husband can reply, Homelander lets him go. He turns to you and holds a hand. "So nice meeting you, but I have a grumpy senator or two I need to charm."

On instinct, you hold out your hand to him. His fingers easily encompass yours - and for a fraction of a moment, you feel he may never let go. You feel his raw strength electrify the touch and imprison you; your whole body clenches. He gives you a private wink, and then he lets go. "I'll be seeing you soon."

With a whisk of his cape, he's gone as quickly as he arrived.

You stare after the stars and stripes as they slowly disappear into the crowd. Only when you can no longer see them do you look up at your husband's pale face. "Was that weird?"

Your husband takes your hand, the same hand Homelander had just held in his grasp. "Not really."

You know a conversation shut-down when you hear one and don't press further. After all, you remember, it's not wise to gossip about a person with supersonic hearing.

~-~

You stay at the party for another hour, but your husband’s mood has shifted. He doesn't seem unhappy, but he's undoubtedly unsettled. There's a new suddenness to his movements, as if he's ready to scan the room at a moment's notice - far too vigilant for a holiday party.

The early cab ride home continues in this strange silence. It's not tense, but it's not comfortable either. The air feels charged down the roads of Manhattan to your townhome. You don't test it. Something about that interaction with the Homelander has unnerved your husband in a way you don't understand. If your husband is still silent when you get home, then maybe you'll broach the subject. 

When you do get home, you go about your usual routines: turning back on the lights, checking on the cat, and refilling their food and water bowl. Your husband takes care of that while upstairs to scrub the makeup off of your face. You turn on the lights in the ensuite bedroom.

The Homelander is sitting at the foot of your bed. 

Shockingly, you don't scream. You stare. He sits there like he's been there for hours, his hands folded in his lap. The calm facade peels into a friendly smile at your lack of a reaction to him - as if he ran into you in a grocery store, not in the middle of your bedroom.

"Thought you could sneak out early on me, huh?" He asks. 

You stutter. "What..." You shake your head. "What are you-"

"Honey?" Your husband's voice calls as he bounds up the stairs, only to stop dead behind you at the sight before him. You can't see his face, but you can feel his fear. "H-Homelander..."

"Oh, why the shocked faces?" Homelander laughs and stands off the bed, sauntering towards both of you. "I told you I’d be seeing you later, right?"

Your husband steps in front of you. "Whatever this is about-"

Homelander says your husband's name like he's speaking to a puppy pissing on the carpet. His left hand curls into your husband's shirt, and he lifts him an inch off the ground with horrifying ease. He places him down in the nearby chair and pats his cheek twice. "Don't make a fuss. I'm not gonna hurt her."

It takes you a moment to recover from seeing how easily he moved your husband before finding your voice. "Why are you here?" You whisper.

He turns and slowly lowers his face to be level with yours. His lips are a breath away, and his eyes run over every part of you like savoring a meal. "For you, of course. This is my favorite part of the gala."

You make a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeak. The Homelander smirks. "Oh, come on. You've been dreaming of this, haven't you? That comment about me whisking you away?" He winks at your husband before looking back at you. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I've thought about fucking you for a while now, but that just sealed the deal."

Your husband stutters. "Homelander-"

"Nuh uh, buddy," Homelander holds a finger in your husband's face before slowly turning to look at him. "This is not a negotiation. You'll be a good little boy and sit over there while we have fun."

Your husband’s eyes widen, but he says nothing and settles back in the chair. Homelander laughs. "That's what I thought. I know a fucking cuck when I see one."

You’re staring at your husband. Homelander notices this, and his hand angles to cup under your jaw. The leather of his red glove is smooth and warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you. His thumb brushes slowly across your lips. "Don't worry about him," He purrs. "You won’t be giving him a damn thought in a minute.”

The Homelander uses his hold on your jaw to tilt your chin up. For a moment, he simply observes you. To him, you are a prize. Then, he presses his face forward and runs his nose up the length of your neck. He inhales loudly. Goosebumps prickle along your skin when he growls. “Fucking perfect.” His free hand traces along the bottom of your dress, gently pushing the fabric up your thigh. He possessively grabs your smooth skin. “This an expensive dress, honey?”

You swallow, watching his eyes follow the movement down your throat, and you find your voice. “Yes…”

He hums. “...well, put in an IOU.”

In an upward pull, Homelander rips the fabric of your dress in half like he’s ripping tissue paper. He tosses its remains to your husband without looking at him. He’s instead looking at your matching bra and panties with an approving whistle. “Oh, buddy,” He looks at your husband with an almost sympathetic gaze. “You were going to get some tonight. What a damn shame.”

Homelander comes forward and slowly, as if he’s savoring the wait, takes your breasts in his hands. You hear a low sigh of approval under his breath as he gently squeezes, his thumbs brushing delicate circles over your nipples. You inhale sharply, and looks up at your face with a knowing smirk. “Don’t play coy, sweetheart. I can smell how wet you are. Must be uncomfortable.”

One of his hands rubs down your stomach - he growls under his breath again at your soft skin - and curls his fingers around your underwear. “You’re used to boys tugging at you like a little sex doll. It’s okay now. You have me. You have a god.”

He rips away the last of your clothing so you stand fully exposed in front of America’s icon. The chill of the air and the complete attention of the two men in the room light your skin with more goosebumps. Homelander takes a moment to look at you again; he has all the time in the world. Finally, he steps forward and rests a hand gently on your hip. “Well, no wonder he tried to hide you from me…”

He’s kissing you. He kisses you to devour you whole, all tongue and teeth and passion, in a way that makes your head spin. You don’t even realize how your hands curl into the front of his suit, how your body instinctively presses to his. He maps out every inch of your mouth, and you moan for him when his hand curls around the back of your neck. He shows no signs of stopping, but you are only human and must breathe. You pull away as much as the hand on the back of your neck will allow you - which is your lips remaining an inch apart. Your eyes open, and you’re in awe at the hunger in his blue stare. “Atta girl…”

Your unconsciously look to your husband. He hasn’t moved from his seat. He sucks at his lower lip, and when your gaze wanders, you can’t help a quiet gasp. He’s hard.

“Back here with me, pumpkin,” Homelander murmurs, grabbing your chin to bring you back to him. “You’re mine tonight, remember?”

You tentatively nod, but he shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he eagerly follows the movement before you reply. “I’m yours tonight.”

Homelander hums in thought and then sighs playfully. “Sounds like someone needs some convincing…up we go.”

Both of his hands move to your hips, and with an ease that startles a yelp out of you, he lifts you clear off the ground. You don’t have time to ground yourself before he’s tossing you backward onto the bed. Despite being airborne for a moment, he seems to be careful not to hurt you - not right now, anyway. You land on your back with a quiet “oof” and instinctively move to sit u, but findyou cannoto move. You look down to find Homelander keeping you trapped with just the tips of his fingers on your hip. He stands at the foot of the bed and stares down at you, a slight tilt to his head that ambles somewhere between playful and devious. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

He moves his hand to your knee and tugs you down the bed, smirking at the soft squeal from you it earns him. He slowly kneels while hooking your legs over his shoulders, careful to mind his eagle pads. “You have any idea how hard it was not to bend you over in that fucking shitstorm of a gala? I should have. No one could’ve stopped me, not even your poor husband. God, you would’ve loved it. All those eyes on you while I fill up this pretty pussy…”

His lips are gentle as they kiss along your thighs, stopping only to leave nips that make your hips jolt. One red glove lays flat on your hips to easily hold you down so he can carry on at his own pace. When he finally reaches your cunt, you’re pretty positive you would do anything the hero asked of you - and when his tongue licks a slow stripe up your lips, you’re certain. 

You had never spent much time wondering how good the Homelander would be at going down on someone, but he is good. He feasts. He goes from licking your pussy leisurely to devouring you in time with when your body needs it; later, you will wonder if he uses his superior senses to guide the way to your pleasure. Now, you’re too far into heaven to think. He sucks at your clit with a pressure that would make your body convulse if he wasn’t holding you down. There’s no need for him to shift or adjust; he could be here for days. When one of his hands moves to press two fingers slowly into you, stretching you around the rich leather of his gloves, you cry out. There’s no pain, no uncomfortable twitch - just pleasure. “Fuck!”

Homelander chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to your clit. “Watch your mouth. Might have to find a better use for it.”

“Please do,” You reply breathlessly, and your hand locks gently into his hair. It’s softer than you thought, but that only makes you hold on harder.

Surprise flickers in his expression, so brief you nearly miss it, before he grins manically. “With pleasure. But first thing’s first…”

He dives back in with sloppy kisses against your pussy. He curls his fingers just right, fucks them into you mercilessly, and the suddenness of your climax takes you by surprise. It curls down each of your limbs and then bursts in vibrating waves. You are vaguely aware of the animalistic sounds you make, but they’re lost to the dizzying heat. You barely recognize your own voice. When you slowly come back down, your hands both now locked in Homelander’s hair, he’s looking at you with a slacked jaw and a mouth soaked in your juices.

Behind him, you vaguely make out the shape of your husband, and his hard cock slowly pumping in his fist.

“What a show,” Homelander praises, quickly drawing your attention back to him. There’s a low buzz to his voice now, and your squirm at the realization that he’s as excited about this as you - and evidently, your husband - are. He presses feather kisses to your stomach as he speaks. “But next time…you have to ask me before you come.”

As he slowly begins to stand again, you nod your head. “Yes, sir.”

He barks a laugh. “Sir, huh? Aren’t you the sweetest little thing…”

He saunters around the bed, not even blinking as he looks up and down your form. He reminds you of a snake coiling you tighter and tighter in his grasp. His hand drops down to his belt; he undoes them just enough to pull out his swollen cock. The rest of his uniform remains pristine. You’re are so locked on the generous length between his legs that you overlook Homelander removing his gloves and tossing them across the room to your husband. “Hold this for me, would ya?” He calls to him. “You doing okay over there, buddy? Enjoying the show?”

Your husband doesn’t respond, but you hear the rhythm of him fisting his dick.

“Keep it up, champ. Use the glove if it helps,” Homemlander chuckles before returning to you. His hand gently strokes his cock.  “And you are going to put those pretty lips to work now, sweetheart.”

You obediently shuffle up the bed - he coos at your eagerness - so his cock is right beside your mouth. His free hand gently curls into the hair at the back of your head and pulls you towards his crotch. You obey, parting your lips and sucking his dick into your mouth. The hiss he makes thrills you. He slowly rocks his hips but you end up doing most of the work, bobbing along his cock as far as you can take him from this position. Your eyes have fallen shut, so you don’t notice his free hand trailing down your body until his fingers are pinching your clit. You moan loudly around him, and the vibrations make him buck forward. When you gag, he laughs and pulls back a bit. “Whoops,” He says, completely unapologetic as his fingers deftly swirl your clit. “Remember what I said, kitten…don’t come unless I’ve told you you can.”

Much easier said than done. The heady smell of him, the weight of his cock against your tongue is enough to thrill you - not to mention your body is still loose from the last climax he gave you. His fingers are rubbing at what little restraint you have left. He slowly presses a single finger into you, but even that slight friction nearly pushes you over the edge-

His hand is gone in an instant and instead clamps around your throat. Your eyes fly open, and you arch away, but he holds you in place with his cock still down your throat. He tsks in disappointment down at you and gives your throat a little squeeze. “What did I say?”

Homelander pulls out of your mouth, a shit-eating grin on his face at the whine you make. He uses his grip on your hair to manoeuver you slowly; he isn’t rough because he doesn’t need to be. You couldn’t fight his strength in your dreams. He settles you on your hands and knees, facing the bottom of the bed. You don’t realize you’re cold until his warmth envelops you, his chest to your back. He’s still fully dressed - fully in costume. 

“Ignoring what I say and ignoring your poor husband over there…” He murmurs into your ear before pressing lazy kisses against your neck. “Talk to him. Tell him how good you feel.”

You look at your husband. He looks nearly as gone as you. He’s still stroking his cock slowly, his lips gently parted as he stares at you. You moan as Homelander bites down at your neck. “H-he feels…so good.”

“Hm…more specific,” Homelander murmurs as his hands fall to your hips. Without waiting for you to speak, you feel his hard, slick cock slowly pressing against your pussy. He thrusts into you with a slow, patient push that leaves you gasping for breath. He fills you. There is no going back from this. A sharp slap against your ass brings you back to reality. “Hello? Earth to slut?”

Your body unconsciously clenches around him, and you don’t miss the pleased grunt he makes under his breath. “He’s so…big,” You say, your voice unsteady. “I-I…f-fuck…”

“Whoop, she’s cock drunk,” Homelander laughs and gives you a small, teasing thrust. Over your head, he smirks at your husband. “Sorry, pal. We’ll work on that.”

You don’t have the brain power to ponder what he means. Instead, you’re completely wrapped up in the way he starts to fuck you. He’s slow at first, allowing your body to accommodate to the way he stretches you. Then, with that sixth sense he seems to have for your body, he picks up the pace the moment you’ve adjusted. He presses all of himself inside hard and slowly pulls back out, using his hands on your hips to pull you back on his cock. You are powerless under his control, and he loves it. “Look at your husband,” He commands in a hiss as he tugs at your earlobe; he’s getting lost in it, too. “Look at your husband while I fucking claim you.”

You are in a haze as you raise your eyes to meet your husband’s. You can barely see him. “Fuck…fuck me harder, Homelander…please…”

He responds immediately, suddenly moving at an inhuman pace. You feel him curl tighter over you to wrap an arm around your waist and a hand back around your throat. He pulls you up to your knees, your back still to his chest, without faltering in his brutal fucking. Your hands claw at his arm, but you won’t hurt him. You can’t hurt him.

“I can feel you clenching on me. I can smell how desperate your little cunt is,” He whispers into your ear. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come again. Come on my fucking cock.”

He squeezes your throat and bites hard at your shoulder to leave a mark. That’s all you need. You cry out his name as you come, his tight grip on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing down onto the bed. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of your husband groaning in his own climax, nearly in sync with Homelander coming inside of you. You have no sense of time or reality; nothing makes sense besides how good this feels - and the lengths you would go to feel this good over and over again for the rest of your life.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, but you eventually find yourself gently placed back onto the bed. Homelander’s hands push you onto your back lazily. You blink, clearing your blurry vision, and see that he is gazing down at you with a smile that almost looks fond. Almost.

“Welcome back,” He teases. He leans down and presses a soft kiss against your lips. You’re too exhausted to respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls away to stand back up and brushes a hand through your hair. “Now, you stay right there.”

The Homelander’s sheets are a silky embrace across your bare skin. His hand is on your hip, his forehead between your shoulder blades. Starlight sleeps on her back in front of you. Her hair showers over the blue pillows in a blonde cascade of temptation; it has your half-awake fingers twitching lightly at your side, resisting the instinct to touch. Neither of you likes to give Homelander any credit, but his insistence on all three of you sleeping naked while in his penthouse wasn’t the worst idea – not when it gives you a view like this. Annie is beautiful at rest, but has never been a sleep cuddler. She’s delighted to hold you any other hour, but she needs room for sleep. You think it has something to do with her powers, which keep her body heat slightly elevated. Homelander, on the opposite side of the spectrum, can’t sleep without touching you. His preferred position is to spoon - he’s a switch for whether he prefers the big or little spot - but he isn’t picky so long as you are under his fingertips. He nuzzles your hair, he traces his fingers along your stomach, he purrs into your shoulder. One night, you dared to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. You opened the bathroom door to find the co-captain of the Seven pouting, then lifting you over his shoulder to bring you back to bed. Annie gave him hell for that one.

This morning is a slow one. You vaguely remember that your two supes have an interview with Seven on 7, but there’s no rush around the most powerful man on the planet. There hasn’t been an early meeting since this arrangement among the three of you began. It was the silent kindness Homelander offered when he noticed Starlight hated mornings; it was the same kindness that elevated his bed to a size that put Alaskan kings to shame.

You shift slightly. Homelander notices immediately. He groans against you, his forehead bumping your back. “No.”

You snort and ignore your chest fluttering when his hand on your hip tightens. “No, what?”

“No, you’re not getting up.”

“Who said I was?”

Homelander grunts and eases his grip so his bare fingers can trace along your waist. He says nothing for a long while, simply amuses himself by brushing his hand back and forth on your sensitive skin. He finally lifts his head to kiss the back of her neck. “What woke you?”

“Nothing.” You tell him as he continues dotting lazy pecks along your skin. 

“No?” He mumbles with a nibble to your collarbone. “Sleeping Beauty didn’t try anything?”

You look up at Sleeping Starlight with a smirk. It wouldn’t be the first, fifth, or tenth time he woke up to the two of you fooling around - or at least attempting to. With his sharp senses, it never lasts very long before he’s butting in and complaining the entire time about being left out. The last time it happened, you nearly passed out due to his attempts to “make up for lost time.”

There’s movement. It takes your sleepy brain a moment to understand that Homelander has angled himself to rut between your legs. The warm, hard press of him pokes slowly between your thighs, already lubed with precum. When you try to move, his hold on your grip tightens - a band of iron around you with just his thumb. He groans against your neck as he ruts harder, and you bite back a moan. “Homelander…”

“She won’t wake up.” Homelander murmurs before his tongue licks a long strip up the side of your neck. “Little firefly could sleep through an earthquake.”

That wasn’t exactly your concern, but you understand that the comment is more for him. Any moment he can steal you away from his co-captain, any time he can prove that he is the superior lover in this trio, is a win. He shifts then, keeping one of your hips anchored to the bed while the other slides over your waist. He’s humming to himself when the pad of his middle finger rubs tiny, slow circles into your clit. If your body twitches, if you try to buck into his touch, his strength prevents you. You’ll take what he gives you - nothing more, nothing less. Annie hasn’t moved an inch.

“So wet already.” He chuckles meanly when you whine, still refusing to go any faster. “Good dreams, hm?”

You part your lips to reply, and he chooses that time to push two long fingers into you in a slow, soaked slide. You moan, but he moans louder. “Fuck. Fucking perfect.”

The slide of his fingers is just as slow as his playing with your clit. He knows exactly how to get you off, but he’s not trying to be quick. He pulls them all the way out, all the way back in with a hard thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. He curls just so, and you’d be embarrassed by the choked moan you let out if you weren’t so turned on. Annie shifts, and you quickly cover your mouth. 

“No, no,” Homelander squeezes your hip and gives a harder thrust of those damned talented fingers. “I want to hear all of those.”

“We…we’re gonna wake her up…”

“Good. She loves seeing you like this.” He purrs into your ear. His fingers leave you with a sopping tug. Your pussy quivers, nearly pulling them back in, and he coos, smug enough to give your soaked lips a little pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

Homelander hooks his wet fingers under your thigh and tugs it back over his hip. The angle gives him enough room to slowly, ever so slowly, slide his thick cock into you. Your head falls back on his shoulder with a whine that’s pure music to him, and he bites down on your neck like a rutting dog. His devious fingers prepped you plenty, leaving no resistance for him to fuck you as he pleases. You can tell he got himself worked up fingering you; he’s faster, needy in his huffs against your skin and his thrusts.

“The fuck?”

You hadn’t realized how loud you were moaning, or how Starlight had started to stir. Her chocolate eyes are sleepy but open, looking more annoyed than surprised - and a bit aroused, judging by how she bites her lip at the sight of Homelander’s cock buried in you.

“Starlight! Good morning,” Homelander greets as he continues fucking you. He gives a rougher thrust that makes you choke on a moan. Annie looks up at Homelander sharply. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’ll get your turn.”

She opens her mouth, but you cut in, “If you both start arguing with a dick inside me, I’m blue balling both of you.”

Homelander mockingly gasps and replies by slamming into you. Your eyes roll back as he slaps your ass. “You heard the lady,” He purrs to Starlight. “Play nice.”

Annie is too turned on to argue further. She kisses you hungrily, her soft tongue petting yours. Her hands roam your body, fondling your breasts with a knowing pressure. She heats her hands against your nipples, and you whine against her lips. “Cheating.”

“Sorry.” She smirks and moves one hand just over the outline of Homelander’s cock in you. His breathing is ragged as she syncs her swirls on your clit with his dick. You’re stuck between the Seven’s captains, at their mercy, so it’s no surprise when your orgasm leaves you boneless. Homelander is still inside of you; you know well enough by now that that means he’s holding back his own climax. He distracts himself by sucking at your neck.

“Don’t leave any hickeys,” Starlight murmurs as she pulls her hand gently from your clit. “We have the interview at 9.”

Homelander growls against your skin; you are still blissed out between them. “Don’t talk to me about work right now,” He mutters.

Starlight sighs, her fingers trailing lazily over your thigh and up your arm. “The last time we woke up like this, you made us late. We need to make sure-”

“For fuck’s sake.” In a flurry of movement too fast for your human eyes to process, Homelander lifts you and lies down on his back. He seats you so his cock never leaves your cunt, still hard, then grabs Starlight. “If you wanted my attention that badly, just say so.”

Starlight makes a small yelp of protest, but then he seats her pussy right over his face. She’s facing you, so you can see the exact moment his tongue starts working its magic. Any argument she had left dies – and if you could have that look on her face framed, you absolutely would. Her eyes flutter, her sweet lips part, her hips rock slowly over his face. Homelander groans in approval and gropes her ass to spread her wider onto his mouth. You bite your lip and grind down onto his swollen cock. Homelander eats pussy like he has something to prove – and he almost always does when it comes to Annie. Eating her out has become his go-to for solving any sort of argument, and with his mouth’s skill, it tends to work.

You lean your front half over to mouth at her breasts, sucking a mark over her nipple. She curls her hands through your hair, tugging lightly to send a shiver down your spine. “You’re perfect.” She whispers.

“Thanks, honey,” Homelander murmurs from between her legs.

“Fuck you.”

He just chuckles and goes right back to work - though this time with more gusto, judging by Annie’s louder cries. She silences them by tugging you up by the hair to kiss you. You happily oblige as Homelander ruts into your cunt. There’s a louder slurp as he sucks hard at her clit, and you know she’s close. You pull away from her kiss just in time to see it – her eyes shifting to that golden yellow, her back arching as she comes. It’s a long one, and the beauty of it triggers another orgasm for you. Homelander ceases moving, still determined to keep himself from climaxing. He pulls away from Starlight’s pussy with a long inhale of breath he doesn’t need, then smacks her ass. “No broken lights this time…good job.”

“Ignore him,” You tell Annie, brushing a hand through her hair as she comes down from the high. “He hasn’t come yet.”

“Oooooh, zesty this morning.” Homelander chuckles.

“Too much talking.” Annie murmurs. She pulls on your arm, Homelander allows it, and you both fall to the sheets on your stomachs. She leans over to kiss you lazily, cupping the side of your face to hold you to her. There’s no doubt of her adoration; it’s in every breath of her lips and swipe of her tongue. 

There’s another shift. Homelander grows tired of watching the pretty sight of you two and shifts behind you, lifting your hips so you’re on your knees. You moan against Starlight’s mouth as he pushes into you again, his hands spreading your ass cheeks wide. He fills you perfectly, but your body is still tingling and sensitive after two consecutive orgasms. You whimper, “I need…a minute…”

“You’re fine,” He replies, then starts fucking you in earnest. His hands on your ass are the only thing keeping you from being bounced up the bed, and damn if it doesn’t blank your brain of any complaints. Your fingers clench into the sheets as Annie looks over her shoulder in lazy warning. “Homelander, she said she needs-”

He rolls his eyes as she speaks and frees a hand from you to push two fingers into her pussy. She gasps, the nearby television screen cracks, and he chuckles darkly. “Always so desperate for me, sweetheart. You’ll always get your turn.” Homelander fingers her in time with how he fucks you. You’d be impressed if you weren’t completely cock drunk. He leans over your back, never once stopping in his movements, and the new angle breaks you. The orgasm comes soundlessly this time, but Homelander more than makes up for it. He finally comes in a roar, his forehead finding your shoulder and his hand leaving a bruise on your ass. You hear Annie’s soft moan beside you and the wanton squelch of Homelander’s fingers working her over the edge again. He’s come inside of you again, but you’ve given up telling him to stop that. Starlight keeps a careful eye on your birth control.

You can’t be sure if Homelander uses his super speed again or you simply black out - it wouldn’t be the first time - but the next thing you know, Homelander is spooning you again. It’s the same position you woke up in. He’s brushing kisses over your cheek and jaw as Annie sits up, lovingly carding her fingers through your hair. “You good, babe?”

You nod lazily. “Yep. Can’t feel my legs, though.”

Annie grins and leans down to kiss the side of your head. “Good,” She purrs, then shakily sits herself out of bed.

“Where on Earth are you going, Starlight?” Homelander asks with a pout.

She sighs and starts walking around the massive bed to collect her scattered clothing. “The interview? Remember? It’s in an hour.”

He whines and buries his face against your neck. “Cancel it.”

You sigh, already sensing the impending drama. “Homelander-”

“Don’t Homelander me. I do whatever the fuck I want. And right now, I want to fuck the two of you until you don’t remember any fucking interviews.”

Starlight pauses where she’s holding her cape. Her eyes drift to where his hands have already begun to fondle your breasts, brushing wicked thumbs over your nipples. “Edgar requested the interview himself…”

You arch your hips into Homelander’s hands with a lazy groan. “We’re screwed, Annie…literally and figuratively.”

Starlight sighs deeply and drops her cape, one knee already back on the bed. Her eyes lock sharply on Homelander. “You’re dealing with Edgar.”