Homelander| 𝘚𝘖𝘈𝘗

Four.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

In a confined space with this dude was the last place I wanted to be, I checked, no cameras. I wobbled inside the ostentatious box with the grace of a hippo with a hangover, choosing to shy in the corner as he pressed the button to floor 99.

And as the fancy doors closed, and he pretended that he didn't have peripheral vision and watched me in the reflection, he reached out and tried to tug the blue handle to my suitcase I clutched for dear life. "Let me help you with that."

Yes, I would loose a tug of war but did I look like a victim? "Ah," I pulled it back, a sharp squirt of something cold and electric shooting down my arms when I couldn't budge it a cm, "it's fine, I'm a farmgirl, I'm tough."

"Yeah," fuck he did that on purpose, I could tell, smug as his fingers brushed mine, "I can tell you've been workin' on that muscle."

...asshole.

Tsking, trying not to smile, I let go, stumbling a little. "Okay, I'm not gonna fight you for it."

"Smart choice." He made a shooting motion with two fingers.

The six by six square hurtled up to the sky, he'd kept a polite distance, watching the numbers change, silence deafening.

"That man bothering you?" Homelander suddenly asked, gravely, not directly looking at me, only once did a blue ball flicker at me from the sharp corner.

"We was just talkin', it's his first day too." I said, a little too shakily. "Why would you think that?"

He laughed, knowingly, pouting his lips as he turned on his heels. "Because, dear, I can smell the roofies he kept in his back pocket last night."

A stuttering Stanley, biting on a finger nail, an action he was intrigued with, was I really so much of a fucking prey animal? Unable to form a coherent sentence, I leaned on the wall. "O..oh."

If he could smell traces of narcotics over clothes that to me, only smelt of brash cologne and fabric softener, what could he scent on my general person? "You can tell that?"

Homelander nodded like it was obvious, not done yet as floor 93 followed. "Risky, goin' on dates with strange men in a strange city, that you've barely been in an hour."

"No more than bein' in a strange city, in a strange skyscraper, in a stranger elevator with a stranger that's also the strongest man on earth." Surprised at my eloquence, if he was too, he didn't slow it, responding with a carefully constructed expression.

"Touché, Misty." He tongued. "But you got one thing wrong,"

Finally, with the floor reached, the doors peeled open as he allowed me to step out first.

"I'm not a man."

That said behind my back was a little intimidating, but okay, God complex.

He looked a little silly dragging my pastel pink suitcase full of stickers, "and I hope we won't be strangers for much longer."

Floor 99 was foully ostentatious, and if this route was meant to disorientate, it was successful.

I trailed behind, accidentally stepping on his cape which, I don't think he was too happy about.

And after collecting himself, slowing down his pace, he gave me a...compliment. "You scrub up nice. Not too bad for Goodwill."

I almost crashed into a stone bust of...Deep? Ew. "Do you always follow a compliment with a veiled insult? You invited me here."

"Juuuust around here," we was passing rooms, more rooms, one giant room that looked very much like a conference room, a giant V shaped glass table and an almighty view of NY. But we went past that, then a little more, until I cursed wearing these ridiculous shoes.

"Hey, Homelander." The beautiful blonde greeted, coming out what appeared to be her room, a confused look on her face when she spotted me, the first sounds coming out of her mouth.

"Sorry," he put his hand on the small of my back to speed me on forward, everyone, even me knew they had beef, but I thought it wouldn't be this frosty, "we're short on time."

"That was Starlight." I peeped behind, the young girl doing the same.

"Sure was," and around another corner we did pass, the lady in the leotard vanishing, why she'd stopped to watch I didn't know. "I'll get you an autograph later."

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

Right, the fuck, this wasn't a conference room.

"Here we are," Homelander pulled off his gloves.

Dark blue wallpaper, ugly ass statues, a huge, deep, leather sofa, like the kind you see in a shrinks office.

And photos, so many framed photos, a mausoleum to dead historical Americans in gold leaf, a giant ass flag on the wall.

It was cool in here, slightly dark with the overcast sky, mirrors everywhere.

"This," I started, scratching my hair, "is a conference room?"

"Not quite," he'd relaxed, only slightly, outstretching his arms, "make yourself at home."

"Someone lives here?" Now I sounded astounded, hand over my heart.

"Yeah, me." Homelander bit, tone, all of him was a tone, unhappy at my opinion of his gloomy palace.

Wait.

Okay, this was happening.

I was a dumb bitch. I'd been duped.

But oddly enough, I didn't feel fear, there was no rushing heart, no Bambi eyes, just the thought of I wasn't gonna end up fudged. Like, in a Sundae, 'cause he coulda' been a cannibal. NEVER TRUST A SUPE.

Taking off my heels, watching him lock the door...I couldn't see an exit, only the railingless balcony doors, a launch pad or whatever.

"Could I use your bathroom?" I asked sweetly.

He knew I knew. There was practice with this predator, he was sly, cunning, keeping up the charade he was a sweet little golden boy, damn I was weak against gas lighters.

"Right through there," Homelander instructed, pointing behind me to the hidden doors closed. And he smiled in a broad way, the way that brought up the lines on his face, stanced as fuck while the sound still bounced off the walls unnaturally.