Hello Boys (Butcher x OC x Homelander)

4.

A thunderous knock on the door disturbed the pair. Angel leapt up from her bed, only to be momentarily blinded by the intense yellow light spilling into the room. She threw herself back on the bed, snatched the excess of the duvet, and smothered her face with it. Homelander was still snoring loudly. The man clearly had a deviated septum, his throaty wet snores filling the room.

"Angel! Angel, I know you can hear me!" Marion squawked through the door, rapidly slapping the hard surface of the door with the flat of her palm. Angel just knew she was wearing her tight string of pearls and clutching the clipboard of doom in her cherry-red claws.

"I will not commit murder," she said resolutely to herself as she slid out from the covers. Her slides were thankfully thrown close to the bed, meaning she wouldn't have the step over the cold floor. Her robe, however, was nowhere to be seen. In Homelander's two-in-the-morning snoop, he must have thrown it somewhere with the rest of her wardrobe. She bent to look under the bed, wondering if he'd stuffed it all under there as he usually would.

A hand quickly wrapped around her wrist and pulled her towards the bed, chaining her to it. The snoring had stopped. Angel turned to him slowly, taking deep breaths to prevent him from detecting her racing pulse. "Stay here," he told her, pulling her arm back under the covers. Angel tried to hide her hesitation and silently obeyed him as he guided her back into his arms. The contact worked either way, willingly or not.

"Angel! Please let me in. Don't make me call security again," she sounded more pathetic as her threats were unanswered. Angel wanted her to call security, she even hoped word of it would reach Madeline.

"I need to answer that," she gulped. Homelander pressed her head to the side of the pillow with a decent amount of force, nuzzling himself into her hair. Every muscle in her body tried to go rigid as he sniffed her hair. He loved the shampoo he picked out for her, even if it made it dry and itchy - it was the only one he liked, and he loved it all the more when he brushed against her skin.

"No, you don't," he whispered in her ear, still buried in the loose blonde curls. "We don't have to do anything we don't want to," a wet kiss under her earlobe made her throat tighten. He smirked as he felt her heart thumping as he moved along the vein, unaware of her wide, unblinking eyes that stared straight through the gilded nightstand. The irony of his words made her toes curl as her knees moved into her chest.

"We're coming in!" Marion announced as a loud series of crunches and bangs began sawing at the door. Angel sighed with relief, saying a silent thank you to her neurotic handler.

She twisted to Homelander, feigning interest in his mood. Butcher promised her he'd take down Vought, Homelander, and the whole era of supes down - she could stomach a little longer of this game. She could stomach Homelander's unwanted pestering in exchange for freedom.

Another crack shuddered along the walls. Angel took advantage of the situation and got on top of Homelander, pretending to have some urgent need to touch him. He whined at her wandering touch and enjoyed her sudden desire. Each thrust timed perfectly to the sound of Security breaking the series of locks on the door, as if they were in a choreographed dance.

Angel quickly wrapped herself around him, twisting and undulating as he bucked and moaned beneath her. He couldn't keep himself quiet as he made every noise possible, unable to cope with the hormones flooding his system. He was overwhelmed by her; her scent, her warmth, her light - the experience was addictively euphoric. Angel mimicked the intensity of his breathing, keeping up the ruse of enjoyment throughout their dance. 

Marion shouted something for a final time as strangers filed in. Three burly sweating men in boiler suits heaved with asthmatic breath as they recovered. By their feet were a collection of blunted blades and broken saws.

Marion gasped loudly at the sight of the pair of them on the bed. Angel pretended not to see the intruders, placing both hands on the headboard and spreading her wings out wide. They were so pale that the sunlight bounced off them, sending light trails across the room. The three men had to squint because of the reflections. Homelander seemed happier with an audience, thrilled even. There was a quickening in his pace that Angel knew well. She kept on grinding, keeping her thighs clenched to make better contact with him.

"Oh, my heavens," Marion complained, covering her reddening face with the clipboard.

The show wasn't just for Homelander. Vought needed to be fooled, needed to believe in their smitten sweethearts as they'd been branded. Therefore, if everything failed or something went wrong, she couldn't be held responsible by the bankrolled lawyers.

"Ungh," he gurgled as his face twitched on one side, his eyes rolling back into his head. His gurgling grew louder as she faked a breathy moan, and they both appeared to reach a climax for the unwilling audience. Angel collapsed onto him, putting on a show of absolute bliss. Her wings slumped down, shaking ever so slightly from the fake aftershocks. It was only when no one could see her face that she grinned wickedly to herself.