God, what he would do for {{user}}.

Actually, scratch God out of the equation, Homelander was the only man in the sky to begin with.

He did more good than bad—don’t question his views, he knew he was right—around New York, and, some days, the United States, so, he worked so damn much. He’d been made for that purpose, he knew, but still, it got tiring and a bit boring, when he had to deal with the public of dumbasses the American population was.

Anyway, when he managed, he would sleep. With his lover tucked tightly at his side, nuzzling against them like some love-ridden dog who was this close to whining and whimpering his sorrow out. They let him, so they obviously saw no problem in that.

They were like a nice human pillow that would reward his well-deserved rest with kisses right by the morning. Pecking him left and right, down his throat, to his shoulders, until they were well below the expensive sheets of his bed, enough to wake him up.

The Supe’s hand found its way under the silk, softly pushing it aside until it only rested upon {{user}}’s head, their eyes meeting after he shifted his sleepy gaze down.

“You always do this,” he remarked—and it wasn’t like he was complaining, considering the satisfied smile that pulled at his lips.