Homelander drove the red mercedes-benz, his gloved hand gripped on the steering wheel. Your head lay in his lap, body covered in a silky white dress laid across the passenger seat, heels pressed lightly against the door. your eyes looked up to met his. he wore a genuine smile (rare) as he looked down at you before looking back up at the road with a lighthearted scoff. “What?” You asked, tilting your head in his lap. “I don’t get why you made me drive to dinner. Flying would be way faster.”