Of all the active Supe teams across America, the Seven was the only one without all-but-confirmed casting couch rumors. Starlight was a major exception, of course, but that was all on Kevin and had nothing to do with the team as a whole.
And this, here, right now, was also a major exception to that previously-established rule.
This wasn’t a casting couch situation, though—whatever he said went, and he was the only one allowed to choose the lineup anymore. This spot was earned long before its taker even knew he had it, and if everything went according to plan, nobody would ever know but him. His own dirty little secret to get him hard when nothing else was working.
Soldier Boy was unconscious, sprawled across the sheets with his head lolled back. He’d made quick work of Soldier Boy’s clothes, disposing of them haphazardly around the foot of the bed until all that was left was exposed skin, only a little modesty granted by his body hair. Dark, thick, he didn’t even catch a glint of silver as his eyes rolled across Soldier Boy’s chest, down his stomach, finally reaching the copse of hair between his legs.
He really expected him to have a cock, but this would do nicely.
His lips curled into a sneer as he undid his belt and stepped closer to the foot of the bed. Soldier Boy’s legs were spread, there was no dignity in the pose he fell into—it was about as graceful as a bitch in heat. He pushed his limp legs further apart and slotted himself in between them before hesitation finally stopped him in his tracks.
There was a wrongness to what he was going to do, but when he’d grown up only knowing injustice, what was so bad about this? If anything, it was a victimless crime; he couldn’t hurt Soldier Boy, he couldn’t knock him up with a Supe baby that’d tear him to shreds—at least not that he knew of—and he would never even know what had happened to him on his first night as a member of the Seven.
He jerked his freed cock in his hand, the rough material of his glove a necessary asset, and lined it up with Soldier Boy’s hidden slit. Couldn’t even bother to trim, something about that lack of care made his blood boil.
The first stroke was sticky—he struggled to get just the head past Soldier Boy’s lips and after more force than a human could have taken comfortably, he had achieved penetration. He would have probably had more success fucking his mouth, but it wouldn’t have been as satisfying as this, and he wasn’t sure anything could stack up to the feeling of total and complete control that came from sticking his dick in America’s first Supe: his father, who had only deemed him worthy of the word “disappointment.” He was stronger than him, better than him now.
With each jerking thrust into dry, inhospitable cunt, he realized he might not have thought his plan all the way through; God forbid he factor in that he might need to rub one out of Soldier Boy before he could properly fuck him. At least every tear would heal on their own, the bleeding would stop long before Soldier Boy ever woke up. Again, it was a victimless crime.
His hands clasped around Soldier Boy’s legs, just above his knees, and he pulled him closer until his cock was buried as deep as it’d go. Soldier Boy wasn’t a bottomless pit, and almost half of his cock was sticking out despite his seeking a wet, hot home in between his father’s legs. Each desperate thrust only jostled Soldier Boy’s limp body, disrupted the sheets beneath him, tossed his hair out of place.
This was what he needed. This felt better than any random act of retribution, and of course that meant just as he started to feel himself properly getting off, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. The clicking of heels and a restrained cough.
The mask was only pulled half on when Firecracker opened the door, her hands preemptively unzipping the front of her suit.
“H-hey, baby,” she coughed, one hand shooting up to cover her mouth.
Her hair was loose and sweaty and her sickly pale skin glistened. Maybe he could forgive unmanaged body hair over whatever the fuck was tearing Firecracker apart.
“You waiting for your midnight sn—” Her singsongy greeting halted immediately and her face went slack. “What the fuck.”
She stopped just a foot inside the room, her glassy eyes darting between Homelander and his unconscious bedfellow.
“Get out.”
“Holy shit,” she said woozily, furrowing her brow. “Soldier Boy’s alive.”
The room turned red, his gaze focusing entirely on her. “Get the fuck out, Firecracker.”
Even from fifteen feet away, her sallow, petrified face filled his vision—wide eyes, mouth agape, her lipstick smeared after her coughing fit. She stepped backwards towards the door, mumbling something about Stormchasers as she stumbled on the heel of her boot and fell against the door.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt…” she trailed off, like she realized that running her mouth wasn’t going to help her now.
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
Firecracker scrambled to her feet and dashed out of the room just in time for his cock to flop half-flaccid out of Soldier Boy. He closed his eyes and groaned, irritation about to boil over, but just barely managed to keep himself from toppling. Soldier Boy would wake up soon, and the deed needed to be done now or never.
So, he stroked himself back to hardness, lined himself up again, and spared no force as he shoved himself back into Soldier Boy’s pussy. He wasn’t going to leave Soldier Boy dry, even if he hadn’t given Homelander the courtesy of self-lubrication.