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Vought tower was never something that sparked much interest to Homelander. The lowly citizen definitely; a tall symbol of the lack of worth they had, the lack of worth they’d ever have, in comparison to superheroes—gods. In a way, it brought them closer to the fictional god Vought–and the rest of the world–tried to sell. Supes are a gift from God Himself, they’d say, and Homelander was left nodding along, grinning ear to ear and reciting the scripts he’d memorized front to back and the mannerisms he had perfected in the mirror to please the public. To please Madelyn.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that very building had been all Homelander had ever known. He could count the seconds—nannoseconds— it took to fly up to the very top. The amount of stairs a lowly human would have to climb up, too, however he didn’t pay much mind to those struggles. The elevator existed for a reason after all.
Or perhaps it was because of the team he was stuck in: The Seven. Just like him, the rest of the members had long since given up keeping formalities once the cameras turned off. They’d simply sit down in their respective seats, say a few words, and that was that. A pathetic group, really, is how he saw every single one of them. Each of them had their flaws that would not quit seeping through the cracks. Erratic; unreliable; downright sloppy. None of them really deserved to be a superhero. Not like he did.
In fact, a few days ago, he had to give one of them an earful about daring to even think that perhaps the death of the mayor had been caused by a supe, one like Homelander, instead of technical malfunctions. Laser eyes, actually. Such an idea being thought of him nearly drove him to kill the Deep himself. It would’ve been a simple process to just snap his neck, (or laser him like he had done to the mayor’s plane), and he had to fight the desire to on numerous occasions. After all, it’d be far too messy of a situation to cover up. He’d rather refrain from another earful from Madelyn for doing such a thing anyways, though it was tempting.
Which brought Homelander back to the present. He was searching for a spot to cool off after yet another argument between him and Madelyn regarding his script. Usually he’d fly aimlessly in the air, however tonight he was scheduled to attend a banquet between some of the elites of New York. Mainly for publicity rather than formality. He could care less about a banquet, especially since it was for something as ridiculous and insignificant as a birthday. Though, it was needed. They requested “security”, and Vought assured him that it’d create a good public image for their campaign of launching Supes in the military. A dream Homelander was eager to accomplish as soon as possible. A few governors and even a congressman or two were in attendance as well, hence why it only naturally made sense to send him.
So, his next stop was the Seven’s meeting room.
Striding down the hallway he had grown all too familiar with, he found himself pausing at the statue depicting all the members of the Seven. It was the same faces he had known for years, say except for their newest member, Starlight. And yet, Homelander found himself wandering into the deep crevices of his mind. He pondered on the meaning of the group. He wondered if these people–these erratic, unreliable idiots–were worthy of being gods. Of being a god like him. He didn’t stay to ponder long, though, and quickly steered into the meeting room before he found himself lasering holes into the heads of those statues.
He was pleasantly surprised by the sight before him after he opened the doors. Black Noir, one of the members, was sitting at the table alone, sketching away at something within his notepad. Oddly enough, such a sight lightened up Homelander’s mood. He found himself smiling as he continued his tread into the room.
“Noir.” Blank, straight to the point. His words, sharp, cut through the quiet atmosphere Noir had built himself in the room. That alone seemed to grab the man’s attention, as his eyes once focused solely on the notepad dared to look over at the source of the sound.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Homelander proceeded, swaying on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind my sudden intrusion.”
He said, however he moved on, set on making himself home as he headed for his own respective seat.
“You don’t mind, right?” He asked, however not really much of a question–he knew the answer, raising an eyebrow, to which Noir simply shook his head.
“Good.” And he sat.
There were a few moments of silence, mainly filled by Homelander sighing as he placed himself within the leather seat which was his and his alone. He even dared to slouch, before straightening up.
Noir’s attention had drifted back over to his notepad, and he continued his sketching. Homelander, however, kept his eyes locked onto the other. He never realized how far Noir’s respective chair had been placed from his own. He tilted his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“You know,” he started, “you can come closer.”
To which Noir looked up again, tilting his head.
“C’mon, it’ll be fine. It’s just the two of us.” Homelander urged on. “I don’t bite.” He dared to even give a full smile, teeth and all, to come off as more friendly. He had perfected this smile, this nearly fake smile. Though, his canines poked out like daggers within his mouth.
The other man took a few more moments to move, as if trying to process if he had heard Homelander correctly, before finally he collected his pen and notepad, stood from his seat and dared to move from his own chair to the open, empty seat placed neatly next to Homelander.
“There you go.” He said, a satisfied look upon his face once Noir was properly settled.
The two fell into a comfortable silence once again. It was only natural: Noir was mute, mostly communicating through writing his thoughts in that very notepad. It didn’t seem like there was much the other wished to say in the moment, too. Homelander was well aware he was a man of few words. At times, he wondered if that’s why he liked the other so much. He never dared to argue back.
It was okay, though, as Homelander had a fair bit he wished to say.
“You know what the Deep said to me a few days ago?” He began, disgruntingly, and Noir set his pen down and sat up straight. This pleased Homelander, and so he adjusted his seat in a way where he faced Noir more properly.
“Well, I should clarify more about me. You recall the devastating plane crash involving the mayor, right? God rest his soul. Anyways, when the Deep went out to patrol the crash site, he pointed out that there were ‘burn marks’ in the shape of ‘human eyes’ across the plane. So, against all odds, he decided to conclude that I of all people purposefully crashed the plane.”
Noir tilted his head at that.
“I couldn’t believe it when I was told about it. I mean, how could a member of the Seven dare to betray me like that? We’re a family after all.” He groaned, shaking his head, to which Noir simply nodded and waved his hand to the side as a way to show agreement.
“Anyways, I gave him a stern talking to right after, and I believe my message went through well.”
Noir gave a few small, relatively silent claps in response, which drove Homelander to shake his head and laugh, waving his hand as if to dismiss the positive feedback.
“Please, hold your applause. I’m just doing my job as the leader.” A modest attempt at being humble.
Noir, in response, simply nodded, setting his hands on his lap. Only then, after an extended period of a lack of conversation from Homelander, he chose to pick his pen up yet again and refocus on his previous task. Now, after all this time and dedication on whatever was being drawn inside that notepad, Homelander couldn’t deny his interest was piqued on what he may have been drawing in the first place.
“May I?” He inquired, reaching his hand out to hover over the notepad. Much like his previous “question”, it was more so a demand phrased like a request as a half-minded attempt to appear more polite than he necessarily meant to be. Though, he trusted Noir’s judgement to get what he really meant.
He was right, and the other man allowed him to snatch the notepad away, holding it in front of his eyes as he observed the drawings. The entire page was covered head to toe in doodles. While Homelander couldn’t quite make out what everything was meant to be, many of them looked like simple cartoon characters. Mainly, the muse of his choice was a beaver, however there were a few small birds drawn on the corners which Homelander recalled seeing nesting around the area. He merely nodded, pursing his lips in thought.
“These are quite impressive,” He stated blankly, giving another smile as he handed back the notepad. “I never took you as a guy to like something like drawing so much when we first met. You’ve twisted my expectations a lot in the time we’ve known each other."
Noir merely sat there, setting the notepad neatly back on the table and even going the extra mile to straighten out the paper in case of any crinkles. For a man as ruthless as Noir, he had his few moments of gentleness that never failed to impress the other man. Tapping his fingers on the top of the table, he cleared his throat, swallowing hard, and stretched his head out.
“You’ve always been my favourite, Noir.” Homelander abruptly stated, to which Noir perked up in a way of slight surprise. “Did you know that?”
Noir didn’t nod nor shake his head.
“You just get it. You do exactly what you’re told, with no if’s and but’s.” He elaborated. He dared to reach a hand out and place it on Noir’s shoulder, using his thumb to rub into his shoulder blade, massaging the muscle in a way that would probably send a shiver up anyone’s spine except the man in front of him.
“I like that. You’re the only person with any sort of fucking decency here.” A grin shone proudly on his face.
His eyes travelled across the latter as he watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his heavy breath was muffled by the mask he always wore, the way he was so open to Homelander’s touch, a way nobody else ever had been.
“I mean,” a laugh escaped the blonde, shaking his head before looking back up at that masked face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You listen to me like I’m the only person who matters. You’re reliable.”
Homelander’s hand dared to travel down slightly, rubbing against Noir’s chest before he brought it higher up, caressing and wrapping around his neck. He felt one of the muscles in Noir’s neck tense, and he smiled. He was always able to notice the simplest changes in the behaviour of people around him, and Noir was not an exception to this gift. For a moment, he wondered how easily it could’ve been to crush his neck. A mere crunch, and soon the man would lay lifeless in front of him. It would be so easy. Yet, that was something Homelander couldn’t bring himself to ever do. So, he instead trailed his hand up to Noir’s cheek and cupped it in a surprisingly soft manner. It pleased him to see that, in response, Noir leaned into his touch. It only served as a reminder of how much control he had, and it was that very control that made him love Noir.
“Promise me you’ll never lie to me.” Homelander chose to ask, furrowing his eyes. Licking his lips, he stared into Noir’s eyes with a piercing gaze.
“I can’t have you lie to me.”
It was only after that he felt a sudden pinch in his eye he realized he was growing emotional from this conversation, (more so mindless ranting on Homelander’s part, however it was enough for what he wanted and always had). His fingers, calloused from years of service, tapped against the mesh which shielded the lower half of Noir’s face. He subconsciously licked his lips in a sense of thought, slumping his head down.
“Please.”
He was pulled from his strange moment of vulnerability, whether it was fabricated like the rest of his life a mystery, with Noir holding up one finger as a way to signal he wished to say something, before hastily reaching for his pen and notepad and beginning to write. Homelander’s hand drooped down, and he waited, watching with batted breath at the way Noir’s wrist flicked with every letter he wrote. A predator watching its prey, almost.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity—though at most a few seconds—Noir ceased his writing, and flipped the notepad around to give Homelander the chance to read the message bestowed upon it.
I won’t.
That alone was enough for Homelander.
Before a second longer passed, Homelander yanked the other supe into a hug, his arms wrapped around him in a tight yet tender embrace. At first, it took a while for Noir to reciprocate, but soon enough he welcomed the hug and wrapped his own arms in a benevolent manner. He found himself burrowing his face close to his neck, resting his chin on the man’s shoulder with much elatedness. He accounted for the scent of the other; musk, mainly, though a hint of wood too. If he decided to fully indulge, he could even find a faint trace of tea beneath it all; a welcoming aroma that Homelander wished he could drown in.
He wasn’t quite sure how long the two of them spent entwined in each other's arms, but eventually, he pulled away, clearing his throat again. A sniffle escaped him, but he very quickly managed to compose himself.
“Well,” he said, slowly getting up from his seat. “I better get going. I’m scheduled as security for a governor’s birthday party soon, or some other pathetic shit like that.”
He walked towards the exit, however, before leaving, turned back around to look at Noir one last time.
“I’ll see you later.”
He smiled, and gave a toothy grin at the sight of Noir happily waving him a farewell, before finally, he left the meeting room, leaving Noir with his doodles and the quietness once occupied by his presence.
Later that day, while Homelander was stuck appealing to the wealthy and proposing logical reasoning for supes being allowed within the United States' military, Noir chose to doodle the man himself. It was not anything much, however it meant something, whatever it may have truly represented.