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Love is a Bed for the Blues

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“Twenty times, I told them,” Maeve mutters under her breath. 

“What’s that?” Homelander asks, eyebrow arched. She knows he heard every word, of course he did. He’s just provoking her. 

“I told Vought twenty times that I would never do another team up with you,” she says, louder this time. 

He tuts her, shaking his head. “You know they’d never actually go for that. We’re the highest scoring team-up they’ll ever have,” he reasons. “Besides, you wouldn’t really say no to an opportunity to go to space, would you?” 

She sighs, un-buckling herself from her seat and standing. “What’s the point of us even teaming up if you’re just going to swoop in at the last minute once everyone’s got their cameras out?” she rolls her eyes. “When was the last time you and I actually worked together on something? Not on the plane. You really took control of that one.” 

“Enough, Maeve,” he snaps. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never done something you regretted.” 

She shoots him a long, meaningful look. “Let’s just get this done.” 

“Good,” he smiles, standing. “All we have to do is extract pollen from one of these plants.” He shows her an image of the plant on the screen of the ship, a long, purple tube protruding from two round petals. 

She laughs. “A bit phallic, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he smirks. “I think that’s part of what makes it so dangerous.” 

“How’s that?” she asks, opening the airlock of the ship, watching the door open slowly. 

“Normal people who encounter it find it funny and often try to pick it, or take vulgar photos with it,” he explains. “Which, more often than not, leads to them being poisoned by its pollen.” 

“But you and I are immune to it, right? Otherwise Vought would have sent us with some kind of masks?” she asks, stepping out, feeling her body automatically adjust to the lack of oxygen on this planet. She’s not totally sure she trusts the company to consider their well-being. 

“We have some degree of immunity,” he tells her. “Vought says we may still experience some mild symptoms, but it won’t kill us.” 

“Mild symptoms,” she asks, adjusting her coronet. “Like what?” 

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures her, trudging forward and pushing a large frond out of his way, letting it swing back and nearly hit her behind him. “Increased heart rate, elevated body temperature, some slight amorous feelings.” 

This stops her dead in her tracks. “Amorous feelings? What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh, come on, Maeve,” he laughs. “Nothing you or I can’t push through and ignore. Don’t we do it all the time?” 

She rolls her eyes, faking gagging. “Maybe you do, but I’ve more than moved on from whatever our little thing was,” she jabs. She should know better by now than to try to lie to him, but he doesn’t push her any further. “Why the fuck wasn’t I briefed on any of this before we got here?”

“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring the question. “There should be plenty of them just around the corner from here.” 

They walk through the lush forest. The natural flora is familiar, but everything is just a little too alien-looking to grow on Earth. Maeve quietly marvels at the colours, the shapes, the smells. Sure enough, just a couple minutes later, they turn a mossy corner and find themselves in front of a shady meadow clearing, dotted most prominently with the purple flowers among other brilliantly coloured petals and leaves. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” she agrees. “Hard to believe Vought wants to use them as a bio-weapon.” 

“Sometimes the most beautiful things are the most dangerous,” he says, and she catches him looking at her, at her mouth. She shivers. 

“Let’s not wax poetic about this,” she insists, pulling a vial from her belt. “And just get it over with.” 

They move through the meadow carefully, trying not to disturb the plants to the best of their ability for fear of ingesting too much pollen. “This one looks ready,” he tells her, pointing to an especially tall purple plant. 

She laughs again. “I mean, it really does look like a giant cock,” she giggles. 

He can’t stifle a laugh. There’s something hilarious about that word coming out of her mouth so brazenly and so abruptly. “It really does,” he agrees. “Alright, I’m going to hold the vial and you shake the plant to coax out some of the pollen.”

She crosses her arms. “And why do I have to do it?” 

“It would look ridiculous if I did it,” he says, chuckling at the very idea, as if it’s so impossible. 

“Are you serious?” she says, disbelieving. “You think you’re gonna look gay from holding the dick plant? There isn’t even anybody here.” 

“Imagine if somebody showed up with a camera? It would be humiliating,” he says sternly, and she realizes how serious he is. How insecure he is. 

“You’re concerned someone with a camera is going to show up, in outer space ?” she taunts. “You’re more delusional than I thought.” 

“I’m not doing it,” he protests again insistently. 

She stares him down for a long moment, but she knows she’s never going to get home if she doesn’t just let him have this. “Fine,” she mutters, handing the vial to him. “But this is pathetic, I need you to know that.” 

She tips the flower forward, tapping the side of it to shake loose the orangey powder within. Homelander catches it in the small glass vial. “Well, shit,” he says. “This is going to be incredibly tedious.” 

An hour goes by and they still haven’t filled the vial, starting to lose track of which flowers they have and haven’t stolen from. “Okay, enough,” Maeve insists, wiping sweat from her brow. “There have got to be better uses of our time than this.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, and sneezes. 

“Besides, I’m starting to feel a bit…” she trails off, straightening up and looking him in the eye. That’s when she notices how huge his pupils have become, only the smallest rings of blue visible. 

“Warm,” he offers, not taking his eyes off of hers.

“Amorous,” she confesses before she can stop the word from coming out of her mouth. 

“Oh,” he says, and he twists shut the lid of the vial. “Well we should get back to the ship, then.” 

She takes a step toward him, less and less certain of where she ends and the control of the pollen begins. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.” 

“What do you mean?” he protests. “You’re not going to die, you’re just…” 

“I meant…” she starts, and takes another step closer, this time cupping him between his thighs, feeling him lurching through the material instantly. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Maeve,” he says darkly, his eyes warning her. “If we start I don’t know if we’ll be able to stop.” 

She shudders, seemingly enjoying the sound of that, and presses herself closer to him, feeling the heat coming off of his body. 

“I’m serious,” he says, his mouth going dry, his hand unconsciously going to the small of her back, the other at her cheek, pulling her against himself, unable to hold in a sigh of relief. “People die from this.” 

“We’re not people,” she insists, and then she’s kissing him. She feels a ripple of pleasure roll down her from the top of her head down her spine and in to her core. 

And he’s kissing her back, grabbing at her desperately, urged on by her delighted moans. “Let me taste you,” he begs, dropping to his knees and pushing her dress up frantically. He pulls the strip of her suit to the side and his tongue is on her, in her, practically vibrating with desire against her cunt, dripping with arousal. Maeve cries out, clutching to Homelander’s hair to steady herself. Orgasm washes over her almost instantly, making her legs buckle under her so he has to catch her just as he starts to come as well, still fully clothed and untouched by her. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, pulling down his trousers finally and letting herself free her body of her costume as well. He’s still fiercely hard, cock throbbing and twitching just watching her lay back, spreading her legs for him. 

”Let’s make a baby,” she urges, pulling him down to her. “Come inside me.” 

“Yes,” he agrees breathily.

Only the tiniest parts of the backs of their minds reminds them that this is madness, but that thought is eradicated altogether the second he is inside her. The world around them starts to swirl, colours bleeding in to one another in some psychedelic display. The connection forged between them in this moment catches them both by surprise. She can feel him in every single part of her, shimmering over her skin, making her hair stand on end. 

“Imagine,” she hears herself say as she writhes below him, feeling the full length of him brush up the deepest part of her. “How powerful our child will be.” 

He groans, nearly coming then and there. “Something we made,” he gasps, rolling his hips against hers. “Will be the most powerful hero ever to exist.” 

She drives a hand between the two of them to rub two fingers against her clit, muscles pulsing around him. He bends to kiss one of her nipples, tongue darting out to lick it. “You’ll be so beautiful, so full of...” 

“Does that turn you on,” she riles him up. “The thought of me full of milk, your baby in my belly?” 

She feels him come inside her, flooding her, but he doesn’t stop grinding against her, seemingly only getting harder. “I almost can’t stand it,” he tells her. His fingers join hers, pushing them aside confidently and working her to orgasm in seconds. 

She rolls them over so she’s on top of him, one hand on his chest, the other on his thigh so she can lean back. She moves back and forth, back and forth, his strong, broad hands lifting her as if she weighs nothing so she slides up and down the full length of him. “Will you drink from my breasts for me?” she asks, too intoxicated to be mortified by what she’s saying. “When they get too big and too sore?” 

He comes in her a third time, then a fourth and fifth, and she meets him there every time. “You’ll be an incredible mother,” he tells her. “You’ll take such good care of me and the baby.” 

Maeve feels her clit throb as he whispers in her ear, telling her all the things he wants to do to her while she’s pregnant. Maeve has never wanted kids, feels frightened of them. But I’m her intoxication she becomes squarely focused on taking as much of Homelander as she can, desperate to feel him spill in to her and make her pregnant by any means necessary. 

The sun starts to go down. From where he has her pinned, Maeve looks up to see their home planet Earth, hung low in the sky in a spot where she’s used to seeing the moon. The ground around them is trampled down, their movement only shaking more and pollen loose and in to their lungs, until they’re shaking from desperation. 

They roll again and come together for a full ten minutes straight, and Homelander starts to cry from the agony and the ecstasy of it. “Keep going,” he begs her even as he chokes back sobs.

Maeve is exhausted, thighs screaming for a break, but she comes again and then finally rolls off of him and away. “I’m so thirsty,” she says, her voice a croak. Her left hand is still on him, fingers in his mouth. 

“That’s how most people die of this,” he says wearily, his hand pumping his cock lazily, though it’s more than a little painful. “They keep going until…” 

“We have to get out of here,” she warns, and he kisses her but she resists him. “John, we can’t die here.” 

She never calls him this anymore, and even through the haziness he can tell she’s serious. He agrees, finally sitting up. He rips two strips of fabric from his cape, handing her one. “Wrap this around your nose and mouth,” he says as he demonstrates the same. They’re both still aroused, and it takes them a minute to peel off of each other. 

“We have to go,” she insists again, pushing him away though she wants to rip off his mask and climb on to his face again. She grabs his hand and they run from the meadow, leaving the rest of their clothes behind them. 

Finally they’re out of the clearing and back in to the thick of the woods. They walk in silence for a few minutes, neither of them daring to look at each other for fear of starting another bout of furious kisses. The evening air is cool against their hot skin, but it’s no relief. Every sense is heightened, the brush of every branch against their flesh sending a shudder through them. 

 They don’t make it far. “Maeve,” Homelander whimpers, rubbing himself desperately against his palm. “I can’t…”

“Me too,” she says gently, and bends over the stump of a broken tree, her legs spread in offering. He slides in to her, and they both wince, skin and muscles exhausted from hours of over use. It’s slower this time, mostly out of physical necessity. He cups her breasts, bending to kiss her shoulders as he rolls in and out of her gently. “It feels better than I remembered,” she confesses, slowly starting to come out of her stupor. She’s lucid enough to formulate thoughts, but not enough to be embarrassed by her vulnerability. 

“It’s because we’re intoxicated,” he explains coolly. Then, an admission: “But it always felt this good to me.” 

She comes, bringing him over with her, bracing herself against the roots of the tree. They make it to the ship, quickly filing away the little vial. They guzzle ten bottles of water between the two of them, ribbons of it dribbling down each of their chins and across their chests, filling the room with steam. They fuck once more in one of the flight chairs, and there’s a finality to it. Maeve stays in his lap to catch her breath, his cock still deep inside her and twitching. She watches him flop back against the chair. His eyes are more blue than before. He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and she turns to kiss his palm. They both feel the pollen wearing off more and more rapidly, strange affection still lingering. 

“We can never talk about this again,” he says, gripping the warm flesh of her ass, his eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion.  

“Never,” she agrees. “And if we were… successful…” she says through a soft moan. “Obviously I’m not keeping it.” 

“Of course not,” he says, but his eyes flutter open. His hands move to her belly, cradling it gently, wondering what it might be like if he had gotten her pregnant, imagining the flesh swelling below his palms. There’s a twinge of sadness deep within him, knowing it will never be. They look at each other for a long time, and Maeve goes still above him. 

“It would never work,” she says, as if reading his mind, and there’s a note of despair in her voice as well. Reality pokes at the periphery of their consciousness, reminding them both how disastrous a baby would be. Still, it had been fun, living in this fantasy for however many hours it was that they were trapped there. 

“Never,” he agrees, leaning up to kiss her. She weaves her fingers through his dyed blond hair, as fake as every other part of him, squeezing around him once more, inviting him to fill her for a last time. He does. 

They sleep through most of the flight home, bodies aching and depleted, letting the advanced auto-pilot take over. Maeve awakens first, and rifles around for some plainclothes for them each to change in to. 

“That was…” she hears Homelander rumble behind her. 

“Strange,” she confirms, turning to hand him a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“Very strange,” he agrees. “It felt so real.” 

“Well,” she says, sitting beside him again. “Parts of it were, I guess.” 

“Which parts?” he asks, and she feels herself become irritated by him again. Back to normal. 

“Look, Homelander,” she says. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted to you. Of course I am.”

He grins wolfishly. 

“But, I’m also disgusted by you,” she continues, seeing his face fall. “I think you’re miserable, and pathetic, and evil, and possibly even insane. And I know better than anybody that you come by it honestly, but there is something poisonous deep within you.” 

He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. 

“And I’ll never have your baby,” she finishes. “Because I would never let you poison my child with that.” 

There’s a long and painful silence, and Maeve watches that bizarre planet fade in the distance. 

“Yes, well,” he finally says. “Thank you for saving us back there. I certainly wouldn’t have been strong enough to get out of that on my own, so... Thank you.” 

Maeve nods gravely, trying to smile but wincing instead. “Any time.”