[Alia watches, twisted at the waist, water streaming off her hair, dripping lazily off the curves of her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. The air is warmer than it’s been, but still chilly enough that goosebumps ripple over her arms, her belly, nipples pebbling, knees pressing together.

But the shivers warm into a smile, welcoming and eager and bemused as Homelander sorts through the bottles, brings over his choice, dressed for a stroll, not a swim. Alia tilts her head, bright fondness at the way he steps into the lake, wincing a bit, the cuffs of his slacks already dampening. She doesn’t move to meet him halfway, just waits with her head at an angle and her eyes keen and unblinking.]

I didn’t want to get my clothes wet. It’s nicer without them on. [The toothy grin is just short of uncanny, especially with the unblinking intentness of Alia’s stare, but it softens as she kicks a bit of water at him again.] I don’t mind if you take yours off either. You can even stay under the water so nobody sees, if you’re shy.