Jessica Jones scrambled back to her feet, shock written all over her face.
"You didn't even use strength!" she snapped. "That wristband never went off!"
Antony stood where he was, not having shifted his feet even an inch. One hand rested calmly behind his back; with the other, he crooked a finger at her.
"That's not how power works, Queen."
"You're a raging bull," Antony said with a faint smile. "And I—"
He tilted his head slightly.
"I'm the matador."
"Again."
"Go to hell!"
Jessica lost it.
She charged again—this time with a sweeping leg kick, a hook punch, and a series of utterly unrefined street brawler strikes.
Thud!
Crack!
Boom!
The training hall echoed with the sound of bodies colliding.
But every single time—
Every. Single. Time—
No matter how ferocious her attack, Antony dissolved it at the last possible instant.
He was like an eel—slick and untouchable.
And like a mountain—immovable.
"Borrowing force."
Antony caught one of her flying kicks, turned smoothly, and Jessica spun like a top in midair before slamming hard into the mat.
"Four ounces redirect a thousand pounds."
As her fist came in again, Antony flicked two fingers against a pressure point near her elbow. Her entire arm went numb instantly.
Ten minutes later—
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Jessica Jones lay sprawled on the floor, sweat pouring off her. The white bodysuit was completely soaked now, plastered to her skin.
And Antony?
He stood beside her, breathing evenly. Hair immaculate. Not a bead of sweat in sight.
That damned wristband had not chirped once.
"I… I hate you," Jessica muttered, staring at the ceiling in despair.
"I know."
Antony stepped closer and extended a hand.
She hesitated—then took it.
With the slightest pull, he hauled her back up.
"What kind of magic is that?" she asked, rubbing her aching shoulder. "It's not karate. It's not boxing."
"It's Aikido," Antony said, naming the ancient art. "Japanese wisdom."
"You want to learn?"
Jessica looked at him. Then at the Macallan she still hadn't earned.
"…If I learn it, can I hit you with it?"
"In theory, yes," Antony replied calmly. "At the very least, you won't get rag-dolled by the Hulk."
"…Teach me."
She grit her teeth.
For the whiskey.
And because she refused to be looked down on by this blond bastard.
"Good."
Antony's smile deepened.
"Stand straight."
He moved behind her.
"Aikido is about listening to force. You feel how power flows through the body—you don't watch it."
"Relax."
His hands settled on her shoulders.
Jessica stiffened instantly.
Homelander's palms were warm—large. Even through the thin bodysuit, she could feel the lines of his hands, the heat of him.
"I said relax."
His voice was right by her ear, warm breath brushing her earlobe, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
"Could you… not stand this close?" she muttered, shifting uneasily.
"This is close-quarters combat, Jessica," Antony said seriously—lying through his teeth with total conviction.
"Aikido is short-range contact. If I'm not close, how do I teach you?"
"Straighten your back."
One hand pressed against her lower abdomen. The other supported her lower back.
"Here—this is your center. Sink your breath into it."
"Engage your core."
His palm applied gentle pressure.
Jessica inhaled sharply, forced to tighten her muscles.
Their bodies were now almost completely pressed together.
Antony's broad, solid chest rested against her sweat-dampened back. With each breath, the two layers of tight fabric brushed in subtle friction.
Jessica's thoughts unraveled.
She was an adult woman. Her life was a mess, sure—but her body worked just fine.
And behind her stood Homelander—the most powerful man on the planet. The most desired. The apex predator of Earth.
The sheer force of his presence wrapped around her like a net.
"Focus."
Antony felt the tension, the racing heartbeat. Internally, he was delighted—but outwardly, he sounded like a strict instructor.
"Stop thinking nonsense. Feel my force."
He took her wrist and guided her arm in a slow circle.
"This move is called Cloud Hands."
The motion was gentle. Controlled.
Yet he shifted his body weight onto her, guiding her center of gravity.
"Widen your stance."
Using his knee, he nudged her legs apart into a steadier base.
The position—
Jessica flushed. It was humiliating.
"You sure this is… martial arts?" she asked through clenched teeth, voice trembling.
"Absolutely," Antony said solemnly. "This is horse stance. Foundational training."
"Now—follow my rhythm."
"Inhale…"
He whispered into her ear.
The vibration of his chest carried through her back, sending tingles across her skin.
"Exhale…"
His hand slid down her arm, correcting her elbow angle—fingertips brushing the sensitive inner side of her arm.
Jessica shuddered and nearly collapsed into him.
"Hold it!" Antony wrapped an arm around her waist. "See? Lower body unstable. Needs work."
Inside Antony's head, however, the monologue was very different.
Heh… Vought really makes quality bodysuits. Premium feel.
Damn. So this is a superhero physique. That waist, that resilience—wow.
She's all claws normally, but this blush? Deadly contrast.
This Aikido Grandmaster module is straight-up a dating cheat code. 'Listening force'? More like 'feeling force.'
Outwardly, he remained stern.
"Jessica. Your heart rate is too high. Aikido requires calm."
He lectured with impeccable seriousness.
"How can you be the face of the Seven like this?"
"I… I'll try…" she muttered, mortified.
She tried to push him away.
"Y-you step back. I'll practice myself."
She turned around, ready to snap—
And froze.
Those blue eyes.
Focused. Serious. Almost severe.
He truly looked like he was teaching her.
No leering. No playfulness. Just a strict master correcting a stubborn student.
"…."
Jessica felt a wave of shame crash over her.
Here was Homelander—busy saving the world—lowering himself to teach her an art, hand to hand.
And she was the one thinking he was taking advantage?
Jessica Jones, you're a hopeless mess, she cursed herself internally.
--------------
T/N:
Access Advance Chapters on my
P@treon: [email protected]/PokePals