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It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks that Lena hasn’t been seen in National City. No one knows where the hell she’s gone, vanished like a man out of a hijacked plane on a Wednesday afternoon.
Kara won’t talk about it. She just eats inhuman amounts of ice cream, wearing Lena’s sweaters that were forgotten at her place a long time ago. Everyone has been asking her what happened, everyone’s been expecting her to have the answers. She’s been asked for a press statement on the mysterious disappearance both as Supergirl and Kara Danvers multiple times and has only responded by fearfully wondering if this is what she sounds like when she’s asking people for statements. She really hates being the one reported on.
It’s uncharacteristic, isn’t it? And a terrible business move. L-Corp stock has been dropping ever since the first rumours of a mental breakdown or, God forbid, Lena’s death surfaced. It took Kara a full week to start worrying if there might be some substance to those terrible rumours. At first, she was sure Lena was just being dramatic and trying to mess with her head which, evidently, was working, but by week two, let’s just say, give it another day or two and she would’ve put together a search crew, she would’ve scavenged the entire Earth for any sign of her.
A terrible waste of DEO resources. Prevented, by no other than Lena Luthor herself, showing up at her doorstep like a stray cat with a dead bird in her teeth. The bird, in this instance, a bottle of red wine, surprisingly unopened. It costs 7 grand a bottle, bought for the hell of it, tastes the same.
Kara stares at her for a minute, dumbfounded. Her hair falling in gorgeous dark tresses, her eyes, clear green, her wine-red blouse with one too many buttons unbuttoned, the skin underneath supple and soft, so horribly, terribly, no-goodly kissable. That matter-of-fact look on her face.
Kara blinks. A sigh of relief. “Good Rao. Fuck you!”
“I take it you’re not glad to see me?” The unabashed swagger that she says it with, infuriating.
“You can’t just kiss someone and vanish!”
Lena quirks an eyebrow. “I recall more than kissing.”
Kara runs her hand through her hair, exasperated sigh, an incredulous look in her eyes.
“How about when you disappeared on me for weeks, you recall that? Asshole. What the fuck was that? Where the hell have you been? Good reasons, please!”
Lena puts her arms up in defeat. “Only have bad ones, I’m afraid.”
“Try me.”
Lena shakes her head and shrugs. “I chickened out. Okay?” she breathes a laugh, mellowing and taking Kara’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
Kara reluctantly moves her fingers against Lena’s, playfully teetering on holding hands. The tension leaves her shoulders, she sighs and her voice grows softer, smaller.
“Where were you? I was worried.”
“Sorry,” Lena repeats herself. “Here and there. Hopped on a plane to nowhere in particular. Dublin, Berlin, Paris, Rome– anywhere big enough to remain anonymous, basically.”
“And you couldn’t have taken me with? If I’d known you were going to Paris– well, I would’ve come with.”
“You would’ve?”
“Yeah,” Kara breathes, “do you know how shitty it was waking up and finding you weren’t there?”
The hurt in her eyes reflects back in Lena’s. She sighs, entwining her fingers with Kara’s fully, giving her hand a gentle yet reassuring squeeze.
“You know, what we did, I don’t regret any of it,” she says.
“Then why did you leave?” Kara pleads.
“If I told you I thought I didn’t deserve you, would you believe me?” Lena asks.
“Maybe. Try me.”
“It’s true. It was… stupid and right and stupid,” Lena smiles, the most incredulous thing, tilting her head, “I looked at you sleeping and I thought, God,” she closes her eyes, “you’re beautiful. Too beautiful. I think it sent my brain into overdrive; I just needed a moment to rewind. But I’m back now and I promise–” Kara cuts her off by shushing her. Lena looks hurt. Kara takes notice.
“No, no, the speech was going great,” she whispers, eyes alert, “I just heard–” she takes off her glasses, slow and steady, and peeks through the walls. Putting her glasses back on, she looks at Lena again. “Someone’s been listening to us.”
Lena tenses up.
“No one knows I’m here,” she whispers through her teeth. Kara shakes her head.
“Mrs. Maksimov!” she exclaims, loud enough to startle Lena and earn a mumbled, follow-up, “Sorry.”
Lena faintly, and Kara quite clearly, hears the sound of rushed but not particularly quick footsteps scurrying away from the door opposite Kara’s.
“Apartment life,” Kara laments, “everyone always knows your business.” She rubs her temples. “My life is not a free telenovela. Even if it feels that way sometimes.”
Lena laughs. A belly-laugh, rich and full and flavourful.
“Sorry, do you want to come inside? The walls are thin but–” Kara shrugs and waves her hands in a gesture with an undefinable meaning.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Lena smirks and glances down at Kara’s lips. That’s what does it. Kara takes a second to process the look but once she’s done computing, she pulls Lena in by the fabric of her silk blouse.
“Let me show you what Paris doesn’t have,” Kara says through her teeth.
“Oh?” Lena teases, closing the door behind herself. Kara doesn’t waste time. She pins her to the door and presses her lips to Lena’s, it’s warm and soft and rough. “Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she says practically into Lena’s mouth.
“Careful, Miss Danvers,” Lena breathes, “Keep rewarding bad behaviour like this and–” Kara shuts her up. Everything kicks into double-time. Kara begins undoing the buttons on Lena’s blouse, Lena rolls her eyes and rips the damn thing open. Kara smiles against her lips and trails kisses down her neck, stopping on a pressure point here and there.
“I missed you,” she whispers, hot and heavy, against Lena’s skin.
“I can tell,” Lena says, throwing her head back as Kara’s teeth scrape against her clavicle. The wine bottle still clutched in her hand; she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. She could probably figure it out if she wasn’t forgetting its presence every two seconds on account of being distracted by one Kara Danvers’ eager hands and lips.
It’s all very terribly rushed. No one takes their time, there is no time. There’s been a murder. Time itself has been killed, it’s just the two of them now. Eager. Hungry.
Kara unbuckles Lena’s belt. Lena returns the favour, snaking her thumbs into the hooks of Kara’s jeans and pulling them down until they fall on their own and Kara kicks them off, already eager to rid Lena of her underwear, red and lacy because of course it fucking is.
Rid of all those pesky fabric barriers, they sink to their knees. Intertwining their knees, there’s giggles and peppered kisses on tender patches of skin, Lena leaving faint red lipstick marks on Kara’s shoulders.
She lets out a primal groan, slowly moving against Kara’s thigh, feeling Kara moving against hers in unison, wet and warm and yearning. Lena threads her fingers into Kara’s hair, pulling her deeper into a kiss. Kara’s hands go shamelessly to her ass, pulling her ever closer, revelling in the moans she incites.
Like a waltz. Chest to chest, eye to eye, flush to flush to flush to flush.
Lena’s fingers have ventured to the rim of Kara’s sweater and they’re peeling it upwards like an orange, taking their sweet time gliding over Kara’s toned abdomen, the little nape where stomach meets her ribcage, her breasts, until they finally rid her of the damned thing.
Kara’s cheeks glow pink. Her breathing grows quicker, her eyes find Lena’s. Scholars remain divided on the presence of any space between them. Her thinking grows ever cloudier by the minute of Lena’s tongue being in her mouth, it’s just not a priority to think. Cohesive thoughts be damned, feel!
She does feel. She feels everything, every inch of skin pressed against hers, every racing heartbeat, Lena’s tongue warm on her neck, exploring. This is all new and somehow it feels like they’ve done this a thousand times before, maybe some other time, in some other life, but in this one it’s fresh and exciting like the first harvest of the season.
She pulls her closer, into an embrace above all, her hands threading into Lena’s hair and cupping the back of her neck, when they break their kiss, their foreheads touch. Lena sighs, her breath hot on Kara’s chest.
“I’ve missed you,” Lena breathes, grinding against bare skin like her life fucking depends on it, holding onto Kara by her shoulders and neck as though she’d fall off the face of the Earth if she let go. What she can’t say with her words, be it fear of vulnerability or a literal physical inability to form coherent sentences with more than three words in this moment, is well expressed in her exposed wetness.
“Stand up!” Kara says abruptly. Is it a request or a command, who can tell at this point? In either case, Lena stands up. Kara follows, pinning her against the wall so the dishes in the cabinet beside her clatter and the painting by her head sways side to side, kicking a chair out of the way, her lips finding Lena’s jawline.
“We’re never going to make it to the bedroom, are we?” Lena teases as Kara intertwines their fingers and brings their hands all the way up, snow-angels against drywall. She frees her hands, placing them on Lena’s ample curves instead, trailing her way down, her knees bending, her tongue trailing a path for itself from Lena’s collarbone to the insides of her thighs. She tries to go slow; she tries to tease by peppering kisses just above and just below but she can’t resist for long. Lena bucks her hips towards her. She spreads her legs, resting one of her thighs on Kara’s toned shoulder.
Eve biting into the apple.
The juice dribbles past her lips, sweet, irresistible.
She’s still figuring out her way around so she watches Lena closely, listening to every whimper, every sigh, every moan. She trails circles with her tongue and Lena sighs in approval, her eyes slipping shut. She licks up and down, Lena hums. She wraps her lips around it and sucks and Lena gasps, her hands thread into Kara’s hair and push her in deeper. She stays there for a while, kissing and flicking, consistent motions until Lena’s crying out and her legs are clenching and going weak. Like waves washing over her. She’s beautiful.
Once Lena’s regained her composure, Kara rises up to kiss her but instead of meeting her lips, Lena puts her arm around her waist and leads her to the table, lays her down on it, all the while looking at her like she’s something to eat. She spreads her legs, hands on her taut thighs, boss bitch-confident: she knows what she wants and she’s come to get it. She has more restraint. She’s had a long time to think about how exactly she wants to touch her, too long with the mere idea of Kara writhing beneath her.
She starts out soft, just at the base of her stomach, ghosting her lips over skin faint enough that it tickles and Kara giggles. It’s like music. She lingers by her hipbone, just rough enough that it’d leave a mark under a red sun, just gentle and far enough that it leaves her heaving, desperate. It’s just enough for her to move to the inside of her thighs, gliding her tongue over the supple skin, closer each time but never close enough. It’s too much.
“Please,” Kara breathes the magic word. Lena draws away. Kara groans in dissatisfaction.
“I want you to tell me what you want,” Lena says.
“I want you,” Kara replies without hesitation. Lena isn’t satisfied with that.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Kara whimpers. “I want you to touch me.”
“And?”
“And,” Kara sighs, “I want you to fuck me. Lena.”
Lena grins. She leans in and swirls her tongue just right. She’s on her knees, fit for worship. This is holy. Her name in Kara’s mouth is holy. Her tongue between her folds is holy. Kara’s nails digging into her back, leaving faint red trails, are holy.
She keeps building up pressure, Kara’s thighs tensing around her by the minute. She flicks her tongue, sharp at the tip, and Kara gasps. She makes it soft again, resuming a steady pulse only ever interrupted by a peppered kiss. The louder Kara gets, the more pressure she applies, the faster she moves until Kara’s panting, out of breath. “Rao, what took you so long? Why’d you ever leave?”
Lena pulls away, says, “Ah, it’s complicated. I’m complicated.” Kara pulls her back in; she obliges the unspoken demand.
“I love complicated,” Kara says, her breathing speeding up again. Lena can feel her racing heart through her skin, she’s writhing under her touch. She pulls away again, eliciting another disgruntled groan from Kara.
“Do you mean that or are you just saying it because you’re about to come?” she asks. Kara sighs.
“Can’t it be both?” she asks with a hopeful smile, if desperate at the corners.
“No.” Lena shakes her head and her face twists into a sad smile, “no. You’re fucking Supergirl, you like nice and easy and the American way.” Well, technically she’s the one fucking Supergirl but cut her some slack, she’s going through it.
“Lena, please. I need to– to– I need you to touch me. Please.” She’s dripping with desperation. Every other time would be better for this conversation than this one, she’s so close to the edge and it’s not letting her think clearly.
She looks pathetic. So needy. And Lena Luthor is a philanthropist. So, she obliges. She moves her tongue in a steady pulse, speeding up as the noises escaping Kara’s lips grow feral again. She moves with her as she clenches up and loosens, riding it out.
She watches Kara catch her breath on her dining room table, and God, she’s gorgeous. She feels her brain going into overdrive again so she turns away. Kara catches the reluctance in her eyes, the way she’s looking around the room like a visiting stray cat searching for a window to make their exit. Not this time.
“I’m drawing a bath,” she says on impulse, surprising herself as much as Lena. She hesitates, almost laughing at herself for hesitating at a question like this after her boldness mere moments ago. “Join me, if you’d like?”
Kara disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water hits Lena’s ears through the walls. And then the realisation that she’s naked. Not naked but naked, there’s a distinct difference. In the heat of the moment, there was only desperation to have more skin on skin, to be felt, to be seen by Kara and the rest of the world melted away. Now, she’s standing alone in Kara Danvers’ apartment, naked, like a horse in a hospital, that doesn’t belong there. Everything else in the room belongs, from the wall-art to the hint-of-vintage furniture, things that belong among that furniture are popcorn and game nights and tea and definitely not a Luthor sans clothes.
She decides to scavenge Kara’s closet and produces a peach-toned morning robe which she quickly slips into. It’s soft and warm and smells like Kara and in any normal setting, those things would have a comforting effect on her but right now she’s gnawing on her bottom lip despite them. Where’d that wine go?
She finds it intact but sideways on the floor, plucks it from the ground and makes her way to the kitchenette for a bottle-opener. Top drawer on the right where it always is, wine glasses in the bottom shelf of the middle cupboard, as they always are. She hesitates before grabbing a second one for Kara who’s appeared behind her like a ghost in her white towel, startling her as she turns around.
“Sorry,” Kara mumbles.
Lena swallows. “Don’t be,” she says, twisting the bottle-opener into the cork methodically, averting her gaze, “I forget how fast you can be.”
Kara breathes an awkward chuckle and presses her lips together. Lena lifts her gaze. They stare at each other, both deer, both headlights.
“Bath,” Kara says.
“Right. Wine?” Lena pops the cork off the bottle.
“Sure,” Kara replies, her eyes desperately searching for something to fill the silence with. “Orange?” she finally asks, no innuendo, just a genuine brain malfunction due to the revealing nature of the robe Lena’s chosen. Lena gives her a look of confusion but ultimately shrugs and nods. It most certainly was one of those days when this might as well happen.
***
So, you’re in a steaming bathtub with two glasses of overpriced red wine and the girl you like who’s peeling one of two oranges and you’ve been missing for two weeks without notice so it’s kind of awkward and you don’t know how to start up a conversation. We’ve all been there! Why not break the ice with a casual question like ‘How’s your week been?’ or ‘How’s work?’ or anything but, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Seriously, how can someone go from eating someone out on their dining-fucking-room table to a bumbling teenager asking the most popular girl at school to the prom in the span of fifteen minutes?
“Then why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you text? Why didn’t you answer mine? Why did you leave?” One question at a time, Miss Danvers, you, of all people, as a reporter, should know that. Poor Lena looks like she’s been slapped in the face with a flip-flop. It takes her a moment to regain her composure enough to speak.
“I needed space,” she says with shame in her features. Kara hands her a slice of orange. “Thanks. I just needed to get away.”
“From me?” Kara asks. It’s awful to see her look so hurt. Lena shakes her head. She puts the orange in her mouth, chews, swallows, the bittersweet lingering at the roof of her mouth. And then, she begins.
“From everything. From us, mostly. I was so afraid of screwing things up, I needed to clear my head. I got on a plane with the intention of travelling the world before returning but it only took two weeks for everything to become clear,” she sighs, “I slept in 5-star hotels and motels so sleazy the drunken teenagers wouldn’t let me get to sleep. I ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone. I ran into the ocean headfirst and asked it to swallow me whole. It said it could not swallow what had already been swallowed. It was right. Love had eaten me alive.” She laughs at herself. “I wrote you poetry,” like it’s something ludicrous, “Lots. Nonsensical, stupid, beautiful, meaningless and meaningful.” She twirls a strand of damp hair around her finger. “None of it made any sense to me until it did.”
“That sounds lovely but I have to admit, I have no idea what you’re saying,” Kara replies. Lena breathes a laugh and looks her in the eyes.
“Before I left,” she smiles, tight-lipped, “what we did, I don’t regret it. I meant that. But if I could turn back the clock,” she pauses, looks down at her pale knees sticking out of the water, “I would. I’d go slower. Steadier. And,” she pauses, closes her eyes and opens them again, “Today, too.”
She scoots closer to Kara and looks ridiculous so Kara chuckles until Lena takes her hands, lifting them out of the water, her elbows resting on her knees, their faces inches apart.
“Like I said, I don’t regret a thing. Not today, either. It was,” she smiles, sighs, “holy. But it was more than that, it was hungry. And hungry people feast and proclaim anything in front of them their favourite food.”
Lena takes a deep breath, breaking eye contact.
“You know, I’ve always hated oysters. But when I was 14, someone told me my thighs were getting tubby so, for a week, I starved myself,” she laughs at herself, lacking humour, “lived on bone broth and carrot sticks. And at the end of the week, I’d dropped five pounds. We had oysters for dinner that night and I fucking gorged myself like they were ambrosia or something- something holy to be devoured. A few years later, I tried them again and still hated them. Nothing had changed. I’d just been hungry. I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want to be your oyster.” She laughs and her voice grows unusually small, “I want to be your potsticker. I mean, it’s okay if I’m not but that’s not the kind of love I’m asking for, especially after what we’ve done to each other, I don’t want to lose you again because I was reckless and hungry. I want to give us a fair shot. God, my heart wants and wants and wants things that I’m so afraid to ask you for.”
“So, ask me,” Kara whispers, “Ask me. Please.”
Lena smiles, sad and happy at the same time, the bittersweet at the roof of her mouth.
“All I want for us, and I know this now, is to love each other to fulfilment every day. I want us to try that. I want us both to eat well and see if it’s still good, to see if you still want me when you’re full.”
“Of course, I will.”
“You don’t have to promise that.”
“But I am promising that.”
“You really don’t have to; I just want to give this a chance-”
“You’re not hearing me. I want to promise that.” Kara gives Lena’s hands a reaffirming squeeze. “I want that for us.”
She presses her lips to Lena’s, slow and steady, slow and steady.
***
Morning comes with lemon-coloured light slipping in through the blinds, tickling Kara’s nose to rouse her from her slumber. She’s almost afraid to open her eyes, afraid the body in her arms will disappear as soon as she does, history repeating itself. But it doesn’t. Lena’s right there, beside her, hair sprawled across her pillow like an octopus, dark eyelashes resting on pale skin. It’s almost criminal to wake her. Almost.
Kara presses a kiss into the nook of her neck, mumbling a breathy “Mornin’,” against her skin. Lena’s eyes flutter open, she rolls over to face Kara.
“Morning,” Lena says with a smile. She cracks her neck and sits up, stretching out her torso, her arms spread-eagle, the sunlight making her glow. Kara is looking respectfully.
She sits up in turn and brushes Lena’s messy hair over one of her shoulders, leaving the one on her side exposed. Lena hums and tilts her head to the side, an invitation. Kara leans forward and presses slow, slow and steady kisses from her clavicle to her neck to her cheek. Everything about her is so maddeningly beautiful. Her skin smells like milk and vanilla and a musky, faintly floral perfume. Kara ghosts her hands across her chest, gentle, tentative movements.
“Come here,” Lena says, the words melting into one in her mouth. Pulling Kara into her lap, she unites their lips, soft and slow, it’s a lazy Sunday morning and everything is good in the world, and even if there still are bad things out there, they’ve left them out there on the doorstep to wilt. Only good things here.
Kara wraps her legs around Lena’s back, her hands threading into her hair. Lena’s hands are on her back, holding her safe. An unspoken ‘I’ve got you.’
Their tongues move against each other, a lazy exploration, Lena pulling Kara closer, one of her hands moving down to the small of her back, slowly finding its way to cupping her ass. She begins to buck her hips forward, steady movements, pulling Kara closer rhythmically. Kara lets out a little moan, biting her lip in pleasure.
She breaks the kiss to lean back on her hands. Lena moves her hand back to the small of Kara’s back, snaking the other one to grip her thigh. Rhythmically bucking forwards and pulling Kara towards her, Lena’s breathing speeds up.
Kara looks to Lena. Lena looks to Kara. They smile.
Kara leans back on her arms, throwing her head back, trusting her weight with Lena’s arm. She’s so careful with her, like a Fabergé egg, Kara knows she’s safe in her arms.
“I’m yours,” she breathes between whimpers moans and with every syllable it sounds ever the truer, looking at Lena smiling back at her, she knows it is. She flings her thighs around Lena’s neck, resting her knees on her shoulders, Lena holds her upright by wrapping both of her arms around her back and rolling her hips faster.
“Rao, don’t stop!”
Lena chuckles. It sounds like honey pouring out of her.
“What?” Kara asks, moving her legs back down to Lena’s back just in case.
“Nothing. You’re just so beautiful when you’re begging,” Lena replies, pulling Kara back into a kiss. She can tell by the way her thighs are tensing up that she’s close so she moves a little slower, her breath hot on Kara’s neck.
“Look at me, baby,” Lena says. Their foreheads touch together, green meets blue. Different-pitched cries at the same time. Kara collapses onto Lena, content. They laugh.
Kara plays with Lena’s hair. The rising sun hugs their bodies tight.
***
Lena glides down the stairs, practically floating. She’s only going to grab some croissants for breakfast from the café down the street but before she can open the door, an elderly woman tuts. At first, she looks around but finding no one, realises it was directed at her.
“She is such good girl!” the woman laments, “Feeds cat when I am not home, waters plants, always kind. You break her heart when you leave!”
What the-
And then it hits her.
“Mrs. Maksimov?”
The aforementioned looks at her as though she’s stupid. Lena takes a deep breath.
“First of all, none of this is any of your business!” and then she mellows. “Second of all, I’m not leaving,” her voice grows small like a kid mumbling an apology, “I’m only going out for croissants.”
“You better. You hurt that sweet girl again, I send my sons.” Nothing to get a morning started like vague threats, it seems.
***
Lena puts down the pastry box in her hands next to two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Good news, they’re still warm. Bad news, your neighbour might try to kill me.” Kara laughs. It’s like music. That alone might be worth enduring her overprotective, nosy neighbour’s wrath and any other oddities of "apartment life."