Work Text:
"C'mon baby, please…"
Lena can hear it, leaking through Kara's voice. The innocent, puppy-eyed look she can’t for the life of her say no to.
Thank fuck this is not a video call.
"Kara, I said no."
"But baby…"
"No." The pressure of a headache only a glass of bourbon can cure crackles at her temples. Tiny fireworks that flare white behind her eyelids and send her thoughts scattering whichever way, tail between their legs. "For the hundredth time, Kara, you're not putting barbeque sauce on my titties."
"Okay." Kara agrees too easily. So easily that Lena braces for the inevitable what about. Which follows suit, precise like Swiss-made clockwork.
"No." Lena blazes over Kara's new suggestion, rolling over it twice for good measure like a brakeless tractor trailer launched downhill. "No buffalo, no mustard, no mayo or ketchup and certainly not tartar sauce!"
"Tartar?" On the other end of the line Kara sounds mildly disgusted. " Ew ."
“Oh?” Lena lifts an eyebrow. “Have we finally found one food you don’t like?”
“Excuse me, there’s many things I don’t—”
“Kara, you wolfed down a whole tub of raw cookie dough last Friday.”
“Brussel sprouts—”
“ Nobody likes brussel sprouts.”
Forget the glass of bourbon. She’ll need the entire fucking bottle.
“Nobody except you, you sadist .”
“Kara, I put them in the casserole one time.” In her defense, Lena had assumed that would be fine. Kara does raze her fridge on the regular – kale and all. She even ate an entire stick of butter once, which Lena hasn’t had the heart to bring up to her but didn’t fail to notice.
“You smothered them in bechamel and fooled me, that’s what you did!”
Before Kara can suggest it as alternative body-sauce, Lena decides to pull the conversation toward safer ground
“Where did you get this idea anyway?” She asks, doing all she can to not sound too curious. She can’t afford to give Kara any ground on this, not an inch or a quarter. She’ll end up covered in potstickers otherwise.
“I uh, watched a documentary about it.”
“A documentary.” Lena echoes slowly, lips quirking in the beginning of a smile. Somehow she doesn’t think Kara’s referring to Ugly Delicious .
“Yeah, you always talk about how research is needed to get better at stuff so I—” She stammers to a halt, her teeth audibly clicking shut around whatever else she meant to say. In her head Lena fills the gap.
There’s nothing wrong with how they have sex in Lena’s book (it comes with very graphic illustrations), but Kara’s always had a burr under her shirt about it so to speak.
So the framing of Kara’s syntax doesn’t catch her by surprise. She must not have meant to slip, because the silence on the other end of the line is suddenly so absolute Lena has to double check her phone’s still on. But it’s there. An iceberg of insecurity she can only see the tip of.
It’s got something to do with the way sex was viewed on Krypton. Lena hasn’t asked Kara directly, but inferred as much from shared intimacy and context. She wouldn’t describe Kara’s ancestors as puritanical , but physical acts of any kind generally seem to hold a different weight in Kara’s native culture.
From the little she has shared, profound sadness coloring her tone, Lena’s gained a sense of extreme propriety and bashfulness. A great awareness of boundaries and personal spaces. That may be why Kara touches people constantly — not an attempt to deny her roots, but an effort to blend in. Slightly over the top sometimes, but Lena’s never minded. Not even when they were just friends — despite the toll the adjustment period had taken on someone as touch-repulsed as her.
“You know, darling,” Lena makes sure to keep her voice soft. “I’m not sure PornHub qualifies as an unbiased source.” It has its uses for sure, despite the bog of misogyny and impossible sexual achievements one has to wade through, but Lena wouldn’t call it educational .
“It wasn’t— I didn’t—!” Then, so quietly Lena has to strain to hear the words. “Okay, maybe I did watch one porno about it.”
Lena waits, patiently, for the inevitable unburdening.
“Alright, it was a couple.”
Lena almost asks which kind of porn Kara’s been watching, just to see if perhaps some of the… interests she’s never let herself indulge in do align. But she doesn’t. It’s a conversation best had the long way round, and preferably in person. She doesn’t mind that what they do between the sheets is very vanilla — that’s not a dirty word, certain opinions notwithstanding. Kara is a sweet, attentive lover. And she has a lot, a lot of stamina. So much that it’s mostly Lena who taps out first, cunt swollen and too sensitive from all the attention Kara showers it with.
“Lena?” There’s a rustle — Kara’s definitely pacing back and forth. Lena can picture it. “Did I say something wrong? If I crossed a line…” Her pitch climbs up at the end, panic creeping in.
“No, of course not.” Lena soothes quickly. “You just took me by surprise, is all.” Admittedly, among the many things she’s considered bringing in the bedroom, food has always been low on the list. Barely on her radar altogether. It’s odd how it dawns her then, with Kara inches away from full-blown panic, that her fear of not being enough, but of having scuffed the lines in the sand and being too much are the same fear. The fear of being unapologetically herself.
Lena can relate.
“Okay,” she critically eyes the liquor cabinet she keeps inside her office, and wonders how many shots it is acceptable to drink before noon. “Let’s try.”
“I shouldn’t have— what?” Several heartbeats later, Kara’s brain finally parses what Lena’s just told her. “Really?” The squeal of delight that follows has Lena biting her lip not to laugh and wincing away from the phone ever so slightly.
“Really.” She confirms, nodding even though Kara can’t see her. “But next time you want to try out something just come to me directly, please? That way we can do the research together.” Desire pulls her belly taut. She’d never entertained the possibility of watching porn with Kara, but now that the thought has flashed through her mind, it’s impossible to get rid of. All too easy to imagine Kara’s eyes glued to her laptop screen, as round as they can go while she watches strangers having sex in new, unexpected ways. Trying to resist the urge to touch herself, and eventually caving, a hand slipping past the waistband of her slacks.
Lena’s face feels hot, and when she marches across the room it’s to pour herself a glass of water, not liqueur.
“The re— oh. Ohh .” A similar self-combustion process seems to be underway on Kara’s end. “Yeah, I would… I would like that.”
“Me too.” Lena says and she really, one hundred percent, absolutely means it too.
***
Spread out on the bed, Kara’s gaze dragging heavy along her curves, Lena has to admit she’s feeling a bit nervous.
“Are you okay?” She notices her thigh’s been jittering only when Kara’s fingers splay on top of it, gentle and grounding.
“Yes, of course I am.” The lie comes out of her seamlessly. They’ve been together form months, Lena has an actual group of friends now, and still she isn’t used to admitting her vulnerability.
“Nu-uh.” Kara crawls up the bed, until she’s settled next to her, body pressed into her side. They fit like puzzles pieces, Lena thinks, giving up her pride to snuggle a little closer. Sensing an opening, Kara reels her in, chin lifting to act like the roof she can shelter underneath. Lena doesn’t have to be offered it twice. She presses forward, nuzzling into the crook of Kara’s neck. Her cheeks must be so red .
“You can always come to me too, I hope you know that.” It always turns her own to realize how broad and strong Kara’s hands are. How gentle, too. A warm palm shapes to the back of her head, cradling her close, nails scritch-scratching at her scalp. Lena sighs, thinking there are worse ways to spend the night than this.
“I think I am a bit scared about how much I want this.” She admits, watching Kara’s hair stir in her breath. “Like I said, you put me on the backfoot when you mentioned wanting to experiment, but I hadn’t realized how much of an effect it’d have on me.”
"Is it because…" Kara pauses, unsure, but the question is written all over her face.
"My upbringing?" Lena shrugs, burrowing into Kara's collarbone. She can't resist the allure, and peppers kisses along the flaring bones, making her squirm. "Possibly." Lillian had plenty of toy boys after Lena's father died, more than likely an affair or two even before, as payback for his own indiscretions. But sex was never spoken of inside the house — Lena never got the bees and flowers talk. The word slut had never been uttered in reference to her biological mother, but it hung in the air, almost tangible, when Lillian was drunk.
“It doesn’t make you a slut to want to try new things.” Kara’s hand has been crawling lower, and now her fingers are digging grooves along Lena’s spine. She sighs, and melts under the touch, the warmth that radiates from Kara’s body making her woolen headed and relaxed.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” She has to laugh at herself a bit to try and ease some of the sourness twisting her stomach into knots and hates how frail it sounds. Cracked through like glass that has received a grievous blow.
“I’m glad it did.” Pushing two fingers under her chin, Kara forces her to tilt her head back for a kiss. Force is the wrong word; Lena eagerly sinks into the reassuring softness of Kara’s mouth, parting to greet hers. “Fear is part of trying new stuff, I think.”
There’s no harm in admitting she’s afraid they won’t like what they discover, that their dynamic will change. Lena nods, and traces the lines of Kara’s face — her eyebrows, her cheeks, the tip of her nose — committing them to something deeper than her memory. “I am ready if you are,” she whispers eventually, voice croaky with emotion.
“Okay.” Kara disentangles from the embrace, reaching for something she’d placed on the nightstand, close at hand, but doesn’t move away completely. “And we can stop at any time. Just say—”
“I know.” Lena hushes, thumb brushing a stray eyelash from her cheek. “Just say red.”
***
The food Kara picked to play with is extremely tame. A classic even. In the days leading up to this Lena has been haunted by nightmares of tabasco sauce and marshmallow spread. Sometimes together. But no.
What Kara recovers from the nightstand is a can of whipped cream.
“Still nervous?” She asks, popping the cap off with a flourish and shaking the can up a little.
Lena tries and fails to still her wiggling hips.
“It’s gonna be cold.” She complains, worrying at her lower lip. Possibly, potentially she’s looking forward to it. Kara grins, darkened eyes tracking her every move.
“You gotta think outside the bun, Lena. Sometimes, a good snack needs a matching condiment. And you are the snackiest snack. Finger licking good. A once you pop you can’t stop kind of deal.” Kara’s fingers tease under her breasts, trailing along the slight curve of her belly. The tickles, combined with what Kara just said, make Lena laugh. The last of her worries melt away — like whipped cream left too long out in the sun.
“Don’t worry,” Kara adds. I’ll keep you warm, baby.” And God but Lena’s insides sublimate to goo when Kara calls her that. “Promise.”
Lena’s ready to remind her no sugar based products should go south of the equator (she doesn’t want a yeast infection to be her most prominent memory of the night) when the first dollop of whipped cream drips onto the middle of her chest. It’s not just cold — it’s freezing .
Lena almost flies off of the bed, but Kara’s there in a flash, pinning her down. Not by grasping her wrists, or bearing on her with her weight. Nothing like that. Her mouth becomes the single focal point anchoring Lena. Soft lips, eager tongue lapping the cream up until none of it is left. Beyond that, till it feels that Kara’s licking at her as if she’s one of those popsicles with soft serve ice cream on the inside.
“What do you think?” Kara lifts her face to ask, eyes never leaving Lena’s. She hasn’t managed to clean all of the whipped cream away — but has acquired a fluffy moustache whilst trying.
“The jury’s still out,” Lena smiles fondly. She’s somewhat out of breath, her nipples stiffened both by the chill and the proximity of Kara’s mouth. “I think you need to try again.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
This time, Kara overdoes it and Lena’s breasts end up covered in white. There’s something erotic in the contrast of temperatures. When it comes into contact with her skin the whipped cream thaws, but every time more is squirted on her, shivers race down Lena’s spine. And Kara’s mouth feels twice as hot by comparison, a silken furnace that glides from one aching nipple to the other, sure to pay them equal attention.
“No more.” Lena begs after some time, squirming as if that’d help her get anywhere. “Too sensitive.” Her breasts have been licked, squeezed, nipped at. Purpling love-bites have been sucked into the powdery-soft skin, and she aches, aches, aches for Kara’s touch elsewhere.
Kara gathers what whipped cream is still left on her and coats her fingers in it. Lena expects her to pop them in her mouth, blinking rapidly when the treat is offered to her instead.
“Lick.” Kara says, with authority threaded through. It’s her Supergirl voice, the one she uses to deal with the Earth-ending threats she faces on the daily. Lena nursed the biggest crush for the caped superhero and finding out she and her bestest friend were one and the same had been a relief. Now Kara switches into her other persona as though she’s playing a winning hand at cards and Lena’s so, so very weak in the knees for it.
So wet too.
Unfair .
WIthout hesitation, she does as instructed, tongue flicking delicately over the tip of each cream-coated finger before she sucks them in her mouth. A moan escapes her then, and the sweet taste of the treat has nothing to do with it.
Kara’s eyes are turned a blue so deep by hunger they seem to have no bottom, and when her fingers pump in and out of Lena’s mouth, fucking it, she feels a sudden sympathetic throb down in her clit.
“Kara…” She whimpers when her girlfriend pulls her hand away, wiping it on Lena’s belly. That makes her feel whorish, burning from the inside out with a strange shame-tinged arousal. Lena doesn’t know what to make of it right then — she’s far too gone for the thought-process required by self-reflection — but the clinical part of her that never, ever sleeps files the emotion away. Later studies. Another day.
“Was that okay?” Kara is old, bumbling, dad-jokes Kara again all of a sudden. “Was I too—”
“Perfect.” Lena pushes up on one elbow, so that their noses are touching. “You were perfect.” Her chest is a bit sticky with residual sugar, but she doesn’t mind as much as she had thought she would. It’s nothing a shower can’t fix, and she’s positive Kara will enthusiastically help. “But can you fuck me now? Please?” Her clit throbs again and she has to rub her thighs together to relieve a bit of the pressure building there.
“Yeah.” Kara throws the spent can of whipped cream across the room (not hard enough for it to go through the wall, thank god), then cocks her head toward the bathroom with a meaningful eyebrow raise.
“Just be quick.” But Lena really didn’t need to tell her, because she super-speeds away, only to return moments later — mouth rinsed and fingers clean.
“Fuck you’re so wet.”
Before Lena’s hips have a chance to roll up into nothing, Kara’s mouth is on her, sloppy with greed. She dives in, nosing her labia apart, and each lash of her tongue is devastating. It’s a lot of stimulation all at once, yet not enough, but the overeagerness has Lena’s hips trying to shirk back and roll forward at the same time.
They end up in an awkward sort of dance she doesn’t know the steps of, her cunt colliding with Kara’s mouth and then retreating. Frustration builds inside them both, until with a growl that’s low enough to make Lena gush all over her chin, Kara grabs her thighs and slings them over her shoulders.
Thus trapped, her legs open even wider, and Kara groans ecstatically between them, laving at her opening to make it overflow. Lena can’t see her face from this position; just her nose smushed against the top of her mound, and her half-lidded eyes. However, Kara’s bliss is something palpable. Infectious too. The concentrated need that must be suffusing her face is easy to imagine. She hears it, in every sigh Kara lets out when a fresh wave of slick hits her tongue.
Her mind, pleasure-fogged as it is, still manages to wander back to Kara slurping whipped cream off her tits. She’s devouring her with the same fervour, Lena’s cunt like a decadent all-you-can-eat buffet she can’t but gorge herself on.
She comes with a shocked cry, clit pulsing against the flat of Kara’s tongue, mind stuck on a loop of slides that depict Kara eating whipped cream off her collarbone, sucking on her nipples to render them swollen and sore.
It feels like she’s coming for hours, spurred into a perpetual high. Lena doesn’t want to fall down it, she doesn’t want to come crashing back to Earth, she doesn’t want it to —
The phone rings and because she’s rigged Hope to play her voice mails through the Bose home theatre system in her living room, Alex’s voice booms through the entire apartment.
“Hi Kara, I know you’re not picking up because you feel guilty about it, but I also know where to find you. Just buy me a can of whipped cream to replace the one you stole from my fridge and we’ll call it even.” The message ends with an ear-piercing beep .
“Miss Luthor, would you like me to replay the message for you?” Hope dutifully asks, but Lena cannot answer, caught as she is between aftershocks and hysterics.
“Hope, no!” Kara emerges from between her shaking thighs with a shout. “No, please.” She’s absolutely horrified, but with flushed cheeks and slick dripping from her chin she looks unreasonably beautiful.
“Do you think—” She licks her lips, eyes flicking to Lena’s before dropping away. “Should we tell her?”
Does Lena want to pay Alex’s therapy bills for the rest of her life?
“Nah.”