Collision Course

by thehopelessgay

Chapter 15: The Art of Control

Summary:

Breaking news: Lex Luthor is lying again.
In unrelated news, Lena Luthor is back at CatCo, running damage control, writing counter-narratives, and definitely not distracted by Kara Danvers breathing in her general vicinity.

Notes:

Please do not attempt to help kara, shes exactly where she wants to be

Lena had always prided herself on her ability to compartmentalize. It was a skill honed through years of navigating the complexities of business, friendship, and love—especially love. Now, as she walked beside Kara down the quiet sidewalk that led from Noonan’s to CatCo, she found herself applying that very skill like a shield against the weight of the moment.

Lena tells herself she is only being kind.

That is the version she allows to exist.

Kara was a coworker now—former best friend, former lover—but Lena would be damned if she let herself think about that. This was just a courtesy extended to someone who needed it; a simple act of decency wrapped in the guise of normality.

Not because Kara looked like she’d been hollowed out and stitched back together with guilt and exhaustion. Not because Lena’s hand had found Kara’s like it belonged there.

Noonan’s disappears behind them, swallowed by the glass and steel of the block. The smell of coffee still clings faintly to Kara’s coat. Lena notices because she always notices Kara’s scent. She files it away as habit. Muscle memory. Nothing sentimental.

The sidewalk is busy but the space around them feels strangely insulated. Lena senses Kara more than she hears her. The soft sound of boots on concrete. The warmth at her side. Eyes forward but unfocused. Lena recognizes the posture now. It is not guilt. Guilt looks sharper on Kara. Guilt fidgets and explains itself.

This is exhaustion.

That unsettles her more.

Screens flicker in storefront windows as they pass. News without sound. Crawling headlines. Footage on loop. A red cape against clouds. A plane listing at an impossible angle. Supergirl’s body braced against metal and gravity and something monstrous clawing at her back.

Lena feels her jaw tighten before she realizes she is clenching it.

She does not look at Kara at first. She watches the screens instead. Watches the way the footage cuts and recuts the same moment from different angles. The hero framed as reckless. The carefully chosen words. Risky. Too close. Unnecessary force. The phrase ‘collateral damage” said with clinical distance, as if it is not about people. As if it is not about Kara.

Lena hates the way the narrative moves faster than the truth.

She hates the way Kara absorbs the world’s judgment with the same quiet strength that had always made her both admirable and maddening.

She glances sideways.

Kara’s expression does not change. No flinch. No anger. No defense. Just a distant calm that looks too thin to hold weight. 

Lena slows half a step without meaning to. Kara matches her automatically. Still does that. Still orbits Lena without conscious thought. The realization lands and Lena ignores it.

Courtesy, she reminds herself.

Professional decency.

Kindness to a woman who just saved hundreds of lives and now has to watch herself dismantled by strangers before lunch.

That is not personal. That is humane.

The next screen shows a freeze frame of Supergirl midair, jaw clenched, hair whipping across her face as the hybrid alien lunges. The chyron reads QUESTIONABLE HEROICS in block letters.

Never mind that the plane had been seconds from impact.

Never mind that she’d saved 287 lives without a single fatality.

Never mind that the hybrid had attacked her first.

No. The narrative had already solidified: Supergirl, once beloved, was becoming a liability.

Lena kept her expression neutral, but her fingers flexed instinctively around Kara’s, squeezing just once. A reflex. A stupid one.

She does not interrogate why Kara does not pull away. She does not examine how easily Kara’s thumb begins to move, brushing back and forth in a pattern Lena knows by heart.

A slow sweep. Pause. Press.

The same motion Kara used when Lena’s thoughts spun too fast. When board meetings went long. When the world felt hostile and personal at the same time.

She inhaled sharply, awareness coiling in her mind: this was too much like old times. And yet…

Lena keeps her gaze forward.

She does not acknowledge the way her breathing evens out. Her thoughts slow. The tight band of irritation at the base of her skull eases. For a brief, treacherous moment, the world narrows to the steady rhythm of walking and the warmth of Kara’s hand in hers.

They pass another screen. Another angle. Another talking head dissecting the choice to fight while saving the aircraft. The words irresponsible and unstable flash briefly before cutting away.

Lena’s grip tightens again before she can stop it.

Kara’s thumb stills. Kara glances at her this time.

Their eyes meet.

Something fragile flickers there. Something Kara does not voice. Something Lena does not invite.

Lena looks away first.

She keeps walking.

She keeps telling herself she is only being kind.

The city smells like rain and exhaust and warm pavement. Lena tracks each sensory detail like she always does when emotion threatens to surface. Control lives in observation. In naming things without feeling them.

Kara’s hand is warm. Solid. Steady.

That is information, not emotion.

They near CatCo’s entrance. The glass façade reflects them back in fragments. Lena sees their joined hands first. The way Kara’s fingers curl slightly inward, protective even now. The way Lena’s posture tilts almost imperceptibly toward her.

She releases Kara’s hand. It felt like peeling off skin. Lena felt the loss immediately, as if the touch had been an anchor and now she was tumbling back into the void of her own careful boundaries.

She tucked her fingers into her coat pocket, curled them into a fist like she could trap the warmth there. Like she could save it for later, when she was alone and weak and stupid enough to miss it.

Kara’s hand drops to her side.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

The doors loom ahead, sliding open and closed for strangers. Lena squares her shoulders.

This is where kindness ends.

Kara turns to her fully now. The exhaustion lingers, but something else creeps into her expression. Gratitude maybe. Confusion. Hope.

Lena does not allow it to grow.

They moved through CatCo’s silent lobby and reached the elevator bank. Lena stabbed the ‘up’ button with more force than necessary.The ping of an arriving car was unnaturally loud in the tense silence. The doors slid open, revealing an empty, mirrored box. For a horrifying second, Lena saw them reflected: herself, a statue in a five-thousand-dollar coat, and Kara, pale and diminished beside her. It was a brutal image.

They stepped in. The doors slid shut with a soft pneumatic hiss. Elevator music murmured somewhere overhead, tinny but soothing. Lena braced her back against the wall, arms folded, watching Kara’s profile in the mirrored wall.

“Kara,” Lena began, her voice lower than she intended, “are you okay?”

The question was out before she could stop it, a brittle thread of concern she couldn’t seem to sever. She cursed herself internally. Don’t do that. Don’t check on her like she’s some fragile thing. But the words had left her mouth, and now Kara was looking at her, really looking, and Lena hated the way her pulse quickened under that gaze.

Kara’s head turned slowly. She offered a smile, a fragile, broken thing that didn’t come close to touching her eyes. Her honesty was a punch to Lena’s gut.

“Not really,” Kara says. “But I will be.”

Lena’s mouth opens.

She is already choosing her next words when her phone vibrates in her hand.

Alex.

Lena exhales once through her nose and answers.

“Alex.”

Kara’s gaze flicks to the phone. Her shoulders tense slightly.

“She’s with me,” Lena continues before Alex finishes her first sentence. “Yes. I saw the coverage.”

Alex’s voice is sharp through the speaker. Fast. Protective. Running three thoughts at once.

“They are tearing her apart,” Alex says.  “The coverage is getting worse. Kara is not answering her phone.”

“She does not need to,” Lena says.“I am handling the situation.”

Lena turns slightly so her back shields Kara from the open space of the elevator, even though no one else is there.

There is a pause on the other end.

“Okay,” Alex says. “Thank you.”

Lena ends the call.

She lowers her phone and looks back at Kara.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Lena reaches out.

This time, she thinks about it.

Her fingers wrap around Kara’s hand with deliberate pressure , thumb pressing into a familiar place.

Kara's fingers squeezed back, a gentle, restrained response that spoke volumes. Lena pretended it meant nothing, that the spark of connection she felt was just her imagination. She pretended the simple act of holding this incredibly strong woman’s hand didn’t feel like the most important thing she’d done all week. 

 

They ride in silence. Lena watches the numbers climb while the weight of everything unsaid presses in. She feels Kara’s pulse under her thumb, steady despite everything. It unsettles her how much that steadiness matters.

The doors begin to open and Lena releases Kara’s hand, fingers uncurling like it is the most natural thing in the world. It is not. She moves first, putting space between them before she can reconsider.

Just as the doors opened fully, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and frantic energy erupted from the right. A young reporter, phone clamped to his ear, a satchel overflowing with papers swinging wildly from his shoulder, was sprinting down the corridor, his eyes glued to his screen. He was a human cannonball, and Lena, stepping out without looking, was the target.

 

A sharp, guttural "Shit!" was torn from her throat as she instinctively braced for impact.

 

But the impact never came.

 

Before her brain could even fully process the danger, a strong arm shot out, wrapping around her waist with undeniable strength. In one fluid, breathtaking motion, Lena was yanked backward, her spine colliding with a solid wall of muscle and warmth. 

 

Her back was pressed flush against Kara’s front, one of Kara’s arms locked securely around her midsection, shielding her, pulling her out of the reporter’s chaotic path.

 

The reporter, oblivious, skidded to a halt a few feet past them, finally looking up from his phone. "Oh, god, Ms. Luthor! I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his face pale.

 

Lena couldn't form a reply. Her entire senses were consumed by the woman holding her. She could feel the subtle shift of Kara’s breathing, a steady, controlled rhythm against her own suddenly ragged gasps. 

 

"Lena." Kara’s voice was low, a gravelly rumble that vibrated through Lena’s entire being, pitched just for her ears and utterly ignoring the flustered reporter. "Are you alright? 

Lena’s mind goes blank, wiped clean by the proximity. She breathes in the bright, fruity sweetness of Kara’s shampoo, citrus threaded with soft florals, clean and warm. She could feel the solid strength of Kara’s thighs against the back of her own. Every nerve ending was on fire, a terrifying and exhilarating live wire. 

"Lena?" Kara prompted again, her thumb stroking a feather-light arc over Lena’s jawline, a gesture so achingly tender it made Lena’s chest constrict.

“Yes,” Lena manages, the word barely more than a breath. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

They stayed like that. A moment too long. Two moments too long. The reporter had already scurried away, muttering apologies into his phone, but they remained locked in their private bubble. Lena feels Kara’s gaze on her profile. Then lower. Just for a second. Long enough that Lena’s breath hitches in response. A silent question hangs between them, unspoken and dangerous.

She hates that it takes this little to destabilize her.

She steps forward first breaking the contact before she can lose herself in it.

Control reasserted.

“Come on,” Lena says, already turning toward the bullpen.

Kara followed a few steps behind, the silence between them now heavier, charged with the ghost of that touch.

***

 

The scene that greeted them was pure, unadulterated chaos.

CatCo was in full crisis mode. The sprawling open-plan office was a hive of frantic activity. Reporters were shouting into phones, their voices sharp with stress. Interns scurried between desks, carrying stacks of printouts and balancing trays of coffee that no one had time to drink. 

 

On every available screen, the news was a relentless, looping assault. A slickly produced smear campaign was unfolding, casting Supergirl as a reckless, dangerous vigilante, her heroic actions twisted into scenes of destruction and intimidation. It was a coordinated attack, professional, vicious, and terrifyingly effective.

 

It was Lex. Of course it was Lex.

 

The realization locked Lena’s spine straight, her instincts snapping into place. She had been gone for over a month, leaving Andrea to run things after the fallout with Kara—after the truth came out, after the trust between them fractured so painfully Lena couldn’t bear the daily proximity. But now wasn’t the time for old wounds. Now, there was work to do.

 

She strode to the center of the bullpen, her presence commanding immediate, stunned silence. Phones were lowered. Conversations died mid-sentence. Every eye turned to her.

 

"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. It was sharp, clear, and laced with an authority that left no room for argument. "Kill the live feed. I want a full media audit on my desk in ten minutes. Trace the source of this narrative. I want to know every publication, every blogger, every social media account that has pushed this specific angle in the last four hours. James, I need you to pull every raw aerial shot we have of Supergirl’s interventions in the last six months. Winn, get me a comparative analysis between this coverage and the initial reporting on the Daxamite invasion. I want to see who changed their tune and why."

She moved through the room as she spoke, her gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of her staff. "We are not going to be a mouthpiece for a coward hiding in the shadows. This is a smear campaign, it is manufactured, and we are going to dismantle it. Piece by piece. We frame the conversation around facts, around the lives saved, the property protected. We remind people what Supergirl has done for this city. Is that clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, Ms. Luthor" and "Got it" rippled through the room. The frantic energy was already shifting, transforming from panicked chaos into focused, strategic purpose.

As the reporters and editors scrambled to do her bidding, Andrea Rojas, looking stressed but relieved, approached Lena. A ghost of a smile touched Andrea’s lips. "Is it safe to assume you're back?"

Lena leveled her gaze on her friend, a confident smirk curving her lips. “Yes,” she said, low and final. “I’m back.”

 

Her gaze drifted past Andrea, landing on Kara. She found her standing near her desk, watching, her expression unreadable but her eyes blazing with something that looked a lot like awe. And pride. For a fraction of a second, Lena felt something warm and unwelcome stir in her chest. The room erupted in cheers, a wave of voices welcoming her return. Lena lifted a hand, gesturing for them to get back to work, and turned toward her office.

 

Inside, the space was almost exactly as she had left it.  Andrea, who had been holding down the fort, handed control back smoothly, a seamless transition that left Lena feeling both relieved and wary.

 

As she settled into her chair, it fit too well, like a second skin. The comfort was a double-edged sword; it was a reminder of the power she had reclaimed, but also of the memories she had left behind. Lena's gaze swept the room, her eyes lingering on the empty space where Kara had once sat. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

She taps her fingers against the surface once, twice, then reaches for her tablet. The headlines glare back at her. Speculation. Blame. Carefully planted doubt wrapped in concern.

Lena lets her fingers rest on the edge of the desk for a moment, grounding herself, then reaches for the phone.

“Hi,” she says when Kara answers. Her voice is steady, neutral. “Could you come by my office for a bit?”

She hangs up and turns back to the headlines, already outlining angles in her head.

Kara appears a few minutes later, pausing just inside the threshold, eyes scanning the room with a soft, almost reverent expression. She looks relieved. Nervous. Tired. Human in a way Lena now knows is only one part of the truth.

Today she looked maddeningly casual: jeans that clung in ways Lena tried not to dwell on, a soft cardigan over a plaid button-down shirt. Her hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands falling into her face, and Lena felt the urge to tuck them behind her ear. She ignored it.

Lena lifts her gaze and holds Kara there, steady and deliberate. “It’s okay,” she says, gentle but firm. “Come in.”

She gestures to the chair across from her desk, already turning her screen slightly. “Let’s focus. We need to get ahead of what’s spreading.”

They bounce ideas back and forth. Lena structures the narrative. Kara offers angles that appeal to the public without condescension. They refine language that counters the attacks without legitimizing them. They are efficient. Focused. In sync in a way that still feels dangerous.

Lena pretended to read over the draft on her own screen, but her eyes kept sliding sideways. Watching her.

 

The line of Kara’s jaw as she concentrated. The subtle pull of her mouth when she was choosing the exact right word. The way her hair slipped forward when she leaned in, catching the light. The way she sits with one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, chair tilted back at an impossible angle, her spine perfectly balanced, like gravity didn’t apply.The steady consumption of coffee and sugar. The way she reaches for the printer when it jams and fixes it with a single impatient tap of her finger.

 

And then, because her brain was a traitor, Lena thought about yesterday. About fucking Kara against the lab door. Lena taking control because it was there to take. Because anger and want blurred into something sharp and intoxicating.

 

What the hell had possessed her to do that? 

 

And why did it feel so fucking good? 

 

The answer, Lena knew, lay in the complicated web of emotions she was tangled in, a web that was slowly, inexorably, drawing her back to Kara.

 

Her eyes dragged down to Kara’s mouth as she chewed her pen. Lena remembered the taste of it. She remembered the sound Kara had made when Lena shoved her hand under that skirt, the gasp against her lips. The thought made her pulse quicken, and she hated how easy it had been to slip back into that feeling. She hated that this, this twisted, almost clinical intimacy that had lodged itself in her brain, was the simplest way to feel steady. It was like a drug, and she was already craving the next hit.

 

Desire curled in her belly. Of all the stupid, reckless things…

She swallows and forces her attention back to the screen.

“Shift this paragraph,” Lena says. “It sounds defensive.”

Kara nods and adjusts immediately. Faster than Lena can track. Lena watches the blur of motion, the way Kara reads entire blocks of text in a heartbeat.

“Done,” Kara says quietly, sliding the tablet across.

Lena reads slower than necessary. It is good. Better than good. Kara frames Supergirl as a constant presence rather than a reckless force. She highlights accountability without blame. She calls out the media’s appetite for outrage without naming its source. Lex’s fingerprints are everywhere in the subtext and nowhere in the text.

Lena feels something warm and unexpected bloom in her chest.

“This is excellent,” she says. “You uplift her without sanctifying her. You let the facts speak. And you shame the narrative without giving it oxygen.”

Kara ducks her head, pleased. “I learned from the best.”

Lena allows herself a small smile. “You know… I always thought your praise for Supergirl in past articles was too personal. Almost like love letters to a crush. But I suppose that’s because you were writing about yourself.”

Kara’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

 

Lena smirked. “So, which one of you is the secret identity, Danvers or Supergirl?”

Kara leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling for a long moment. When she looks back at Lena, the brightness dims.

“I don’t know anymore,” she admits. “Some days it feels like neither fits right.”

She rubs at her eyes, suddenly tired in a way Lena has never allowed herself to see before.

“The weight of the world has always been bearable for me,” Kara says quietly. “But ever since you came, somehow I can no longer lift it without you.”

The words land heavy and unguarded.

Lena feels them hit somewhere unprotected. She does not let it show.

“Send the article,” Lena says evenly. “We’re done for today.”

 

 

***

 

Lena’s office feels empty after Kara’s article goes live. She tells herself she’ll get a few more hours of quiet work done, but the calm doesn’t last. She’s been at it for what feels like twelve hours straight, the dull hum of fluorescent lights burrowing into the back of her skull. The day had been a blur of numbers, emails, and endless voices talking over each other in meetings that seemed designed to kill brain cells.

Someone from marketing had pulled her into a meeting on the twenty-fourth floor. Then another meeting about ad revenue projections. Then an impromptu strategy session about CatCo’s social media engagement. By the time she signs off her last conference call, it’s almost 9 p.m. Her shoulders ache, her head throbs, and she swears softly at the clock.

She heads back to her office to grab her things. The space was dim now, the city lights spilling in through the high windows. She pushed open the door, flicked off the lamp, and stepped back into the hallway. The bullpen was mostly deserted — just the scattered glow of computer monitors left on, chairs pushed haphazardly under desks.

And then she saw her.

The only movement was Kara’s pen spinning idly between her fingers, her gaze somewhere far beyond the monitor in front of her. She looked… still. And still wasn’t Kara’s default.

 

Lena crossed the room, her heels clicking against the floor. Kara didn’t look up until Lena was almost at her desk.

 

“You’re still here,” Lena said, voice soft but carrying.

 

Kara blinked at her, as if surfacing from underwater. “Yeah. City’s quiet tonight. Nothing for me to do.”

 

Lena raised an eyebrow. “Quiet is good. Quiet means no one’s in danger.”

 

Kara gave a little shrug, mouth twisting. “Alex texted me to take the night off. Said she’s tired of seeing my face.” There was a faint smile there, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t feel like going home, so I thought I’d work a little more.”

 

Lena studied her. The fatigue in Kara’s voice wasn’t just physical. It was the bone-deep kind, the kind that came from too many battles fought in the shadows, too many nights spent waiting for the next disaster.

“Do you want to walk with me?” Lena asks.

Kara blinks. “Walk… home?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. Then a nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

Lena felt a quiet satisfaction bloom in her chest. “Excellent. Let’s go.”

 

As they stepped outside, the warm evening air wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Lena walked beside Kara, a steady rhythm settling between them. The streets were quiet, an unusual stillness blanketing the city. Every now and then, Lena would steal glances at Kara, noticing how the blonde occasionally tilted her head back to gaze at the stars dotting the darkening sky.

 

“What are you looking at?” Lena finally asked, curiosity piqued.

Kara's eyes refocused on Lena's face. "I can see galaxies from here. Sometimes I think I can still see Krypton," she said with a wistful smile.

Lena’s fingers twitched, itching to reach out. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be,” she said softly. “Always looking up… and seeing what you’ve lost.”

 

Kara shook her head, a small, wry chuckle escaping her. “It’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s just… pretty. And calm. Like tonight.” She gestured with her free hand, encompassing the quiet streets. “The city feels… different. Peaceful.”

 

Lena looked around, taking in the subdued energy, the hushed conversations of the few people still out and about. “It does,” she agreed. “A little too peaceful, perhaps. Like the calm before the storm.” A shared glance passed between them, a silent understanding of the truth in that statement. For National City, peace was often a fleeting illusion.

At some point, Kara moves closer. When they cross the street, Kara’s hand settles at the small of Lena’s back, firm and instinctive, guiding her forward. Lena does not pull away.

She notices everything.

How Kara keeps her on the inside of the sidewalk. How she navigates the crowd without looking, shifting them with gentle precision. How aware she is without seeming tense. Protective without making it obvious.

By the time they reached Lena’s building, the quiet between them had settled into something comfortable.

Kara stops at the entrance, hands slipping into her pockets. “Goodnight, Lena.”

Lena nodded, stepping inside — but when the glass doors slid shut behind her, she turned and caught sight of Kara still standing there, hands in her coat pockets, looking… lost.

 

It was the kind of look that made Lena’s chest ache.

 

Fuck it.

 

Without thinking, she pushed the door open again. “Do you want to come in?”

Kara looks up, startled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Lena says. And it is not a lie.

The elevator ride was a blur of charged silence. Lena couldn't help but sneak glances at Kara, who was studiously avoiding eye contact, her cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly. But every now and then, their eyes would meet, and Lena would feel a jolt of electricity run through her body. 

She could see the nervousness in Kara's eyes, the way her pupils dilated as she struggled to look away. Lena’s breath hitched. She felt a primal pull, an undeniable magnetism. Kara’s gaze was a physical touch, tracing the line of Lena’s jaw, the curve of her neck, the dip of her collarbone. Lena felt herself flushing, a heat spreading through her entire body. She met Kara’s stare with equal intensity, a silent, electric conversation passing between them.

It was an eye-fuck of epic proportions, Lena realized, her own blood thrumming with a mixture of excitement and pure, unadulterated nerves. Her own eyes locked onto Kara’s, acknowledging the unspoken desire, the quiet anticipation. Kara swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing. She was so damn shy. The irony of the most powerful alien on Earth being so adorably flustered by a Luthor in an elevator was almost comical, if Lena weren’t so completely consumed herself.

 

This was it, then. The storm, perhaps. Or maybe, just maybe, the beginning of their calm.

***

 

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the quiet opulence of her penthouse floor. Lena stepped out first, heels clicking against polished marble, her stride crisp and measured. She didn’t look behind her—she knew Kara was following. She could feel her, like a pulse at the edge of her awareness, a warmth diffusing through the sterile air.

 

Lena leaned against the doorway, her fingers curled around the brass handle, and watched Kara hesitate just outside. The silence between them was the same one that had stretched across the months since their falling out—thin, taut, and ready to snap. 

 

Kara’s shoulders were hunched, her usual confidence replaced by an uncharacteristic hesitation. Lena smirked, not unkindly, as she stepped aside. “After you,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. The words were meant to soothe, but they carried a flicker of her own private amusement. How strange, she thought, how even now, after everything, this still gets to her.

 

Kara stepped out into the foyer, moving with a distinct lack of her usual grace. It was fascinating, really. Lena followed, kicking the heavy door shut behind them. The lock clicked with a definitive thud. Lena leaned back against the door for a moment, just watching Kara.

 

Lena felt a strange, dark amusement bubble up in her chest. It was a defense mechanism, she knew, but it was there nonetheless.

 

Kara drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of National City’s glittering skyline. She stopped there, staring up at the dark sky, her silhouette framed against the lights. She looked small from this distance.

 

"Do you want a drink?" Lena asked, pushing off the door and moving toward the kitchen.

 

Kara spun around, startled. "No," she said quickly, her voice a little breathless. "No, I'm good. Thank you, Lena."

 

Lena nodded, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Alright.” 

 

She walked into the kitchen, the open-concept space allowing her to keep Kara in her peripheral vision. She shrugged out of her coat, draping it over the back of a barstool. She needed a drink. She needed several. Her nerves were frayed, raw, and the presence of the Kryptonian in her space was setting every one of her synapses on fire.

 

How did we get here? she wondered, her fingers deftly uncorking a bottle of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon.

 

She poured a generous glass, the deep red liquid swirling hypnotically. She took a long, slow sip, letting the alcohol burn a path down her throat. When she turned around to lean against the marble counter, her gaze collided with Kara’s.

 

Kara was still standing by the window, but she wasn’t looking at the skyline anymore. She was looking at Lena. Her eyes, liquid blue pools, had a magnetic pull, lingering for half a second too long, just below Lena’s collarbone.

 

Lena felt the warmth of that absent touch, the phantom stroke on the delicate lines of her throat, the barely visible edge of a lacy bra strap peeking from beneath the soft fabric of her silk blouse. Then, her gaze dipped lower still, to the thin gold chain that Lena always wore.

 

Lena watched Kara watching her, a silent, intimate dance unfolding between them. She saw the precise moment Kara became aware of her lingering gaze, the subtle blink that caught her, dragging her eyes back up, a flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. Their eyes finally met, a spark jumping between them, charged with unspoken history and raw, undeniable attraction.

 

“Eyes are up here, darling,” Lena murmured, voice low enough that only a Kryptonian could hear.

 

A flush rose instantly to Kara’s cheeks. “I—sorry,” she stammered, looking away, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan.

 

Lena took a slow sip of wine. 

 

Why is playing with Kara always so fun for me? she wondered, swirling the dark liquid. Am I a secret sadist?

 

Possibly.

 

But it wasn’t cruelty that drove her. It was hunger. And grief. And the unbearable weight of missing someone who was standing right in front of her.

 

Lena finished her first glass, poured a second, and slipped out of her heels, the action dropping her height a few inches but making her feel more grounded. She padded silently across the cool hardwood floor toward the living room. Kara was still by the window, looking amusingly stiff.

 

Lena sank onto the plush sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, arranging herself into a picture of composed elegance. She set her wineglass on the side table and let her gaze rest openly on the woman before her.

 

The air crackled with unspoken history, with anger and longing all tangled together. But she found she didn't care. She just wanted to forget. She wanted to forget that this devastatingly beautiful woman she had fallen so irrevocably for was nothing but a liar. She wanted to forget the hollow ache in her chest that only seemed to dull in moments of physical distraction.

 

When Kara was beneath her. Or above her. It didn't matter. The betrayal stabbed less in those blissful, sweaty moments of oblivion. And based on the day Kara had just endured—the chaos, the fear, the scrutiny—Lena wondered if that was exactly what she needed, too. To forget.

 

"Come here," Lena said, her voice breaking the silence.

 

Kara obeyed, walking over with that same hesitant gait. She looked like she was about to sit on the cushion beside Lena, to maintain a safe distance.

 

"Stop," Lena commanded softly when Kara was just a few feet away, standing before the coffee table.

 

Kara froze, her eyes wide, questioning.

 

"Do you want to fuck me, Kara?"

 

The question hung between them, stark and honest, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

 

Kara’s eyes went wide. Her lips parted, and the softest exhale escaped her, the kind that left her breath catching in her throat. Lena felt it, too—this pull between them, the way time seemed to stretch and fray.

 

She looked utterly scandalized, and Lena felt that pulse of satisfaction again, low in her belly. She picked up her wineglass, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited.

 

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, a series of aborted attempts to form words. This flustered, undone Kara was a captivating sight, a welcome distraction from her own churning emotions.

 

“Is that a yes or a no, darling?” Lena pressed, her voice a silken thread, gentle as a caress but sharp as a blade.

 

Kara swallowed hard, her throat visibly bobbing. The flush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her collarbones. Finally, a breathlessly whispered “Yes.”

 

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Lena’s face. The single word confirmation sent a fresh pulse of heat through her veins, a thrilling jolt that settled deep in her core. She was already wet, a delicious warmth blooming between her thighs, a testament to Kara’s effect on her.

 

“Strip,” Lena ordered, her voice firm, unwavering, her eyes holding Kara’s in a daring challenge.

 

Kara’s eyes widened again, a flicker of disbelief in their depths. “H-here?” she stammered, looking around the expansive living room as if expecting to find an audience.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Lena purred, her lips curving into a knowing smile as she took in Kara’s flushed, breathless focus. She leaned back against the cushions, luxuriating in the moment, in the absolute power she held over the otherwise invincible Woman of Steel.

 

Kara looked at her like she’d asked her to fly into the sun. But Lena didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. She just waited.

 

The silence that followed was thick with implication, and Lena’s pulse raced as she watched Kara’s breath hitch. Slowly, the woman began to move—first, the cardigan slipping from her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet before she reached for the buttons on her shirt. 

 

Her clit throbbed in time with each unfastened button, the sight of her sun-kissed skin emerging in slow increments. The sports bra beneath was a flash of white linen, and the curve of her abs—strong, unyielding—was a temptation Lena had never been able to resist.

 

Lena had to bite her lip to keep from groaning. She watched, mesmerized, as Kara reached back with an athlete’s grace to unclasp the bra. It fell away, and there they were: Kara’s breasts, full and perfect, and undoubtedly Lena’s favorite part of her. A low throb of need echoed through her, and she had to press her thighs together. She felt her mouth begin to water, a Pavlovian response to the exquisite sight before her. 

 

God, she’s beautiful.

 

“Go on,” she managed, her voice huskier than she intended.

 

Kara’s fingers, now more sure, went to the button of her jeans. She popped it, pulled down the zip, and pushed the denim and her simple cotton underwear down her strong legs in one fluid motion. She kicked them away and stood before Lena, gloriously, devastatingly naked, her skin glowing in the soft ambient light.

 

Lena did a slow, deliberate once-over. From the nervous set of her jaw, down the strong column of her throat, over the magnificent plains of her chest and stomach, along the tempting v-line that pointed downward, down the powerful muscles of her thighs and calves, and all the way back up again. It was a masterpiece of strength and softness. But something was off. Something was out of place.

 

“Glasses,” she said, her voice a purr now. “Take them off.”

 

Kara did as she was told, and Lena felt a surge of pleasure. She wanted Kara bare, just her, without any pretenses or defenses.

 

“Straddle me,” she said, the command low, a whisper of something dark and aching with need.

 

Kara obeyed, settling onto the couch in front of her, her legs parting as she lowered herself down. The moment her skin touched Lena’s, Lena’s breath hitched. The heat of her core, the weight of her, the way she trembled just slightly as she pressed closer—it was intoxicating. 

 

Lena’s hands found her waist, fingers splaying against the smooth warmth of her skin, and she leaned in, latching her lips onto a taut nipple. Kara gasped, her head falling back, a long, low moan escaping her throat. "Lena..."

 

Lena hummed against her skin, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. One hand stayed wrapped around Kara’s waist, the other drifted between them—the wetness of her, the softness of her skin against Lena’s fingers. She didn’t enter, only teased, circling the swollen clit, the impossibly wet folds, the pulse of her want. She kept the pace agonizingly slow, drawing out Kara’s pleasure, feeling the tremors start to build in the woman’s thighs. And then, just as Kara’s moans turned into whimpers, Lena stilled.

 

She pulled back, drinking in the way Kara’s eyes fluttered open, glossy with need, and whispered, “Bedroom.” She kissed a line from Kara’s earlobe to her jaw, her breath hot against her skin. “Now.”

She gently nudged Kara off her lap.

Standing, Lena walked slowly toward her bedroom, her back to Kara. She reached back, unzipping her skirt, letting it slide down her hips to the floor as she walked. Next, the blouse, buttons undone with efficient tugs, shrugged off her shoulders. By the time she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, she was in only her matching black lace bra and panties. She hooked her thumbs under the bra straps, ready to slide them down.

A gust of air. Kara was suddenly there, her hands covering Lena’s, stopping her. “Can I?” Kara’s voice was rough, tentative.

Lena didn’t answer. She only held still, exposing her vulnerable curves, her breath hitching when Kara’s fingers closed around her wrists, gentle, reverent. The gold chain between her collarbones caught in the light, and Kara’s thumb brushed across it, the contact sending a shudder through Lena’s spine. She didn’t pull away.

 

Kara’s hands were slow, deliberate, as she pulled the straps of Lena's bra slowly down her arms. Then she bent, the softest kiss on Lena’s shoulder, and something inside Lena cracked open. She flinched. The movement was instinctual, raw and aching with the memory of pain. The betrayal still lingered, a phantom wound in her heart, and Kara’s tenderness, though welcome, also pricked at the raw edges of that hurt.

 

Kara’s eyes lifted to meet hers, and in them was something fragile—understanding, maybe. Or guilt.

 

Lena didn’t speak. She let her breath steady, let Kara’s hands hover for a moment, then, when she felt the tension in Kara’s fingers ease, she pressed her thighs together, a silent plea. Kara’s lips found their way lower, inch by exquisite inch, to the tops of Lena’s breasts, caressing them gently, reverently, through the delicate lace of her bra.

 

Lena’s panties were growing wetter by the second, her thighs sticky and slick with her own desire. Her core ached, a deep, insistent throb that demanded release, demanded Kara. The need was overwhelming, a potent wave that threatened to drown her.

 

“Show me, Lena,” Kara rasped, her voice thick with emotion, her lips still pressed to Lena’s skin. “Show me where you hurt so I know where to love you most.”

 

A full-body shudder wracked Lena, and a broken moan escaped her lips.

 

Kara’s tongue traced a slow, wet path over one nipple, still covered by lace. Lena’s back arched, the breath catching in her throat as Kara’s fingers found the small clasp at the back of her bra, releasing it with practiced ease.

 

Lena closed her eyes.

 

“Tell me to stop,” Kara breathed, her voice a low murmur against Lena’s skin, as the bra fell away, her fingers circling her ribs, tracing the lines of her skin like a map.“Tell me not to touch you until I’ve begged for it. Until I’ve earned it.”

 

The way Kara was touching her was too gentle.

 

Lena’s mind, a fractured mosaic of jagged thoughts and phantom pains, screamed for impact, for something sharp and real to cut through the fog. But Kara’s hands, her impossibly strong hands, moved over Lena’s skin with a reverence that felt like a whisper against a scream. Her lips followed, tracing the lines of Lena’s collarbone, the sensitive dip at the hollow of her throat, with a tenderness that was slowly driving Lena insane.

 

This wasn’t what she needed. She needed to forget. She wanted to be consumed. She wanted the world to narrow down to nothing but friction and the heat of another body until she forgot her own name. This gentle exploration, this careful adoration, was forcing her to feel everything, and she was too raw, too shattered for that.

 

A wave of frustration, sharp and desperate, crested within her. With a low sound that was half-groan, half-growl, Lena’s hands shot up. Her fingers, cool and slender, wrapped around Kara’s jaw, stilling her.

 

She pulled Kara’s face up from the valley of her breasts, forcing their eyes to meet. Kara’s eyes were hazy with desire, her lips slightly parted.

 

It was too much. It wasn't enough.

“You talk too much,” Lena murmured, and then she crushed her mouth against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger, biting her lips and swallowing her moan.

That did it.

Kara answered instantly, hands tightening, bodies colliding chest to chest, the contact sparking like a live wire between them.

Kara’s control slipped, just a little. Enough that Lena felt it.

Kara's hands then moved lower, gripping the waistband of Lena's matching panties. The moment Lena bit Kara's lips again, Kara's grip tightened, and she ripped the panties apart, the sound of fabric ripping loud in the room. The act of superhuman strength only managed to turn Lena on even more, and she felt a rush of wetness flow from her.

Lena arched into her, the sensation overwhelming, intoxicating in the way only Kara ever managed.

Lena was going delirious with desire as Kara's hands gripped her ass cheeks, squeezing hard hard enough to leave bruises.

 

She shoved Kara back without warning.

Kara went easily, willingly, settling against the bed with parted lips and wide eyes, hair mussed, chest rising fast. Waiting.

Standing over her, Lena hummed, her eyes locked on Kara's panting form. "Do you think you've earned the right to touch me?" Lena asked softly.

 

Kara’s breath hitched. “Please,” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

 

Lena smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “I like the sound of you begging.”

 

“I’ll beg as much as you want,” Kara said, her voice trembling, “just to get the chance to touch you.”

 

Lena tilted her head, considering. Then, without a word, she stepped forward and knelt between Kara’s legs, spreading them wide with her hands. She took her time, letting her gaze drink in the sight. Kara was beautiful like this—open, vulnerable, needing. Her thighs trembled slightly, her cunt glistening in the low light.

“Hands above your head,” Lena told her, her voice firm but gentle.

Kara obeyed instantly, lifting her arms and resting her hands on the pillow above her head. The position stretched her body taut, highlighting the powerful lines of her torso, making her look both vulnerable and incredibly strong. The sight sent a fresh pulse of arousal through Lena.

 

She moved onto the bed, crawling with a predator’s grace over Kara’s body until she was kneeling between her parted legs. She used her knees to nudge Kara’s thighs wider, forcing her to open up completely. Lena knelt there, taking in the sight. Kara was breathtaking—a goddess brought down to earth, flushed and shivering under Lena’s gaze.

 

Lena leaned down, her mouth finding Kara’s neck, her jaw, the place just beneath her ear. She kissed her there slowly, deliberately, taking her time, enjoying every shudder, every sharp breath Kara failed to hold back.

 

She squirmed and writhed, her muscles corded and tense as she tried to maintain the position Lena had demanded.

 

Lena moved her hand down, her fingers finding Kara’s heat. She began to play, her thumb circling the sensitive bud of her clit with a rhythmic, torturous deliberation.

 

"Oh, Rao," Kara groaned, her head tossing from side to side.

 

"What's wrong, darling?" Lena whispered against her skin, though her tone suggested she knew exactly what was right. She swirled her fingers along Kara’s clit again, a light, teasing touch, then, without warning, sank one finger deep inside.

 

So wet.

 

Kara’s internal heat was staggering. She was so wet, the friction making a soft, squelching sound that filled the quiet of the room. She added a second finger curling them just right, and Kara’s back lifted clean off the bed.

 

So tight.

 

Lena groaned softly at the sheer, gripping pressure around her fingers. She pushed in deeper, experimentally. The muscles clamped down, pulling her in.

 

Lena began to move—steady, relentless—her fingers thrusting deep, her thumb circling her clit in tight, punishing circles. She watched every reaction—the flutter of Kara’s lashes, the way her lips parted on silent pleas, the way her body writhed beneath her, unable to touch, unable to hold on.

 

“You want me to stop?” Lena asked, her voice a low tease, even as her rhythm never faltered.

 

“Do. Not. Fucking. Stop,” Kara panted, her voice ragged and desperate.

 

God, she loved this. Loved the way Kara’s sweet mouth turned filthy when she was desperate. Loved how she could unravel her so completely.

 

Lena gave her exactly what she had been begging for—her hands moving with a calculated intensity, her mouth moving back to Kara’s neck, her voice hot and demanding against her skin.

 

"That pretty pussy is taking me so well," Lena breathed against Kara's neck, her fingers continuing to thrust inside her. Kara's entire body stiffened, arching back against Lena. "You like being told how well you're doing, don't you?" Lena laughed, her voice husky with arousal.

 

Lena continued to pound into Kara, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin at the slope of her neck. She enjoyed seeing Kara struggle to keep her hands above her head, not being able to touch her.

 

"I want to touch you," Kara said, her voice laced with desperation. "I need to touch you. Let me."

 

Lena ignored her, her fingers continuing to thrust inside Kara. "Do you enjoy getting wet for me?" she asked, staring into Kara's eyes.

 

"Yes. Fuck, yes. You make me want to come," Kara replied, her voice barely audible.

 

"Yeah?" Lena’s voice was a ghost of a whisper. "Show me." And then she stopped, and slowly, deliberately, withdrew her slick fingers from inside Kara.

 

Kara let out the most pitiful whine ever, "Lenaaaa."

 

The sound was pure, unadulterated torment and Lena drank it in, her own body thrumming in response. Everything about Kara was intoxicating, breathtaking in a way she had never experienced with anyone else.

 

“Relax, relax,” Lena murmured, the words soft but deliberate.

 

She brought her own fingers to her lips, the ones that had just been fucking Kara and licked them clean, her eyes never leaving Kara’s. She savored the taste, salty-sweet, sharp with need.

 

Lena would need to taste her properly before the night was over, to commit every nuance of her to memory, but right now, she had other, more immediate plans.

 

Lena laid on her back beside Kara, pulling the other woman on top of her. Kara came willingly, her body a warm, comforting weight as she settled on top of her. The solidity of her, the sheer presence, grounded Lena in a way nothing else could. It was an anchor in the storm of sensation, a tether to reality when every touch threatened to unravel her. She let out a soft sigh, her hands finding the delicious curve of Kara’s waist.

 

She shifted, arranging them, positioning Kara the way she wanted her. It was a silent, deliberate choreography. Her hand slid down Kara’s hip, then lower, until her fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of Kara’s inner thigh. Lena felt Kara’s muscles tense, then slowly relax as Lena’s thumb stroked a gentle rhythm. She guided Kara to straddle her thigh, the soft mound of Kara’s cunt hovering tantalizingly close to her own.

 

“Good girl,” Lena whispered, the praise slipping out unbidden, a dark thrill going through her at the flush it brought to Kara’s cheeks.

 

She inched forward just a little, a subtle adjustment of her hips, her right leg bent and tucked up snug against the left side of Kara’s body, creating a perfect cradle. Her hands began to trace the expanse of Kara’s back, sliding down the smooth, warm skin of her spine until they reached her hips. Lena’s fingers tightened, a possessive, guiding hold. Then, one hand slipped lower, tracing the delicate skin of her inner thigh before lightly, so lightly, drawing a single finger down the slick, swollen lips of Kara’s pussy.

 

A shiver racked Kara’s frame, a small, exquisite tremor that Lena felt reverberate through her own body. Kara’s eyes fluttered closed, then opened again, wide and blue, meeting Lena’s gaze with a vulnerability that stole Lena’s breath. 

 

“Bend your leg,” Lena instructed, her voice dropping to a near-silent command. She tapped Kara’s right knee. “That’s it. Now, put one of your legs over mine.”

 

As soon as their clits bumped together for the first time, a long string of profanities escaped Kara, and Lena groaned in response. She wrapped her arms around Kara’s shoulders, pulling her closer, setting a slow rhythm. Kara caught on quickly, matching the movement, learning her pace instinctively until they were moving together, breathless and slick with heat.

 

“I want you to come like this,” Lena said, her voice strained, thick with her own need.

 

She felt Kara’s hands, surprisingly sure, grab at her right thigh. The touch was firm yet infinitely gentle. Kara lifted it slightly, using the leverage to slide herself even closer, eliminating any last shred of space between them. The new angle was devastating.

 

Kindly, Kara went harder, faster. She shifted her angle, a subtle rocking of her hips, searching, experimenting, until Lena let out a gasp that was perilously close to a scream. Her back arched off the bed, a reflexive, uncontrollable response.

 

Lena had never been this undone. Not even close.

 

Licking her lips, Kara’s eyes, dark with focus, noted the reaction. She went for that angle again, deliberately this time, drawing a shout from Lena’s throat that echoed in the stillness. It was a revelation. And not for the first time, Lena was profoundly thankful for Kara’s intellect, for the way she absorbed information and applied it with such devastating precision. 

 

She knew Kara’s sexual experiences were limited, but right now, Lena could barely string a coherent sentence together, much less teach Kara what to do to please her. She was at Kara’s mercy, and it was the most exquisite torment.

 

Kara’s face was a portrait of intense pleasure; her brow furrowed in concentration. Lena’s eyes were drawn to the muscles in her arms, the defined lines shifting with each thrust as Kara held herself up, suspended above Lena. The sight was breathtaking. The sheer power combined with such focused tenderness made Lena’s heart ache. 

 

At a particularly blinding moment of pleasure, Lena’s head lifted from the pillow and she bit down, hard, on Kara’s plump bottom lip. The sudden, sharp sensation made Kara lose her rhythm, her thrust faltering. Lena groaned at the loss, a sound of pure frustration.

 

“Kara…” she groaned, arching beneath her, seeking that friction, that perfect angle once more.

 

Instantly, Kara’s hand was on Lena’s stomach, a firm, grounding pressure. “Still,” she murmured, and Lena, obeying the command in that low voice, slowly relaxed back into the mattress.

 

“Kara, please…” Lena begged, the words torn from her. Her own need was a frantic, clawing thing. She reached between their bodies, her fingers finding Kara’s clit again, not being able to get enough.

 

“Yes,” Kara gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as Lena’s fingers stroked her clit. Kara angled her body slightly, then slowly, deliberately, lowered herself until her pussy was pressed tightly against Lena’s once more.

 

Twin hisses of pleasure echoed through the room as Kara began to rock her hips again, but this time it was different. She was rubbing her cunt against Lena’s, a smooth, sliding motion that allowed her slickness to coat Lena, to create a seamless, frictionless glide that was wholly different from the focused pressure before. 

 

Lena’s fingers flexed on Kara’s hip, gently guiding her movements as Kara rocked in counterpoint. Her other hand, which had been resting on Kara’s shoulder, slid down, stroking up her stomach to cup her right breast. It was heavy and full in her palm, a perfect weight. Lena squeezed, delighting in its soft firmness, before her fingers found the nipple. She pinched and twisted it, a small, exquisite torture that made Kara cry out and grind down harder.

 

Fuck, it feels so good, Lena thinks, her gaze locked on the woman above her. The sight of her—Kara’s face a mixture of intense pleasure and sheer concentration as she, quite literally, rides her—takes Lena’s breath away. It sends another sharp pulse of pleasure straight to her core, a feedback loop of desire and awe.

 

“Kara…” Lena gasps, her hand dropping from Kara’s breast to clutch at her waist, her fingers digging into the soft skin there as Kara continues to move against her in that steady, leisurely pace. The friction against Lena’s clit is glorious. It’s a constant, maddening, perfect pressure.

 

Kara opens her eyes—when had she closed them?—and looks down at Lena. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips. She circles her hips, a deliberate, teasing motion.

 

She grins, a flash of white teeth. Then she taps Lena’s leg, the one that was still bent beside her. “Lift.”

 

Doing as she asks, Lena raises her leg.  She watches, mesmerized, as Kara guides the limb, her hand firm on Lena’s ankle, until it’s resting against her own shoulder. Kara wraps one arm around it, securing it, and reaches back with her other hand to rest on Lena’s thigh, her fingers pressing into the muscle. 

 

Lena’s arousal surges at the display of control, at the sheer intimacy of the position. Kara slowly begins to move again, and the angle is entirely new, entirely devastating. She rubs her slick pussy back and forth against Lena’s, once again, but now the pressure is different, more intense, more direct. It feels so good. So damned good.

 

Kara seems lost in pleasure now, her head thrown back, her eyes closed again. There’s a quiet danger here in the way she starts to rut against Lena, a primal urgency that strips away the last of her control.

 

Lena has never felt this good. She was going to come. She could feel it building, a tight, hot coil in her belly. Her fingernails scraped down Kara’s back, seeking purchase on the impenetrable skin, and she saw the moment Kara was about to lose it, too. Her face was a mask of beautiful agony, her rhythm becoming erratic.

 

“Look at me,” Lena demanded softly. “That’s it.”

 

Kara’s eyes snapped open, locking with Lena’s. And in that moment, Lena didn’t know where she ended and where Kara began. Everything she was, was shared with Kara. Her own nipples, hard and peaked, rubbed against the soft underside of Kara’s breasts. Their curves melted into one another, indistinguishable. Their thighs pressed together, a solid line of heat and pressure. And even the air—the very air that Lena breathed in—was Kara’s. It came straight from her mouth, and filled Lena’s lungs like it was meant to be, like this was the only way she could survive. The only way she could breathe. 

 

And in a way, it sort of is.

 

Knowing what she needed, what Kara needed, to fall over the edge, Lena pulled her down roughly against her as she pushed up into her, a final, desperate surge for more contact, more pressure, more everything.

 

Kara used one hand to grab the headboard for leverage, the upholstered Italian leather groaning in protest, and the other to grab onto Lena’s hips, her fingers digging in almost painfully. Lena couldn’t hold back anymore; the way Kara was looking at her, a raw, unfiltered gaze of adoration and lust, was threatening to split her in two.

 

Kara cries out Lena’s name, a broken, desperate sound, and Lena felt a sudden, hot rush of moisture against her cunt as Kara came. Her fingers bite into Lena’s skin where she’s clutching her thigh. The slight, sharp pain mixes with the intense, overwhelming pleasure, and it’s the final trigger. 

 

Lena follows her into orgasm with a shout, her own release a tidal wave that crashes over her. She comes hard and barely registers the violent tear of leather and padding as Kara’s grip gives way entirely, the headboard ripping apart under her strength while Kara shudders through it with her, breathless and unstoppable.

 

Lena held her through it, running a soothing hand along the sweat-slicked muscles of Kara’s back and then gripping her ass-cheeks to hold her even closer, to drag out the aftershocks for as long as possible. 

 

When Kara stopped moving, her body still trembling, she dropped her forehead onto Lena’s chest, breathing hard, heavy, and delicious. Lena held Kara’s face in both hands, her thumbs stroking the damp skin. Kara’s hair, soft and fragrant, fell down around them, a silken curtain that smelled so good, of sweat and sex and something uniquely, irrevocably Kara.

 

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, voice low and velvet, thumb brushing a loose strand of hair from Kara’s forehead.

 

Kara let out a long, shaky breath against Lena’s chest. “Yes,” she breathed, the word muffled by Lena’s skin.

 

Then, slowly, Kara lifted her head, her gaze drifting upward past Lena’s shoulder to the headboard.

 

Lena followed her line of sight.

 

Or, what was left of it.

 

The once-pristine Italian leather, hand-stitched and imported, now hung in tattered ribbons. Splinters of walnut wood jutted out like broken bones, and in Kara’s clenched fist, a shredded scrap of upholstery curled like a dead leaf. 

 

Before the apology could form properly on Kara’s lips—the one Lena knew was coming, the one laced with regret and soft reassurance—she reached up, cupped Kara’s face, and kissed her. Deep. Possessive. Silencing whatever plea was about to spill from those perfect, pink lips.

 

“It’s okay,” Lena murmured against her mouth, thumb brushing Kara’s cheekbone.  “I’m rich. I can buy a hundred more.” 

 

The thought wasn’t a comfort; it was a catalyst. Seeing the wreckage, the physical proof of Kara’s loss of control, sent a fresh, liquid heat coiling deep in Lena’s belly. The power, the sheer, raw need of it… it made her instantly, achingly horny all over again.

 

Then, without breaking eye contact, Lena pushed gently on Kara’s shoulders, guiding her back down onto the mattress, her body melting into the sheets like she was made to be under Lena. To be used by her.

 

“I need you again,” Lena murmured, crawling up her body with deliberate slowness.

 

She straddled Kara’s face, the heat of her core pressing down against Kara’s mouth. Kara’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with desire, fluttered shut as her lips parted instinctively. Lena gasped as Kara’s tongue met her clit, a slow, deliberate slide that made her hips buck.

 

Lena braced her hands on what remained of the headboard, her fingers gripping the broken frame as she began to move. Her hips rolled in a slow, undulating rhythm, riding the wet heat of Kara’s mouth.

 

Kara’s hands were already on Lena’s ass, but Lena was quick to grab them, pinning them above Kara’s head.

 

“Hands stay where they are,” Lena instructed, her voice firm but gentle. “If you reach for me, it stops. Understood?”

 

Kara whimpered.

 

Actually whimpered.

 

The fight to keep her hands still was a visible struggle, a tremor running through her arms. Her eyes were wide, pleading, but she nodded.

 

And God, it went straight through Lena like lightning—sharp, electric, intoxicating. She looked down between them, watching the way Kara’s chest heaved, the glisten on her chin.

 

Obedient. Desperate. Fucking perfect.

 

“Don’t touch me, Kara,” she said, grinding down harder, her clit dragging over Kara’s tongue in a wet, slick stroke. “And don’t even think about coming until I say.”

 

Kara’s eyes widened, the look in them agonizingly desperate, but she kept her hands pinned above her head, straining against the invisible weight of Lena’s order.

 

Lena started to move. She gyrated her hips, grinding her wetness against Kara’s mouth, using her tongue exactly the way she wanted. To steady herself, she braced one hand against the jagged, splintered remains of the headboard—the very evidence of Kara’s strength. She looked down at Kara, her expression one of pure, hedonistic delight, and used her free hand to flip her long hair over her shoulder, clearing her view.

 

“I like watching you like this,” Lena whispered, her voice rough.

 

She picked up the pace, her movements calculated and deliberate. “Moody,” she gasped, grinding down harder. “Begging.” Each rotation of her hips was designed to tease, to build the pressure in Kara’s gut until it was a throbbing ache that matched the one in her own. “Listening, for once, like a good fucking girl.”

 

At that, Kara’s eyes rolled back into her head. She closed them, a low moan vibrating against Lena’s clit. The sound was submissive and eager, and Lena could feel the way Kara’s tongue worked, lapping up her juices, drinking her in.

 

“You like the way I use you?” Lena panted, feeling the tension coil tight in her belly.

 

Kara nodded, her movement jerky and unsteady, her tongue never stopping its relentless assault on Lena’s sensitive clit. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room, a lewd symphony that mingled with Lena’s ragged gasps.

 

“I’m gonna come all over your pretty face,” Lena vowed, her words punctuated by sharp inhales as the pressure built to a merciless crescendo.

 

Kara’s response was immediate and unexpected. She pushed her tongue inside Lena, moving it at a speed that was impossible for a normal human. The vibration was instant, a high-frequency hum that sent a shockwave through Lena’s nervous system.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.

 

This had to be the best use of Kara’s powers she could ever imagine. The intensity, the sheer, blinding pleasure rushed through her, bringing her to climax even harder than before, in record time.

 

“Kara!” she screamed, her hands slipping from the splintered wood to grab Kara’s shoulders, her fingers digging in as she rode out the wave.

 

She ground against Kara’s mouth until there was nothing left, until her body went boneless and heavy. Breathing heavily, Lena slid down Kara’s body, collapsing against her, the world spinning slowly back into focus.

 

For a long moment, the only sounds were their slowing heartbeats and the distant, muted hum of the city below. Lena let her eyes drift shut, basking in the simple, physical afterglow. This was easy. This was controllable. There were no messy declarations, no secret identities being revealed. Just two bodies finding pleasure in each other.

 

She shifted slowly, pushing herself up on her elbows. The movement caused her body to slide against Kara’s, and she saw the flicker of awareness in Kara’s hazy blue eyes. A smile, predatory and possessive, stretched across her face as she leaned in to get a taste herself on the curve of Kara’s bottom lip.

 

She let Kara pull her weight when she leaned into the kiss, because she was selfish like this, when everything narrowed to breath and heat and the steady press of Kara’s mouth, when time blurred and nothing existed beyond the closeness they chose to share.

 

She pulled back just enough for their eyes to lock again. “I’m not done with you yet,” Lena murmured, voice low, rough with need. “I want you on top. I need to watch you.”

 

She felt the sudden rush of cool air hit her damp skin as she moved to the edge of the bed. Kara made a small, questioning sound—a soft hum of protest at the loss of contact—but Lena didn’t stop.

 

She leaned over, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, and her fingers found the cool, sleek handle of the top drawer on her nightstand. She bypassed the mundane—a silk sleep mask, a tube of lube—until her hand closed around the familiar, firm shape she was looking for.

 

She pulled it out. The leather of the harness was soft and smooth and the silicone of the dildo attached to it was cool and solid in her palm. It was her favorite; she knew its weight, its texture, the way it curved perfectly.

 

She held it out to Kara, and Kara froze, eyes widening. Lena watched her sit up, blonde hair a messy halo around her face, cheeks flushed a deep, stunning pink. Kara’s hands hovered over the strap-on for a moment before she took it, cradling it as if it was an unfamiliar object. 

 

She looked down at the dildo, her face a picture of innocence, as if she’d never seen one before. The contrast between her expression and the intimate scene they had just shared was almost comical, but Lena’s gaze remained tender, her eyes locked onto Kara’s face.

 

Lena arched a brow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “You do know what a strap-on is, right?”

 

Kara’s gaze remained fixed on the item, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

 

Kara finally dragged her eyes to Lena’s. “I… uhh yes… I… know. Uhm. What it is.”

 

“Good,” Lena said, her voice dropping to a silken purr. “So a lesson isn’t required then.”

 

Kara swallowed hard, her eyes flicking back to the strap-on, then to Lena’s expectant face. “You want me to uhhh use it? On you?”

 

Lena exhaled, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving Kara’s. “Yes, darling. Who else would you be using it on?”

 

Kara blinked. “R-right. Okay. Fuck. Okay.”

 

Kara’s eyes snapped back to Lena’s, a flicker of uncertainty in them. She glanced at the broken headboard, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I could hurt you.”

 

Lena’s expression softened. “You won’t,” she said, her voice reassuring.

 

She leaned back on her elbows, watching with narrowed eyes, an almost scientific curiosity in her gaze. “Put it on.”

 

Kara nodded, slowly putting on the strap-on. She fumbled a bit with the buckles, her fingers surprisingly clumsy for someone who could catch a falling plane. Lena watched, her heart thrumming a slow, steady rhythm, enjoying the small show. Once the harness was settled, and the dildo positioned, Kara took a deep, shaky breath.

 

Slowly, almost reverently, Kara approached the bed. She settled between Lena’s legs, her knees on either side of Lena’s hips. She didn’t rush, instead leaning down, her lips tracing a path of fire from Lena’s jaw to her collarbone, lingering on the pulse point at her throat. Each touch was light, worshipful, a stark contrast to the thick, hard reality pressing against Lena’s inner thigh.

 

When she finally pressed forward, the blunt head of the silicone slick against Lena’s entrance, she entered her with an almost painful slowness. The moment she was fully inside, the room faded. There was only the feeling of Kara, filling her, completing her. A name, her name, fell from Kara’s lips in a breathless whisper, and Lena’s heart thundered, a frantic drumbeat that was only for her.

 

“You have to move, baby,” Lena said, her voice strained.

 

Kara nodded, breathing deeply, her blue eyes dark with desire. “Just give me a sec, you’re tight.” A beat passed, filled only with the sound of their ragged breaths, before Kara rose slightly and then slid back in. The movement forced Lena’s eyes back, and her vision blurred.

 

Holy fuck.

 

“Do that again,” Lena begged, her jaw tight, her hands reaching out to grip Kara’s hips.

 

Kara obeyed, but this time she pulled out further, a delicious suction sound filling the air, and instead of slowly easing back, she slammed back in hard. The impact stole Lena’s breath, a jolt of pure pleasure that shot straight through her.

 

“Just like that,” Lena praised, her voice a low moan. “So fucking good.”

 

Kara’s head fell forward, both their gazes hazy, lost in each other. She began to fuck Lena with a steady, relentless rhythm, finding the angle that made Lena’s back arch, her toes curl, her breath come in broken gasps.

 

Kara’s lips brushed Lena’s ear, and she began to whisper, the words a beautiful, foreign cadence. Lena didn’t understand the Kryptonian, but she understood the fervent adoration in Kara’s tone, the soft caress of ’kaliya’ and ’tira’ and Lena knew she was being called beautiful, adored, wanted.

 

Lena held on to Kara’s waist, digging her fingers into the soft skin, feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath her touch as Kara drove into her. “Fuck, yes. Like that. Look at you. You’re fucking me so good.”

 

Kara moaned, low and guttural, her hips snapping faster, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls. “The whole world could be crashing down around us,” she breathed, voice thick with lust, “and I wouldn’t stop fucking you.”

 

Lena’s breath caught. She ached — not just in her body, but deeper, in places she kept locked away. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

 

“Yes. Yes. Harder.” Lena demanded, her own hips rising to meet each thrust.

 

Kara obeyed, thrusting into Lena hard and fast. Her pace was relentless now, a symphony of slaps and wet squelches filling the room, her body slick with sweat, her nipples hard peaks brushing Lena’s chest with every movement.  Lena’s whole body quaked with the impact, each thrust a perfect, exquisite agony, but she wanted more. She needed more.

 

“Choke me.” The words left Lena’s lips before she could censor them, a dark, primal need bubbling to the surface.

 

Kara froze, the thrusting stopping abruptly. Her eyes, wide and startled, jumped to Lena’s. There was no hiding the mix of excitement and fear swirling in their depths. “What did you say?”

 

“Choke me, Kara.” Lena grabbed Kara’s wrist, pulling it to her throat, guiding her hand. “Choke me, please.” Kara’s chest heaved, her eyes rolling back in her head, caught between shock and lust. She flexed her fingers around Lena’s neck slightly, a light pressure, then bit her lip, her gaze searching Lena’s for any sign of hesitation.

 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” Kara’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw vulnerability that Lena usually tried to ignore.

 

Lena’s eyes burned into Kara’s. “God, yes.”

 

The pressure increased, just slightly, enough to make Lena’s breath catch, enough to make her gasp. It was glorious.

 

“You’re doing such a good job,” Lena rasped, her hands leaving Kara’s waist to grip the bedsheets, knuckles white. “Keep going, baby, don’t stop.”

 

Kara’s hips began to move again, a slow, deep rhythm that sent shivers through Lena. “Right there… Fuck.” Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, designed to hit her perfectly. “Please don’t stop.”

 

Kara leaned down, her lips ghosting over Lena’s neck, then her ear, her breath hot. She found the sweet spot, a knot of nerves deep inside, and ground into it. 

 

Lena’s whole body quivered, and she gripped the sheets harder, willing herself not to close her eyes. She had to watch. Had to keep the edges of her vision sharp so she could see Kara’s face, the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the way her mouth parted when Lena gripped her waist and whispered, “Faster.”

 

As Kara’s pace quickened, the friction against Lena’s nipples intensified, each brush sending a wave of electric sensation through her. Lena felt a knot tighten in her belly, then spread, her hips bucking up to meet every thrust.

 

Lena’s body was coiled tight, a tempest brewing just below the surface. She could feel the pressure building, a dam nearing its breaking point, and she desperately wanted Kara by her side as it all came crashing down.

 

She reached up with both hands, her fingers seeking the soft, yielding weight of Kara’s breasts. As Kara moved above her, a rhythm of pure, desperate friction, Lena kneaded the flesh gently before her fingers found the taut peaks of her nipples. She pinched lightly, then rolled them between her thumb and forefinger with a practiced, knowing pressure.

 

Kara jolted, gasping, hips stuttering.

 

“Sensitive?” Lena murmured, doing it again — a twist, a pull.

 

Kara whimpered. “Lena—”

 

There was a reason Kara’s breasts were Lena’s favorite part of her body – their sensitivity was intoxicating. Just a few seconds of that focused attention and Kara began to lose control. Her fingers tightened around Lena’s throat, her thrusts becoming erratic as her moans grew louder. “Rao, fuck, fuck Lena,” she gasped.

 

Kara’s moans grew louder, more desperate, the sound spurring Lena on. The dam broke, and Lena surrendered to the overwhelming tide of her climax.

 

“Come with me, baby,” Lena breathed, her voice caught under Kara’s grip, nails dragging lightly over pebbled peaks. “Come inside me.”

 

Then, Lena felt it. A subtle tremor starting deep within Kara, a complete loss of control. Kara’s body shuddered violently, her eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Lena,” she breathed, the name a fragile, shattered thing on her lips. “Lena.”

 

She rode through her orgasm with terrifying focus, thrusting into Lena like she’d die if she stopped, like her life depended on making Lena come apart beneath her.

Lena lay beneath her, pulse still racing, Kara braced over her with careful strength, their foreheads touching as the world slowed back down. Her body felt heavy, loose, finally still. Sated in a way that left her dizzy.

Pleasure lingered, warm and humming beneath her skin, threaded through with a dangerous kind of relief. The kind that made her forget, just for a moment, all the things she was supposed to be angry about.

In that fragile stillness, Lena understood something she didn’t bother fighting. She would come back to this. To Kara. Again and again. Drawn by the gravity of her, by a connection that refused to be explained or named. Something that lived beyond words, beyond logic, binding them together whether Lena was ready to admit it or not.

 

 

***

 

Lena lay still beneath the fading quiet, staring up at the ceiling as Kara shifted beside her. She could feel it before Kara said anything. That careful pause. The weight of words lining up behind her eyes.

 

“Kara—” Lena started, already tired.

 

Kara pushed herself up on one elbow, hair a mess, expression open in that way that always made Lena’s chest tighten. Hopeful. Careful. Like she was bracing for impact.

 

“We should talk,” Kara said softly. “About… us. About what this means.”

 

Lena exhaled through her nose. Of course she did.

 

She turned her head just enough to look at Kara, keeping her voice light, almost flippant, because anything else would crack her open.

 

“It’s just sex, Kara,” she said. “You’ve had sex before, right? Did it always come with a conversation afterward?”

 

The words landed harder than she intended.

 

Kara’s face fell instantly. Not dramatically. Just a subtle collapse, like something inside her had folded in on itself. Her shoulders drew in. Her mouth parted, then closed again. The look was awful. Hurt and confusion tangled together, raw and unguarded.

 

Like a kicked puppy.

 

Fuck.

 

Lena squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, then reached out, resting her hand against Kara’s arm, grounding herself as much as Kara.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, quieter now. Honest in a way she hated. “I’m just… tired.”

 

Kara didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either.

 

Lena swallowed. “I promise we’ll talk. Just not tonight.” She met Kara’s eyes again, holding them this time. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for yet.”

 

Kara nodded slowly, even though it was clear she wanted more.

 

“Okay,” she said, soft but steady. “Not now.”

 

Lena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She wasn’t ready to untangle this. The feelings. The history. The betrayal still lodged under her ribs.

 

For now, silence was safer.

 

For now, this had to be enough.

 

 

***

Lena is a cuddler after sex. Kara learns this the hard way.

The sensation is one of absolute weight and absolute weightlessness, all at once.

 

Kara’s eyes flutter open to the grey-gold light of a National City dawn filtering through the blinds, but she cannot move her arms. Not without disturbing the fragile ecosystem currently thriving on her chest. Lena is draped over her, a living, breathing blanket of silk skin and messy raven hair. One of Lena’s legs is thrown possessively over Kara’s thighs, and her face is buried in the crook of Kara’s neck, her breath hot and rhythmic against Kara’s throat.

 

Kara catalogues the sensations with the reverence of a pilgrim at a holy site. The press of Lena’s palm flat against her sternum, the way Lena’s fingers are loosely curled, digging into her pectoral muscle just enough to anchor herself. The rise and fall of Lena’s breathing syncing perfectly with Kara’s own.

 

Serial cuddler, Kara thinks, a smile touching her lips that she doesn’t dare let bloom fully. Certified koala.

 

Kara stayed awake, memorizing the moment. She traced the elegant line of Lena’s spine with her fingertips, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. A wave of emotion, so potent it pricked at her eyes, washed over her. Because she knew that when Lena’s eyes finally fluttered open, when consciousness returned and the defenses of the day slowly clicked back into place, this would end. The embrace would loosen, the body would shift away, and the space between them would reappear. This vulnerability, this perfect, unthinking closeness, was only for the moments when Lena was too tired to remember to be guarded.

She does not dare move normally. Instead, she lifts them both, slow and careful, using just enough control to levitate out of the bed without waking her. Lena sleeps through it, still wrapped around her. Kara lowers her back onto the mattress, easing herself out of Lena’s grasp with surgical precision.  Lena sighed in her sleep, curling into the spot where Kara had been, but didn’t wake.

Kara smiled, taking one last look at Lena's peaceful face before turning to leave.

Italy is bright and fast, all sugar and coffee and early morning light. Kara slips down a cobbled side street to a small, unassuming Pasticceria, the kind you would miss if you did not know exactly where to look. It is just opening, warm and sweet air spilling onto the pavement. Renowned for its individual pistachio croissants. Lena’s favorite.

Kara had committed it to memory the instant Lena mentioned it casually months ago.

She is in and out in minutes, cradling a small, perfectly packaged box, already gone again.

She stopped briefly at her apartment to change into a soft, pale blue dress she knew Lena liked, then headed back to the penthouse, landing silently on the balcony as the sun broke over the skyline.

 

Kara stepped into the penthouse, her super-hearing picking up the sound of the shower running in the master suite. She let out a small, satisfied breath. Perfect timing.

While Lena finished getting ready, Kara unpacked the small box from Italy. She plated the pastry with care, straightened it when it did not look right the first time, then reached for Lena’s expensive coffee machine that looked more like a piece of scientific equipment than an appliance.

For Lena, she made it simple: black, no sugar. For herself, a vanilla latte, the steam curling sweetly into the air, with enough cream and sugar to make it almost dessert.

Just as she was setting the two mugs down beside the pastries, the neatly arranged fruit completing the spread, the sound of the shower cut off. A few minutes later, the click of heels on hardwood announced Lena’s approach.

Lena emerged from the bedroom already dressed, a tailored suit hugging her frame, one hand lifting to fasten an earring as she walked. She looked composed, immaculate, every inch the woman Kara knew she was. Her gaze lifted, sharp and alert, then stalled when it landed on Kara.

“Kara?” Lena said, only a little surprised. “I thought you left.”

“I brought you breakfast,” Kara says, suddenly nervous. “The real kind. Not the protein bar you usually eat on the way to the car."

Lena's gaze dropped to the box, her eyes widening as she read the name of the bakery. "Kara, you didn't have to—"

 

"I wanted to," Kara replied, her smile softening.

The silence stretches, thick with everything left unsaid between them. Kara starts to fidget, convinced she’s crossed a line, that she’s been too much, too eager, too in love.

Eventually, the surprise on Lena’s face melted into something so tender it made Kara’s heart ache again. They sat at the island, the golden italian pastry between them, and for a few minutes, it was like the last few months of tension and hurt had never happened. Lena’s laughter was bright and easy, her joy over the simple, perfect pastry so genuine it filled the entire room. They talked and ate, and the ease between them felt like coming home.

 

It was so natural, so wonderfully familiar, that Kara couldn’t stop the question that had been bubbling up inside her all morning. It fell from her lips before she could think better of it.

 

“Are we… friends again?”

 

Lena went very still. She placed her fork down with a precise click. She inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself, and slowly stood. The air in the room shifted, growing thick and charged.

 

“Friends?” Lena repeated, the word sounding foreign and absurd. She took a step closer, then another, until she was standing right in front of Kara, who was still perched on the stool.

 

Kara’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Yes.”

 

Lena’s expression was unreadable, a mask of beautiful composure. “I apologize if I’ve confused you,” she said, her voice a low, intimate murmur. “Maybe I should have been more clear.”

 

She stepped into Kara’s space, so close Kara could smell her shampoo and the faint, sweet scent of the pastry on her breath. Lena reached out, her fingers impossibly gentle as they tilted Kara’s face up to meet her gaze. Her green eyes were dark, intense, leaving no room for escape.

 

“No, we’re not friends.” Lena’s lips were a breath away from Kara’s. The words were final, absolute, and for a heart-stopping moment, Kara felt the world crash down. But then Lena continued, her voice dropping to a whisper that was for Kara alone. “We will never be friends.”

 

She leaned in, closing the minuscule distance, and brushed her lips against Kara’s in a kiss that was a promise, a claiming, and an answer all at once.

 

“We’re much more than that.”

 

Notes:

I’m sorry. I’m also not sorry.

On the bright side, we are about halfway through this story. I think. (I hope.) Don’t quote me on that.

Extra kudos to anyone who has picked up on the fact that I am slightly obsessed with Lena and deeply in love with writing her POV. It is a problem. I am not seeking help.

Thoughts and comments are always welcome. Thank you for sticking with me on this journey, which began because I watched way too many Supercorp edits on TikTok and made it everyone else’s problem.