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what you got ('cause i want it all)

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It’s already been a capital D type of Day, full of misogynistic potential investors and minor workplace explosions, when Lena opens her front door to the sight of Kara Danvers in a perfect-form downward facing dog on her living room floor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters, dropping her keys noisily onto the kitchen counter and making a beeline for the booze cupboard.

“Did you say something?” Kara asks angelically, transitioning smoothly into a cobra that very delightfully and extremely unhelpfully causes her biceps to flex like a Greek goddess. Her eyes, bluer than ever against the vast expanses of smooth golden skin on display above the sinfully tight cerulean sports bra she’s wearing, flutter angelically. She beams beatifically up at Lena from her yoga mat as if there’s any possibility her superhearing didn’t pick up on Lena’s words. As if she isn’t just trying to make Lena repeat herself for her own amusement.

“What are you even doing?” Lena asks a little more sharply than she intends, jaw clenched as she wills herself not to so much as glance in the direction of Kara’s exposed abs. She treats herself to a heavy pour of scotch, pauses to consider, then adds some more. “It’s not like you need to exercise. Like, at all.”

“Surely I get to indulge in whichever recreational activities I choose in my own home,” Kara replies cheerily, avoiding Lena’s carried-home-after-a-shitty-day snark with practiced ease.

“You gave up that privilege when you moved into my home instead,” Lena deadpans, Kara’s irrepressible affability in the face of her own bad moods beginning to chip away at her steely CEO armour. “That’s what you get for letting a flea-infested mongrel into your apartment—”

“Hey, Toto couldn’t help having fleas—”

“And not only that, letting it all over your couch, your bed—”

“He was cold! He just wanted to snuggle—”

Lena shudders. “You snuggled with that monstrous thing? I hope to God you burned the clothes you were wearing. And maybe the whole couch too.”

“Toto was not a thing, he fit perfectly on my—”

“And isn’t Toto usually the name of a small dog?” Lena asks incredulously, throwing back the scotch in one smooth swallow and pouring herself another. “That beast was almost taller than you!”

“Being a lap dog isn’t about size, Lena. It’s a state of mind.”

“A state of mind that’s meant your entire apartment has had to be fumigated. Twice.”

“And I’d do it again,” Kara says resolutely, pushing up into a high plank and inadvertently flexing her shoulders in a way that has Lena’s fingers slipping around the tumbler in her grasp. “Toto was homeless. He needed someone to take him in and love him, and I did.”

She drops to her knees and pushes back into child’s pose, tilting her chin up to gaze at Lena from between her extended arms. “Just like you’ve done with me.”

And Lena curses Kara and every one of her ancestors right back to the dawn of time for how endearing she is in this moment. For how physiologically incapable Lena is of maintaining her façade of annoyance in the face of those earnest eyes. God, when had she gotten so fucking soft?

But any thoughts of the blonde as cute or adorable evaporate into thin air as Kara pushes back up into downward dog, lifting one leg straight above her in a graceful arch. Her forearms flex as long fingers grip into the soft mat and Lena chokes a little on her next sip of scotch, eyes unfortunately, deliciously glued to the jut of Kara’s hipbone through her yoga pants and the toned lines of her tightened thighs.

“Seriously though,” Lena manages, turning away from the sight and congratulating herself on the fact that her voice is only slightly higher than normal. “Why do you even bother? It’s not going to tone you up any. Not that you need it,” she mutters into her scotch glass, tipping out the dregs of the bottle and reaching into the cupboard for a fresh one.

When she turns back to face the living room Kara’s cheeks are flushed, almost as if she’s blushing. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to her stupid, unfairly attractive head.

“Yoga is about more than just muscle tone, Lena,” the blonde says disapprovingly, her gaze fixed on her mat. “It’s a mind-body connection. Mindfulness. Inner peace. It’s doing wonderful things for my stress levels.”

“It’s doing terrible things for mine,” Lena mutters, knowing Kara will hear her but finding herself increasingly uncaring as the scotch warming her throat begins to course hot through her veins.

“Then maybe you should get down here and join me,” Kara murmurs, voice low as she switches legs.

The blonde’s tone is practically a purr and Lena chokes for real this time, spluttering out the scotch attempting to find its forever home inside her lungs. Kara is behind her in a second, hand hot through the thin material of Lena’s blouse as she rubs gentle circles between her shoulder blades.

The offending appendage doesn’t withdraw, however, even once Lena’s regained full use of her airways and is wiping the tears from her eyes. In fact, it’s joined by a friend, and both of Kara’s hands slip up and over her shoulders quite without Lena’s permission, fingers kneading into the tight muscle.

“Wow, you are tense,” Kara murmurs, thumbs doing something absolutely sinful to the knots in Lena’s neck. The blonde steps closer, bracketing Lena against the cool marble of the kitchen island with her hips and it takes every single shred of self-control Lena possesses not to sag back into the hot body hovering against the length of her own.

Lena shuts her eyes and bites down on her lower lip, hard. Anything to keep from focusing on the warmth radiating off Kara’s oh God partially clothed body like a furnace.

Long dextrous fingers dig deliciously into the tense set of Lena’s shoulders and she barely manages to hold back the breathy sounds of pleasure she’s fairly certain she should not be making at her best friend’s touch. Kara, if anything, seems spurred on by Lena’s restraint, fingers slipping inside the collar of Lena’s blouse to press firmly into her bare skin and oh God Lena is not going to survive this.

In fact, she can actively feel herself giving in to the pull, to Kara’s ineffable magnetism. She sways backwards just slightly, and Lena swears she’s not the only one who sucks in a sharp breath when their bodies fully connect. The frame pressed to her back is warm and firm and God, Kara is solid against her in a way that has all the blood in Lena’s body migrating south with pinpoint precision.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Kara whispers, her breath ghosting the shell of Lena’s ear and making her shiver. “I could walk you through some asanas. Might help loosen you up.”

Jesus fuck.

“Nope!” Lena squeaks, cheeks aflame, pushing away from Kara and snagging the bottle of scotch on the way to her bedroom. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Enjoy your practice.”

The quiet sounds of Kara’s chuckles follow her all the way down the hall.

Lena spends the first five minutes of her shower staring unseeing at the tiled wall, mind blank but for the image of Kara’s washboard abs over the waistband of her yoga pants, the firm press of her body against Lena’s back.

The second five minutes is spent in intense silent conversation with herself, administering an internal pep talk worthy of a high school spirit rally and trying to convince her racing heart to resume its regular rhythm.

The third interval consists of Lena shampooing her hair in mounting despair, trying desperately to foresee a way of surviving the next three days of cohabitation until Kara’s apartment is deemed safe and fume-free if the blonde is going to insist on doing distracting activities and wearing distracting sports bras and just generally being distracting.

It’s only by minute sixteen of Lena’s long indulgent shower that a plan begins to form in her mind. She steps out onto the bathmat, appraising the various towels slung over the heated rail until she finds one fit for purpose. Tucking it snug round her body and pulling her dripping curls over one shoulder, she makes her way back out to the living room.

She can pinpoint the exact moment the blonde notices her entrance because the quiet room is suddenly filled with a rubbery tearing sound as Kara, on her hands and knees for a spine stretch, rips the mat beneath her hands clean in two.

Lena bites her lip to hold back a smirk, watching as blue eyes track slowly up the expanse of her bare legs, unimpeded by the towel that only barely reaches to mid-thigh, and then up to follow the droplets of water tracking their way down Lena’s chest until they disappear into the soft fabric.

Kara’s mouth is hanging open, arms and legs splayed wide where they rest on either side of the torn mat, and Lena relishes the thrill of victory that zips up her spine like a firecracker. Two can play at this game, that’s for sure.

“I was going to ask if you were ready to order takeout for dinner,” Lena says, letting her own voice drop low as she quirks an eyebrow. Her gaze falls pointedly to the sad remains of Kara’s yoga mat and this time she can’t hold back her smirk. “But it seems your mind-body connection might still need some work. I’ll leave you to it.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel and saunters back to the bedroom, Kara’s eyes glued to her swinging hips like a physical weight on her body.

Cheeks pink, heart pounding, she drops onto her bedspread as a heady combination of relief and pleasure courses through her veins. Lena hasn’t had a roommate since boarding school but maybe this cohabitation – temporary as it may be – will end up having a few unanticipated perks.


Because Lena Luthor – despite her family’s very best efforts – is a good person, she does not spend the night thinking impure thoughts about sports bras and yoga mats and thighs that could probably, given half the chance, crack her skull like a walnut.

Because she is such a good person and such a good platonic friend, by the time the morning dawns bright and clear Lena has in fact managed to put last night’s events clean out of her mind.

Reassured by her own virtue, she stumbles out of her bedroom on a one-track mission to the coffee machine and promptly trips over her own feet, almost going full ass over tits when she realises that she is not the only person in the room.

Lena is rather accustomed to living alone, so seeing anyone in her living room at barely six in the morning would be shocking enough. But having that person be Kara goddamn Danvers, clad only in barely-there booty shorts and an oversized Hanson t-shirt as she flexes in a home-aerobics-video-perfect side plank on her yoga mat, has surely got to be criminal on some kind of karmic level.

Lena is a good person, she is. She doesn’t deserve this.

“Steady on,” Kara grins at her, backlit by the morning sun streaming through Lena’s floor-length windows, haloed in gold and looking for all the world like some ethereal deity of athleticism. An ethereal deity with biceps which are positively bulging under the exertion of the position.

Lena swallows hard. She hasn’t even had her damn caffeine yet.

“Taken you all night to find that elusive inner peace, has it?” she asks over her shoulder, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the coffee machine as it whirs to life like the life-saving contraption it is.

“I just like to start my days with a good stretch,” Kara says from behind her, and Lena can’t see her face but she’d bet a considerable portion of her fortune on the guess that her expression in this moment could only be described as angelic. Damn her.

The coffee machine beeps and Lena curses her kitchen layout, the realtor that had convinced her to buy this apartment— hell, even the building’s damn architect for the fact that she has to turn back towards Kara in order to retrieve a mug from the cupboard.

The blonde remains unmoving in her side plank, one arm extended straight above her at a right angle to her body. Her oversized t-shirt has ridden up with the movement, exposing a mouth-watering strip of clavicle above and below, a glimpse of abs so tantalising that Lena feels her cheeks begin to burn. Her gaze continues downwards and she almost swallows her own tongue; not only are Kara’s booty shorts short enough to be nothing but underwear but they’re also slung low on her hips, so low that the smooth jut of her pelvis protrudes sinfully from the black spandex. Her bare thighs, stacked one on top of the other, are tensed and solid and powerful and Lena’s squeezing her own legs together before she realises what she’s doing.

She notices Kara’s grey sweatpants piled haphazardly at the edge of the mat and has to bite back a groan. Turning away to pour her coffee with far more vigour than necessary and splashing hot liquid all over the counter in the process, she sighs. “You know, if you’re that hot you could always just turn on the AC.”

Kara chuckles behind her and Lena stirs the creamer into her coffee so enthusiastically that she worries for a moment she’ll crack the mug. “My sweats slip on the mat, I have better grip this way. Thanks for thinking I’m that hot though.”

Lena can do little more than scoff and focus intently on not hyperventilating as the blonde apparently finishes her plank and slides her legs apart into a low lunge. She seems to notice her audience suddenly and her gaze locks with Lena’s, maintaining eye contact the entire time as she shifts her weight to the centre and angles outwards, opening both legs wide—

Lena jolts hard enough that she spills hot coffee all over her own hand, swearing as she turns to the sink. Her cheeks are burning hotter than her scalded fingers and she can barely hear anything over the pounding of blood in her ears but she doesn’t miss the concerned do you want me to blow freeze breath on that for you from behind her.

Lena slams the tap off hard enough to almost break her own hand and takes off at a pace only fractionally slower than an all-out sprint towards her bedroom, tossing a strangled I’m fine over her shoulder.

Sagging back against her bedroom door, Lena presses a palm over her pounding heart, cursing herself for her chronic susceptibility to Kara’s charms (read: muscles) and most of all for the fact that in her flustered state, she’d left the damn coffee in the kitchen.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Lena tries to get herself back under some semblance of control. She can’t go on like this; her heart physically cannot take the strain. She thinks back to Kara’s ripped yoga mat from the previous night – where had the blonde gotten a new one from so quickly anyway? – and forces her rational brain to take the wheel from whatever fumbling blushing traitor is currently in charge of her faculties.

Clearly, the only way to get through the next three days is to fight fire with fire. If Kara wants a war, a war is what she’ll get.


The rest of the day is a whirlwind of one L-Corp crisis after another. Lena barely has enough time to remember to breathe, let alone worry about somehow one up-ing her otherworldly best friend in the game of inappropriately sexual chicken they’ve apparently begun playing.

When Lena finally arrives home close to midnight and slumping with tiredness, she finds a plate of food still warming in the oven for her and Kara curled up on her couch fast asleep surrounded by article research, glasses discarded on the coffee table.

She looks so peaceful and she sniffles so cutely when Lena gently wakes her and nudges her towards the guest bedroom that Lena forgets all about exacting her revenge. She just smiles when Kara presses a sleepy kiss to her cheek, watching fondly as the Kryptonian floats to bed half a foot above the ground, fluffy blanket trailing behind her like a cape.

But the next morning all bets are off, and Lena has no intention of being caught out again. She waits until she hears Kara head to the kitchen, waits another two minutes for good measure, then saunters out after her.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice still low and early-morning-rough. Kara turns to face her, mid-way through inserting an entire croissant into her mouth – not her first, judging from the crumbs sprinkled across her collar – and promptly chokes.

Lena merely smirks, propping her hip against the kitchen island and plucking a peach from the fruit bowl as she waits for the blonde to catch her breath. It seems to take an inordinately long time, what with the way Kara keeps almost getting herself under control before glancing over at Lena and erupting into violent coughs all over again.

Lena doesn’t really mind. Kara isn’t in any actual danger, and she’s rather enjoying basking in the reaction she’d curated her appearance this morning specifically to elicit. Her hair is soft and bed-tousled, curling loosely around her shoulders; she’s fresh-faced and makeup free. And as for the pièce de résistance— well, the slightly-too-large blue collared shirt she’d tugged on, foregoing several buttons at both the top and bottom, is proving to be just as effective as she’d hoped.

Kara appears to have finally recovered, opening her mouth to speak just as her eyes drop to the shirt’s hem and it seems to suddenly dawn on her that Lena’s wearing precious little else beneath it. Mouth now empty of pastry, she chokes again on what can only be her own saliva at the sight of Lena’s bare legs, turning to the sink to grab a glass of water and downing the entire thing in one swift gulp.

“Morning,” the blonde manages eventually, her voice hoarse. She turns back to Lena with wide eyes and pink cheeks. “That’s— that’s my shirt.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” Lena lies, tugging at the grandad collar so it exposes a little more of her collar bone and breezing past Kara to start the coffee machine, pulling out a mug. “Coffee?”

Kara shakes her head mutely, eyes still glued to the pale skin of Lena’s thighs. “Do you, do you sleep in that?”

“Oh, no. I just pulled this on for modesty’s sake,” Lena says innocently, biting her lip when she hears the blonde’s breath hitch behind her. She turns, making sure to lock eyes with Kara before she delivers the fatal blow. “I usually sleep naked.”

The water glass still in her grip shatters into a million shards and Kara stares blankly down at the broken fragments for a moment as though unsure how they had suddenly appeared around her feet.

Lena just smirks, utterly unrepentant at the loss of one of her tumblers. She lets Kara wrap an arm around her waist and float her out of the danger zone, experiencing first-hand the rapid pace of the blonde’s heavy breathing, the thundering staccato of her heart.

“Be careful, darling,” she murmurs completely unnecessarily as Kara sets her down a little shakily and turns back to begin cleaning up the shards, letting her hand trail feather-light down the blonde’s bicep and forearm to ghost over her fingers before she pulls away. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

The poetic irony of Kara tripping over her own feet at Lena’s breathy tone and taking a chunk out of the solid marble countertop as she rights herself is not lost on either of them, Lena’s sure. “Don’t hurt my kitchen either, or you’ll be in trouble,” she adds with a wink that has Kara blushing all the way to the tips of her ears.

Smug and self-satisfied, Lena turns on her heel, ready to properly begin her day to the sweet soundtrack of Kara’s laboured breathing and quiet stream of Kryptonian curses.


Another hectic day at the office brings, as an extra special treat, L-Corp’s biannual board dinner to round out the evening. It’s an event Lena always dreads for weeks before it arrives; endless hours of inane speeches and lascivious men reeking of entitlement, too-expensive food in too-small portions and smiling so long and so fake that her face feels like it may crack clean in two.

The dinner drags and drags, even lightened by the silly little texts Kara keeps sending that Lena sneaks glances at under the table whenever one (or all) of the speakers is especially dull.

By the end of the evening, Lena fears that if she has to listen to one more generic old white man try to take credit for one of her achievements she might start screaming and never stop.

She’s tired and irritated by the time she finally escapes into her town car, schmoozed out and uncomfortable in her tight dress and testicle-impaling heels.

She manages a tired smile at her doorman before all but falling into the elevator, trying to find some way of standing that relieves the pressure on her aching soles.

She’s barely unlocked her front door when it’s being pulled out of her grasp, strong arms slipping beneath her thighs and lower back to bridal-carry her across the apartment. She can’t hold in a gasp as Kara sets her down on the kitchen counter with a flourish.

“I could hear you complaining about those heels all the way across the city,” she grins by way of explanation as Lena tries to catch her breath. She’s still wearing her Catco slacks and checked button up and Lena’s mouth goes dry at the way the maroon fabric sheathes the solid muscle of her thighs like a second skin. Kara’s grin widens. “I thought I’d save you any more walking.”

And Christ, if Lena thought her mouth was dry before, it’s nothing compared to her body’s reaction when Kara sinks to her knees inches from Lena’s slightly parted legs with absolutely no warning, pulling one of Lena’s feet into her lap and setting to work on the intricate laces criss-crossing her ankle.

Lena’s pretty sure her heart is attempting to beat a samba clean out of her chest at the feeling of Kara’s deliberate fingers against her suddenly overheated skin, at the sight of Kara on her knees before her, blonde head bowed just inches from—

Lena squirms on the cool marble countertop, slamming her legs together and wishing to God she’d thrown caution to the wind back at the dinner and had those three extra scotches she’d been so desperately craving.

Kara pulls Lena’s shoe off delicately, her other hand following the motion but stopping very deliberately to squeeze at Lena’s ankle, the arch of her foot, before reaching out for her other leg. Lena thinks she may very well die right here, right now, and what will become of her company then?

Other heel finally removed, Kara skims both warm hands up the backs of Lena’s calves, cupping behind her bare knees for a brief moment before pushing herself to her feet.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Better?”

At Lena’s mute nod, Kara grins. “Now, I’m sure your dinner was absolutely terrible and I’m sure you were absolutely perfect, so I was thinking we could put on a movie and you could rant to me about all the lecherous men who tried to hit on you tonight until you fall asleep,” Kara says, the barest hint of hesitance in her eyes like she’s worried her proposal is overstepping somehow.

Beneath the myriad inappropriate thoughts bouncing around the inside of Lena’s skull like horny little demons, she feels a deep swell of unwavering affection for the woman in front of her. Kara is perfect.

She nods, her eyes softening, and Kara’s face lights up. “Cool. Okay. Go and get comfortable and I’ll make you some tea,” she says, turning to the kettle before pausing to glance slyly back at Lena over her shoulder. “Unless you’d like me to carry you there?”

And just like that, Lena’s thundering heart and flaming cheeks are back full force. “Absolutely not,” she gasps, pushing herself off the counter before Kara can get any ideas. “I think I can manage it just fine on my own.”

Kara just grins and grins.


Back in the relative safety of her bedroom, Lena wrestles her rocketing pulse and roaring libido back down to manageable levels as she sits on the bed, thinking. The balance of power between them has seesawed again, leaving Kara with the upper hand and that? That simply won’t do.

Smoothing her hands absentmindedly over her dress, inspiration strikes. “Kara?” she calls quietly, knowing she’ll be heard as she pushes herself to standing.

A moment later there’s a knock at the door followed by Kara’s hesitant voice, despite Lena’s explicit invitation. “Can I come in?” the blonde double-checks quietly and Lena smiles. This is going to be easy.

“Of course,” she says, voice dipping smoothly. She turns away from the blonde now standing awkwardly in the middle of her bedroom clasping and unclasping her fingers, but glances back coyly over her shoulder. “Would you mind?” she asks, gesturing to the back of her dress.

“Oh. Oh. Um, I— of course,” Kara manages after a moment and Lena feels the exact second that control of the situation slips definitively out of Kara’s scrabbling grasp and into her own.

The zip is small and fiddly, Lena’s green dress skin-tight and unforgiving. The net result of these circumstances is that both of Kara’s hands come to land on Lena’s skin as she pulls haltingly at the zipper, and Lena forces herself not to shudder at the contact.

But Kara seems to be faring far worse. Her exhales are hitting Lena’s exposed skin harsh and unsteady and when she pauses to sweep Lena’s loose hair over her shoulder her fingers tremble against Lena’s neck. Kara returns painstakingly to her task and the second the zipper slips lower than where Lena’s bra would sit – had she been wearing one, that is – a high sound best described as the choked-off beginnings of an honest to God whine tears itself free from Kara’s throat.

Lena smirks but can’t stop the blush that rises onto her cheeks at the sound, glad suddenly that the blonde can’t see her face.

When the zipper finally reaches the bottom the room falls absolutely silent. Neither one of them moves; neither one breathes. The knuckles of Kara’s right hand are burning brands into the bare skin of Lena’s lower back where her fingers are still twisted around the zipper, her other hand splayed wide and greedy over Lena’s clothed waist to hold her still.

Lena hears, feels Kara inhale a split second before her knuckles drag slowly and deliberately up the notches of Lena’s spine, her thumb rubbing at the divots of her pelvis as the fingers of her other hand tighten possessively at Lena’s hip.

Lena sucks in a sharp breath, barely restraining the reflexive twitch of her hips and Kara jumps back, dropping her hands as if she’s been burned.

She turns, cheeks pink and eyes questioning but the blonde is already backing out of the door, knocking into Lena’s dresser and the wall as she goes. Lena is left alone and breathless, skin still tingling from the ghostly after-image of Kara’s touch. She doesn’t sleep a wink.


Kara is already out on Supergirl business when she emerges the next morning, and a crisis in accounting means Lena has to bail on their long-standing Friday lunch plans, so they agree to make up for the missed time together – and for the fact that Kara’s apartment is now officially flea-free – with dinner that night.

Lena gets home first, showering away the stresses of the day and helping herself to a generous glass of wine as she lets her curls drip-dry into the fabric of her soft knitted sweater.

By the time she emerges from her en suite Kara has arrived and is chopping vegetables in the kitchen, supersuit traded in for something more comfortable. There’s something ridiculously endearing about the way her grey sweats are tucked into her slipper booties and Lena’s heart swells with the knowledge of how comfortable the blonde is in her home. How comfortable she is with Lena.

But as her eyes skim up Kara’s form, cute abruptly ends and oh shit begins, right around the exposed sliver of skin peeking out beneath her tight white t shirt. Her toned arms are bare and her blonde curls are pulled up in a messy bun, leaving Lena’s eyes free to roam the shifting muscles and tendons of her neck in a way she’s fairly sure is bordering on lewd.

Kara’s outfit is comfy and casual, yet Lena can’t fight the distinct impression that the blonde had chosen it carefully nevertheless. Lena can’t blame her, she’d done the same thing with her own ensemble; black leggings that cling to her as nicely as Kara’s eyes always cling to her hips when she wears them, and a sinfully soft slate sweater that brings out the green in her eyes.

They’re both playing this game and they’re playing to win, though Lena feels increasingly unprepared for the prize.

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts and slips her game face on, crossing the room to press a welcome-home kiss to Kara’s cheek before washing her hands and pulling out a chopping board.

They work companionably for a while, sharing stories about their days interspersed with Kara’s impromptu dance parties whenever a particularly good song comes on the radio. Lena is already pink cheeked from the heat of the kitchen as she strains on her tiptoes to reach the spices on the top shelf, fingertips maxed out a tantalising half-inch from their goal.

A warm hand lands suddenly on her waist, right where her shirt is riding up as she stretches. Lena jumps at the way Kara’s palm slips fully under her sweater to curl around her hipbone as the blonde braces herself against Lena’s back. Kara’s front slides against her slow and delicious as the blonde reaches up easily to snag the desired jars from the shelf.

She lowers back down to her heels much slower than necessary, in Lena’s opinion— not that she’s complaining. Kara’s fingers spread wide to stroke over Lena’s stomach beneath her shirt, all pretence of steadying herself gone as she simply anchors their bodies together.

“Maybe I should get you a step ladder, short ass,” Kara breathes teasingly against the crown of Lena’s head, nosing into her hair. Lena hums low and indignant and Kara tugs their bodies tighter together, lips pressed to the side of Lena’s head.

“My ass is perfectly in proportion, I’ll have you know,” Lena murmurs primly, illustrating her point by turning in Kara’s grip to face her and pressing the body part in question firmly back into the blonde’s hips as she goes.

Kara visibly gulps, the hand now splayed wide over Lena’s lower back flexing a little against her bare skin. She’s got Lena pinned into a corner, hemmed in by counters and the press of Kara’s body and the advantage seems to buoy her as she nudges in a half-step closer. “Oh, I know.”

“You do, do you?” Lena asks coyly, staring up at Kara through her lashes. “Been looking?”

The effect is immediate. Kara’s face flushes a deep beet red, eyes wide and blinking fast like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I— no— I mean, I haven’t—” she stammers and Lena, sensing blood in the water, goes in for the kill.

“I certainly hope you’re better with your hands than you are with your mouth,” she murmurs, honey smooth and saccharine as she pushes lightly out of the enclosure of Kara’s arms. The move is deliberate and calculated, their chests pressing together as Lena slides past the blonde and she very nearly fails to hold back a low moan at the friction against her breasts, since she’d chosen once again to forego a bra. She very nearly fails again at the abrupt realisation that Kara had evidently made the same decision.

Lena swallows hard against her suddenly dry throat as they break apart, determined not to let her advantage slip away. The blonde has turned to face her, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as her cheeks burn crimson. “With… my…”

“Your hands, darling,” Lena manages without so much as a wobble in her voice. “There are still plenty of vegetables to chop.”

Kara is stock-still, staring at her with her mouth hanging open. Lena smirks, victorious in this round, and turns back to the peppers on the chopping board. It’s quiet for a long moment beyond the crooning of the radio, and then—

“What if my hands and mouth are equally skilled?” Kara says, low and quiet and so surprising that Lena’s hand slips on the knife and she very nearly relieves herself of two of her fingers.

Perhaps sensing the imminent danger, Kara is behind her in under a second, tugging the knife gently from Lena’s grip and nudging her round until they’re face to face.

Lena gulps, watching in real time as the seesaw tilts away from her again and Kara pins Lena once more against the counter with her body. “You know, I don’t actually need to stretch in the mornings. It doesn’t really do anything for me,” Kara says, voice barely above a purr.

Lena’s eyes widen at the admission, at the tacit acknowledgment of exactly what’s happening between them. But she’s not one to be bested, not in anything.

“I knew that shirt was yours. I do sleep in it sometimes,” Lena concedes quietly. Kara’s breathing hitches, one hand loosening its grip on the counter at Lena’s side to rest on her waist instead, stroking gently up and down.

“I don’t know the first thing about yoga,” Kara murmurs and Lena bites her lip, watching the way Kara’s eyes track the movement with a tangible hunger. “I was making it up as I went along.”

“I could have unzipped that dress on my own,” Lena whispers, shifting her weight to her other foot. One of Kara’s legs steps forward suddenly to press into the space between hers and they both suck in a sharp breath when their pelvises meet. Lena licks her lips. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Kara’s other hand lifts from the counter to slide up into Lena’s hair and cup the back of her head, nails scratching lightly over her scalp. She uses her newfound leverage to tilt Lena’s face to the side, leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

“I knew Toto had fleas when I brought him into my apartment,” she hums, nosing back along Lena’s jaw until they’re face to face again, Kara’s breath puffing hot on Lena’s slightly parted lips as her eyes slip closed—

Their foreheads smack together hard as Lena pulls back suddenly, eyes flying open. “Kara Zor-El, are you telling me you intentionally infested your own apartment with fleas?”

Kara stares back at her wide-eyed, the hand that had been crawling up Lena’s ribcage beneath her sweater frozen like a deer in the headlights. Lena’s laughing now, high and breathy and disbelieving. “Your entire home has had to be fumigated, Kara. Twice. And for what?”

“To be here with you,” Kara answers at once and Lena feels something hot and bright and beautiful burst open in her heart, flooding her entire body with light. She tightens her grip on the back of Kara’s t shirt, pulling it taught across her chest and the sight of Kara’s breasts straining through the fabric is a stark reminder of exactly what they’d been about to do before the blonde’s last little admission.

“You are ridiculous,” she breathes in the place of another three words she thinks she might end up saying soon anyway, fisting a hand in Kara’s collar and crashing their lips together.

At the first pressure of their lips making contact Kara moans and Lena’s mouth opens of its own accord, granting entrance to her eager tongue. Kara licks in hot and deep and Lena is being devoured, burned alive from the inside out as both the blonde’s hands slip under the hem of her sweater to rake blunt nails up the length of her back.

Lena moans, arching into her, legs snapping shut around the firm thigh sandwiched between them. Her hands are wandering, wanting to be everywhere all at once, skimming Kara’s biceps to dig firm into the shoulders she certainly had not been fantasising about since that damn downward dog. They drop lower, sliding under Kara’s t shirt to trace the contours of her abs and Kara’s thigh presses insistently upwards, rocking into her.

Lena whines, biting down on Kara’s plump bottom lip before assuaging it with her tongue, fingers skating higher until they brush the undersides of Kara’s breasts. Kara’s hands drop to her ass, pulling Lena more firmly against her thigh and pressing them both harder into the edge of the counter as she groans. At the first brush of Lena’s thumbs over her stiff nipples she sinks her teeth into the juncture of Lena’s neck and shoulder, soothing the spot with her lips as she sucks a mark into Lena’s pale skin.

“Bedroom?” she gasps against Lena’s throat, nosing higher to press her lips to Lena’s racing pulse point, tongue slicking inside the shell of her ear as she sucks on the lobe.

“Please,” Lena pants, clutching desperately at the blonde’s toned sides.

“What about dinner?” Kara asks, freeing one hand to flick off the stove but keeping Lena close.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Lena gasps, sucking in a stuttering breath as Kara’s mouth reattaches itself to her neck. “And now that I know the whole fumigation thing was just a ruse anyway, there’s no reason you have to leave tomorrow.”

Kara pulls back to look at her then and Lena thinks she’s never seen a more beautiful creature in all her life. Kara’s cheeks are flushed, her lips kiss-swollen, stray curls escaping haphazardly from her messy bun. “Yeah?” she asks quietly, blue eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Lena echoes, leaning in to press another hungry kiss to her mouth. “Besides, you were saying something about your skilled hands? And mouth, if I recall?” Kara’s smile presses into Lena’s cheek, her eyelashes fluttering against Lena’s temple. Lena smirks. “Now that I know about your penchant for subterfuge, it seems only prudent to test the validity of those claims.”

Kara rolls her hips forward without warning and Lena gasps, arching into her. “Is that a challenge, Miss Luthor?” she asks between kisses, cocksure and grinning.

“If you’re up for it,” Lena manages before she’s lifted clean off the ground, legs wrapping tight around Kara’s waist, and then there’s no more talking for a while.