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All The Juicy Things

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Kara would be the first to admit she doesn't get Earth holidays. Back on Krypton, thousands of years of culture had piled up until someone had the common sense to trim it down. Unity Day celebrated a dozen different diplomatic triumphs. The High Days were for Rao, when the sun hammered hardest, crimson and blazing. Holidays of hope blurred into First Night, celebrated the first full darkside night when the planet's slow turn made days last weeks. Sticky-sweet twellin-fruit tea and rich, body-warming food packed in just before the winters storm. The fertility festivals and orgies made obsolete by the Genesis Chambers never fully died out.

On Krypton, they would expect her to represent the next generation of Els at four, perhaps five events a year.

Here, though? Even subtracting all the religious holidays still means a dozen or more. America celebrates holidays to unpleasant, even ghastly things.

Columbus Day? Ew.

Fourth of July? Kara feels the same way dogs do about that. Too loud. Too bright. Fortunately, it's a good night to collect a dozen armfuls of spooked strays and cuddle them all at once.

Labor Day? Seems legit.

Halloween? She's warming to that one. Lena goes all-out with costumes. Kara's not still sure how she survived that cherry-red corset, airtight leather pants and fake fangs number. According to Wikipedia, the village Lena's mother hailed from goes all-out for the Druidic holiday of Samhain, so that's something to look forward to.

Thanksgiving? Didn't they already celebrate genocide and displacement once this year?

Her own Raoist holidays were displaced by a new planet, new orbit, and a new calendar. So they became co-observances of silence and fasting-along-with for Eliza and Alex's observance of Shabbats and Rosh Hashanah. Quiet contemplation, expressing gratitude for survival and fried food after. Kara's ideal holiday.

They share one sort of holiday between the two cultures: tributes to the fallen.

She's especially fond of Memorial Day, when fried, meaty foods and sun and laziness are the proscribed rituals. This is her first Memorial Day with Lena. She's going to make the most of it. She swung Lena's sleek electric car past CostCo and stuffed the trunk with coolers of steak and burgers and bags of chips and enough buns to feed Kara and most of the seagulls on the California coast. First come, first served on that one.

Lena sat in the passenger seat, rolling a sweaty bottle of Snapple against her neck to stay cool. She was almost invisible behind sunglasses and a straw hat. Her day-before-the-day-before-heat scent turned skeptical and sour as Kara loaded up the food, only to turn syrupy sweet and flashbulb bright when Kara handed her a five-pound tub of some obscure brand of Japanese gummies she loves. Lena's candy-sweet scent perfumed the six-hour ride along with actual candy and she made sure to press a couple against Kara's lips and let Kara lick the sticky off her fingers at the rest stops.

There's less than two hours to Midvale and another half-hour to the coast-side cabin Eliza's mentor bequeathed her when he passed. Alex is there already with Kelly, who sent a profanity-laden text about how the generator was somehow more of a clunker than the ones she worked with in the Army.

Kara reaches over the gearshift and pats Lena's knee. The scent of candy and happiness becomes thick, smoky, tangy need.

"You all right, babe?" Kara asks.

Lena grunts.

"Get there soon," she grumbles.

"Gonna do that," Kara promises.

"Tell me about this place," Lena murmurs, turning her face away from the mid-afternoon sun. "Alex said you spent time here."

Kara clucks her tongue while she tries to come up with the words.

"It's a cabin. Full-sized house, really. Mom's thesis advisor was this amazing man. Original-edition fancy gay. Wore blazers and slacks to picnics, she said. Honest-to-god silver pocketwatch. His husband was an art dealer in Frisco who passed a few years back. Jim..."

Kara sighs.

"Jim wasn't built to be without Tom. He didn't last long. One day a lawyer shows up and turns out they left the money to the university and the house to Eliza, with a stipulation that she couldn't sell it and had to give it to Alex in her will."

Lena chuckles.

"Intergenerational queer wealth. Did they ever meet Alex?"

"Once. When she was about thirteen."

Lena hums.

"Not bad on the baby-dyke detection."

"Suppose not. It's across the Oregon line, just north of Brookings. It's back a quarter-mile or so from the water. There's a beach, really just a crescent of sand. Rock face on the south, over the deeper water. Alex free-climbed it once. She probably would have lived if she'd fell. Would've hit water, at least."

Lena scoffs.

"Kelly would kill her."

Kara snorts.

"Alex has enough of a death wish to tag-along with Supergirl but not enough of a death wish to piss off Kelly Olsen. Let alone pregnant Kelly. Which is her most powerful form. Boss level. Anyway. There's a boat dock tucked in the cove. Two and a half story house. Local redwoods, mom said. All of it from one tree that fell the year before her friend built it. Built right on the rocks, somehow. The basement is finished, but the cellar's just bare rock."

"Any quirks?"

Kara shrugs.

"Not really. Mom's friend was a microbiologist and ecologist. The plumbing is amazing for a self-contained system. Genetically optimized cultures in the septic tank. Fresh water from these spiderwebs of pipes collecting rainwater from the roof and from some sheeting that hangs off the nearest trees. Clunky but it achieves the same sort of clear-water to grey-water ratio Kryptonian outposts would. You can still take your weird, hour-long showers, babe."

"You like the long showers," Lena scoffs.

Kara's mind flashes back to a week ago. Wandering in late from Supergirl duties, slipping into the en-suite to wash her face. Overhead lights off but buttery light spilling from behind frosted glass. Curves outlined in steam and shadow. Lilting Gaelic song. The door swinging open. Lena's scent spilling out with the steam when she opened the door. Hair wet. Scrubbed-pink skin. Water dripping off every creamy inch. Green eyes blown-out and hungry. Lena spreading her sex for Kara. Glossy. Red. Needy.

Seems I can give my fingers a break, Lena had joked.

"Maybe I do," Kara teases. "Maybe I do."

Ever since they passed Sausalito, Kara's been in the zone. Find the white stripe, find the yellow stripe. Slot the car between them. Throw the pedal down on a straight stretch just to hear Lena's little squeal as lightning crackles out of batteries and into spinning brushes of hot copper and the out into the axles. Watch the speedometer soar without so much as a buzz of tires.

Driving isn't easy for her, with her senses and her speed. But she put in the work and she's good at it and yes, maybe there's a wicked little thrill when Lena hands Kara her keys before road trips.

"Pull over," Lena grunts.

"Babe, we're only like forty miles aw-"

Her eyes flick over to Lena. Her sandals are off, her ankles are up on the dash and her lime-green sundress is rucked up past her thighs. She's aimed an AC vent right between her legs. Somehow, she got a beach towel out of the backseat and put it under herself, folded three times. Already darkening with slick that's long since soaked the simple blue cotton of her panties. Sweat glistens like sugar on her pale skin, and the scent of her need swirls around the car. Sizzling musk twirling on chilled air.

Some alpha she is. Kara never noticed how badly her omega needed tending.

"Course," Kara replies. She can hear the rasp in her voice. Her alpha just grabbed the steering wheel. Metaphorically, at least. She's trying very hard to ignore what's going to happen when she does find a spot because she's going to drive right through the guardrail and into the Pacific if she thinks about what Lena's after.

She taps on the built-in computer display, scrolling through nearby rest stops and motels. Probably a motel. Lena isn't going to want to press on in the middle of the night if her heat came on or if she's having a false start.

It's sacrilege to think about Lena Luthor setting foot in a Motel Six but it's paradise to think about the parking lot's fluorescents bleeding through thin curtains, making her skin gleam like sterling silver as Lena's hips cant up, her little whines and jerks and shimmies telling Kara when she wants slow and deep and face to face and when she just wants as much as Kara can give her, as deep as she can give it, as fast as she can give it.

"Hmm. Looks like there's a bed and br-"

Cool air hits her cock and then hot, damp air followed by pure heat and silk.


Risking a glance downward, Kara sees Lena smirking up at her. Smirking around her cock, green eyes dark and twinkling.

"You needed me distracted," Kara huffs.

Lena hums her agreement. Her throat vibrates around the head and her tongue flutters against the tender underside. Lena inches forward, making sure Kara feels every twitch of her puffy lips as she takes the last inches slowly, until her lovely face is pressed to Kara's abs and Lena's shallow, desperate breaths paint her skin. She pulls off but doesn't pull back. Lena gulps for air and Kara feels it on her overheated, twitching tip.

"Turn on self-drive," Lena demands, and it's raspy and scratchy, the way she talks through her overworked mouth.

It's nearly enough to make Kara spill all over her face. Lena's tongue flicks out, collecting a droplet of Kara's pre before it can drip to the (no doubt six-figure) custom upholstery. She starts with a kiss to the very tip, then opens her lips, then pushes forward as far as the tender ridge, then glides down, like it's nothing. Plush and soft. Hot and clenching. Lips working slowly. Swallowing Kara's cock like her delicate, pale throat was made for this and in the dark places of Kara's alpha, that's exactly what Lena's for.

Without needing to look, Lena swipes through the apps on the computer, switches to the AI driving and manages to punch in her nine-digit PIN code. Tesla's logo fades in a flicker of green and HOPE replaces it.


"Continue to previous destination," Kara grunts. "Safety mode."


The cruise control kicks in they go from 75 to 55, which will add ninety minutes to their trip, assuming Lena doesn't want to stop. Lena purrs.

"That's what you wanted," Kara groans.

Another affirmative hum, rippling and pulsing around Kara's length.

"Baby," Kara whines.

Lena's hand finds hers, twines their fingers and squeezes tight. Then she brings Kara's palm to the back of her head and pats it. It's one of their little signals. Use me. Kara's alpha couldn't agree more. She brings her other hand to Lena's head and scratches at the scalp, her fingers tangling in black silk.

It's a lonely stretch of road and the windows are tinted. The only way they'll get caught is if they get pulled over and as far as Kara's concerned, her relationship with the police needed a hard reset, anyway.

With her prize in hand and the rules laid out, Lena proceeds to torture Kara. Down to the tip, her nose pressed into Kara's pelvis. Deep, huffing draws of the scent there. Coughing. Wheezing for air. Then drawing back, gulping breaths. Never going far. Never pulling back far enough to break the delicate, shining strands that hang between her mouth and Kara's reddened cock. Kara has permission. She could thrust up, past the swishing, fluttering tongue and fully into the clench of Lena's throat. She could grab her head and fuck into her mouth. Or she could just let Lena's do whatever the fuck she wants for however long she wants. Kara's not picky.

"S'nice," Kara rumbles, as a cheek-hollowing gulp pulls half her brain out. "Good girl."

Lena moans at the praise and Kara leans across the console, skating the soft swell of Lena's stomach to find the dripping, sticky thatch of dark curls. The angle's not good at all but it's enough. Rao be praised, it's enough. She hooks her fingertip inside Lena's fluttering cunt and circles the hard nub of her clit slowly.

For some reason, Lena doesn't really try to get her off. Just sucks. Just stays.

She needs the scent, Kara realizes. Her omega needs to know I'll stay.

"Gonna be here," Kara rumbles. "Always, baby."

Lena pulls off with a sputter.

"Yeah?" she croaks.

Kara grabs her chin and pulls Lena up. She swipes her tongue across Lena's lips. She yields and Kara claims her mouth, licking the tip of her tongue and dragging along the roof of her mouth. Lena clenches around her finger and whines, her scent pouring out, filling the cabin.

"Course I am," Kara chuckles. "I love you."

They've said it before. Once or twice. That part is new. Lena looking at Kara like she's her favorite 'cheat day' food? In retrospect, that's been happening almost since they met. Lena crying happy, salty, drippy tears in Kara's arms the first morning they woke up and Kara stayed like she promised, holding Lena close? That's been the blessing of the last few months. The one that saw her through a dozen fights for her life. The one that sheltered Kara when Lex went to far. When finality was needed. When it was Kara's turn, it was Lena's embrace and her steady, unafraid scent that kept Kara's soul intact.

Admitting they love each other? Admitting how deep this cuts? That's recent. A week, perhaps, since they locked eyes over a terrifyingly tall stack of pancakes and Kara told Lena she had something to say. Lena's hair is sticking to her scalp. Far more sweaty and spent than a quick fingering and a blowjob should make her. So it is her heat. Brought on early, probably by so many hours in circulated air, looping their pheromones together.

"Shh," Kara hums, slowing her circling but not letting up. Lena's going to need more than one orgasm to make it through the night.

"You okay to go on, babe?" Kara asks.

"Keep touching me."

The exit for Brookings blazes past, taking with it their last chance to rent a room. Nowhere to go but onward.

Lena licks lazily around Kara's cock, in no particular hurry to do anything and Kara does the same, dragging the pads of her fingers over shimmering, shivering flesh made scorching hot by Lena's need.


Kelly wakes sore as she has every morning for four months now. She also wakes with her bare body pulled flush to Alex's, her mate's sleep-stiffened length pinned against her back, one hand cradling her swollen belly and another delicately cupping a too-tender breast. Alex is an early riser--even her own Army years involved more sleep--but she's not a leaver. Wasn't before the pregnancy, isn't now. She was grateful before sleeping involved the pup squashing her lungs and insides, and she's doubly so now. Her mate is attentive, even half-asleep, never failing to seek Kelly's mark with her breath or her lips or drag her onto her side where she can breathe despite the extra weight.

"Morning," Alex whispers, her lips moving against the back of Kelly's neck.

"Mmm. Keeping track of your spawn?"

"Keeping track of the love of my life, more like."

"The love of your life has things she has to do," she warns the redhead. "Right this instant."

Alex's greedy embrace loosens and Kelly shimmies to the edge of the bed and fumbles into some slippers before waddling to the en-suite. This is the master bedroom, but Eliza insisted they take it. In addition to the guest linens that await under a plastic sheet, there's a pair of monogrammed bathrobes on hooks, one that says 'E. R. D.' and one that reads 'S. A.' and drapes lower, as is more common on sleep clothes styled for alphas. Kelly makes a note to dig into this. If Eliza has taken a lover--especially one worth getting custom bathrobes for--it'll be a lovely way to jab Alex. Revenge for seven months of soreness, spiked arousal, sudden crying, and insane food cravings.

She could put on a robe. Could bring the other one in for Alex, toss it at her and tell her to get dressed and make her breakfast. She doesn't. Kelly stumbles back into the bedroom to find Alex sitting upright in bed, reading glasses perched on her nose and some kind of an electronic tablet in her hand. Not one of human construction, but also not the angular, etched blue metals of Kryptonian tech. Martian, maybe. The sheet has fallen off one breast and tangled in her lap. Even the puddled-up folds of the thick comforter are only enough to partway hide the erection.



Alex looks up, and her grip on the tablet tightens.


Kelly puts a hand on her hip and sweeps her hair over her shoulders.

"You like?"

Words have failed Alex, but her alpha doesn't need them. A basso growl rumbles at the lower edge of Kelly's hearing, rippling through her and making her skin tingle. Alex's scent turns from the sweeter, fruity-er and simply protective aroma she wears around Kelly to something smokier, darker, and more intense.

"C'mere," Alex demands.

Kelly couldn't refuse if she wanted to and oh, how she wants to. She climbs back on the bed and crawls towards Alex.

"Sit on my lap, babe."

A lazy ride on Alex's cock first thing in the morning sounds heavenly, but she's not sure her knees can take it.

"Alex, I'm not sure...

Alex puts a finger to her lips to shut it up.

"Open," she commands. "Get it wet. Then just get comfortable."

Kelly does, and Alex's fingers are gentle and patient and knowing, having memorized the hot spots inside her and the way she likes to have her clit gently squeezed in rhythm with Alex's thrusts. She shakes and sobs and whines her way through a bone-shaking orgasm sprawled on her wife's lap while Alex's breath tickles her ear, talking about how good she is and how wet she is and even suggesting some new baby names. Which is deeply unfair. Kelly's barely able to breathe, it's so good and she can't exactly decide if Winnifred is a joke or not with a coil of fire building in her.


The truck's venerable springs creak and whine as her lover's hips collide with hers. Sweat drips onto her bare back, falling off Sascha's choppy, electric-blue hair. The cold steel of stud piercings press against her ass and dance inside her, the seven-piece crown of piercings just behind the head of Sascha's cock. Tickling and scraping and just the idea of it, that some younger alphas do that to themselves just to make it easier to hit the makes her head swim.

It doesn't feel real. She's not sure why. But it doesn't.

Maybe it's the fact that she's desirable still, a decade past when she can give an alpha a pup. Maybe it's the fact that Sascha accepts and embraces Eliza's age without blinking. Maybe it's how she never forgets to use more than enough lube and never fails to either make her come, or make her not care if that's out of reach. Maybe it's the fact that an alpha twenty-four years younger has the slightest interest. Maybe it's the fact that a few weeks of sarcastic jabs and one too-long glance over faculty senate business led to the not-yet-tenured woman risking her career to spread Eliza out on her desk and eat her out like a starving woman. Maybe it's the fact that an alpha in her absolute prime who could have any omega she wanted licks and noses and play-bites at her long-faded mark, as if to say Eliza's still worth it. Maybe it's the fact that Sascha fixed up Jeremiah's old truck for the express purpose of fucking her in an abandoned drive-through theater in a tongue-in-cheek re-enactment of her teenage mistakes.

Maybe it's the fact that Sascha's so goddamned good at this that Eliza's brain suddenly dissolves into pops and crackles. Her toes curl and her thighs quake. Her spine arches, some long-unused part of her brain remembering exactly how to react when an alpha makes her come. How to offer greater access to her belly, her breasts, her clit, all the vulnerable parts. There's a smoky, gravely chuckle behind her and powerful hands stay on her hips, rocking and curling, following Eliza's lead as she rides it out.

"You all right to keep going?" Sascha whispers. "That was a big one."

"Uh-huh," she groans.

"S'all about you, babe. Just tell me when to stop."

Sascha puts her thumbs at the base of Eliza's spine and pushes down slowly, flattening her to the duvet. Sascha follows her down, pulling halfway out so that Eliza's not trying to bend her legs with her pelvis speared through like a butterfly in a specimen cage.

"Thanks. It's easier this way."

"You were doing just fine before."

"Hubris," she admits. "I forgot how big you were."

"Well," Sascha laughs, reaching past Eliza's head to snag the crazy expensive lube she's been using. "We alphas do love hearing that..."

Eliza's lifted again and a second memory foam pillow is stuffed under her torso.


Sascha freezes. Eliza's head snaps up. Somewhere in her grabbing for the lube, Sascha must have brushed her thumb against Eliza's cell phone at the exact moment a video call was coming in from Alex. She's calling from the bedroom in the cabin and Kelly is visible in the background as a dark shape cackling and shaking with laughter.