Kara’s not sure who pushes whom first, who tugs on the other’s shirt, who leans in for the first kiss, sloppy, off-center, and desperately hungry. But the matter is this: the door of the supply closet is clicked shut behind them and they’re kissing, Kara pushing Lena up against the nearest surface and Lena letting her, gasping into her mouth and arching up against her in turn, pliant and needy. It’s so unlike the cool, firm attitude from just a minute ago that Kara feels a surge of pride at the fact that she’s able to unravel her like this.
She almost feels the impish urge to draw back and ask whether this is unacceptable behaviour for an employee, too. Then Lena pants her name and nips at her bottom lip, and Kara’s full attention is focused right back on her best friend and displeased boss tugging on her shirt collar and grabbing a handful of her ass.
She drinks in every minute detail of it, the softness of Lena’s lips against hers, the way her fingers scrape against Kara’s shoulder, the scented cloud of some flowery perfume and sweat and the lingering remains of her shampoo that wraps itself around Kara along with her body. The way her heart is fluttering like a little bird’s, every beat of it a thunderclap in Kara’s ears, the breathy little moan that leaves her lips when they shift and Kara presses a thigh between her legs. It’s enchanting, mesmerizing, a moment in time that Kara wishes she could stay in forever.
It’s decidedly not how Kara ever imagined their first kiss would go, when she dared to imagine that they’d have a first kiss to begin with. It’s not how she ever wanted it to happen, high-strung and snarling and tucked away in a storage room at work like some forbidden office fling.
But this is the closest she’s felt to normalcy in months. It makes her feel tethered, somehow, in some strange way, to have a conflict so simple, straightforward, and ordinary, to hear Lena reprimand her in that soft yet so unyielding voice. Because Supergirl might not be able to catch a simple bank robber, let alone protect a fellow alien that she vowed to look after as her ward, but Kara can make Lena Luthor flushed and kiss her breathless, and that should be enough.
“Kara?” Lena draws back abruptly: the loss of her warmth feels like an acute stab of pain. “Are you okay?”
She registers the worry in Lena’s voice abstractly: she can only focus on the sight of her, the blushing cheeks, the smeared lipstick, the wisps of hair that have escaped the no longer neat hairdo. It spurs Kara on to chase Lena’s lips again, to seek the comfort of her touch against the ache already rising in her chest.
“Yeah, absolutely, all fine here” she blurts out in one breath, leaning in, but this time, she’s firmly stopped by Lena’s hand pressing against her chest.
“Darling.” Lena cups her face so gently as if she was afraid that Kara might break at her very touch. “You’re crying.”
“I’m not!” Kara protests. Lena’s thumbs stroke along her cheeks and she can feel the wetness they drag along, the shame and anger and guilt she’s tried to keep buried rising to the surface with it, shaking her shoulders. “I–”
Lena’s arms are already wrapped around her before the first sob could even escape her lips, holding Kara, tender and resolute, one hand cradling the back of her head, and Kara finally lets herself unravel.
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