322. Chapter 322

“Hey pretty lady,” Alex greets from the couch after Maggie’s key scrapes the lock and she steps inside, and she looks up from her reading and smiles, watching.

Because she told Maggie that she thinks she’s starting to get used to this whole happy thing, but god, she doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to Maggie coming to her apartment like its her own home after a long day at work; doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to the way Maggie’s smile lights up the entire night when Alex’s words wash over her ears; the way Maggie freezes slightly and licks her lips and her eyes flash when she sees Alex in nothing but a henley and pajama pants and glasses, god, those glasses.

And Maggie? Maggie doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to coming home to Alex Danvers, feared and renowned for her ruthlessness, being soft and domestic and vulnerable and relaxed, in her glasses, laying on the couch, waiting for… her. For her to come… home.

So she shrugs off her jacket and she tosses down her gun. She kicks off her boots and she makes sure her eyes never leave Alex’s, because she doesn’t want to miss any nuance of the way Alex watches her, the way Alex’s eyes widen slightly when she takes off her jacket, when she strides over to the couch.

Alex’s couch.

Their couch.

The way Alex gulps slightly and immediately tosses her bioengineering journal to the floor when Maggie says, “May I?” and Alex nods so Maggie straddles her and Alex gulps again.

“I missed you today,” Maggie whispers, stroking Alex’s cheek, and Alex immediately reaches up and mirrors her activity.

“Yeah?” she flirts.

“Yes, Danvers, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Show me.”

Maggie blinks.

“Show you.”

“Show me how much you missed me?” She says it like a question, because it is a question, because she still does need to be shown, not just told, because she still can’t wrap her mind around the fact that someone like Maggie would miss her, would like her, would love… her.

Would come home to her.

“Oh, Alex,” Maggie shakes her head, and she leans down and lifts her glasses, resting them on top of Alex’s head, so she can kiss her eyes, her nose, her temples, her forehead. She kisses her cheeks and her chin and, just when Alex’s contented sighs turn into small, needy whines, she kisses her lips.

They both sigh into the contact, into the kiss, because it’s only been ten or so hours, but god, that’s ten or so hours too long.

Alex parts her lips and runs her hands over Maggie’s hair and Maggie takes the invitation, slipping her tongue softly, gently, slowly, into Alex’s mouth, nearly moaning in relief at Alex’s response, the way her hips roll of their own accord, the way one of her hands wanders down Maggie’s back and grabs at the back of her shirt, making sure she doesn’t let go.

And she won’t.

God, she won’t.

“You good?” Maggie pulls back slightly to ask, because Alex had propped a pillow on the couch’s ledge while she was reading, but couches aren’t always the most comfortable places to be laid down and kissed senseless.

Alex answers by pulling her back down into a kiss, and Maggie does moan softly this time, Alex’s tongue teasing her lips before traveling down her jawline, down to her throat. Her teeth graze Maggie’s pulse point and Maggie’s entire body trembles.

Alex freezes but Maggie shakes her head. “You don’t have to stop.”

So she doesn’t. She marks Maggie’s neck like she knows Maggie likes, and she lets herself get lost in the sounds Maggie makes, the way she smells, the way her skin tastes, in the way Maggie’s hands travel haphazardly across her entire body, always reaching for more, groping at Alex’s breasts over her shirt, making Alex sigh and gasp and smile into her ministrations before shifting to return her lips to Maggie’s mouth, and Maggie kisses her back eagerly, desperately, hotly.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Danvers,” she murmurs in between kisses, in between Alex’s hands exploring her body like a randy teenager, in between her own hands doing exactly the same.

“Yeah?” Alex asks, pausing, and Maggie pulls back to look her in the eyes, in her perfect, perfect eyes.

She smiles softly and tilts her glasses back down from the top of her head onto her face, and she smiles deeper.

“You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, Alex,” she reiterates, and Alex melts up into her body.

“I love kissing you,” Alex whispers, because she doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how else to respond, to the intensity, the thing that looks a lot like love, in Maggie’s eyes, in her voice, in her hands and in her lips.

“Well that’s good, Danvers. Cause I love kissing you, too,” Maggie chuckles sweetly, leaning back down to kiss Alex gentle, kiss her slow, kiss her always.

She makes a map of Alex’s mouth with her tongue, a guide to Alex’s lips with her own, a prayer to Alex’s breathless sighs with her thumb on her cheek, her hand on her waist.

She almost whispers that she loves her, but decides, for now, to show her instead.

And it works – the way her lips part for Alex’s, the way she pays attention to and fulfills her every need, the way she makes out with her like she’s never been made out with, and god, nothing’s ever felt this perfect – because, who knows how long later, Alex’s eyes are glistening and her lips are quirked into a shy smile when she asks, “So you’re saying you missed me. Cause that’s… that’s what I’m getting.”

Maggie chuckles and her heart thrills at the game that’s become their own.

That’s become their coming home.

“Of course, you’re not gonna go crazy on me, are you?”

“Probably.”

Maggie licks her lips and shakes her head slightly and kisses Alex again, again, again.

“Perfect.”