443. Chapter 443

It’s only after Lena knocks on the door bearing potstickers and leaves with a hungry, cried-out Kara that Alex and Maggie remember.

Remember that they, too, survived.

Remember that they, too, almost died.

That their worlds, too, had torn completely down around them.

The door clicks shut behind Kara and Lena with a sharp sound that resonates through the entire apartment; that resonates in the space between Maggie’s body and Alex’s; in the heat passing between their eyes.

“Maggie,” Alex starts, but it’s a sentence she never intends to finish.

Because before Alex can say anything more, Maggie has locked the door and crossed the room and started kissing her like they’ve never kissed before and never will again.

She kisses her like she’s oxygen and she kisses her like there’s poison in her veins and Alex, Alex, Alex, is the only way to get it out.

“I love you,” Maggie whispers as Alex toys with the hem of her t-shirt on Maggie’s body.

“I love you back,” Alex murmurs into Maggie’s throat, and Maggie tilts her head back to give her better access.

“Please,” she breathes at Alex’s questioning fingers, and Alex moves her mouth away from Maggie’s skin only to give her the room she needs to tear her shirt over her head.

“May I?” she asks, a habit she’s acquiring from Maggie, and Maggie blinks hazily.

“May you what, Al?”

“May I carry you to bed and make love to you until the sun comes up?”

“Look at you, being all romantic, Danvers.”

“Look at you, loving it, Sawyer.”

And she does, she does, god, she does, because Alex’s arms are strong – not as strong as they were a week and a half ago, not as strong as they were before she had to slice into her own skin to try and save her own life, not as strong as they were before she almost drowned – strong enough to carry her with seemingly no effort at all to her bed, their bed, and lay Maggie down, gentle and safe and possessive.

Possessive, because the world tried to take Maggie from her. At the precinct, when she was patrolling the streets with Guardian, when she was evacuating those schools on her way to the DEO to give better intelligence to her units, to the fire department, to the EMT services across National City.

Possessive, because this woman with no superheroes in the family – quite the contrary – and no special weaponry – despite her inexplicable desire for a flash grenade – saved so many lives. Saved her life.

Possessive, because Maggie Sawyer is hers, hers, hers, hers. And no one is ever going to take her away.

“I love you,” she whispers into her chest, right before her mouth closes over Maggie’s already hardened nipple, right before she makes Maggie gasp and moan and grasp at her hair and scratch at her back underneath her shirt.

“Take it off?” Maggie begs, and Alex complies, tossing it over her head, followed by her underwear, to be found in the morning, probably somewhere in the kitchen, where the evidence of their lovemaking will be written all over their bodies, all over the apartment.

Maggie leans up and asks to start marking Alex’s body, all tongue and teeth and eager lips.

“Please,” Alex begs, and Maggie paints portraits of love, of loyalty, of devotion, on her chest, on her neck, on her stomach.

“I love you,” Maggie breathes as she flips Alex over, as she settles between Alex’s legs, as she seeks and receives permission to mark Alex’s inner thighs.

Alex moans and tugs at Maggie’s hair and Maggie screams into her legs and grinds her hips down into the mattress.

“Alexxx,” she whines, and Alex tosses one of her legs over Maggie’s shoulder to give her better access.

And Maggie uses every bit of access Alex gives her, dragging the flat of her tongue across her clit slow and steady and tortuous, making sure Alex is desperate and writhing and begging before slipping her fingers inside her – two at a time, just like she knows Alex likes, just like she asks Alex if she wants and Alex just begs louder, begs more ragged, begs more raw, begs more wrecked.

“I love you,” Alex gasps over and over and over, with every exhale, every, single, exhale, while Maggie licks her, fucks her, cries and worships and prays between her legs.

She can’t cum and she’s not sure why; but she knows she doesn’t need to. Knows because when her body stills because this is perfect, perfect, Maggie is perfect, but her body doesn’t have enough reserves to slam through an orgasm, Maggie knows.

Immediately, Maggie knows.

And she wipes her mouth on her bare shoulder and crawls up Alex’s naked body, kissing every centimeter of her skin along the way.

“I love you, Ally,” she whispers as they’re both drifting to sleep, and she feels Alex’s smile curl up against her face.

Safe and warm and happy. Together.