789. Chapter 789

It’s never been terrible, but it’s never been great.

Well. Okay. No. No, she’s allowed to say it. She’s learned that much from Maggie already. She’s allowed to say it: it’s been pretty terrible.

Sex. With men. With people, specifically, who were more interested in getting off on her body than they were in paying attention to her. Who, maybe worse, thought they were paying attention to her but really, hadn’t the slightest clue what was going on for her.

She’s never enjoyed it and she thought she was broken, that it was her fault she never enjoyed sex that never seemed to be about her even when men tried to make it about her, until Kara suggested that maybe they guys just weren’t what or who she wanted, or that maybe she was asexual, and that felt right, that felt okay, that felt good and it felt healing and maybe she is ace, in general, that’s cool, and then also there’s Maggie, and the way thinking about her, kissing her, touching her, makes Alex feel.

Because kissing someone has never felt like this. Like her entire body is being touched when really, Maggie’s hands are just on her face, in her hair.

Like the slightest movement of Maggie’s lips against her skin can turn her on more than she’s ever been turned on, even when she’s been doing things that - according to porn, anyway - she was supposed to enjoy immensely. Or at least be quite loud about.

But Maggie’s lips on her throat, her fingers brushing the bare skin just under her raised shirt, those things are making her moan and writhe and want in ways she’s never thought she would want anyone or anything.

And they take it slow.

That part is Maggie’s insistence.

“I want to take my time with you, Danvers,” she murmurs against Alex’s skin. “You deserve slow. Just let me worship you, yeah?”

And really, how is she supposed to say no to that?

So they’ve taken it slow, and it’s been… well, electric doesn’t quite cover it. Nothing does. No words, no metaphors.

Just… Maggie.

That’s all.

But they’ve finally had what’s felt like thousands of beautiful conversations, dozens of makeout sessions with heavily breathed confessions of what they want from each other, what they want done to them, what they want to do to each other.

They’ve finally talked it through so much that they’re both satisfied there’s nothing left to do but take each other’s clothes off.

It starts when Maggie’s taking her clothes off, clearly working hard to restrain herself from just ripping everything off Alex’s body, slow and painstaking and reverent, kissing every newly revealed bit of Alex’s skin, focusing on every scar and every birthmark and every stretch mark, tracing patterns with her tongue and painting stars with her lips.

The tears start, then.

Because this is sex in a way Alex never thought sex could be, and maybe it wouldn’t be, all the time, or with anyone else, but right now, in the moment, it’s all she wants.

Her tears burn her eyes as she tilts her head back helplessly into her pillow, her fingers charting every bit of Maggie’s skin that she can reach, even as Maggie journeys down her body to remove every stitch of clothing she’s got.

Maggie kisses her knees, paying special attention to all the nuances of scar tissue there, kissing her way up Alex’s thighs, and when she looks up to make sure Alex is good, that Alex is with her, with this, she pauses.

Because those are definitely tears in Alex’s eyes, nearly ready to spill down her cheeks.

“Whoa, Danvers, I’m sorry, hey. We can stop, it’s all good. You’re okay, it’s okay, I -”

She’s already crawled back up Alex’s body, face transformed from blissed out ecstasy to pure concern, but Alex just shakes her head and laughs wetly.

“No, it’s not… I’m not… these are good tears, I’m not… I’m sorry, god, how stupid am I, crying because I…”

“You’re not stupid, Alex.”

They meet eyes, and Alex blinks tears out. Maggie kisses them off her face without hesitation, without disgust or irritation, and it only makes Alex cry more.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she tries to explain. “Please? Please don’t stop? Unless you want to?”

“I always will if you want us to, but um. I don’t want to stop, nope, I certainly don’t,” Maggie chuckles, and Alex bites her lip.

“Then don’t. Please? I promise this… these are good tears. I promise. Just… please?”

Maggie answers by kissing her, deep and thorough and full-bodied, shrugging out of her button down and jeans as she does, leaning on one arm as they both giggle through the awkward process of Maggie stripping while horizontal.

“Where was I?” Maggie arches an eyebrow, and Alex bites her lip again.

“Hopefully about to go down on me?”

She’s never heard her own voice crack like that, and she’s certainly never heard a sound as erotic as the part-squeak, part-growl that Maggie makes as answer.

“Yeah. Yes. Mmhmm, right you are, Danvers.”

She kisses her way back down Alex’s body, spending extra time on her chest, carefully replacing her hands and mouth with Alex’s fingers as she continues down Alex’s stomach. She pauses to watch Alex touching herself, a blushing and gently crying mess, and Alex nods in affirmation, in please, please, please keep going.

So she does, and she lets herself get lost in the way Alex moves, the way she sounds, the way she moans when Maggie does this with her tongue and the way she whines when Maggie does that with her tongue.

The way she grinds down for more pressure when Maggie teases her, and the way she groans appreciatively when Maggie shifts so she can give Alex the pressure she’s asking for with her chin without hurting her own lips against her own teeth.

She catalogs the way Alex curses and grabs at Maggie’s hair, the way her movements and her whining grow more and more chaotic the more wrecked she gets, the more relieved tears streak down her face and the more she whispers for Maggie to please, please never stop.

It’s the sweetest music Maggie’s ever heard, and she raises one hand to play with Alex’s nipple before it gets too much for Alex, before she shifts to holding Alex’s hand, lacing their fingers together as she surrenders control to Alex, letting Alex ride her face to get all the pressure she needs, exactly where she needs it, and when Maggie closes her mouth down around Alex’s clit and it tips her over the edge, she thinks, hard, about how much she loves this miracle of a woman and hopes that, telepathically or through some sort of lesbian magic, Alex can hear her.

Because god, this woman.

This woman.

And she doesn’t know it - not yet, though she will - that Alex is thinking exactly the same.