Archive of Our Own

//

It all started with the porn bill.

//

They’d been pseudo-cohabitating for awhile now—they all still had their own places, but more often than not, when they were off work, they were together.

Which meant, for purely logistical reasons (of course), they kept some of their stuff at each others’ places. Change of clothes, toothbrush—one of the benefits of finally being in a relationship with Kara was that Kara didn’t have to pretend she kept what amounted to a drawer of Alex’s stuff at her place just because Alex was over so often and tended to forget things. Or that the reason she left her clothes over at Alex’s sometimes—usually a sweater, or a button-down—was just forgetfulness.

Alex is used to this from Kara; alpha or not, she knows it’s more a relic of what Kara’s been through, and lost. Kara hangs on tightly to what’s hers; for Alex, it was a relief to finally stop pretending that that wasn’t exactly what she wanted: To be Kara’s, with all the things that comes with.

But Maggie and Kara… aren’t technically dating. Well—they’ve had conversations (Maggie and Alex have had conversations) to the effect of, If you’re dating one of us, you’re basically dating both of us anyways. Kara had been supremely pleased (if the belly laugh and uncannily cat-like happy stretch-and-curl were any indication) when Maggie accidentally said it in front of her one night they were all together at Alex’s—although Maggie had frozen, terrified, because their relationship is, well, deeply unconventional.

Pair bonding is the norm, here, but triads are far from unheard of. There just aren’t very many triads made up of two alphas and an omega. And the success rate is… discouraging. So they’re careful. Maggie and Kara especially; two alphas, neither of whom particularly like what they’ve been handed—but alternatives are hard to come by, and harder to create yourself.

The small bag of Kara’s stuff appeared in the cupboard under Maggie’s sink not long after that. Kara had even asked—Maggie admitted that much—but the reality of it, of what it really meant, seemed to hit Maggie in stages.

When she first realized the bag was there—almost a week after it had first appeared—she froze, staring at it like it might explode. Alex froze, wondering if this was going to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back—no matter how good of a place they seemed to be in at the moment.

Finally, Maggie just shrugged. “I’m a crap hostess,” She admitted, still eyeing the bag dubiously.

Alex figured that if she needed to pass it off as that, in the moment, and not the obvious fact that this was Kara’s way of including Maggie in her claim—adopting her, after a fashion—Alex wouldn’t judge. If it let Maggie warm up to the idea, and dodge the societal garbage that Maggie so frequently expressed her distaste for—especially when she found it in herself—Alex wouldn’t argue that, either.

Also, Maggie doesn’t always do very well when the spotlight is suddenly on her feelings.

After that, things got more tangled. They seemed to settle on Alex’s place as a common ground—which, okay, made sense. But it still felt weirdly cluttered, compared to how it looked just last year—almost empty, like only half a person lived there. Alex hadn’t minded that; really, she only half-lived there. Maybe even more weirdly, though, she found she didn’t mind how it had changed. The clothes, the movies, the shoes, the fully-stocked fridge, the even better-stocked gun safe, the odd book—

And the porn.

Maggie and Kara both had impressive collections of porn—even more impressive when you put them together. At some point, Maggie left a couple DVDs over at Alex’s place, and then Kara found them, and decided the most logical thing she could do was share some of her own collection—and things escalated from there.

Kara was a lot more circumspect about it; she always was that way about sex—one of those times when she is, unavoidably, alien. Also, she favors written erotica, and for some reason, magazines?

But—a little shockingly, to Alex—she had some DVDs of her own. Alex only realized they weren’t Maggie’s when Maggie picked one of them up and asked when she’d bought it. After that, maybe out of some bizarre alphic need to not be out-porned, Maggie brought more DVDs over and put them on the shelf in the living room—along with a handful of queer books, for good measure. The subjects seemed to go together, for Maggie: Queer history, feminist history, and porn. Alex caught Kara thumbing through them, once, and Kara blushed so deeply when she realized Alex was there that Alex felt a little bad about it.

(Or maybe this was how alphas got along? Alex honestly doesn’t know; sometimes, she feels like their relationship is an experiment with no controls, no funding, no IRB approval, and no brakes.)

But that collection also meant that sometimes, Alex would come home, and Kara and Maggie would be talking about some book or other that Maggie had brought over, that Kara had somehow managed to read, and Kara would be listening to Maggie talk with that rapt look on her face like she was learning something very important about this world that she was (still) a stranger to.

And then Alex would feel like a bad gay. But honestly—she really only read when she had to, which usually was limited to research for the DEO. Otherwise, she’d wake up, sometimes hours later if Kara decided she “needed the sleep”, and she’d be none the wiser about queer history.

Like most alpha collections, it was mostly alpha/omega or omega/omega porn (or omega/omega/alpha, or omega/omega/omega, or…). Kara, apparently, does not own omega/omega porn; Alex had made it known what she thought of the genre sometime during college, and Kara, supportive alien that she was, decided it was important that she not engage in this particular harmful aspect of human society. Alex has since lightened her stance on it, and she owns a couple indie (is that even the right word? “indie porn”?) DVDs that are “by omegas/for omegas”—and ribs Maggie to no end when she sees her ogling them.

But Kara, bless her, has remained steadfast in her supportive refusal to consume this particular type of porn (Exhibit number 289 that Kara is too good for this world, Your Honor).

Maggie is not so discriminating. In fact, Maggie has more porn, in more form factors, than just about anyone Alex has ever met. Including hard-to-get copies of rare “indie” omega/omega flicks that Alex had only heard legends of. When Alex asked, Maggie just shrugged and said she’d inherited it from people in the Gotham community. Honestly, Maggie bringing her porn collection to Alex’s place? Improved their lives. A lot.

There’s one exception. One category that, suspiciously, doesn’t seem to be represented at all in either Kara’s or Maggie’s collections.

Knot porn. Alpha/alpha porn.

It’s not that it’s any more or less rare than any other type of porn, particularly (although it was, before the internet, unless you were in the right circles). It’s just that everyone thinks knot porn is a little…

Gay.

And also, slightly unnatural, since alphas are supposed to be… well, alphas. Natural tops, or whatever. Alex is unconvinced; Kara will bottom for her without a second thought, if that’s what Alex wants, and while Maggie is maybe edgier about it—She’s gotten Maggie down on her knees a few times.

Alex also happens to have a cable subscription that includes pay-per-view knot porn. Because even if she has two alphas, two knots at her disposal—Alex doesn’t always want to put in the effort of dealing with Maggie and Kara trying to knot her at the same time and then expecting her to be a quivering omega mess that needs to be cared for (really? Do they know how exhausting that would be?). Or wanting her to top them. Or deal with other people wanting things from her in general.

So yes, Alex has that subscription. And yes, Alex uses it from time to time.

Because yes, watching two alphas knot each other is damn hot.

Given how odd her two knotheads are with regard to their relationship to the society around them, she really should’ve seen this coming.

Alas, the bill catches her by surprise.

//

It doesn’t happen right away; that may have been why she got so complacent about it in the first place. But sooner or later she gets a text confirming her cable payment, and… frowns.

That’s a little more expensive than usual.

She logs into her account and checks the usage stats—and drops her face into her palm.

Knothead.

There’s really only one person she knows who watches that much porn.

//

“Okay—really? Thirty-six different flicks on the alpha channel?” She asks Maggie.

Maggie’s eyes get wide. Alex can almost hear her going “fuckfuckfuck” internally.

“Nope!” Maggie squeaks, and just shakes her head with a terrified look in her eye when Alex raises an eyebrow at her.

“Do I look like I have that many hours in a month to just masturbate?”

She has a point. Sort of.

“You masturbate when we’re in bed together. Sleeping. God only knows what’s on your phone.”

Maggie’s mouth works. “I—I—“

Alex crosses her arms. “Uh-huh.”

“It wasn’t me!”

Of all the reactions Alex expected, flat denial was not one of them. It takes her aback a little. Enough to think maybe—maybe she’s wrong? And maybe there’s someone else who’s been… researching.

//

Or maybe they’re just both nitwits.

Thinking about being lied to by Kara on something like this is a little bit unsettling. Upsetting, even. Kara is usually so honest with her. And this is, literally, just porn. It’s not worth lying over.

But Kara got all blush-y and stammer-y and wide-eyed and “NOPE. I have NO IDEA what you’re talking about.”

Finally, Alex gives up.

“I literally don’t care,” she tells them both. “But this is a lot more than I have budgeted for cable. And I don’t think J’onn will give me a raise.” She frowns. “Actually, I’m not sure if he can get me a raise.” There had been some tension over just what his authority should be, after it came out that he wasn’t who he claimed to be for the last… ten years. She shakes her head. “Anyways. Just… whichever one of you it is… pay up.”

The next morning, the money is in her jacket. In cash.

She checks it for fingerprints. It’s been completely cleaned of them.

She puts her head in her palm and sighs.

Knotheads.

//

She figures—she hopes—that’s the end of it. She isn’t curious enough (and she’s not enough of a control freak) to set up any kind of monitoring or try to catch whichever one of them it is in the act. She honestly doesn’t care, by this point—although, she is a little upset that neither of them came clean. What’s she going to do, break up with them? She’s already stuck with Kara for life. And—well, she was hoping Maggie would stick around. Her porn tastes are already closing in on legendary, in Alex’s book; this would be no surprise whatsoever.

(Movie nights, the pervy voice in her brain suggests. She kicks it.)

So the mystery goes in the back of her brain, filed under “Annoying things I’ll figure out. Someday.”

//

“Okay! Okay! Yes! I was using your subscription!” Alex growls at an extremely cowed-looking Winn, who continues looking appropriately intimidated. But the moment she relaxes— “In all fairness, though, Kara should know better than to set “Potstickers1” as her password to—Ow!”

Alex stalks away after cuffing Winn solidly on the back of the head, grumbling. “Knotheads.”

Unfortunately, that doesn’t resolve the mystery; the next bill is lower, but not by much. But whoever is responsible continues to pay up, so she decides to let it slide.

At this point, she’s basically getting her entire cable bill paid for, anyways.

//

Kara high-fives herself for managing to escape Snapper before noon on a Friday all the way from CatCo to their apartment, all the way through the door and—

“… It’s not what it looks like?” Maggie offers from where she’s standing in front of the TV.

Kara’s eyes move very quickly back and forth between Maggie’s face and the TV screen, where a shot of what is very definitely an alpha with their knot out—more accurately, an alpha with their knot in another alpha—is paused, blurry.

Oh shit, I’m so dead.

//

Kara realizes her mouth is opening and closing and no words are coming out of it. She closes her mouth. Opens it again. She should say something.

Nothing comes out. She closes her mouth again.

Okay; one more time—

Nope.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Maggie knows.

That’s—that’s the knot porn that she was watching literally just last night. Did she leave it on? Leave the menu open?

Oh fuck. Did Alex find it? Is that why she hasn’t heard from Alex all day?

It takes her highly advanced Kryptonian brain at least thirty seconds before she starts to realize that Maggie wasn’t accusing her. Or kicking off an intervention.

In fact, Maggie looks super busted; wide-eyed and frozen standing in front of the screen, as if her tiny figure blocks out any of the fifty-inch display. The screen is paused at a weird back shot with the alphas’ bodies out of focus—like Maggie fumbled the pause button as quickly as she could.

Kara can’t quite hear the guilt in Maggie’s look over the fact that twelve hours ago—tops—she was sitting in that spot, getting off to that exact porn.

Maggie seems frozen to the spot. Deer in the headlights.

"You?" Kara finally splutters. Maggie deflates. Shit, no. Maggie doesn’t need to think that Kara’s accusing her. Kara has the least amount of room to judge. "—You too?"

Maggie's eyes light up with relief. She looks Kara over, like it never occurred to her. "You?" She catches herself and shakes her head. “You too?”

Kara sputters again, gesturing at the screen. "Yeah! That’s, like, my favorite!" She mentally smacks herself.

Maggie’s look is uncomprehending, then— "Wait—what? Seriously?"

Time to change the topic. “You were… ?”

"You were, too?"

Kara nods.

They look at each other for a moment. And then burst out laughing.

"Oh my god, I thought I was busted—"

"—thought it was just me—"

"—she was gonna walk in with my browser history and just look at me—"

They stop just as suddenly as they started, regard each other for a long moment.

"Your favorite, huh?" Maggie breaks the silence easily, raising one eyebrow with a grin.

//

Thirty minutes later, they’re still talking on the couch, and Kara’s only managed to set down her purse. Her jacket is thrown over the arm of the couch and her shoes are kicked under the coffee table, socked feet braced on the edge.

“—Wait, like, never bought Omegaverse?” Maggie is looking at her with complete disbelief.

Kara shakes her head vehemently. “No! Alex was super clear about how exploitative it was, and I didn’t want to add to that.”

Maggie regards her for a moment. Then, she raises her beer. “Alright, Supergirl. You really are a moral paragon.”

There’s not a trace of sarcasm in her voice, and there’s genuine amusement shining in Maggie’s eyes, and a quiet kind of respect. Still, Kara blushes and shifts uncomfortably. She still hears Leslie’s accusations sometimes—“the chastity belt of steel”—and she’s not that uptight. Or judgy.

“Earth just… it never was my planet to begin with,” Kara says, fidgeting with the fabric of her slacks. “And when I got here, the culture around all this—“ She waves one hand vaguely in the direction of the TV screen, and then shakes her head. “… I didn’t want to add to it.”

Maggie nods, eyes bright and clear despite the fact that Kara knows just by scent that there’s a relatively-fresh beer bottle in the recycling already, and a second one in her hand.

Hey—it’s Maggie’s day off, not hers. If she wants to get day-drunk—well, Maggie doesn’t usually get drunk. Just runs a buzz til around whenever she goes to sleep.

She’s always so cuddly those nights, too. Her and Kara usually fall asleep on the couch watching Netflix, Maggie squirming adorably close and resting her head on Kara’s chest. It makes her feel so relieved—there were moments she thought this couldn’t work, Maggie wouldn’t be able to get used to the idea of sharing an omega with another alpha. Or, Alex would realize that Kara wasn’t all that interesting as an alpha, she’s too soft with her, too careful. But Maggie’s not “just another alpha”, and Alex—

Alex doesn’t let anyone delude themselves into thinking she’s “just” an omega.

And, tentatively, Kara gets to add one more person to that list of people that she calls “family”, which is to say—her world, that she’s rebuilding, brick by brick, choice by choice, taking nothing for granted. And with Maggie, this alpha who’s brought so much light into their lives, sprawled out with her head on Kara’s chest—she gets to have that ambiguous word that the world around her seems obsessed with but never lives up to or clarifies what it means—pack.

And if sometimes they make out for Alex while she’s in heat—really, pre-heat, when the dysphoria and the sense of loss of control are at their worst—that’s because they both love her. Because they’ve both got her bite pattern imprinted on their skin, and it doesn’t just join them to Alex, it joins them to each other. It means they’re not strangers, even if they didn’t even know each other. It means as far as Kara’s concerned, the kind of person Maggie is, what she brings—that’s all spoken for. Alex approves.

And this is Alex’s choice.

And if sometimes Kara loses herself in those kisses, or she feels a little thrill when Maggie looks at her with that wicked light in her eyes—

Alex is in heat. She can blame it on that, and Maggie’s none the wiser.

Because on this planet, alphas don’t go for other alphas. But Kara’s not from this planet.

She’d always chalked up Maggie’s friendliness on days like this to the beer, but apparently, she’d been watching porn before either of them got home?

“D’you—is this what—“ Kara clears her throat. “Is this what you’re watching every time you get a day off? Before we come home?”

Maggie looks vaguely embarrassed. “It’s not always knot porn.”

“Sorry,” Kara says, realizing that that probably wan’t an appropriate question. “Um, that was actually none of my business.”

Maggie looks at her. “You’re fine.” There’s something in her voice that makes Kara wonder just how guarded Maggie usually is about this. Why she’s sharing it so freely with Kara when she apparently has trouble talking about it even with Alex.

“I think—I think for a while I was worried knot porn was the same, somehow?” Kara offers, trying to continue the conversation. “But, I mean, I liked it. And it was about people kind oflike me, except… not? Because—alien. But, I mean…” She shrugs and tries to play it nonchalantly. “It’s not like I never thought about it.” She shuffles her feet on the table. “I could pretend.”

Maggie’s gaze, previously wandering away towards the screen again, snaps back to Kara. Her eyes are unreadable, and Kara doesn’t know what her reaction will be, but… It’s Maggie. “Yeah?”

Kara nods. “Yeah. I mean—“ She sighs. “It’s complicated. Alien stuff.” Maggie just nods and waits for her to continue. Kara takes a deep breath—okay, she’s gonna say all of this. “I guess I never did get the human hang-ups on genera. It’s all recreational, to me. We just thought it was frivolous and un-evolved. But sometimes," She sighs, trying to figure out the easiest way to explain, “Sometimes it’s not just about pleasure or procreation."

Maggie’s brow furrows.

"On Krypton, we placed such a high value on "being social", but… we removed a lot of those things that pulled us together naturally. Sex was one of those things. Heat was…” She blows out a breath. "Frowned on. But one of the great Thinkers around the Reforms argued that heat wasn’t just about reproduction, it was about closeness and intimacy and cementing social bonds through touch.

“We… didn’t touch, not really. Not by the time I was born. And it turns out "being social" mostly just meant "Happily plays the power games between the Great Houses.'"

Maggie smiles wryly, picking at her beer bottle. "Of course."

"It seems like the most normal thing to me, though. To need that. I think a lot sometimes about how I never would’ve known if I’d never come here.“ Kara looks over at Maggie again; at some point, she’d put her hands in her lap and started staring at them. Maggie’s studying her beer bottle, wry look on her face. “Did you?” Maggie immediately looks back over at Kara, eyes a little wide, caught. Kara gulps a little. But… Maggie. “Did you ever?”

Maggie scoffs. "You kidding me? For a bunch of supposed sexual deviants, the queer community hates it when people deviate. I’ll stick with aliens, thanks." Her brow furrows. "Wait. You have?"

"Yeah." Kara admits sheepishly. "James, actually. But there was no—" She starts to make some indefinite gesture with her hands and then thinks better of it. “—Yeah.”

Maggie shoots her a look that might be mildly envious.

"Kinda wish we could've." Kara picks at something on her slacks.

"What did you want?" Maggie asks, and it should be weird and prurient, but it's just soft.

Kara shrugs. "All of it." Another slightly sheepish smile. "He’s a good person. And a good alpha."

Maggie nods; gets seemingly distracted by something in the blurry frozen image on the TV screen. "I always kinda wonder what it feels like. For Alex or anyone else. I guess—I guess it’d be different no matter what. But—with the right person—"

Kara nods. "The right person makes all the difference."

"Right person takes care of you." Maggie looks down. "I guess I never really needed that the way an omega does."

"There’s different categories of "need.'" Kara says softly. Maggie looks at her, all soft-eyed and vulnerable. Looks away again, at her beer. "Just ’cause it won’t kill you outright doesn't mean it won’t hurt you if you can’t get it." She realizes what just came out of her mouth and blushes, hiding her face with one hand. “Not like that.” She peeks out from between her fingers.

Maggie laughs.

//

”What do you mean, Supergirl?” Flits through Maggie’s head while she laughs, and a barrage of other similarly un-smooth come-ons. Maggie’s tongue is completely tied—all things considered, probably a good thing.

It’s like a goddamn rom-com, and that is so not her genre.

Sure, her aunt took her in after she presented at fourteen (early by almost any standard) and fallen in love with her best friend—“It runs in the family, sweetheart”—and she’d raised Maggie til she was eighteen and she could get the hell out of Blue Springs. And sure, she held Maggie’s wrecked, angry teenaged self together and taught her the lessons about backbone and nerve and right and wrong that got her out of Gotham—

But the—Jesus, going on a decade, now—after she left Blue Springs? Belonged to bars in the worse corners of Gotham’s already-seedy scene. Belonged to places drowning in rain and the corruption of the people with real power, in the little compromises they all made to belong somewhere, convinced that they had really made their own code.

It was the theirs that was the most important part. Everyone else had already disowned them anyways; what did that world have to do with them? What right did they have to judge any of that?

In the chain of little breaks that led to her big breakup with Gotham as a city, the fact that the sticking point for Gotham’s queers was taking another alpha’s knot was one of those things that didn’t seem like a big deal at first, not when she had so many options.

Except it was never about the knot, really. It was about the things she as an alpha was supposed to be into; what she was supposed to be like.

And never, ever anything else.

It was a hundred foreshortened or stifled emotions; either servicing an omega, or taking what they offered—both of which she enjoyed, until they were overshadowed by the things she was missing. It was never getting to revel in any touch, unless an omega was involved, and then there was a whole other song and dance routine that went with that.

It was the way “love is love!” really meant, “Gay people are just alphas/omegas who found their mate in a different place!”—but, what do betas have to do with it? (They don’t, was the round agreement in some places. It’s only natural because it’s alpha/omega.)

It was the way “alpha” and “omega” became subsumed into specific sex acts, specific ways of using her body; but it was also this ephemeral thing, some expression of your soul. Like your soul went into rut, or something?

And anyways, wasn’t queerness about all the ways you could use your body, the way you moved through the world, in so many more ways—good ways, creative and beautiful ways, ways that made people more safe—than the preacher in church or some patriarch(TM) ever gave you permission to?

At this point, Maggie doesn’t know; it all feels so terribly arbitrary. But at the same time, there’s no point in fighting “how it is”. She might as well be an alien—even though she’s seen; she knows she’s not the only one.

But fuck if she’s ever been able to find one of them outside of a TV screen, or a book.

It was the fact that these alpha girls could be so goddamn beautiful and handsome, could be brave and strong and feminine, could be vulnerable when they talked about their lives and what they believed, could be filthy and selfish and generous and needy, and Maggie would feel that tug in her core that she wasn’t supposed to feel for them. She’d want to protect them, the way the alphas in her life protected her—and then more. And the alpha boys, even the ones that went for girls—some of them felt so damn queer it pinged for her.

And maybe, just maybe—everything she gave when she took care of an omega like she was supposed to, when she did it right—maybe after a while it became her way of giving that to herself, too. Because maybe she wanted to get what she offered them, sometimes.

Things she was never supposed to need.

And after a while, that feeling, that potential—felt like loss. But maybe that was just part of her learning the truth about Gotham, too.

And Gotham? It was like letting an alpha knot you made you an omega on the spot, no matter what your body did when you were in rut, and that—

That was when Maggie started to see the cracks in the veneer. The little hypocrisies. The viciousness they’d put you down with for “undermining our cause”, spit the word omega in your face like it was a dirty thing. But the one doing the knotting? They were fine. Horndogs, but after all, isn’t that just like alphas?

So much for “loving omegas”—or even “loving women”. It really was all about proving that they were “just as alpha” as any boy-alpha, no matter who they had to step on to get there. It was being even more obsessed with their own knots, sometimes—like evidence that they were real, and they were only ever sure when they were in rut, knotting an omega.

And yeah—she gets it. The need to prove. The need to make sure you’re real. To the outside world, she was a girl-alpha—but not just that; she wanted to fuck girls, too. To them, she was just some sad girl who thought she was a boy; who wasn’t really a girl at all. (But if she couldn’t be either, what was she? Nothing, that’s what. At least to them.) So Maggie knows—it means something, to talk about how this is just as integral a part of you as the language you speak, as integral as the tongue in your own mouth.

But her aunt also taught her this: If what you went through was so awful, why the hell would you want to turn around and do that to someone else? You should know better.

That first rut? Wrecked her. Wrecked her in a way that heat is only ever supposed to wreck omegas. Wrecked her life. Exposed her; bared her soul. So she felt it, down in her gut, when Alex would refuse a knot, no matter how bad the heat was, and took Maggie’s fist instead. Because they both knew what “followed” from a knot, in most peoples’ minds, and while there was nothing inherently shameful about it, the consequences for someone like Alex were just as awful, in their own way.

And if that’s what “equality” meant—a piece of the pie for Maggie and the people like her, a seat at the table with the rest of the boys—that wasn’t equality at all. She’ll take her seat out here with the aliens, thanks.

Maybe you’d think someone like her would find a place for that chip on her shoulder when she found herself on the police force; an outlet, a sense of purpose. And, maybe for a minute, she did.

But Maggie graduated from Blue Springs with a degree in being the sore goddamn thumb, the squeaky broken wheel. Maybe it’s a crutch, something she’s always got to be; she knows better than to say it’s “compulsive honesty”. No one’s that principled.

Maybe that’s just how she learned to see herself; a collection of all the pieces that didn’t fit.

But maybe that’s what saved her, too; hard to run with the “alpha pack” and forget that you were ever anything else when you can’t forget the ways you’re not that. Hard to overlook the trail of bodies when you get up and remember every day how you’re the wrong kind of wolf. Hard to forget, if you can make yourself a walking reminder that this? Is wrong.

But it’s not a comfortable way to live, either.

And sure, Nat City is just as bad, in some ways. They certainly aren’t any better about thatpart of her sexuality—and no, Maggie doesn’t count that sly “whatever debauchery you can afford in the wild, wild West [wink]” attitude that permeates the “community” here, not when it shares that sentiment with the rest of the abuses of Hollywood. It’s a familiar enough refrain, and it’s just as rotten drenched in sunlight as it is rain.

But Nat City has Alex.

And it has Kara.

Maggie worries at the label on her beer bottle with her fingernail; there’s flecks of white and gold paper gathering on the carpet between her feet.

Kara’s not exactly subtle; it’d be kind of comical, if Maggie wasn’t responding so well to it. Like this is the kind of soft handling that she apparently needed to spill all of this.

And if she wasn’t so damn sincere. Like she was actually trying to level with Maggie.

It has her thinking stupid things. If she boils down the eyebrow-wiggling and the terrible come-ons, they start to sound a lot like You really are too good to be true.

"You know it’s okay with me, right?" Kara says after a moment. “And if—if you wanted me to, I could. I mean, not that I think you’d want me just because—I mean, we’ve done stuffbefore, but it was with Alex, and I don’t want to assume—"

Maggie laughs. "It’s okay, easy. You’re fine." She picks at the label on her beer. "I’d like that." She admits after a few moments, not meeting Kara’s gaze. "And—y’know." She clears her throat and glances over at Kara. Sparks shoot along her nerves, and she has to look away. "Same to you."

Kara relaxes, and Maggie doesn’t remember seeing tension gathering in her. That signature "Kara Danvers" smile spreads on her face. Maggie resigns herself to the nervous butterflies in her stomach.

When did she get this soft?

Kara’s brow furrows suddenly. “I mean—I don’t mean like, right now, just—whenever’s clever. Whenever seems right.”

"Yeah! Of course. I mean—I don't want to assume—"

"I just mean, when—"

"—’Cause I'm down, but like, only if you are—"

"—Whenever you’re ready—I mean, no pressure—"

"—Not like, Undress me right now—"

"—Unless you want to."

"Um."

"Um."

Maggie processes the blow to her dignity. “Oh my god. I…” She shakes her head. What’s gotten into her? “There’s gotta be something extra in this batch.” She looks at the bottle with its mangled label in her hand. They both laugh.

“Sorry,” Kara ducks her head. “Sometimes I communicate better with… not talking.”

Maggie knows just from the tone of Kara’s voice—low, soft, intimate—what Kara means. And fourteen-odd years of "alphas don't bottom" pounded into her head makes it impossible to make the Yes quivering on the tip of her tongue verbal—

But it’s less of a problem, when Kara leans in and kisses her slow and lush and Maggie lets her taste it; taste the way her muscles go pliant and her mouth yields and Maggie lets her chin tilt up, neck crane just enough, to meet her at the slightly awkward angle they’re at, sitting next to each other on the couch.

She’d move, but every other part of her that’s not touching Kara doesn't seem to exist.

Kara catches on, though. Maggie can hear her soft exhale and then one hand is cupping Maggie’s face, thumb trailing over her cheek—and then the kiss gets deeper, hungrier.

She takes her time, no rush at all, until Maggie hears herself make a sound, until she lets herself want Kara to take all the rest of her, the way she is her mouth.

When Kara pulls away, Maggie finds herself clinging to Kara’s arm with one hand that she doesn't remember putting there. Kara’s eyes are dark, taking in Maggie’s face—whatever she sees in it, it makes her eyes spark.

It’s—pathetic, part of her mind whispers—but Maggie can’t make that stick, not when Kara’s giving her that unmistakable alpha look, the one that says “You, you’re the one who has all my attention, and Maggie isn’t sure why this is what she wanted, to be on the receiving end of all that intent, that singular and intimate look—but it is. It just is.

Besides—how could she feel pathetic, when Kara’s looking at her like she’s the only place she wants to be right now? When Maggie knows firsthand what kind of fierceness lives under there, what kind of protectiveness. She’s felt it beating in her own chest.

The thought of Kara covering her back like a shield, like living armor, over Maggie shuddering and open underneath her, makes Maggie clench, pulse.

Kara’s eyes hold something ancient and knowing and patient and Maggie wonders how she can be the same person who was stammering and blushing five minutes ago.

One eyebrow quirks up, one corner of her lips. "Little clearer?"

Maggie nods. "Yeah." She drops her gaze to Kara’s mouth and leans back in.

//

“I can go first—on the bottom, I mean—you’ve got more at stake—Not that I’ve thoughtabout it or anything—” Kara starts. Maggie’s already shaking her head; and her heart goes thump unexpectedly hard when that last bit slips out.

She hates the idea that, if she gets on top now, she’s not going to be able to say she’s okay with switching later. And here’s Kara, offering her literally everything she never let herself want, with none of the garbage she came up associating with it.

She’s not sure if she’s going to be able to shake this twice, and this is her best shot. Karais her best shot.

And Kara wants her.

“Nah.” She cracks a smile, and she knows it comes out a little crooked. “I trust you, Danvers.” She manages. Kara melts a little, smiling back. “Besides, sounds like you’ve thought this over.”

Kara blushes and hides her face behind her hand again.

“What’s your master plan, Supergirl?” Maggie teases, starting to feel a little more at ease now that Kara’s the one blushing and looking very embarrassed.

“No plan,” Kara protests, “I never even thought you’d be… into that. It was more like a… set of elaborate fantasies.”

Maggie laughs, because she just found the most adorable alpha on the planet. “Elaborate, huh?”

“Not elaborate.” Definitely elaborate, then. “And anyways—“ Kara tilts her head to study Maggie. “Isn’t it kind of about what you want?”

Oh. Maggie’s suddenly shy again. “Eh, I’m easy.” She catches Kara’s amused look and winks. Kara snorts.

“So I could just… tackle you?” Kara suggests.

Maggie shrugs. “Sure.” Kara moves slightly. Maggie holds up one hand. “Wait.” Kara looks amused. Maggie sighs and shrugs awkwardly again. “I… Not anything in particular. But—“ Fuck it. “Come here.” She pulls Kara on top of her, and Kara moves so easily Maggie double-checks to make sure they’re still touching.

“Start like this?” Maggie asks, looking up at Kara, marveling a little at the way Kara covers the rest of her, at the soft, alert look on her face, gentle and possessive all at once.

“Okay,” Kara says, and leans down.

//

Maggie can feel the need building somewhere inside her while they kiss—Kara kissing her mouth, her jaw, her neck—shifting so that she has Maggie well-and-truly pinned under her—but it’s diffuse, somehow. Like she’s just experiencing Kara, Kara’s scent, her presence, and that alpha look Kara keeps giving her that makes her feel vulnerable and weak and safe all at the same time. Like she wants to curl up under Kara’s kisses and not leave until she’s absorbed enough of that look.

Like sunlight.

And then Kara rakes her teeth over Alex’s mark, and traces it with her tongue, and Maggie is almost instantly hard.

Maggie hisses and grabs at Kara’s ass to pull her down against her—

Kara makes a little sound—not a growl; maybe more of a whimper. Her arms tense on either side of Maggie, and her shoulders, locking her in, trapping her under Kara’s body, solid and warm and safe. Nothing else matters, that tension says, the deceptively gentle way Kara’s head tilts to soothe her tongue over the mark, neck stretching. Keep your eyes on me. Maggie swears, breath coming out long and shuddery. Kara holds still, lets Maggie move against her stomach til her GCPD sweatpants feel awkwardly caught up around her knot. It’s the dumbest teenager-y thing ever, rubbing against Kara through her fucking pants, and Kara’s button-down from work, but Kara is working patiently at her throat, and Maggie needs to move against something. Til her body’s wound as tight and hard as her knot feels, and she’s breathing like she’s running a race while Kara pulls back enough to look at her.

Kara shifts her body up just slightly—and Maggie’s breath catches, because that’s her. That’s her, wanting Maggie. The weight of her pressing against Maggie’s cunt. Maggie brings her legs in until her thighs are up against Kara’s body; til they’re bracketing Kara’s hips, cradling the knot she can feel swelling there against the heat of her body, and Kara makes another sound and leans down to kiss her, rest her body against Maggie’s.

With the aching swollen bits pressed together, suddenly everything narrows down; this is the only thing that matters. Their world shrinks to just this, breathing and feeling, vulnerable and protected.

Maggie reaches up and brushes her fingertips over Kara’s cheek, stroking gently. In this little bubble they’ve closed themselves off in, all Maggie can feel is warmth and awe. Kara looks back, and Maggie realizes with a little shock that she’s breathing hard, Kara’s breathing hard. With flushed cheeks and mussed hair from Maggie’s hands, this dazed look in her eyes, dark and wild and full of that same kind of hungry tenderness Maggie remembers, back before she was so starved for this.

Maggie doesn’t know how to exist under that look. Especially not with Kara anchored over her, covering her, like Maggie is something worth protecting, to her. Letting Maggie grind on her and pressing close like she’s hungry for this, for Maggie’s skin, the way she moves, the way she reacts. It’s almost unbearable.

Maggie pushes both her hands into Kara’s hair and drags her down when she can’t stand it anymore, thinks she’s going to start splitting apart with the fullness of it. Kara bends for her, matching the desperation in her kisses; and suddenly, they’re right back on the edge of it again, Kara down against her, pressing her down into the cushions, arms and shoulders like iron bracketing Maggie’s upper body, slipping under her shoulders while Maggie spreads herself slowly, forgets she should be closed off from this. Her body is one pulsing want, and it’s for the alpha on top of her.

Kara makes a sound and shifts around, slipping one arm down between them. “Shit.” She breaks away from Maggie, voice rough. “I need to get these off.” Her face is apologetic, hand at her belt.

“Shit, yeah.” Maggie pulls back. “Um, d’you—“

Kara nods. “Be right back.”

Literally. Wearing a pair of boxer shorts that, all things considered, look a little comical—but the important things are in her hands, in brightly-colored wrappers, and she’s spilling them onto the table and turning her attention back to Maggie.

“Shit, you’re an actual superhero.” Maggie didn’t have to use her addled brain or coordinate her completely turned-around body one bit and it was great.

Kara makes a face at her that’s only half unimpressed with Maggie’s groggy humor. “That’s me. Condom Girl. I stand for truth, enthusiastic consent, and the liberal distribution of safer sex paraphernalia.”

“Holy shit, that’s the “alien-powered liberal agenda” I’ve been hearing about? Get all up on me.”

Kara snorts and shakes her head.

“You said “enthusiastic.’” Maggie reminds her with a smirk.

“I did, and I’m regretting it.” Kara’s grinning and rolling her eyes. “Scoot.” She slides one hand under Maggie’s hips and picks them up without so much as a sign of effort and tucks something—towel, probably—underneath her, then sets her back down.

“Unfair.” Maggie complains sheerly for the sake of whining about it.

“Yeah, yeah. But you didn’t have to think about it, did you?” Kara sticks out her tongue playfully. “More important things to think about.”

Maggie nods. Very more important. Kara climbs back onto the couch, between her knees.

She tilts her head slightly, and Maggie realizes a moment later that she’s not pressing back down right away—her eyes are wandering over Maggie’s body, soft and open and hungry. She’s checking her out.

And then she realizes that it took her this long to notice because she’s seen that look on Kara’s face before today, when she’s looking at her. Not this blatant and smirky, maybe, but it’s familiar.

It’s that softness she’s shown when they’re both with Alex. Maggie figured it was just… Kara. Kara does gentle and alpha like it’s natural. Certainly nothing to do with her. Definitely nothing to do with wanting her.

She knows she’s not awful to look at, but… that wouldn’t happen. Not on this planet.

Maggie Sawyer doesn’t do things like blush self-consciously. Maggie just… feels her face heat up. And has to resist the urge to cover her face or look shy or vulnerable.

And is completely, one hundred percent successful.

Kara catches her look and gets a little shy herself. “You’re gorgeous,” She says, and all over again—sure, Maggie knows that, but—this can’t be real.

And then Kara is leaning down and kissing her, shorts and t-shirt, and her hair’s falling so that it blocks the light from the window, and there’s the radiant heat of her presence all around her, and that alpha-scent, happy alpha, and that’s something that Maggie doesn’t get enough of, not ever.

It made all of this so awkward, at first, because that scent, all over this place, all over Alex—that said home. Said Maggie was an intruder, an outsider, and this place was claimed—which was a fucking trip, when Maggie and Alex started dating and Alex and Kara weren’t even together.

And she realized that they could coexist, even mingle, the two of them had their place here; Kara wasn’t territorial the same way alphas were on this planet. The only person she was ever possessive with openly was Alex, and then it was never just for show, it was the real deal, and Maggie was never sure how to deal with that when it included her; Alex and Kara had a pre-existing relationship, a complicated one, but Kara never made the intensity of it seem like a slight to her. Hell, Maggie was the one who got them together. It just was what it was, and Maggie figured neither of them really realized that a person could watch the two of them with each other and feel like they were just… incidental.

And now Kara’s offering to wrap her up in that same scent, and Maggie realizes—no. No, Kara’s offering to make her… make her home.

This is when Maggie would bolt, this moment of realization—it’s always been offered, but with conditions, unacceptable ones—she could have her blood family, but she couldn’t be gay. She could be gay, but she couldn’t need this particular thing, even when it became clear just how much she really did need it. She could put herself on the line to keep her community safe, but she had to look the other way when her “brothers” hurt innocent people, let down the families they were supposed to protect, and her community couldn’t include the people who were here because they had no other choice; she couldn’t protect them from being exploited, hunted, murdered; treated as invaders when they were refugees or even slaves.

She’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with Alex and Kara. She’s been waiting, for months now, and she’s sinking into these two fast, Kara’s need to belong and claim what’s hers and tendency to keep a light touch on the rest (that Maggie’s painfully familiar with), and Alex’s fierce protectiveness and wicked right hook and permanent fight to prove herself, her painfully missing pieces.

And, maybe, it’s already too late; she’s already tied up too much in these two, in their bond.

And Kara is maybe the one thing that could drive her off, even if Alex wanted her around—but instead, Kara slips between all the categories of this planet, and somehow, gives Maggie exactly what she needs. Home.

She’s too far gone not to, but—pulling Kara the rest of the way down to her feels like a decision. Even if it’s just her deciding to throw herself on the goddamn train tracks despite that something’s-coming rumble that she can feel shaking the ground.

Maggie stops listening to that annoying little warning—it’s never really been her friend, anyways—when she feels Kara’s knot between her thighs. Instead, Maggie slides one hand down between them, and palms that tented fabric, feels the heat bleeding through it, the weight and the size of the knot underneath—Kara gasps and goes tense, good-tense, her eyes fluttering shut—slides her hand inside Kara’s shorts and closes it around her, feels the way she fills her hand. Rubs her thumb over that delicate-feeling skin, already a little slick, delicate and hard, blood pounding hot underneath.

Kara’s hands tighten on the cushions above Maggie’s head til she hears stitches pop. Her breath shudders out and her eyes are closed, and she’s only thrusting slightly into Maggie’s hand—though, if the tension in her body is anything to go by, she’s controlling her reaction.

Maggie has a moment where it hits her—this is the Girl of Steel. Hard in her hand, following her every move, like every cell in her body is focused on Maggie. Vulnerable and powerful.

Kara puts her hand on Maggie’s. Looks at her with black-drowned blue eyes.

Honestly, Maggie expected to feel a lot more hesitation than this.

Kara’s shirt comes off, and Maggie’s sweats, and then Kara’s boxers, and—jesus christ, she asked for all that alpha inside her, didn’t she?

Kara slips the condom on, slicking it with more lube, and then Maggie, fingers sliding through her and in and scissoring gently, wiping the extra off on the towel.

“Turn over?”

Maggie hesitates. “I want to be able to see you?” She doesn’t know if she can do this without that, actually. Being able to see Kara’s reactions is what’s kept her from slipping into a bad place this whole time. For all that it’s not very—

Ah, hell. At this point, who cares if it’s “the right way”?

Kara nods, unfazed. “Of course.” Like anything about this makes sense.

It’s not like Maggie’s never been fingered, alright? Or, y’know, strap-ons (she was always able to pass that one dildo with the knot off as something for her heat buddies—‘cause she’s a good alpha). It is, theoretically, not incredibly different.

But fuck—it sure feels different.

For one, Kara’s on top of her. Her hips are rocking slow and careful and she’s gasping a little and every centimeter she gains inside Maggie, she’s doing that. Slow and inescapable, that stretch and then the clench of her body around that hardness, spread open an full, and Maggie can feel the shocks from the places she touches all the way out in her fingertips.

Maggie doesn’t want to escape.

Two—all Maggie has to do is open her eyes and realize that those sounds Kara’s making, the way she’s moving—it’s because of her. When Kara rocks into her, all the way in, and Maggie clenches down, finds every bit of herself full, and shudders—Kara gasps, swears.

And three—feeling Kara's knot inside her, all flesh and blood and that’s—that's her heartbeat Maggie can feel, right up against this intimate part of her, strong and steady and hot inside her—it makes something in her go weak. Kara’s inside and outside and all around her, and it’s exactly what Maggie thought it could be, or at least, what she wanted: Safe, and cared for, enough that she can bury her face against Kara’s shoulder and let go when Kara slides her arms under Maggie’s body and starts to move.

At first, Maggie thinks she’s just getting tighter—closer to the edge. It pushes her farther, the rest of her tightening around Kara, in spite of all her efforts to stay relaxed. And then, Kara moans sharply, a familiar sound, and Maggie realizes that no, that’s Kara’s knot, and it’s still swelling inside her, stretching her until it aches, and all Maggie can do is let it, is gasp and struggle to breathe evenly and be filled so full, so much—it’s all she can feel.

Kara’s hand finds its way between their bodies and wraps around Maggie’s knot, lower down, near where her knot sits. It’s still smooth, but it’s sensitive, and Kara’s hand is just slick enough, and Maggie’s hips thrust and her cunt tightens on Kara with every slow stroke.

She can tell when her knot starts to fill, that already-tight-hot feeling in her skin even tighter, stretched and open and vulnerable the way her cunt is with Kara knotted up inside it. Kara’s hand tightens on her knot, gentle but firm, and Maggie’s going to come, it’s just a matter of time. Seconds, maybe.

It’s too much for her not to gasp, not to swear out loud, bury her face in Kara’s neck, say Kara’s name, bite at the skin there, as her body grows painfully tight on Kara’s knot and she can feel the heat coiling at the base of her knot. And then she’s coming, hot slickness all over Kara’s hand, her stomach, Kara’s stomach, thrusting into Kara’s hand, and Kara whimpering and pulsing inside Maggie, too.

It’s hard to come back down when they’re both still knotted up; the edge lessens, the tension eases some, but they’re going to be like this for a little while, swollen and a few movements away from urgent all over again.

Shit, Maggie realizes. They’re probably going to fuck themselves completely out, however many orgasms that takes. Too responsive not to.

And she’s got the Kryptonian knot in her.

Fuck logistics.

//

Kara has a lot better self-control than Maggie does.

And Maggie, of course, took that as a challenge to see if she could get Kara off again before her knot went down. She did. Several times. Kara retaliated by working Maggie’s knot til she came again—and now, they’re a complete mess, and Maggie’s going to be knotted for at least another twenty minutes.

Fucking hydraulics.

What they lapse into while they’re catching their breath—and what turns Maggie on annoyingly fast—is Kara, on top of her, nuzzling Maggie’s neck, keeping her warm, and safe, with her body curled carefully against Maggie's, like she's protecting where they're joined. She’s soft and protective, and so responsive to any little shift that Maggie makes… Honestly, it’ll be a miracle if neither of them end up in rut.

But—really. What is Maggie supposed to do, ignore the gorgeous Kryptonian on top of her and the fact that, okay, sure, she’s invulnerable—except for where she’s all knotted and raw inside Maggie? And she basically doesn’t need to recover from anything ever, because she recovers so fast? And said Kryptonian is totally game for that?

You must have her mistaken for someone else.

They manage to clean up most of Maggie’s mess with the extra towel Kara was smart enough to grab—and then they’re at it again. This time with something to keep that from happening again.

//

It’s well into the evening when Alex opens the door to her apartment and sees—what else—her porn paused on the TV screen.

Gotcha.

Also—holy shit, her place reeks of sex, and latex, and lube. And alpha. Both of her alphas. What?

This is… not usually the porn event that Alex comes home to. And it’s eerily quiet, for bothof them being home. The lights are off, one, which would suggest that it’s Kara she’s interrupting (for someone from Gotham who by virtue of her job spends a lot of her time in poor lighting conditions, Maggie is incredibly clumsy in the dark), but—Kara probably would’ve pounced on her by now.

Alarm tingles down her spine. Alex draws her sidearm and flicks on the light.

But no; no one's dead—yet—there's clothes piled on the floor next to the couch—looks like Kara’s—

So it is Kara.

Alex feels a thread of annoyance at that—Kara's so blush-y that Alex can't come down on her.

She moves towards the open bedroom door—Kara must've had to change into her Super-suit—must’ve been a Supergirl issue; J'onn didn't call her, no one mentioned anything about it. Worry sparks in her gut.

Was Kara too embarrassed to tell her about the porn? Alex isn't sure how she can be okay with that. Not after everything Kara’s given her.

—And she’s annoyed again. She gets stupidly soft and protective for Kara; it's going to get her in trouble.

Which implies that it hasn't made her life a scientifically perfect specimen of "in trouble" already.

—And that's Maggie's bra in that pile of clothes, she realizes.

And at that exact moment, there’s a sound from over on the couch. She spins, although she knows what she’s going to find—

Or, maybe, she doesn't.

It takes a few seconds. They’re naked—she gets that—but, there’s something about the curve of Kara’s body over Maggie’s, the way her face is buried against Maggie’s upper back, between her shoulder blades, the closeness, the way they’re frozen to the spot—

Alex actually facepalms.

"Having a good time?" She asks her two very busted-looking alphas, putting away her sidearm. Both of them seem too stunned and embarrassed to say anything. She snorts. “You should see your faces.” Said faces get even more wide-eyed and worried, and Alex has to restrain a laugh. “I’m just gonna grab a drink real quick."

She leaves the two of them on the couch for the moment to sweat. Together. Walks over and pours herself a drink to give her brain time to go through whatever series of contortions it needs to wrap itself around this. Roughly eighty reactions in the span of ten seconds.

She wants to be irritated? She is irritated. Because really? They were both lying about it? And she knew they were lying, but really?

This is just careless.

She sighs and looks back over at the couch. She can’t see them, but she can picture them. Her two numbskull alphas. Messing around knotting each other (or at least watchingknot porn, til today—she’s never come home to her apartment smelling like two fucked-out alphas, at least not without her being involved in said fucking) and being too embarrassed about it to tell the one person of the three of them who gets knotted regularly.

The longer she stands there, the dumber they look. And that annoying little ball of warmth in her chest just expands right along with it.

Because she knows that look that Kara has right now, holding Maggie under her protectively. One arm slid under her body to steady them; her other hand pushing Maggie's hair off to one side so she can nuzzle the back of her neck.

She gets the embarrassment—although, really? There’s no way they could’ve talked to her about it? But Maggie, she knows, would’ve been scared. After years of being an alpha by herself? They’ve talked about Gotham. Maggie would’ve known what she wanted for a long time—but some habits die hard.

And then Kara did That Kara Thing that she does and talked her out of her insecurities; made all that judgment and pressure look like nothing, just another set of weird human hangups.

And also out of her pants. Because trust Kara to talk Maggie "I’m a Detective" Sawyer into a puddle. And Kara—

Kara always thinks everything she does that’s out of the norm on Earth will be… poorly received, at best. Unless it’s Alex she’s talking to.

Yeah, she’s going to have to talk to Kara about that later.

And—they’ve messed around for Alex, during her heats. Just never—as far as she knows—outside of that, beyond some platonic-intimate kisses. In a sense, it was inevitable—it was either going to happen, or not, at least.

Alex settles on amused. Bordering on giddiness that she’s trying really hard to suppress, because there’s a whole set of conversations that she was going to have to have with them with regards to please don’t dump me just for asking, but— that seem a lot less intimidating, now.

Not that it’s a foregone conclusion. Nope. She’s not letting herself get carried away.

Honestly, though, it’s like Christmas come early. And they’re tied, so they can’t get away.

She comes back with her whiskey and perches on the edge of the coffee table, biting her lip to keep from laughing. They look so guilty.

"So." She starts, looking them over. And—okay, fine, this might not be a show she’s really up to participating in tonight, she needs a goddamn shower after her shift, and she’s still mildly irritated—but Kara’s ass and the muscles in her lower back look gorgeous, the way they’re flexed. Even if they’re both horny knotheaded idiots. "This doesn’t look planned."

"Nope." Her knotheads chorus from the couch.

“At least you put a towel down.” Alex bites her lip. Thinks. "Kara walked in on you?" She asks Maggie—Maggie had the day off.

"Yep." Maggie confirms.

"Are you—“ Kara starts, a definite note of anxiety in her voice, and dammit. It’s the whiskey, she realizes—how many times has a glass of that preceded a lecture from her? She wasn’t actually upset. Just… needed something to do with her mouth. "Are you mad?"

"No." She sets down the glass and leans back. "Just playing with you. Although," She lets one corner of her mouth twitch upward, "It looks like you two have that pretty well in hand." They both drop their heads forward with a groan; it’s actually kind of adorable, how in sync they are like this. "No threesome invite, though?"

"Phone was out of reach?" Kara offers.

"You can float, Kara."

"Nope!" Maggie groans from underneath her, muffled in the couch cushions. "No she can't!"

Alex snickers. This is gonna be fun.