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zacc-attacc · 3 years

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Kissing In The Snow: A Javid Fic

This fic is lowkey shit and I might literally post a new one to apologize for this, but have it anyway!

Final Word Count: 3.2k

Triggers: There’s a bit of an anxiety attack, and a reference to self-harm. I put an * before the attack and bolded the self-harm reference so you stay safe! Love you nerds!

The plan was originally to drive through the night. After all, it was a long-term trip, and we both had a pretty uncanny ability to stay awake. Since we had two drivers, we could switch roles every now and again. But we only made it until a few hours after dark.

I knew there would be snow. After all, especially around New York, there was always snow during late December. But that… That was the type of storm that we hadn’t seen in years. The only time I think I had ever seen that much snow was when my family had traveled to Canada and they were hit with a snow storm. It was magical as a kid in a warm, safe cabin. But now, as an adult, driving on a dark road with the life of my best friend in my hands, it was downright terrifying.

Jack wasn’t fully asleep when I started to consider pulling over. After all, it was only around 10 PM, meaning he was in the dozing part of the night. It was just dark enough that he couldn’t sketch in his physical notebook, and he had put in his earbuds to try and drift off. He had offered to drive, since he was sure I was sleepy from waking up at 5 AM to pack, but I assured him that I was wide awake. And I really was. Slamming three Bang Energy drinks in the span of two hours would do that to a guy.

Snowflakes had started to fall about an hour ago. They were small ones, barely making a dent in our view. But the longer I drove, the bigger they got. Bigger, thicker, and falling faster. I knew that if I was outside, I would be soaked within three seconds.

The wind howled, not for the first time, whistling around the car and nudging it slightly across the icy road in an attempt to push us off. I could feel my anxiety rising as I frantically tried to keep the car on the road while staying calm, but something must have tipped Jack off, because he sat up from where he was curled by the window, stared at the weather, and looked at me with shock on his face.

“Jesus, Dave, it’s crazy out there!”

I felt my hands that I hadn’t even realized were clenching the wheel loosen at the sound of his voice. Despite the fact that I had just been talking on and off with him for seven hours, his voice still had a strange habit of making the world seem less terrible. Especially when paired with his eyes, wide, hazel-y green, and worried.

“Yeah,” I said, hearing that my voice was significantly higher than it usually was.

“Should we… Pull over? Find somewhere to stay for the night? We can’t sleep in the car, you’ll freeze-”

“I’ll freeze? Last I checked I’m not the only one who can contract hypothermia,” I cut him off, smiling internally at the ‘Mama bird’ side that was revealing itself (a side that normally only showed in dire situations or when one of their friends were injured).

“Yeah, but you’re a string bean. Nothing to you,” Jack pointed out. This was true, but only when compared to him. As the linebacker for Northwestern University’s football team, he had enough muscle on him to pass for a professional bodybuilder. It was funny that he was a football player while also majoring in art, while compared to the other players with their business and accounting majors. I knew he secretly hated the team, but he was playing football for the scholarship to put him through school, so it was either play or starve. Obviously, he chose to play.

I tried to take a left turn, starting to slope softly almost 50 feet away in order to be able to make the turn. It was still almost too much for the car, causing me to need to break completely to avoid hitting a sign that read Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks, 10 mi.

I felt my entire body tighten as I tried to steer without adding any additional momentum to our car careening across the ice. The tires were locked in place, and still sliding like the world’s most dangerous hockey puck. Jack had stopped talking, and was holding his breath right along with me as we continued to slide. Once we finally stopped, I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried not to cry from a simultaneous feeling of adrenaline and relief.

*********

I was shaking, harder than I had in a long time. I felt Jack’s strong, warm hand on my back, an anchor. He knew how my attacks worked, since he had seen me through middle and high school. They happened a lot less now, but that didn’t make them any better when they did hit, like a freight train of emotion and a loss of control. Where my lungs decided to say “I can’t do this anymore,” and stopped wanting to work. Where my face felt like it was set on fire, and my eyes were watering and I tired to keep everything under control but it all felt so hard and my thoughts were rushing and my heart was pounding in my ears and-

“It’s okay, Davey,” his low voice muttered.

Davey.

That damn nickname. The one only he had ever called me.

He was leaning over the gear stick now to hug me, pinning my arms to my side (I had… Old habits) He was rocking, his hand on my heart as he counted the beats with me, whispering into my ear.

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

**********

Once we got to sixty, I had calmed down a bit. I could breathe now, at least, and I had stopped crying.

“I think I’ll drive us the rest of the way. Is that okay, Dave?” Jack murmured. He was still holding onto me tightly, as if I could break at any moment.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice sounding worn like it always did after an attack.

The moment I felt him pull away, I missed him. After all, he really was quite warm, and there was a winter storm outside. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

I opened the car door, and heard Jack do the same behind me. The road was icy, icier than we should have been driving on. Then again, I guess that was kind of the whole reason we were dipping out rather than driving through the night.

As we were walking, I could feel my Timberlands beginning to lose the battle between gravity and friction. I looked up in an attempt to keep my balance, and saw Jack begin to topple. I instinctively reached out my arm to catch him, and we both spun in some strange, ice dance to keep our balance. Finally, Jack slapped the hood of the car to tether us both, hard enough that the alarm started to beep, shattering the night with its high tones.

Jack looked at me, and down at my arm, which I just noticed had somehow snaked around his waist in the struggle. I dropped it quickly, feeling my face heat up despite the snow, smiling awkwardly. Jack just patted my shoulder, and began to chuckle. A soft, not full-blown laugh at the situation. I found myself laughing right along with him.

His laughter had always been contagious.

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“This is delux,” Jack grinned, unrolling his travel blanket onto the singular bunk bed. Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks turned out to be a dingy collection of cabins owned by an old woman looking to make a buck and offer hospitality to travelers.

“I’m glad you pulled over, you’ll catch your death in that type of storm,” Joanna said from the doorway, making sure we had enough blankets and brain cells to survive the night. The cabin was small, with a few bunks lining the walls. There was a hot plate on top of a little fridge, but the electricity had been kicked out from the storm, meaning those were both rendered useless. There was an oak door leading to what I guessed was a bathroom, and a light rattling sounding above us for what I assumed was the heating.

“Thank you for having us for free, ma’am,” Jack said for the eight billionth time that night. Joanna just tossed her head back in a light laugh.

“A sweet couple like you, and three days before Christmas no less? It’s no problem, really. I’m all for holiday cheer. Have a good night, you two,” Joanna said, turning and winking behind her shoulder as she walked away. I made eye contact with Jack, and noticed that he was blushing just as much as I was. We waited a few minutes to make sure Joanna was completely gone to continue unpacking.

“How many times has that happened now?” I asked, hanging Jack’s scarf over a vent so it could dry overnight.

“What?” Jack said, turning from making his bunk to look at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“We had a list of all the times… People thought we were dating. Back in high school, remember?” I smiled slightly at the memory, thinking back to all the time we used to spend with each other in high school.

No one was surprised when we went to the same college, since we had spent so much of high school half joint at the hip. Even our mutual friends were convinced we were secretly dating. It happened enough times that one day, Jack whipped out a notebook and wrote down all the times we could think of being asked. We just kept adding, until college happened and… I honestly don’t know what happened to the notebook.

“Oh, yeah, that! I think Medda tossed it out on accident… But we have our memories, right?” Jack said, regret flashing in his eyes. I just smiled at him sadly.

“Yeah. So, what time should we get going in the morning?”

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It was probably midnight when I heard a loud, metallic bang.

I sat up sharply, scrambling out of the sheets to make sure that Jack hadn’t hit his head and died from the top bunk.

“Dave, you okay?” Jack asked, glancing at me from his mattress.

“Did you hear that?” I questioned, gesturing to the ceiling where I had heard the bang.

“What?”

“Some sort of bang… I think the heater went out,” I said, suddenly realizing I couldn’t hear the rattle of the heating anymore.

“...Shit. Should we get Joanna?” Jack asked. There was a beat of silence as we made eye contact, and it dawned on me that neither of us wanted to wake up this poor old woman to tell her.

This is the height of being gen z. I thought, realizing how screwed we were.

“It… It’ll probably be fine,” I stammered, sitting back on my bunk. The air was already getting colder, and the wind howled against the cabin.

“...Get over here. You ain’t getting hypothermia on my watch,” Jack said, rolling his eyes and gesturing to himself. I felt my face heat up for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night.

“A- are you sure that you’re-”

“Oh, can it Jacobs. I don’t need your sister sicced on me because I didn’t do what I could to make sure you survived the night,” Jack pointed out, sounding mildly annoyed. I would’ve been more convinced if I didn’t see that he was also blushing, and had that look… That weird look he got when he was looking at a pretty girl or guy.

This is totally platonic. I reminded myself, climbing the ladder while holding my blankets. Jack nodded at me, tossing all of our blankets over the two of us.

I didn’t think I would be able to sleep with him right there, but something about his body heat and the crashing energy drinks was enough to lull me to sleep…

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“Davey, you still sleeping?” Jack whispered. My eyes snapped open, and the events of the previous night hit me like a truck. I turned to look at Jack, who was still laying down beside me.

“Yeah,” I croaked. Jack nodded, and I felt him draw away from me.

Wait, away?

It was only then that I realized how close we are.

And that my head had been practically laying on his chest.

“Sorry,” I muttered, shifting away from him.

“It’s okay. Warmth, y’know,” Jack said gruffly, sitting up. I scooched away from him and climbed down the ladder, the cold air piercing my skin.

“We should get going soon… I’m sure Medda is ready to have my head for having you out on a night like that,” I pointed out, dashing to the assorted vents that had our assorted winter wear, half-dried.

“She could never, Dave, you know she prefers you,” Jack grinned, rolling his eyes.

“Well, she adopted you,” I pointed out. “She must’ve liked you enough to want you in her life forever.”

“She once threatened to take away my dessert privileges if we ever stopped talking,” Jack said, deadpan.

“Those brownies are no joke. I’m glad you were able to put up with me,” I chuckled.

“I don’t put up with you, Jacobs,” Jack said, self-deprecation seeping into his words. I stopped re-packing, and crossed the room to talk to him, being sure to drive my point home.

“Neither of us put up with one another, kay?”

“I- damn, Dave, makin’ us have a moment here,” Jack said, red creeping up his face. I stepped back, apologizing under my breath.

“No, no, it’s fine. You always had more of an emotional range then I did,” Jack shrugged, regret tainting his words.

A few minutes later, we were packed. Jack and I both had our jackets, scarves, mittens and hats on.

“I got it,” I said, grabbing the doorknob and pushing.

It didn’t budge. Not even a centimeter. I shook the door, throwing my weight onto it to the best of my ability.

“Let me try,” Jack said, grabbing my hand around the knob. I felt a sharp shock, and felt my heart kick into overdrive, pounding in my ears.

His hands were soft.

Jack was still struggling with the door, jiggling it aggressively.

“Its just a bit… Frozen,” Jack grunted, slamming the door with all of his linebacker strength. The door flew open, a few healthily sized pieces of ice spaying onto the fine bed of snow.

Jack had opened a door to a winter wonderland. Due to its remote location, Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks was peak stock photo winter.

The trees were frosted with white, like they were some sort of cake, or one of Jack’s drawings. There was a big, sprawling field with a few snow dusted cabins. The main house Joanna lived in was mostly cleared (we assumed she had cleared it herself… somehow), but by far the most shocking part was-

“Oh shit, my car,” Jack said, attempting to run across the lawn to the snow-covered lump that was his vehicle. This didn’t work well, since there was almost several feet of snow covering the ground. He had only made it about 10 feet when he collapsed into the drift, his legs having been unable to fight the snow.

I found myself half-laughing, despite being mildly worried as I helped him up.

“We are so screwed, Davey,” Jack said, his brow furrowing as his Manhattan twang set into his words. That’s how I knew he was really worried- his accent only set in when he was drunk, sick, angry, or stressed.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll call a plow, or a tow… We’ll find some way out of here,” I assured him, holding him by the waist so he wouldn’t fall. He leaned into me, obviously not against me touching him. Well, really it was his coat, but it still felt nice.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Jack asked. I could feel my phone vibrating in my coat pocket, probably the boys and our families asking where we are.

“I dunno… I might as well call now,” I shrugged, pulling out my phone and tapping on Google to find the number.

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“Thank you… Goodbye,” I said, just about to hang up when a powdery, cold something hit my back. I swiveled around to see none other than Jack, a small arsenal of snowballs beside him.

“Oh, you did not just-”

“I did, Jacobs,” he grinned maniacally. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You’re on!” I shouted, frantically grabbing snow and packing it into a solid ball. The snow was perfect for snowball fights, just the right texture. And I was wearing gloves, so it wouldn’t stick to any yarn on my mittens.

Jack pelted me with a snowball, hitting my shoulder with a solid thwack! I pretended to fall from the shock of the hit, then rolled towards him, tossing a ball at his neck. It hit him slightly above his collar bone, and I heard him laugh evilly as he ran towards me.

“YOU’VE MADE A MISTAKE FROM CHALLENGING ME, DAVEY JACOBS!” He yelled, attempting to grab me. I rolled away, standing above him with my superior five inches, and began to dodge snowballs, left and right while making my own.

“JOKES ON YOU, I LEARNED FROM THE MASTER-- SARAH JACOBS!” I screeched, hitting him in the head with a snowball.

“BUT I WENT AGAINST THE GREAT RACETRACK HIGGINS!” he objected, hitting my left arm.

“WHO LEARNED FROM SARAH JACOBS!” I shot back, hitting his lower thigh.

“AH, BUT YOU ARE NOT HER!” he pointed out, dashing away again in an attempt to confuse me.

“YES, BUT I AM HER BROTHER!” I said, dodging a ball from my right.

“THE MORE WATERED-DOWN VERSION, I SEE!” he shouted, attempting to dodge a ball coming for his torso and failing.

“OHO, YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!” I yelled, smiling like a fool and running towards him to the best of my ability. He grinned darkly, and I realized my mistake.

I was attempting to tackle a college football player. First string.

Before I could even comprehend how terrible of an idea it was to try and tackle a football player as an English major with limited athletics experience, I was on the ground and-

His lips were on mine.

Too passionately to be accidental.

His hand had somehow made its way to my back, and he was holding me like he had in the night. And… It felt right. More real and right and perfect then I thought it would.

I grabbed his face so I could feel him closer. Though I think a part of me knew it would never feel close enough.

He was doing this thing, I think to keep us warm, where he was rubbing up and down my back to keep the heat. And he kept letting me pull him closer while we just laid there, kissing in the snow.

Kissing in the snow. A romantic concept, one that lovesick teens would only dream of doing. Kissing two days before Christmas. Kissing like it wasn’t the end of the world, like we had all the time in the world. Kissing my best friend. Kissing the man who knew how to get me back when I was drifting.

Kissing in the snow. Because sometimes, snow and too much time wasted away from each other was enough to make a teenage dream come true.

And maybe I was okay with a winter teenage dream.

I was okay with kissing in the snow.

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let-me-love-you-loki · 5 years

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Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 6

Chapter 6: Shake the Glitter Out Your Clothes

Mera, Afternoon, 12:02 PM

Dean and I made our way back to the hotel in a companionable silence. There was something peaceful about being beside him. It was in the way that he looked at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes or how his dimples showed when he smiled. It was how he appeared so open when we sat side-by-side, his arm stretched out on the seat behind me in the cab so I could lean against him.

We split up when we entered the lobby. I was headed toward my room on the fourth floor, he was headed further up. A shower was calling me—something to drown out the desert heat that had settled in my skin.

I rounded the corner to my room, stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Seth leaning against the wall. He caught sight of me before I could slip back out of view. I took a deep breath and steeled myself to meet him.

Seth glared as I pulled my keycard from my pocket. “Surprising. You aren’t sharing a room with Dean.”

My jaw flexed as I clenched my teeth. “What do you want, Seth?”

He chuckled darkly. “An explanation. And maybe an apology.”

I fought down the urge to slap him. “I don’t owe you an explanation for what I do with my time. And I think I’m the one owed an apology around here.”

“We’re going back to that, huh?” He leaned his shoulder against the wall, physically blocking me into the end of the hallway. “I apologized a long time ago, Mera. You just refuse to give up on it.”

“You apologized for getting caught.” I balled my fists, trying desperately to calm the fury and fear that spread through me. “I did everything you asked of me, Seth. Every choice I’ve made since I was seventeen has been because of you. I followed you around on the indies, I picked my career to be close to you. And you threw it all away by sleeping with every girl who gave you the time of day.”

He sighed, stood up straighter. “Look, I get it. We weren’t right for each other. But you’ve got a good job with WWE now, right? And as long as I don’t get hurt, we don’t have to have anything to do with one another. But… you can’t date Ambrose.”

“You gave up the right to tell me what to do when you broke my heart, Rollins.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Mera, there are other guys on the roster who are single and who aren’t shit to me. Go fuck one of them. Hell, marry them for all I care. Just not Ambrose.”

My eyes burned. I teetered on the edge of tears, fought to keep them back. “Fuck off, Seth. And stay out of my life.”

I slipped into my room, making sure to shut and lock the door behind me. Only then did I let myself break down into sobs.

Dean, The Night Before, 3:15 AM

Mera burrowed against my chest as the breeze turned colder. Her arms slipped around my waist beneath my jacket. I settled my chin against the top of her head and held her, burning with warmth from the inside out.

“It’s time to get you back to the hotel,” I said, a little melancholy. “You’re freezing.”

She nuzzled her cheek against me, letting out a little hum of happiness that made my blood run like lava in my veins. I was overcome with the desire to hear that sound again—for the rest of my life. Somewhere, deep inside, I sent a wish out to the universe. That when morning came, she would let me stay at her side.

“No, I’m not,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “You’re keeping me warm.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly and hold her tighter. “I can keep you warm on the way back.”

When she looked at me, a pout turned her mouth. She batted her eyelashes. It made her look so innocent and fragile. And, God help me, it stirred something inside me—something deep and primal that made want to protect her and ravage her at once. My brain fogged with images of her pale skin beneath my fingertips.

“Do you love me, Dean?” Mera asked softly.

The words tore my heart from my chest. “Yes.”

She smiled, and fire burned in the amber of her eyes. It was as if her heart and her soul had opened themselves up, and I could see the entirety of it in her gaze. I knew in that moment that I was hers in every way. I would do anything to see her smile like that again.

“Let’s get married.” She said it as if it was the natural conclusion of the conversation.

My lips parted to answer, but I reined my eagerness in. I had to remind myself that she had been drinking, that she might not remember this night when she woke up in the morning. But she was looking at me like I was the center of the universe.

“You’re still tipsy, Mera,” I replied carefully.

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

I closed my eyes, fought down the urge to kiss her, to give in to everything she ever asked. It was a herculean effort to keep my deepest wishes under control.

“Ask me again in an hour. For now, let’s go somewhere warm.”

Dean, Afternoon, 12:20 PM

I knocked on Mera’s door for the third time. “Mera?” I called through the metal.

There was a faint rustling on the inside. Locks disengaged. The handle turned. When she appeared, my heart sank to my toes.

Her hair was damp, knotted up on top of her head. It looked more like caramel just then. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks blotchy. She was dressed in a pair of stretchy black pants and a tank top.

“May I?” I asked softly, gesturing toward the inside of the hotel room.

She shrugged, stepped out of the way. I passed close by her, feeling every cell of my body yearn toward her. She closed the door behind me, snapping the locks back into place.

I waited until she turned toward me. Without a thought, I closed the space between us and tucked her into my arms. She hooked her arms around me, palms settling on my shoulder blades. The moment her cheek touched my chest, she succumbed to tears.

My fingers stroked her back, cradled her head. That primal thing awoke in my chest again. I wanted nothing more than to soothe her, to take away the pain that was driving her to sobs. Every instinct screamed at me to fix it, to stop her tears, to make her smile again.

“What can I do?” I asked.

She sniffled. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, Dean.”

I pressed my lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. I’d never felt this kind of ache before, this burning and desperate desire to be the joy of someone’s life. Mera’s tears broke my heart into pieces.

“Hey,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “We’re in this together now, Mera. It’s you and me against the world.”

She turned those eyes up at me and, I swear, I could see the universe in them. I watched as she wiped away tears, the band still glinting on her finger.

I took her hand in mine, kissed the knuckles of her left hand, turned her palm and held it against my cheek. She was there, solid and warm and beautiful in my arms. I loved her with every fiber of my being, with every breath in my body.

“Do you love me, Mera?” The words came out a murmured prayer. I hadn’t meant to say them, but now that they were out in the world, I was desperate for her answer.

Her fingers curled against my cheek. Soft skin brushed along my beard, touched the spot where a dimple showed when I smiled. The laws of the universe stood still. Time stretched to infinity and compressed into a singularity.

“Yes,” she said at last.

Everything exploded into being with that one word. It was the Big Bang all over again, but inside my heart and my soul. She loved me, and she was mine.

“Good,” I growled, lowering my mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog @houndsofjxstice

#waking up in vegas #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #mera reynolds #seth rollins #wwe #wwe fanfiction #angst #smut #fluff #romance #multi-chapter #ofc #oc #real person fanfiction

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gldngrl7 · 7 years

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Karamel Fic: Edging Toward Synchronicity (3/8)

Title: Edging Towards Synchronicity

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: March 11, 2017

Chapters:8

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath. Intentional Anti hate is taken as encouragement and a challenge to up my game.

Author’s Notes:

I’m not even kidding around anymore. This story is about a journey to intimacy and that intimacy includes heavy elements of BDSM, Dominance/submission, and Daddy-kink. If you know you’re not into that or interested in seeing more, walk away now. Kid gloves are off, folks.

Dedicated to my fam member @mon-kai-el and dirty bitches squad (aka The Dark Side) whose dirty talk showed me that I could take the kid gloves off. Stay thirsty, my friend.

For those of you who care…there is in fact a plot. And it moves forward and everything!

PSA: If there are any Babysubs out there who read this and think, ‘this is me’ and you don’t know what to do. If you want to talk, message me. It’s important that you know this: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! Not a damn thing, and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

Tagging: @mon-kai-el, @actualpuppychriswood, @pwettypwita, @contygold86, @karamelizedlove, @kelbottumbles, @starcrossed-comets, @emarasmoak, @fangirlintheforest, @ships-sailing-in-the-night, @lostin-the-desert

Oh, I know you're feeling insane

Tell me something that I can explain, oh

I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors

Tell me all of the things that you couldn't before

Don't walk away, don't roll your eyes

They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight

If this love is pain, well darling, let's hurt, oh tonight

--OneRepublic – “Let’s Hurt Tonight”

Chapter 3/8

The ear-splitting whistle of the teakettle cuts through the comfortable silence between them, causing Mon-El to recoil noticeably and kick starting Kara’s drive to tend to his psychological wounds. Rushing back to the kitchen, she steeps two bags of chamomile, while adding several lumps of sugar to his cup. She stirs his tea until the cubes lose their shape and become a grainy sludge at the bottom of the mug.

When Kara hands the steaming mug to Mon-El, he takes an immediate swig without regard to its boiling temperature, seeking the sweet comfort of sugar to combat the acrid taste that lingers on the back of his tongue. Thankfully, the bitter tang is already somewhat diminished, so the blast of sugar hitting his taste buds helps to erase the bizarre and unwelcome flavor.

He downs the cup in three gulps and takes it to the sink to rinse it out. “I think you’re right,” he says. “I think I’m going to take a hot shower and maybe call it a night. It’s been a long day.”

Kara nods, sliding up onto one of the stools that sits under the kitchen island and takes a sip of her tea. “It’s not every day a person becomes a superhero,” she comments after swallowing the hot liquid. “It’s going to get harder for a while,” she continues. “I just want you to be prepared. My first few months weren’t exactly smooth sailing. I made more than a few mistakes, and the media—Cat—covered them all. But the people can be forgiving when you show them that your heart is in the right place. Just know that…I’m here for you for…whatever you need.”

Mon-El considers her words, her advice, and recognizing that she’s talking about more than just weathering the trials and tribulations of being a superhero. He wonders just how long he can compartmentalize the increasing amounts of stimuli racing through his brain, without seeking help. Curling his hand into his fist, he knocks his knuckles against the wooden surface of the kitchen island. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promises. “Here’s to hoping they take it easy on me. Gods know I’m nowhere near your league. I’m not half the person you are, Kara.”

He walks away, leaving her speechless, her heart plummeting with sadness. Logically, she understands that survivor’s guilt can wreak havoc on a person’s self-worth—having had a singular experience with her own version of it. And in the beginning of their acquaintance, she had steadfastly refused to look beyond the fear that driving his survival instincts to see the good in him, buried deep though it was.

He is from Daxam, a culture that raised the act of deliberate ignorance to an art form so duteous it made the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel look like a kindergartner’s finger painting. He grew up inside all of that, within the court of the Crown Prince no less—the belly of the beast—and, so in the beginning she expected arrogance, entitlement, and stubborn resistance to the assimilation to an entirely new culture. And while it’s true that the dregs of that existed, she sees now that letting go of one’s culture and the throwing off of one’s upbringing is an undertaking much more easily discussed than accomplished. Even after thirteen years, Kara herself has yet to accomplish the feat.

Kara mentally castigates herself. She could begin by ceasing to refer to the Prince’s Court as ‘the belly of the beast’ even if only in her own head. That is merely the Kryptonian gossip of her hazy childhood memories talking, and already those types of thoughts have translated into action. Daxam and Krypton are long gone, and it is time both of them put their pasts in the rearview mirror. For Kara that means letting go of the things she learned about Daxam in her formative years so that she can stop associating them with the man she loves. As his lover—his mate—she must stop punishing him for any actions long past from which he clearly wishes to disassociate.

For Mon-El, putting his past away will be a much more visceral experience, she fears. She will have to use every tool in her shed to help him through it, if his breakdown this evening was any indication. Finishing her cup of tea, an idea strikes while she’s rinsing out the mug and setting it out to dry. She hears the music from the radio in her…their…bathroom turn on, and Kara whispers her gratitude to Rao because the extra noise should serve her purpose.

Digging into her purse, she retrieves her phone and flips through her recent calls before pressing ‘send’. Eliza’s warm voice answers on the first ring as though she has been awaiting Kara’s call.

“Kara, honey, is everything all right?” she asks, and Kara cringes when she checks her watch and sees how late it is. It must worry her mother when the phone rings this late.

“I’m sorry,” she winces, “I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

“It’s fine,” Eliza replies. “As long as you’re okay.” Kara is practically invulnerable to harm and still her adoptive mother worries for her. She cringes at the realization and thinks that if Eliza gets this worried about Kara, then thoughts of Alex’s well-being must keep her up nights. Almost by instinct, Kara’s hand drifts down her belly, and she marvels at the mere concept of being a mother and what that might mean. Tossing and turning each night over imaginary scenarios of her child in danger? Could she handle it? Was she strong enough for that?

“Honey, are you still there?”

“Still here,” she answers, quickly shaking off thoughts that are too premature to be entertained seriously. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

“Is it about what we talked about before? Have you—“

“Not yet,” she interjects. “It’s about the other thing.”

“Ah,” her mother sighs.

“I asked Mon-El to move in with me,” she begins. Kara cringes slightly. She hasn’t taken a moment to consider what her mother might think of her recent decision to cohabitate with her boyfriend. “I don’t think it has been good for him, living in the DEO. As long as he was there he was never going to make this place his home. Not when he has to live under a curfew and be treated like a threat,” she rationalizes, providing reasons that she hopes her mother will be able to find acceptable from a logical standpoint.

“And because you love him,” her mother counters, taking Kara by surprise. “Because that’s the only reason that matters, honey.”

“Yes, of course,” Kara replies. As if she could fool her astute mother otherwise! Just as Eliza had understood Mon-El’s masked interest in Kara during their Thanksgiving get-together, Eliza had probably comprehended the depth of Kara’s feelings long before she had. Confessing her feelings aloud now, for the first time, makes them seem somehow more real and raises the stakes even higher. “But something happened when we got back to the loft tonight. He had a...” Kara grasps for the right word that doesn’t make it sound like the man she loves needs a padded cell, before recalling the word she heard Eliza use on multiple occasions when discussing her. “An episode,” she says. “He was back there…seeing things.”

“First of all…are you okay?” Eliza asks anxiously. “Did he say anything or do anything to hurt you?”

“No,” Kara denies. “Of course not.”

“Good. People don’t know what’s happening when they have trauma-induced flashbacks. It’s a fugue state, Kara. It’s so real, he could lash out to protect himself or say things…not intended for you.”

“I’m fine,” she assures her mother. “I’m worried about him though.”

“Of course you are.”

“It’s just that…I told him that I could help…that I know what to do. But the truth is, I don’t. I remember being where he is but not how it got better. Not really. I just remember you and Alex being there…all the time.” Kara’s emotions en masse well within her: fear for Mon-El, anxiety over being what he needs, being enough, and gratitude that she has someone to talk to who has walked this path before.

“I knew when we adopted you that, with your history, re-entry would be difficult for you. I talked to specialists and read books about dealing with post-traumatic stress.”

“What should I do?” Kara breathes, a lump rising in her throat.

“Don’t push him to talk about it,” Eliza answers.

“Okay,” she says, disappointed. “We’ll call that strike one.”

“It’s okay,” her mother reassures her. “Don’t push him to talk, but let him know, in no uncertain terms, that you are there to listen if he does want to talk,” she advises. “When he opens up…try to avoid making promises like ‘it’s going to be okay’. Being ‘okay’ isn’t always what people with survivor’s guilt want—not right away. They often see the guilt and the reflection as something they deserve for having the audacity to survive. Try to avoid casting judgments on his actions. It’s a rare individual who can be their best self when under that kind of duress. Most of us wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny in the kind of situation he faced, without warning and without the mental training or acclimation to that kind of stress.”

Kara’s mind races as she commits her mother’s words of advice to memory. “But it sounds like it’s my job…to do nothing?”

“Oh that’s not true, honey. Do things with him you normally do together. Encourage him to socialize, to be active. Find activities that work for both of you. Building camaraderie can work wonders. Why do you think I always made Alex take you with her when she went to hang out with her friends? Or that time I signed you up for soccer, so you could be part of a team.”

“That was a disaster!” Kara exclaimed. “I broke Jenny Sauer’s nose, and she had to miss the eighth grade dance.”

“That little snot had it coming,” Eliza snaps protectively. “After the mean things she said to you, she’s lucky I didn’t break her nose!”

“Mom!” Kara gawps, shocked by her adoptive mother’s uncharacteristic outburst.

“I’m sorry, but that girl brought it on herself,” Eliza defensively justifies.

“She was offsides, and it was just trash talk. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“A mother doesn’t distinguish. The point is, Kara, that you began building a life again, to make attachments here beyond Jeremiah, Alex, and myself. I remember that you started sleeping better after that.”

“I remember too,” Kara echoes, her mouth lifting in a half smile. There’s a moment of silence on the line that lasts long enough for Kara to wonder if the call has dropped.

“It takes a toll, honey,” her mother finally says, her tone one of uneasy warning. “You should be aware of what you’re getting into. In many ways…leading them out of the dark is just as hard on us as it is on them. But you can’t give up,” she cautions. “He won’t get better overnight—that will never happen—but if you keep being there for him, keep loving him, eventually you’ll look up one day and realize he hasn’t had a flashback in a while or didn’t flinch during the last thunderstorm, and it will feel like it happened overnight. You have to be patient,” Eliza added. “And know that there will be setbacks.”

“It was so scary,” she admits, letting down her guard a little bit more. “It was like he wasn’t really here with me. I didn’t think I would be able to reach him.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters. He’s been repressing for a long time. You never really did that. For you…there was always the thousand-yard stare—the haunted look in your eyes—right from the start. But when you had episodes you were nearly impossible to reach. I’m afraid I didn’t provide enough of a connection for you, enough of a lure to draw you back to reality.”

“That’s not true,” Kara claims, catching the strains of hurt in Eliza’s voice and wishing to alleviate it.

“It’s all right, Kara,” Eliza reassures. “I was under no delusions then. We got there eventually, but we had to survive the worst of the fallout first. Unlike our situation, you have the advantage with Mon-El, honey. He would do anything for you, if you only ask. I have no doubt that includes trying his hardest to get well.”

“I just hope that doesn’t hurt more than help.”

“When you fall in love with someone, Kara, their pains become your pains and their joy, your joy. The joy part is easy,” Eliza finishes, leaving Kara to draw her own conclusion about the painful parts of a relationship.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Kara acknowledges. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your advice.”

“Anytime, honey. What’s a mother for?” she breezes with a chuckle as though happy just to be of help.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Kara?”

“We’re still getting there. More and more all the time.”

“I love you, Kara,” she says softly.

“I love you, too. Talk to you soon.” She finishes exchanging her farewells with her mother and ends the call. She plugs her phone into the charger on the back wall of the kitchen counter for the night, then wonders what to do next.

****

The tea helped to relieve the bitter taste that resided in the back of his mouth from the onset of his vivid waking nightmare. But it did nothing to ease the lingering tension that still plagues his larger muscle groups. His thighs and upper back twitch and tremble in unpredictable intervals. He’s anxious to escape the laser-like scrutiny Kara focuses upon him, as though she expects him to shatter to pieces at any moment.

Perhaps he might, and he silently prays to every god he’s ever heard of that if it does happen, it won’t happen in front of her.

“But she’s the one you’ll need!” Ral groans, frustrated. “You’re going to want her to be there when you break.”

Mon-El closes the bathroom door behind him and turns to find Ral sitting on the counter, his legs dangling a foot from the ground. Mon-El opens his mouth to speak and then throws a glance at the door. There’s a radio-box on the counter; he’s heard Kara listen to the box when she showers sometimes. Mon-El examines the device and finds the power symbol so prevalent on the technical devices of Earth and presses the accompanying button. The radio-box blares to life, playing a song by someone named Ariana that he recognizes from the larger radio-box at the bar. It used to play a lot – back before the attack by Cadmus – on Friday nights when spirits were high and patrons wanted to dance. Mon-El turns the volume up two more notches.

“Yeah, her super hearing won’t be able to cut through that,” Ral smirks.

“She doesn’t eavesdrop,” Mon-El tells Ral…and himself. “Now…why?”

“Why, what?” Ral rejoins. His eyes widen, his eyebrows climbing his forehead, perhaps a little too comically for the tension of the situation.

“You said I’d want her there. Why?” Mon-El demanded through clenched teeth.

Ral shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t--? I thought...”

“You thought…what? That I know everything? Don’t be an idiot; I’m not Bask sitting on the throne of Val-Or. I don’t know all, Brother. I know what you know.”

“But you said...” Mon-El trails off, his mind trying to weave his conscious mind through the maze created by his subconscious.

“You don’t want to go there, my friend. Not yet,” Ral warns. “It’s best if these things happen on their own timeline. Stick with what you already know.”

“Like the waking nightmare?”

“It’s really begun now,” the hallucination declares, his face growing sadder. Ral shrugs, resigned. “You can avoid sleep if you like. It’s up to you. But the memories will come anyway now. A dam has been breached. Let’s pray to the gods what comes next is a slow leak and not a flash flood.”

“Memories?” Mon-El asks, his brow creasing with confusion. “That’s not how it happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Ral answers cryptically.

“But you put me in the pod,” Mon-El reminds his step-brother. “You put me into the pod and then went back for her. To be with her.”

“Hmmm,” Ral hums, his answer refusing to commit one way or another to Mon-El’s assertion. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Mon-El swallows, trying not to choke on the emotion that threatens to overwhelm. “Was there ever a girl?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Ral answers. “Probably? But if there was…I never made it back for her.”

“Gods,” he moans, dropping his chin to his chest as his mind flashes to the memory of Ral’s death. He could see it, hear it, and smell it as if he was there, but it is still too unreal to be believed, like a mirage that fades away when he gets too close.

“You won’t feel it yet,” Ral promises, placing a hand on Mon-El’s shoulder as he leans against the counter. “But now you know.”

“Why?” Mon-El inquires. “Why have you hidden this truth from me?”

“Because…sometimes truths are meant to be delivered in their own time. When they’re ready to be heard and not a moment before.”

“Truths?” Mon-El ponders, a sliver of fear lancing his heart.

“A single truth would be so simple, wouldn’t it?” Ral answers with a question, his hand gripping at Mon-El’s shoulder as if it’s tethering him to the same plane of existence. “And you and I both know that life is rarely simple, no matter how much we try to change ourselves to make it so.”

“Why can’t I just…go on?” Mon-El asks, rubbing his temples. His head hurts, pounding like the clang of metal on metal. “What’s wrong with forgetting that day?”

“Because then there will always be a part of you missing. Whether you remember everything or not, even now it’s shaping who you are…who you’re becoming. As much as you tell yourself that the man who pulled that car from the edge of a bridge exists because of Kara, that’s not entirely true. And soon you’ll know why. But don’t worry about when it will happen. I’ll make sure it happens at the right place at the right time. Leave it to me.”

Ral vaporizes the second Mon-El blinks – there one second and gone the next. “Great,” he sighs, unable to shake off the overwhelming feeling of encroaching doom. It’s just him and The Weeknd in the bathroom now.

He’s spent too long here without taking the shower he claimed he was after when he excused himself from her stifling scrutiny. Opening the glass door of the shower, he spins the dial for hot water until it will turn no more and waits for steam to fill the chamber while he disrobes. His clothing comes off piece by piece, his body moving like that of a weary old man as though he’s aged a century in the last day.

The buzz of the electricity he absorbed in the early hours of this morning, which had sustained him throughout the day, has long since dissipated, perhaps in part due to the waking nightmare…memory, he relived. He feels his body’s need to rest pressing in on him with all of the inevitable inescapability of a stasis sleep taken before a deep space jump. He can no longer afford to avoid sleep. If Ral is correct, the memories and visions will come whether he sleeps or not, and he’d rather avoid being in the thick of things when they do. Sleep it is, but first the shower to help him ease the tension wreaking havoc on his body.

Stepping under the spray, Mon-El feels the heat of the water but not the sting. How he misses the sting! The feeling of water beating down on him, hot enough to turn his skin the color of the Daxam sunrise. Breathing the steam deeply into his lungs, he savors the heated exhale of it, feeling more cleansed with each breath. But still the muscles of his back, along his spine and shoulders, twitch in an annoying manner as though he is a rebellious puppet on strings that refuses to dance to its master’s tune.

After being shot during his incarceration by Cadmus he’d felt like this, albeit to a lesser extent. His blood had pumped through him so fast, soaked up by his jeans, that it set his heart to racing. For hours after they had made their escape and were returned to the DEO, he’d shivered without feeling cold, teeth chattering while his wounded leg twitching painfully. Adrenaline, the physician had said, explaining that during traumatic experiences the system floods with the chemical, telling the body it’s in danger and attempting to provide it with the physiological tools needed to protect itself. Even once safety is reached, the chemical remains in the blood, oftentimes for hours, even days afterwards. It also has the added ‘benefit’ of searing memories of traumatic events into the mind like a slaver’s brand upon the skin, making them easier to recall and in greater, richer detail.

Taking a few minutes, he soaps up one of Kara’s fluffy, frilly sponges and hits all the important spots with the suds, until he feels quite overtaken by foam. This isn’t the utilitarian all-in-one soap provided in the showers at the DEO, he is certain from its purple hue when in the bottle – so he refrains from lathering his hair. He could take care of that tomorrow. Ready to rinse, Mon-El shifts until the pulsing stream of water beats down upon the top of his scalp, where the dull throb of his headache stubbornly refuses to be shaken loose.

Water easily defeats the delicate bubbles, sending them retreating down the hard exterior of his body and legs until they’re circling the drain at his feet. After a moment, he drops his chin to his chest so that the scorching stream of water funnels at the base of his skull and to his neck before planing down his powerfully built back.

Senses still on heightened alert, Mon-El hears the bathroom door click open over the sound of the radio blaring Justin Bieber’s ‘Let Me Love You’, feels the breeze of cooler air entering the room. He keeps perfectly still as she opens the glass door the bare minimum to admit her and slips inside the shower stall. The space wouldn’t be enough for the both of them were there any concerns in regards to personal space. Luckily for them, there are not.

“Hey,” he says, acknowledging her presence without turning around. Her hands brush against his hips with a feather light touch, an entreaty, before gliding up his back to rest on his shoulders.

“I thought I’d join you,” her voice whispers. “You don’t mind, do you?” Kara leans into him so close the front of her legs brush against the back of his thighs. Her belly lays flush against the compact muscles of his ass as she places open-mouthed kisses on the tension-riddled path of his spine.

“How could I mind this?” Mon-El pushes away from the wall and presses his back more firmly against hers, wrapping his other arm around until it lands on the back of her thigh. He turns his head to the side until he can almost feel her breath on his cheek.

With her lightest stroke, caressing him is like caressing granite. Even in the face of her loving touch, every part of him is unyielding, and Kara knows that’s not because he wants it that way. “You’re so tense,” she observes.

“I know,” he says, disturbed because the hot shower has seemingly had no effect on the state of his body. “I’m sorry. It must be from the...”

“Can I help you?” she asks, tentatively. “Will you let me help you?”

“How?” he sighs, unsure that anything can help at this stage. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to relax again or if this apparent state of heightened alert is his new normal.

Taking hold of his wrist, she removes his hand from her thigh and directs it elsewhere. “Place your hands on the wall,” she instructs.

“Am I under arrest, officer?” he jokes.

After a delicate snort that brings a smile to his face, she says, “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

Mon-El does as she instructs, admittedly a novelty when they’re both naked, unsure of what to expect. The feeling of her thumbs digging into his trapezius muscles was nowhere on his list of possibilities – but it should have been at the very top. Her x-ray vision is unable to discern individual muscles, and yet she’s able to locate the knots beneath his impenetrable skin with pinpoint accuracy. The pressure she applies would crumple titanium, but instead it’s slowly loosening the knots of restrained emotion, to which his muscles seem desperate to cling.

“Gods, Kara,” he moans, the dissipation of tension feeling so good and her hands on him feeling even better. In fact, it feels so good he can’t keep the words, “Don’t stop,” from slipping out.

“I won’t,” she promises. Proving her vow, her thumbs move lower, to his middle back, applying their heavenly pressure to his lats. “Is this helping?” she asks, hopefully. Even without looking, he can practically see her biting down on her lower lip in that way she does when she isn’t certain about something.

Mon-El’s breath catches as she finds a particularly nasty ball of tension and goes to town on it. “You have no idea,” he groans, relishing the pain she provides, as if it’s resurrecting him from the stupor he’s been in for the last half hour. “Harder,” he begs.

“Really?” she clarifies.

“Yes, harder.” When she complies, his breathing shifts to a heavy pant, and he bites down on his lower lip with a grimace. He’s going to bruise, at least for a few hours, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. She spends a few minutes working her way back up his back to his shoulders before spearing her hands into his hair and massaging his scalp from the top of his head to the junction point at the base of his skull. When her hands glide down his now relaxed back, signaling that she is done, Mon-El declares, “Kara Zor-El, have I told you lately that you are a goddess?”

Peppering his tended back with kisses, Kara slides her hands around his waist and upward until they come to a rest on his chest, over his heart. Mon-El removes one hand from the wall to cover them, lacing their fingers together.

Kara’s unoccupied hand drifts down from his chest, past his abdomen until her fingers find the light trail of fur that leads exactly where she wants to go – but doesn’t. She caresses his shoulder blade with the tip of her nose and brief brushes of her lips before placing a series of open-mouthed kisses there. “Would you like me to take care of the front now?” she asks, delicately twirling her fingers through the hair on his lower belly.

Her innuendo—her presence—has his body stirring at the speed of light. His cock twitches in anticipation, already at half-staff since shortly after she joined him. “So what are you waiting for?” he inquires, his voice lowering to a rich challenge.

“You know,” she replies.

Mon-El reaches for the hand on his lower belly, grasping it as he spins around to face her and places her hand on his shoulder. Grabbing her hips, he tugs her flush against his body and backs her up until she is sandwiched between the hard planes of his body and the cool tiles of the shower. His lips swoop down upon hers, taking, drinking, mining for the taste of her, before she has even a chance to protest. Not that she ever would.

Kara melts into him, her knees losing their will to hold her up. She would slide down the wall into a heap on the tile floor, were his body not trapping her right where she is. With a mind of their own, her hands grip at any part of his shoulders and back she can reach, fingernails searching for purchase as his tongue and lips transfer their focus to the long, sensitive column of her neck. As if he has every right…he takes her breath away.

His hips tilt slowly, torturously against her belly as he lays ruthless siege to her neck, his cock seeking her wet heat but settling for the satiny softness of her skin instead. One of Kara’s legs steals around his, her ankle hooking around the back of his calf and traveling up and up until her knee is draped over his hip, opening herself up to him. Heat races through her, lighting a white-hot blaze under her skin, burning through her self-control like a wildfire. This has been her endgame all along when she’d decided to join him in the shower, but she hadn’t intended to dissolve into a jellied mass of need and desire quite so soon. She should know better by now. “Mon-El,” she gasps, instinctively canting her hips against his, seeking fulfillment.

He knows what brought her here – why she slipped into his shower and interrupted his solitude. She is afraid for him. Fears what might happen if she should leave him alone to his thoughts and ruminations, and he can’t say he’s not a little bit afraid as well. With some degree of difficulty, he tears his lips from the soft divot of flesh where her chest and neck converge.

He leans his forehead against hers, cupping the back of her head with both hands. “Tell me why you came in here, Kara?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“To distract me?” Mon-El pulls back, seeking eye contact. Kara obliges him by tilting her head further back, slackening her neck so that the weight of her head is cradled completely in his hands.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she confirms. “But if you want to, I’m always here to listen. I’m here for you…in any way that you need me. I just wanted to remind you that you’re not in this alone.” Her own fingers slide up his chest until they frame both sides of his face.

“By offering me your body?” His head tilts to the side, finding this tactic curious.

“By being what you need,” she counters. “Aren’t you always worried about being what I need? If I’m your mate, shouldn’t I do the same, Mon-El?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Kara, I’ve always wanted to be what you need. It’s what I work so hard for…but you should know…I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know what it was like on Krypton, but couples on Daxam didn’t have those sorts of relationships. We were latched to people to consolidate power and gain influence – for most, it was a business arrangement and nothing more. When we chose to mate with someone, outside of a latching union, it was usually merely a physical bonding. Neither was based in…based in...”

“Intimacy?”

“Yeah…that.”

Kara’s forehead gathers together, a deep crinkle appearing between her eyebrows. Part of her wants to place some distance between them, afraid of the answer to the question on the tip of her tongue, but there’s nowhere for her to go. “Does it bother you? The intimacy between us?”

“Kara,” he sighs. “How can you ask me that? Do I seem dissatisfied to you? I tell you this only to help you understand. My culture compartmentalizes these things. When a man needs the kind of thing you’re suggesting, he doesn’t go to his latch-mate…he finds someone else…someone willing…to use.”

A dark shadow crosses her eyes, and they squint into hard ice-like chips of blue. “Well, if you found someone else to use, I would kill you. So that’s never going to happen. It may have been that way on Daxam, but on Krypton, and on Earth it’s the opposite. Here we promise ‘for better or for worse’.”

Mon-El’s eyes widen. He’s seen enough of Earth’s entertainment programs to recognize those words and their inherent meaning. They speak of mating and of choosing a more permanent bond with implications of expanding the familial unit, but he’s never dared dream that she would bind herself to him in such a way. “Isn’t that from the Earth commitment pledge?” The question spills out before he can stop it.

Kara’s face freezes. Isn’t this what they have been talking about all this time? Choosing and mating? Isn’t that where it’s all been leading? Doubt floods her, and her eyes dart away from his.

It’s not easy to miss the uncertainty filling her eyes, and it occurs to Mon-El that while he hasn’t dared to hope for more than what lay between them, her mind has already gone there and planted that seed. He rushes to assuage her doubt in hopes of putting it to rest. “I just never thought you would want that…with me.”

“Mon-El!” she chastises, unable to believe the abhorrence laced throughout his words and their tone. Abhorrence for himself. She knows this, the survivor’s guilt talking—she’s experienced it enough herself to recognize it—but still it hurts her to see it. “Don’t ever say that!” she instructs.

“Kara, there are things you don’t know about me. There are things I don’t know about me. Tonight, I remembered for the first time that my stepbrother died right in front of me.”

“Sometimes the mind blocks out what it isn’t ready to handle,” she explains.

“Yes, but…what else have I forgotten? How can I ask you to pledge yourself to me when there are so many unknowns?”

“I know enough,” she insists.

But she doesn’t know enough, Mon-El thinks, not by a long shot. How does he tell her that he has regular conversations with a dead man? How does he tell her the truth about who he is, about what his father did to him? How does he tell her the thing about him that made his peculiarity merely tolerated among his people – all but Ral? How can he bear to see the inevitable disgust in her eyes?

He wishes he could forget those things, block them out like the too-horrible-to-be-recalled circumstances of Ral’s death. He would gladly trade every last horrific memory of the Fall of Daxam in exchange for forgetting the thing he would cut from himself if he could. “You say that now, but you hated everything about Daxam when we first met. Everything about the kind of life I led back there. You should know…I wasn’t just a bystander in that life. I was a blissful participant—blissfully ignorant, maybe—but blissful nonetheless. What if...”

“Would you go back if you could?” she questions, almost an interrogation. His mouth opens and closes in surprise, having not expected that question. “Well…would you?”

He considers carefully the almost intentional aimlessness of the life he had there and the emptiness it fostered inside of him. His duties, the expectations placed upon him that had nothing to do with his desires, as though what he needed meant nothing at all. He is still building a life here, and there are more than a few bricks missing, but with Kara he feels a solid foundation beneath his feet for the first time in his life. But for all of its absent pieces, the blanks waiting to be filled in, he is happier here than he ever could have imagined being on Daxam. Contentment is a feeling for which he has no frame of reference before arriving on Earth and falling for Kara. “No,” he declares confidently. “I would never go back to that life. Even if I could. My life is right here,” he says, stroking her cheek.

Lifting up she captures his lips with hers, as Mon-El reciprocates with equal fervor; soft lips meeting firm pressure with fiery intent. The forgotten shower water, slowly losing heat throughout their conversation, finally gives up the last dregs of its tepid warmth turning cold against their skin. Not uncomfortable but neither is it conducive to their activities. Blindly, Mon-El reaches behind him, his hand fumbling for the spigot before finally turning it until the water drips to a halt. Reluctantly, Kara drags her contented lips from his, her breath coming in shaky gasp. “Show me,” she demands, a hint of challenge in her voice. “Let me be what you need. Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” he says. “No games tonight, okay?”

Kara nods in agreement, reading the vulnerability in his eyes. “No games. Just us.”

Grabbing the backs of her thighs he lifts her until her legs drape of their own accord around his hips, her ankles locking together as her arms encircle his neck. Mon-El pushes open the shower door with his foot, lips and tongue tasting hers as he maneuvers them from the crowded room and to the bed.

TBC

****

#karamel fic #hanging on letting go series

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