Back Against the Wall

Content Note: This story contains Omegaverse AKA Alpha/Beta/Omega themes, but they're pretty mild, in my opinion. All sex occurs between female-identifying alphas and omegas. If that makes your hackles stand up (hey-o! wolf puns!) check back later for one of my non-ABO works.

Author's Note: Nia is an alpha in this, but remains a transwoman, having undergone both gender transitions and status-related therapy. I'm also including the show's retcon from episodes 06x05 and 06x06 that twenty-something Cat Grant visited Midvale and encountered Nia during her and Brainy's time travel mission. Nia's hoping Cat doesn't remember that...

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"Well, well, well...aren't you all grown up, Kiera?"

Kara spins so fast that it has Nia coughing in a way that sounds suspiciously like 'secret identity.

"Cat," she mumbles.

Elegant as ever, her old boss lifts her flute of champagne to her lips, her trademark platinum bracelet twinkling in the low lighting. Behind Cat is a strawberry blonde omega clad in a shimmering drape of green silk seemingly modeled after the chitons so popular on statues of Greek goddesses. It bares her legs to mid-thigh and the silver-plated clasps leave tantalizing glimpses of milky flesh between hips and ribs. The collar is turtleneck-high and crushed velvet, leading to a gold chain. The outline is tempting without being glued to her bust and her butt, and so like something at the National City University sculpture garden that no one would dare call it racy. Perhaps it's an in-joke between them about her very classical figure: all curves and heft in tribute to the ancient feminine from ages before anyone heard of 'thigh gap'. The omega's scent screams admiration and her hand never leaves the small of Cat's back. Kara spots a tiny scar on Cat's braceleted wrist. It's a better place for a businesswoman to have a bite, Kara supposes. Easier to conceal. Never let them know what the rules are, Cat once told her.

"Speechlessness does not suit a journalist."

If Cat wanted Kara to recover the power of speech, calling Kara a journalist wasn't the way. Cat is the Journalist, just like Astra was the Soldier to a younger Kara. Kara barely feels like a small-J journalist on a good day. Her sins are undetected but numerous: over-relying on 'Supergirl' (technically herself) as a source, leaving breadcrumb trails for the authorities to find so she can interview them later, straddling the line between op-ed and news because fuck the idea that racism is "a viewpoint" that should be given equal weight.

"Right," Kara finally manages. "Good point."

"Naturally," Cat retorts. "I made it. This is Vania."

Rao's mercy. The Amazon? Aella and Melanippe's daughter?

"Lovely to meet you, sister," Vania drawls. "For you it's Van, or just V."

The clues are there. That unique, breathy, French-Spanish-Russian-Arabic sounding accent. The use of 'sister' as an all-purpose term for any woman in sight. A taste in clothing that runs towards 500 BC more than last fall's hottest trends. Walks like an Amazon, talks like an Amazon, prefers women like an Amazon.

When Kara lifts her hand to her lips, a discreet sweep of X-Ray vision shows nothing but skin. Pale and freckled skin, not flesh that's transparent through to the knucklebones. Not human, or not only human.

"Charmed, V."

Cat's head dips in acknowledgment to Nia, who is going to faint if Cat does that again.

"You haven't introduced me to your date, Kiera."

"This is Nia. Ah...a friend."

"My..." Nia pauses. "...partner is having a rough patch. We're trying to keep it low-key for him. So when I go out, it's with Kara."

Nia squares her posture, more alpha-like in stance than Kara ever learned to be, and somehow stiffens her scent too. Without a Kryptonian nose, Kara doesn't think someone would catch that Nia was a male omega at birth. Trans magic. Nia's hand reaches towards Cat, trembling more than it has in any fight she's ever had suited up as Dreamer.

"Nia Nal."

"I'm Cat Grant. Obviously."

The handshake is brief and jerky and meant to show a burst of strength but also respect. Nia is making Kara's alpha feel foolish and inadequate tonight.

"The pieces on fashion, expression, and gender," Cat recalls, tapping a long finger against her wine glass. "And the op-ed on status-body divergence. I'm guessing those were yours?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ma'am," Cat huffs. "Ma'am is my mother. An association you do not want me to make. Those articles were tolerable. I thought you seemed familiar."

Nia shivers. Cat turns her all-seeing gaze back on Kara. Pale blue, almost green. Knife-sharp and intense enough to spear Kara to the spot, bracing for a verbal beat-down.

"I recommended to Ms. Luthor that she assign Nia to you, Kara."

"You did? You personally?" Nia all but squeals.

"Mmm. But I wanted you to teach her how to show some spine, Kara. Not donate yours," she teases.

Van slides her arm in Cat's and gestures towards the banquet table.

"Let Kara be, my heart."

She turns her ocean-blue eyes on Nia and waves a hand idly at the food.

"Come, little oracle. I do love a good story of Cat's handpicked proteges," she purrs.

As the trio passes by, Kara feels blunt nails scrape across her abs.

"Missed a button," one of her tormentors hisses.

Kara's ill-conceived attempt to look more feminine--turns out that was not why Lena was ignoring her--left her out of practice in slacks and a dress shirt like this. Jackets and blazers are pretty straightforward. She can usually find her arms. It's not exactly possible to check in the middle of the Luthor Foundation for the Arts ballroom, so Kara starts trying to make her way to the alpha's bathrooms unseen.

She doesn't get far.

Leaned up against a pillar in a cozy, semi-dark corner, she spots two heads crowned by luscious waterfalls of black. Next to Lena, Andrea towers even in shorter heels. They lurk a few paces from the omega's room and are orbited by a hijacked waiter who is clearly terrified of disappointing a Luthor, so they're not something Kara can slip past. Kara slows her approach--don't over-alpha it, she reminds herself--hoping to seem like she's passing by casually rather than storming towards women she has a complicated history with. Andrea and Supergirl have had run-ins, typically involving the Argentinian omega's voice plunging to a dark, syrupy trill and a lot of bicep-squeezing. Kara and Lena have gone through every kind of complicated there is.

Rainforest green and lightning blue eyes catch Kara and follow her as she approaches. Smiles spread on both omegas' faces and Lena whispers something to Andrea. Kara hasn't been using her supersenses all night and even if she was, Lena might be wearing one of Lex's old white-noise emitters anyway. Naturally, Lena improved the design, pumping out a soothing rumble that makes Kara all drowsy...or maybe it's the omega so smart it hurts that makes her turn to mush. More experiments needed.

"Evening," Kara mumbles, reaching as if to tip her hat. She's not wearing a hat. This is what pretty ladies do to her. Make her a moron.

"Yes, it is," Andrea replies, pecking Lena on the cheek.

Kara shoulders the door open and beelines for a mirror. Sure enough, she missed no fewer than two buttons on her shirt. The instant she took her jacket off, it must have been obvious but no one said anything. No one said anything for two hours. She huffs angrily, making a few curls of hair dance across her forehead.

What is this, Midvale High? Laugh at the awkward girl?

The door swings open. Cat and Vania stumble in, tangled with each other. Greedy with their hands and lips and teeth. Van's grip on Cat's shoulders tighten and the alpha hisses. The amazon's hips jerk forward, reflexively seeking the grind of her mate's cock, and Cat whines. Their scents blur. Alpha, confident and citrus-sharp. Omega, spiraling and smoky and with a pull like gravity itself. Despite one of them being an amazon trained since she could walk in things like detecting ambushes, they haven't seemed to notice Kara. She steps back into the corner, transfixed by seeing her old boss look so carefree in a way she never did before she left for DC. Did she meet Van there? A gala at the Themysciran Embassy, perhaps? Van was part of Diana's honor guard at a White House visit, took a shine to the press secretary?

Kara has so many questions for Cat, not to mention more than a little jealousy.

They stumble into a stall and the lock slams with a click. Fabric rustles and one of them makes a sound split between a yelp and a moan. Kara catches a glimpse of silver patent leather--Cat's heels, not Van's sandals--and averts her gaze before she can have an uncomfortable replay of the wet dreams of her early twenties with the bonus of her boss eating out a goddamned amazon. Her cheeks burn and her ears feel hot and prickly. She's not sure she can leave without one of them hearing, and she certainly can't stay. That'd be pervy. Maybe worse than pervy. Wonder Woman herself answers every single question about her personal life with a smirk. Who knows what life is like on that island?

Something shrieks at the edge of Kara's hearing. Lena's alarm watch.

=====

The 'crisis' turns out to be Lena and Andrea next door in the omega's ladies, still dressed to the nines, with the waiter that they'd hijacked held between them. Andrea's long fingers are curled around the waiter's cock. Each pump is slow. Deliberate. Controlling. Lena's tongue traces the poor woman's ear--pink, puffy, and perfect--dragging strangled sounds from deep in her ribs. Andrea's bending over more than she needs to, making sure Kara has a good view of her golden skin. Up and down she strokes, up and down goes the mind-melting glimpse of her cleavage.

"Nice of you to join us," Lena purrs. "I knew I could count on Supergirl."

There's something about the waiter, too. Something familiar.

"You're the vigilante that I had to save six months ago."

The woman was good and obviously had excellent training. Batman-level moves but no Batsuit. Bruce won't admit it, but the fifty million dollars of bulletproof armor matters.

"Answer her, love."

Lena's teeth bite into the earlobe and the waiter makes a moan that might be an 'uh-huh' sort of sound.

"Stephanie here has always dreamed about being with an alpha. I told her there might one alpha on the planet..."

Lena's soft chuckle shakes Kara's bones.

"...heroic enough to see past the little taboo."

This was not what Kara was expecting when she rushed to Lena's assistance.

"Did you, now?"

Lena arches a brow. Kara shouldn't be surprised that the Luthor's research into Kryptonian culture included the study of the sexual ways and customs, or what they had been ages ago. It's still odd and using Lex's espionage for this makes Kara wonder if Lena just wants to see her naked.

"This isn't a service I usually provide the citizens of National City," she reminds Lena, crossing her arms. Andrea's scent shifts and she swipes her lips with her tongue.

"But..." Lena teases, knowing it's a jab and knowing Kara will fold like a cardboard takeout box.

Kara huffs.

"...but you are no ordinary citizen, Miss Luthor. Let's say I'm negotiating."

Lena hums, and her scent shifts, so potent and dizzying that Kara finds herself wondering if there was an earthquake. Stephanie tucks her head into the crook of Andrea's shoulder and moans. Andrea's fingers swipe the twitching head and she catches as much of the come as she can in her cupped palm before lifting her prize to take one positively feline lick, catching a fat white droplet on the tip of her tongue.

The supersuit wasn't really made for this contingency, Kara realizes. But if she reaches down to adjust herself, she'll be admitting how hard it's made her and she'll have lost the game.

Stephanie waves a shaky hand at Kara.

"Can I...er...can I see it?"

Kara runs her hand across the controls on the right arm, and the click of latches opening is followed by a rush of cool air against her overheated skin, a heavy-scented breeze of omega desperation, and Andrea's powder blue eyes going almost black as her breathing quickens.

"Girl of Steel, indeed," Andrea chuckles, her scent thick and spicy as incense.

Stephanie's bronze-blonde eyebrow shoots up towards her hairline at the sight of Kara's cock and her scent wavers, the smoky tones of interest and the sourer, thinner scents of submission to challenge tangling in sweetly confusing ways. Perhaps Stephanie's impressed, perhaps she's terrified, perhaps she's interested. It wouldn't be like an alpha--not an Earth alpha, at least--for her to explain herself. Even at half-mast cupped in Andrea's hand, Stephanie's no slouch in that department...for a human. Something from the darkest moments of Krypton's past is pleased by their awed hush. Something from back when Daxam and Krypton only differed in their excuses for fanning out across the galaxy as conquerors.

Kara had teenage fumbles before she knew the 'rule' that alphas don't knot each other, even if it's romantic and slow under the stars on the Fourth of July in Midvale and Kenny is crying happily over Kara's hands as she settles atop him.

She's had just enough experience with alpha locker rooms in the past to know that their size is entwined with their ego. Kara Danvers' muscles aren't something she can always hide so she needs an excuse for them, just like she needs excuses for half a dozen of her omega co-workers as to why they can't tag along. Kara wonders if Lena knows that she was the first omega she ever worked out with, even if she was faking human weakness at the time. It's a silly thing that it feels so important...but it is to Kara. The fact that Lena started going religiously to a spin class she hated was gratifying and far more so was her super-hearing picking up the surge in Lena's heartbeat when they gave each other a hug to psych Lena up.

According to the internet, some omegas see a particularly swollen erection as a compliment, though it's never been safe for Kara to experiment with omegas. Lena's scent brightens, but whether in curiosity or mocking, Kara's not experienced enough to be sure which. Andrea's face makes clear her intent is fully debauched. But are there two omegas begging for sex with their every perfumed breath, or just one?

"C'mere," Lena purrs. "I think she wants to suck it."

Stephanie opens her mouth as if to protest--maybe to agree?--but can't make the words come out. If only there was a place on internalized homophobia that Kara could punch like she does the rest of the evils of the world. Step by trembling step, Kara approaches the trio, her gaze flicking from Lena's unsettling smirk, to Andrea's lidded gaze and darkened eyes, to Stephanie's blush and the nervous bob of her throat.

"Do you, Steffy? Do you actually want to? Because I won't pressure you."

"Yeah," she gulps. "I do."

Kara reaches out and wraps a palm around Stephanie's cheek.

"How and where?"

"Here. In a stall. And...maybe later we find a bed? So you can knot them?"

This time, there's no mistaking Lena's reaction. Her scent is so different from Andrea's. It's closer to mint than spice and so needy now that Kara wonders if she could gather it from the air with a spoon.

Lena jerks her head towards the largest stall and leans close to Stephanie.

"Not to brag, but I give excellent head. Want some pointers?"

A fresh strand of pre falls from Stephanie's cock into Andrea's palm and that's all the answer any of them needs.

=====

"Oh, wow..."

Kara's pretty sure she died an hour or so ago. This has to be the parade beyond. Creamy, fragrant, feverish omega flesh presses up against her from both sides. Andrea tongues her pulse lazily and whispers horrifying things in her ear, fully aware that her CatCo file lists her Spanish fluency. Lena...Rao. Lena is simply glued to her. Soft hands have snuck under Kara's shirt, cheek nuzzling against her own. She's not saying it but her purr and the hickey she's trying to give Kara say it for her.

It's actually hard to focus on Stephanie's blowjob. She gives Andrea's ass a hard, fast squeeze--making a little rip! sound--and all her sinful promises filter off into a groan. A whisper in Kryptonian--using words describing filthy acts that no one's described in thousands of years--is enough to distract Lena.

Steffy is...unskilled. Naturally. For an alpha to be on her knees--even for an omega, even for her mate--is seen by many as tantamount to castration. Stupid, primitive Earth. Kara hasn't had the pleasure often--once or twice, on a disastrous HeatLink date--but it didn't feel nearly this good. The other blonde is eager and strong and there's something alphic about her blowjob. It's a tug of war. There's competition and challenge and all those alpha things. There's a make me aspect that most omegas wouldn't use. Her sturdy, handsome jaw that spreads easier for Kara's girth. Her tighter throat that flutters and clenches and squeezes and fights back, but opens when she coaxes Kara into really thrusting and pushing out a blast of pheromones. Her toned arms pulling Kara in, scratching at the suit, clawing at her ass. Trying to force herself down rather than letting Kara do it. She doesn't need skill to have Kara moaning and thrashing in the grip of the omegas to either side of her and spilling down Stephanie's throat inside of three minutes.

She gives swallowing a gallant try, but it's been a long time and this is hot and Kara's come soon overfills her throat, making her back off with a sputter. More splashes onto her face and neck and she rocks back on her heels, smiling and tilting her chin up to receive it. She comes and comes for so long it's almost embarrassing. Kara halfway expects circus music and clown makeup to spontaneously appear.

"Good?" she croaks out once she's recovered her voice and carefully dabbed the area around her eyes with Lena's handkerchief.

"Rao..." Kara gasps. "So good."

"My place?" Lena suggests.

"Do you still have the toys, querida?"

Lena shudders.

"They used to date," Kara stage-whispers to Stephanie.

"Fuck. That's hot."

"My place it is."

"Hold on," Kara warns them.

She gathers them up--Stephanie wisely loops both her arms and legs around her--throws open the window, and leaps into the night sky. Kara's too hasty in setting them down on Lena's balcony, making Andrea tumble out of her grip into a heap. Thankfully, she landed on one of Lena's chairs for sunbathing AKA hiding under a blanket, umbrella, three-mile-wide hat, and SPF 50,000 sunblock while reading science journals. Lena does tend to wear bikinis under all that while "sunbathing" and Kara's cratered face-first into the desert three times after looking over at the omega's balcony while in flight. NASA needed to fake a meteor strike to explain the one after she saw Lena sucking languidly on the straw of a vanilla milkshake.

"Whatcha think?" Kara whispers to Stephanie, nodding at the tangle of golden skin, ruined designer silk, and embarrassed slash horny scent. One of Andrea's Givenchy heels is dangling on snapped straps and the other probably went over the edge of the balcony. A quick glance with X-Ray vision finds it embedded in a planter. Since the falling stiletto didn't smash anyone's brains, she decides it's not Supergirl's problem.

"I think you should fuck her."

Kara nearly jumps back into the sky at the sound of Lena's voice. The hilarity of Andrea's mishap and the plush, silk-wrapped curves of the upturned ass it offered had so distracted her that she had forgotten the presence of her best friend and maybe-someday-please-Rao girlfriend.

Lena toes off her own shoes and walks over to the deck chair. She gathers Andrea's silky mane into a fist and yanks.