I Deserve It

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.

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Lena knew that Non Nocere could save the world. It still could, if she's being brutally logical about it. If she throws out all semblance of respect for free will, or agency, or self determination.

With Myriad at the core, it could force every human being on the planet to take up yoga, or dieting, or anger management. She could flick her fingers across her phone's screen and no one at a gala would ever snarl at her for teasing. No one would slice her date's clothes off with their eyes and joke under their breath about teaching them that even lesbians need dick.

Gods above and below, it's tempting. She'd be turning the key right now, but for what Lex just said. It's ringing in her ears. Echoes of his madness making what remains of her soul cringe. What remains of her mother, she supposes. Helen Connelly of Ashford in County Wicklow. She knows that because Kara found it in one of Lex's files. Before the Crisis. Sent it after their argument at the gala. A peace offering.

After that, we can fix everything else that's wrong. Everything left over. Everything that resists us.

Lex has been careful not to utter the word 'Supergirl' but the threat could be no clearer. He knows, and she knows. Information and innuendo. Like how Lillian once told her that perhaps her boarding school shouldn't take a skiing trip. Perhaps yachting? Lena had told her—gushingly, stupidly—about her first girlfriend. Somewhere in the conversation, it came up that Emilia couldn't swim.

They both know that all of six species can resist Myriad—Kryptonians among them—and two of them live exclusively in god-dimensions in the Multiverse, two are the Martians, one is artificial. Both green and white Martians, mighty and cunning as they are, can be burned out. Lex has already bent Brainy to his will. The only thing left that could resist Myriad's power for more than ten minutes is Supergirl.

Lena delicately taps on one of the controls, injecting bad code and offlining Myriad for a day or two at least. Much as it frustrates Lex, there are multiple dialects of Kryptonian on the device and in the schematics. One of them not recorded in Lex's stolen files, but it is on Lena's laptop. Supergirl's YouTube had things like language and cooking tutorials. Lex had it taken down in the new world he made. Lena had already ripped the entire channel. Hers might be the only record of that attempt at outreach.

Because she knows more of Ajatkaii than Lex, Myriad isn't hers to control, but it's more hers than it is his.

She's done deeply wicked things to herself, late at night. Belly down, chin tucked under a pillow to keep the iPad in view. Panting. Her slick dripping down her own fingers. Watching as Supergirl fired up a barbecue with heat vision and showed how to make chicken kebabs with something like curry. Something from back home.

She had no idea that the Supergirl was her Kara back then, but her omega knew that it wanted those pearly teeth ripping into her flesh. Maybe after a fight, or a close call, the sun goddess could force her to her knees. Take her. Ruin her. Make her nothing and take all the hard choices away. Maybe use the heat vision to stencil a brand onto her? Property of Supergirl in Kryptonian glyphs, right next to her cunt?

After a while, the most degrading of the fantasies broke the rules. Stayed behind after the heats cooled off. How much simpler it would be to be barefoot and pregnant in the Fortress than it would fixing her brother's legacy. Policing L-Corp with its army of psychopathic scientists that went dark when she took over.

Sam's back, she heard. Putting feelers out, trying to integrate herself with Alex and Kelly because she never really forgot her crush and sharing Alex is infinitely better than no Alex. It would probably take three mommies to save the world from Ruby, especially now that her powers are coming in. Let the businesswoman-slash-Worldkiller save L-Corp.

Lena can save the world or she can save Kara.

She's made her decision by the time she reaches for the limo's door.

"Where to, Miss Luthor?"

"Three-four-six Navy Avenue."

"Don't know it," he admits. "But you're the boss."

"And then head home, Tom. I hate to sound like my brother, but tell anyone I had you drop me here and I might have to do something Luthor-ish to you."

"What? Like donate to my kid's school?"

Kara

The apartment doesn't feel right, somehow. If Lex knew what his rewrite of reality did, he'd probably pop that vessel on his bald head. Drop dead. A single woman on a reporter's salary, but she has five bedrooms, three of them with ensuite and two home offices, and this place must cost half of what her old building did. He probably wrote something like 'small, shabby but not too many cockroaches' and the Book of Destiny and his rich-boy idea of what 'small' means did the rest.

She used a favor that Mxy owed her to protect it from Lex. He can't take it away. When she did that, her heart was humming with maybes.

Who needs five bedrooms, anyhow? That's a bedroom for her, a guest bedroom for Alex and Kelly and the baby they will adopt if Kara has to heat-vision every homophobic adoption agency worker on the planet into ash.

What to do with the other three, though?

Well, she thought, that's easy. One for the boys, one for the girls. Bunk beds, maybe. The rooms are big enough that however many children she put in Lena, they'd be comfortable. Rao's mercy, that half-hour daydream on the way to the Pulitzer ceremony was sweet.

When she was done bawling into Ben & Jerry's, she helped Alex break into her old apartment and strip it. All her decorations and throw blankets and everything she owned barely cover the living room and one bedroom. Kelly demonstrated that yes, lesbians are better than everyone at everything. For one thing, Kelly is amazing at building IKEA furniture. Alex watched the turns of her mate's wrist on the hex wrench with such naked hunger that Kara's surprised the coffee table wasn't stress-tested immediately.

Her security system chimes.

"Ooh, pizza guy!"

It's not. It's Lena, her jaw clenched and her lips quivering and pretending she's not crying because wiping the tears would admit they're there. Her citrusy, sugary scent is soured by her sadness, but Rao Kara remembers it fondly. She'd prepared cheesy pickup lines.

They discontinued Sprite on this Earth, can you believe it? Have to drink you, instead.

Kara doesn't let her in, she just draws herself up and faces off.

"I've done something terrible."

Words tumble out faster than the tears.

Lena

Kara didn't kill her on sight. Didn't call for help apparently, because it's been ten minutes and Alex hasn't blown Lena's brains out from three buildings away.

She's different in a pink turtleneck and blue jeans that ride the razor's edge between soccer mom and 'came out of a can' and Lena's breath hitches when she sees it. Kara looks like an English teacher grading papers on a Sunday now, and it breaks Lena's heart. Her betrayal changed this too, I suppose. Gone were the button ups, the paradox of a cherry red skirt and bulging sleeves and a swagger that told the world she could do anything. She let her hair grow out, too. Maybe since the DEO fell, she decided to lose her military haircut.

Lena nearly destroyed the human race and took the butch out of the Girl of Steel. Maybe because Lena was a lost cause? Why dress to impress if she couldn't get the girl? Three days away from her heat and woefully unfucked, Lena feels a fresh wave of shame. She betrayed every queer woman in America by making Supergirl feminine. Probably destroyed the stock value of Duracell as vibrators sat lonely.

"Say something, Kara. Please."

Kara laughs, but it's not a happy laugh. She's made of cotton candy and puppies and ice cream at a picnic at the park and Kara can't laugh. Has she not laughed since Lena ripped herself out of Kara's life?

"That's just what I said to you at the Pulitzer ceremony, Lena. Word for word. Remember that?"

Lena nods.

"Please, Kara. Let it out. Yell at me. Punish me," she pleads. "I was arrogant. I thought I was smarter than Lex. I thought I could do good. Yell at me. Slap me. Anything, I deserve it."

Kara shakes her head.

"No. You deserve...something. But not abuse. Every day, Lex does something unforgivable. But what's worst is how your family treats you."

Kara pulls out a chair that looks like it came from her old apartment and slams it down on the slate floor of the mini-dining room by the kitchen. There's a sharp click and Lena flinches.

"Sit."

Lena's guts tumble and tangle, and she shuffles forward. Kara had been keeping her distance, ready to fight to the death at any moment. Now she's letting Lena approach. The wild stallion isn't rearing, hooves flashing, promising a cracked skull and quick death. The power's still there. One wrong move and she bolts.

"You think you deserve to be beaten?" Kara grumbles. "Whether or not I forgive you, you're seeing a therapist."

Kara

Lena's explanation clicks. She was hurt, alone, feeling not good enough and she took power she couldn't control and lashed out. All the bad things she thought of seemed ok because she was hurting. Kara's done things for just that reason. Abandonment is Lena's version of Red Kryptonite.

She can't just forgive her. She shouldn't. There will have to be legal repercussions, and endless debriefs. Mind-reading from J'onn, if they can pressure her into it.

Lena is the good Luthor, and she's trying, trying so hard. She's still a Luthor.

Then there's her scent. Each time Kara shushes her, it sweetens. When Kara reaches out to pat her hand, Lena jerks it back with a blast of sour pheromones and then slowly pushes it forward with a smaller, sweeter whiff.

"If you take it seriously, we can help you, Lena. I'm not sure things can go back to how they were. But they can go back to something. Maybe something different."

Lena's tears fall faster now. Curiouser still is her scent. It flares, sweet as syrup and thick as a rainforest.

Something different seems to be exactly what Lena wanted.

Then Lena has to go and make it weird.

"I've wanted you since we met," she whispers. "Some stupid part of me thought if I came here and apologized, that you'd scream it out and tell me to get on my knees. Facefuck me and leave me ruined. Make me a thing, so that I wouldn't have to feel or think. Just be there for you."

"Wow. We need like six therapists if that's what you think an apology looks like. This isn't what I want"

It's a lie. Kara does want to fuck Lena. Lena's offering—terrifying and nasty—reboots her brain. When the spinning wheel completes and she can think, four and a half years of maybe-someday-hopefully. Memories of Lena glancing when Kara looked away, because she didn't know Kara had super-senses. Kara caught every stolen glance and slight blush as Lena looked away. Memories of her fingers going white on Kara's bicep during a mid-air save and the way she tucked her nose into her neck and breathed in, as if oxygen alone couldn't keep her alive.

If she does marry Lena, or claim her, or mate-bite her, she's going to figure out how to make her Lena stop falling from skyscrapers and crashing planes.

My Lena? Where in Vhoc's ass crack did I get that from?

Maybe that countertop, there.

"I...I've never been with someone, Lena."

"That can't be. Do you have any idea how many women in this city wou-"

"Don't call me a liar."

Lena's jaw shuts with a click and her head tilts. So slightly a human might miss it. Back and to the right. Showing throat, so that the big bad alpha could rip her windpipe out with her teeth or that she could push the head the rest of the way to the side and bite.

Fucking Lena back to the side of the angels?

It's so stupid that a romantic comedy wouldn't take it. Hell, a porn studio wouldn't take that plot.

Alex always has told her she's a sap.

Kara stands up and walks over to the refrigerator.

Lena

"My first time isn't going to be with a villain, and I'm not sure where you are on that spectrum. But I can smell it. Your heat. It shouldn't be coming so early, should it?"

Lena shakes her head.

"It's you. It's every time you let me in today. In the door. Pulling out a chair. Everything. I wanted it too, Kara. Since you stood there gawking after Clark Kent left my office. Wanted both of you."

Kara plunks three sweaty bottles in front of her. A craft brewed beer, some fancy energy drink, and a bottle of tequila. Short and thick. Long and slick and skinny. Thick and long. She goes back to the fridge and retrieves a tub of margarine.

"I can't have you making any poor decisions because you're in heat. Want me to believe that you're being fully truthful?"

Lena swallows.

"So badly."

Kara's scent is a hurricane now, a swirl of ozone and sunbaked clay and smoke. She is the eye of the storm, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Arms crossed and triceps hard fissures and line jumping out from milky skin that wears a thin dusting of translucent golden hair, so tiny and faint that they disappear in the slightest change of light or angle. Lena needs to count them with a magnifying glass. Have Kara tally them with sharpie on her inner thigh. Lena's knees are jello and her cunt is slicking up so fast it's probably cannibalizing tissue for more liquid. Her panties are more liquid than solid. A new state of matter.

"What do you need?"

"Omegas don't think clearly when they're in heat. Prove to me you hide nothing and that your pride won't affect your judgement. Prove that you'll follow orders and put that above your ego."

Not Lena. Omegas. She's reducing me. Provoking me. Testing me.

"How?" Lena asks, although she thinks maybe she already knows the answer.

"Pick one," Kara huffs. "And scratch your own fucking itch."

Kara

This is more distracting than she planned. She went into her bedroom to make the call. But Lena is so fucking loud, like a rich girl who had a wing of the manor to herself and never needed to worry about being caught.

"Kara?" Alex grumbles into the phone. "What did you need to talk about?"

"Lena surrendered to me."

"I'll get the team. Be right over. Do not listen to a word she says."

"Alex," Kara snaps, using her Supergirl voice. The one she never uses on her sister.

"You can come, but not now. Tonight, maybe. Lena came to help. To apologize."

"How can you be sure?"

"She went into pre-heat about fifteen minutes in and offered to let me fuck her."

"Think with your knot and she'll get you killed."

Kara sighs.

"Yeah. I think she's trying, but we've got a way to go."

"You sent her away, right? Removed the temptation?"

Kara scoffs.

"I gave her a beer bottle and told her that if she needs an orgasm, she can do it herself. Figured if she couldn't get over the awkwardness, she wasn't serious."

Alex sputters and just goes into a wall-to-wall stream of half-whispered swearing.

The sound of Kelly's giggles goes on so long Kara finally hangs up.

Lena

She holds the beer bottle to her lips, drawing in as much of the scent of Kara's fingers as she can. The tequila bottle is a monster. One liter, probably. Like a pair of Coke Cans end to end with one of the half-sized ones for good measure. Big as the biggest cock could be and still fit inside a woman. Cylindrical, not flared and curved, which makes it a bitch to get in. It's still possible and she needs to prove herself.

She's also stared at ultra-high res security footage of Kara's lobby fight with Cyborg Superman. Seen her huffing and growling at the creature that once was Hank Henshaw, her body between his heat vision and Lena's frailty.

If she'd seen the view from the front that night, she'd probably have slithered to her knees then and there.

Kara comes back in and sets her phone down.

"Lena, are you insane?"

"No," she huffs. "Full. I think this is bigger than you are."

"How would you have any idea?" Kara snaps.

"Security footage of your fights in L-Corp. Back in the day. Your skirt is about sixteen inches form belt to hem."

Lena hisses as she manages to sink in another inch.

"I did the math."

"I'm calling J'onn," Kara mutters. "I can't watch this."

"I'll leave," Lena croaks. "I'm disgusting right now, aren't i?"

"Sit. Down," Kara grinds out. "Do not leave that chair."

Kara

"You do realize that I see you as a daughter, right?"

Kara ducks her head.

"Just check her from around the corner, then? Or I can throw a blanket over her. I want to believe what she's saying, J'onn. Someday, I want to be hers and I for her mine. So badly I can't explain. But today, I need to know that she's actually trying. I need to know what's in her heart of hearts and I want to know soon."

He grits his teeth and nods.

"You owe me."

"I know."

He comes back in ten minutes later.

"She's sincere, Kara. Fully and truly. Her most intense emotion is shame, so tread lightly with her. I've seen things in her mind that I don't think I'll ever recover from, and I'm not talking about her sexual fantasies. She's been abused since before she could read or write."

"She'll let you do anything," he warns her, putting a big hand on her shoulder "So make me proud by figuring out what she wants and making you both happy."

"Thanks, Space Dad."

She goes back into the dining room. Lena is the picture of depravity. Mascara running. Strands of her juices running down the bottle to drip onto the carpet. Hips bucking. Sobbing quietly.

"I can't find it. I can't come," she moans.

Kara pulls the sweater over her head and at the sight of her ratty bra—Laundry day—Lena's pupils swallow up all the green in her eyes and her lemon-lime sweetness pours out into the room. Tendrils of want and need you and I'd taste so sweet that hit Kara like some new form of Kryptonite. Her body isn't fully hers.

If nothing else, her first time will be a funny story to tell each other.

Kara unbuckles her belt and shimmies out of her jeans. Lena's eyes trace the bulge and her brilliant mind is no doubt doing some calculus about angles and depth perception and guessing based on the font size of the Calvin Klein logo and she licks her fucking lips, the little minx.

By dawn, Lena's either going to be on the path of the angels, or so pounded she can't get out of bed to do evil.

Kara pulls her bra off and Lena moans, broken and wavering. She slides her boxers down and Lena's body goes taut and she twitches and thrashes through an orgasm. Kara wraps her hand around her aching cock, smearing the pre around and pumping it as she approaches her prey with teeth bared.

Lena

Lena was so open and so closed up at the same time around the tequila bottle that she was about to give up. It was girthy and hard, sure, and a momentary flare of burn flickered through her mind, white hot and sizzling when she put it in. Forced the sensitive, feisty ring of muscle to yield.

But it didn't have a pulse. Didn't throb inside her. Didn't fight the flutter of her needy walls with stuttering jabs.

Worst, it didn't have blue eyes nearly swallowed by black or tousled, half-sweaty golden hair or that fucking look in its eyes. The next time Lena's alone in bed—please God, let that be never—this instant will be what she thinks of. The icon of Aphrodite, sleek of skin and round of breast and lithe of motion, crossbred with Osiris and Ra and Helios and Apollo, in their glory as fearsome as the ever-burning sun itself. Standing before her with thick cords of muscle tensing and shivering with nervousness. Hard as the bronze the sculptor used. A cock shaped by a mind that seeks to prove worship.