Chapter Text
He'd kissed her.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Why the hell had he kissed her?
That hadn't been supposed to happen. He hadn't intended to let it happen. And yet, without a second thought, he'd thrown himself into the trap that she was. Two words; that'd been all she'd said and he was done for.
Damn it.
Mon-El still stood at the balcony, once again alone. His lips were tingling at the memory of Kara's, dissatisfied and desperate for more, but the blonde had just left. She'd slipped back inside, leaving him there to deal with the aftermath of his own downfall. Because that was how he called it: his downfall. It felt appropriate, considering the fact he'd been so adamant to keep his distance and not let her affect him in any way, but, in a split second, he'd turned it all around.
She was that powerful — or, rather, he was that weak. Because he'd known he hadn't moved on, he'd known his heart still longed for her, but he'd chosen to believe in a lie he'd created of his own accord. And then, as if she'd known the kind of power she still held over him, she'd ripped that lie of his apart without even trying at all.
The wind howled but it was no match for the cacophony coming from inside. Mon-El glanced behind his back, observing the crowd. He didn't want to return to the party, he'd called it a night before Kara had even showed up, and although he'd decided to stay earlier, all he could currently think of was getting the hell out of there.
And that was what he did. With a quick stride, he left the balcony and slipped through the crowd until he'd found his mother. "I'm leaving," he whispered to her ear, caring little about the fact an old –most likely filthy rich– bald dude had been talking to her.
Rhea took a good look at him, as if she'd been expecting him. With a swift motion of her hand, she dismissed the other man and focused on her son. "You saw her, didn't you?" she asked and one of her hands rested on his shoulder — the closest she would get to a comforting gesture.
Mon-El nodded, his gaze low.
"It's early."
He didn't respond to that, only raised his head and stared at her, his eyes communicating without words. "Mom," he said. The name was foreign on his tongue; he hadn't used it in years. "Please."
"Okay, go," she told him and Mon-El could've sworn he caught a glimpse of concern passing across her face. Before he could dwell on it, however, he walked away, heading for the exit.
He didn't stop to search for Kara, fighting against his own urge to see her one more time. He simply left, practically running to his car after he'd stepped out the entrance door. And then he drove away, even though he didn't have a particular destination in mind. He couldn't go home yet, couldn't go back to the same walls they had once lived in together. He was trying to escape her, that was what he told himself, because the smell of her perfume still chased him and her voice still echoed in his ears.
It was already one in the morning when Mon-El stepped into his apartment building, hands in his pockets and face sullen. Driving hadn't eased his mind much, he still felt like a whirlwind, going around in circles. He revisited past memories and went through the same old emotions again and again, as if the last two years had been mere minutes and his brain was stuck in a loop.
He walked into the elevator and stood there for a minute, before he remembered to press the button up to his floor. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and waited, impatient and weary and wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and forget that night had even happened.
He shouldn't have expressed such wishes, though. Because life was a bitch, and when you wanted one thing, it took it as a challenge to give you the exact opposite. And in Mon-El's case, apparently, the exact opposite was Kara sitting with her back pressed against his door, waiting for him to finally come home.
He saw her before she did. Her head was bowed and resting atop her bent knees. At first glance, he wasn't sure if she was even awake, but after he'd taken a couple of steps closer, her eyes snapped high to meet his own.
"Kara? What are you doing here?" he asked.
She took a moment to respond, looking as surprised as he was. "I was waiting for you," she said and accepted the hand he'd offered to help her up.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I just–" she faltered and a blush tinged her cheeks. "We kissed."
"I know."
"No, I mean– I'm here because we kissed."
Mon-El's brows furrowed. "I don't understand," he said and studied her gaze, as if he'd find an answer in there.
"I feel like I should apologize for what happened. I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have forced you into kissing me, I'm sorry." The blush on her cheeks turned a shade darker and she bit her bottom lip.
"You didn't force me into anything," he replied, "I wanted to kiss you too."
"Really?"
"Come on, Kara," he rolled his eyes and pulled his keys out of his pocket. Seeing the motion, the blonde took a step aside to let him unlock the door. "Like I said earlier, you and I got history, the kind we can't easily ignore." He didn't look at her as he spoke, only pushed the door open and walked into the apartment. "I get it," he turned to face her again, "we got caught in the moment, it doesn't matter."
"What if I want it to matter?" Kara followed him inside.
"What?"
"You heard me." She came and stood right in front of him. "What if I want it to matter? What if I told you I came to your mother's thing tonight because I was hoping to bump into you? I wanted to see you. And I wanted to talk to you. And I may not have planned to kiss you, but I'm not regretting it either, if I'm being honest."
Mon-El blinked. He was speechless. His heart started pounding inside his chest, his skin was getting all hot and sweaty and his nostrils flared, as if he needed more air all of a sudden. "Don't do this to me," he said and lowered his face. "You can't do this to me. It's been two years. You left me."
Kara lifted both hands and cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. "I didn't leave you, I simply left." A thumb caressed his skin. "I couldn't stay," she admitted, "things weren't good, Mon-El, we were falling apart and you know that."
"You gave up on us," he spoke with a hint of accusation, but it was mostly a whine that echoed through his words.
"Maybe, but I'm here now."
"What are you saying exactly?"
"I'm saying that I wanna kiss you again, if you let me," she smirked.
"I'll definitely let you."
"Yeah?" she inched closer.
Mon-El hummed positively and his eyelids fluttered shut right after Kara's. He stayed still and waited for her, not knowing whether she'd actually lean in and claim his lips, but that only lasted for about two seconds. She'd been as impatient as he'd been, it seemed, and didn't stall further before diving right into their second kiss of that night.
Things escalated quickly after that, as the pair fumbled with clothes and grabbed onto each other with no intention of letting go. Neither of the two had had anything to drink, but they surely looked drunk, stumbling and laughing between moans and pleads, already existing in a world of their own. They weren't the same as they once used to be, that much was clear, but memory was a powerful thing. Thus their bodies weren't restrained by the same inhibitions their minds were. Their hands knew exactly what to touch, their lips knew exactly where to press, their ears knew exactly what sounds to listen and aim for.
Kara's jacket was thrown somewhere on the living room floor, Mon-El's shirt must've fallen on the couch, his pants were shed in the hall and her dress barely made it past the bedroom door. By the time they'd fallen into his bed, only underwear remained, which they were eager to remove too.
"I missed you," Mon-El mumbled, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses from Kara's stomach up to her jaw.
"Me too," she breathed out, fingers pulling at his hair and head thrown back.
Suddenly, he paused for a moment, putting a stop to all the fervor and lust in favor of asking a very important question. "Are you sure about this?" He pulled back, hands withdrawing and knees helping him stand a safe distance away, so his touch wouldn't distract her and draw an instinctive response from her that she'd regret later.
The blonde looked at him surprised. She scooted backwards too, only enough to rest on his pillows and prop herself up a few inches. "I'm sure," she nodded, "are you?"
"I want you," Mon-El said simply.
Kara smiled at that. "Then show me," she dared, reaching out for him again. And that was all the confirmation he'd needed, before returning to his previous position and proceeding to do just what she'd asked him to.
There was no going back after that. No doubts, no second thoughts, no pauses and uncertainty. They simply got lost in each other, sinking into needs and wants and two years' worth of unfulfilled yearning. At the moment, there was no way to stop what they'd started, all they could do was give into it and hope they wouldn't drown.
Morning came with tangled limps and wrinkled sheets and kisses that tasted like strawberry jam. It wasn't too early when the pair woke up, but they'd had a long night, so their eyelids were heavy and sleep mellowed their senses.
They ate breakfast in bed, stealing bites from each other's plate, and gazed at the city from the big window that covered most of the wall they were facing. But as the time passed and the world came back into focus, a certain tension settled in the atmosphere and threatened to burst the bubble they had been hiding in.
They tried to ignore it at first by speaking less and touching more. And it worked for a while. However, there came a point when they were both itching to say something, despite the fact neither dared to open their mouth.
Kara grasped Mon-El's hand, slipping her fingers in the gaps between his own. In response, he squeezed and turned to press his lips on her shoulder. The silence was becoming taut, the short-lived serenity cracking at the edges. But they held on for a little longer, both lost in their wild thoughts.
"What are we doing?" Mon-El asked softly after some time, being the first who'd gathered enough courage to speak. Perhaps he was the only one to have needed it in the first place, though — Kara seemed calmer and more certain.
"Are you having second thoughts?" the blonde stared at him.
"Kind of," he stared back, unwilling to miss the hidden secrets she might blink away. "We spent the night together, now what?"
"I don't know, I haven't thought that far." A small smile graced her face, contradicting the storm that was raging within him.
"You left for a reason," he said, "what are we doing messing around with the past? We're supposed to be done and over with."
Kara sighed, maneuvering her body to face him properly atop the bed. "I didn't leave because I didn't love you anymore," she said, "in fact, I left because I loved you too much and I couldn't stand what we had become."
"That's bullshit," Mon-El's face hardened and he withdrew, pulling his hands and legs back, just enough to avoid contact.
"It's not bullshit, it's the truth."
"If you loved me, you wouldn't have left. Not with a goddamned letter on the kitchen table and a half-assed apology. Not when I needed you the most."
"I tried, Mon-El. You know that I tried."
"Oh, did you, now?" His words dripped with sarcasm and disbelief.
"Stop doing this!" Kara exclaimed, furious and loud all of a sudden. "Stop acting like you're the only one whose heart broke. It's not fair!"
He watched her slip off the bed and walk to the window, her breaths heavy and long. The shirt she'd borrowed from him barely reached her thighs, underwear and legs still visible, and normally, a sight like that would have him paralyzed and owning all of his attention. Nonetheless, this time he didn't even glance away from her face. "You left me, Kara," he said instead, holding onto his own anger as if it was the only thing keeping him together. "My father was dying, I was a mess and you got up and left!"
"What was I supposed to do?" she yelled, her hands curling into fists. "What could I do? You didn't want me, you didn't want my help, you wanted nothing to do with me!"
"What are you even talking about?" Mon-El stood too. He was too worked up to be sitting down. "You were the only one I wanted."
"Oh, did you, now?" Kara took her turn on the offensive side, mimicking his previous tone, "'Cause that's not what I remember. What I remember is you not coming home for days, not talking to me, not even bothering to answer my calls, and if you did come, you were so drunk you couldn't even walk to our bed."
"I did come home!" he retaliated. "I did talk to you and answered your calls and tried to stay sober. But you were so mad at me. Constantly. You were so damn mad, always picking fights, always asking for more than I could give."
"I wasn't mad at you, you idiot!"
"What?"
"I wasn't mad at you," she repeated. "I was mad at the world and the way it was breaking you. I was mad at myself because I couldn't help you. I was mad at everything and everyone but not at you, never at you."
"That's– that's not what I was seeing." His shoulders slumped, confusion flashing across his features.
"Yeah, because I didn't let you. I was so focused on your feelings that I forgot to pay attention to mine."
"Kara," he started.
"No, let me say this," she cut him off. She still stood in front of the window, the sun shining behind her and making her hair glow. But her figure was shadowed, both literally and metaphorically. "I know I'm to blame for many things. I know you're angry and you have every right to be. I shouldn't have left like that. But you need to understand that I couldn't stay either. In just one day, when you found out about your father's condition, you changed your whole life and you never stopped to think about me, you acted like I didn't even exist. For a whole year, you spent your days either in your father's office, running his company for him, or in his hospital room, trying to make up for all the years you'd been estranged. And when you were all burnt out or too riled up –only then– you came to me. Only when you were falling apart, you remembered to come home." Her eyes glossed over and her mouth pursed, the dimple below her bottom lip showing, but she took a deep breath and continued: "But you know what? I didn't have a problem with that, not in the selfish way. I only had a problem with what you were doing to yourself. I didn't care that I slept alone, as long as I could hear you snoring from the living room couch. I didn't care that I only saw you for a few minutes at night, as long as you were safe and sober and knew that I was right here waiting for you."
"Kara."
He got cut off again, only this time it was with a shake of her head. The words were choking her, the memories weakening her, the emotions twisting her heart and draining her lungs of oxygen. "I was right here," she said, pointing a finger to what used to be her side of the bed, "I was right here, every day and every night. You weren't."
"You couldn't help me, you couldn't fix it all for me," Mon-El approached with slow steps. She was falling apart right in front of him and he couldn't hold onto his anger anymore.
What good was that anger, anyway? It'd been the reason he'd let it all go to hell; the reason he'd slipped back into his parents' life and tried to keep everything running in a delusional notion that his father would stay alive longer, because he'd still been so angry with the old man and couldn't find it in himself to forgive him before he died. And it was the reason he couldn't look Kara in the eye and had turned to liquor bottles instead, because he was too mad at himself for not being better, not being stronger and dragging her into his mess. And it was why he'd let her go; why after he'd read that goddamned letter left on the kitchen table with the half-assed apology, he hadn't tried to bring her back. He was too angry to mourn, too angry to ask for help, too angry to love and accept love. And he had paid for it.
A sigh escaped him just as a sob escaped her. He didn't wait further after that. His arms reached out and gently pulled her close until she was cradled in his embrace. Her body shook and shivered and Mon-El lowered his face to hide in the crook of her neck. He shushed and hummed and pressed kisses to her soft skin, the weight of their past having settled upon them both. But if they were going to go down, they'd do it together — at least this time, they were sensible enough to know that much.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was a mess. It wasn't your fault," he whispered, not sure if she could hear him.
The blonde lifted her head. Their eyes met. "I should've tried harder, I should've loved you better. You were a mess and I left."
"I'm not blaming you anymore," he said and touched his forehead to her own.
"I'm not leaving again," Kara lifted a hand to stroke his stubbled cheek.
"Is that a promise?"
"Yes."
"Then I might hold you to it."
They smiled with newfound relief and didn't speak again. Everything that needed to be said had been, the rest could wait. Now it was time for a different kind of communication, a different kind of connection. And, naturally, their bodies knew the way.