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She’s not drunk, if anyone asks.
She’s not entirely sober either, unless it’s Clark asking, in which case of course she didn’t forget his work anniversary party, that’s totally something that’s fun and healthy to celebrate. Happy 3 years, buddy. Or 5 years? Maybe he’s been there a decade. Whoop-de-fucking-doo for that. Who but her cousin could craft a secret identity as such a good little cog in the wheels of capitalism?
Regardless, she’s not drunk off a couple of cocktails and maybe 1.5 shots at that floating bar on… oh, fuck, where was it? The whole planet had smelled good, and the drinks tasted like she’d had them before, but only in one of her favorite memories. Like drinking in her very best moments.
The beer at this hole in the wall in Metropolis tastes like piss and looks even worse, but she sits in the corner of the booth and pushes down little sips everytime Clark looks over at her. He just keeps smiling; that doped up, sugar sweet grin, somehow doubling when his dark haired coworker loops her arm through his, head resting on his shoulder for a fraction of a second.
Young love. So sweet. So stupid.
Kara draws pictures on her frosted glass, fingers smudging each line, despite her best efforts. Her smiley face comes out jagged, and her house with an X in it is missing a roof.
Maybe she’s drunker than she thought.
The booth creaks when someone slides opposite her, but she doesn’t look up from her efforts. It’s gotta be Clark, coming to force her into another coworker conversation about animal shelter fundraisers or upcoming elections or the newest season of Real Housewives of Gotham (which, in all honesty, she has seen every episode of.)
There’s a field of trees around the house now, and if she concentrates hard enough, maybe she can—
“Didn’t know you were such an artist.”
Definitely not Clark, then. Kara glances through the empty half of the glass, and there’s a familiar face floating inside, annoyingly cute even through the condensation.
“I contain multitudes,” she answers, and Kendra laughs.
“I got that vibe.” She cups her own beer bottle with two hands, and Kara notices it’s still mostly full, despite the partially ripped label. “Baby cousin dragged you out tonight?”
Yes, her 33-year-old little cousin forced her to participate in his social life, because he knows that’s the only time she’ll have anything close to her own.
It’s not like she needs best friends, or a boyfriend, or a girlfriend or—whatever. She knows people! She knows Clark and Lois and his chain smoking boss who lets her try his cigars. She knows Gardner and Terrific and that dude who turns into IKEA lamps. And she knows Kendra. They’re… Friends. Friendly. Partners on a mission that ended with Kara going down on her in the elevator at the Hall of Justice.
So, yeah. That’s a solid friendship right there.
“What’d ’bout you?” She leans forward, and Kendra has to move her drink to make sure it doesn’t spill. “You work for uh… The Everyday Earth?”
Kendra twists a smile. “I don’t think that’s what it’s called,” she offers. “But no, I was just… Out. Alone. For… Fun.”
Sounds like there’s more to that, but Kara decides to be a very good friend and not ask. Kendra’s out of uniform for once, dark jeans and a t-shirt, and her hairs pulled back in a ponytail. There’s a handful of baby curls that escaped in the front, and for a moment, Kara has an idea of pushing them back out of her face. She knows how soft Kendra’s hair is, how it feels like water under her palm, thick enough that she can wrap it around her fingers when she tilts her head, opening her mouth wider and hotter and—
“What’re you drinking?” Kendra taps her forgotten pint glass. “Looks good.”
Kara groans. “It’s shit. Drinks here are shit. I was at-“ Fuck it, she truly can’t remember. “This other bar. More fun there, y’know?”
“Well, sounds like something was good,” Kendra smirks. “Fun night before all this?”
She nods, just as Clark catches her eye once more. He gives a cartoonishly big thumbs up, like he’s over the fucking moon about her hanging out with one single person. He’s just so proud of her.
Kara tries to sink further down in the seat, but the collar of her coat gets stuck in the wooden bench, pushing into her neck. She tries to reach up to free it, but her hand isn’t working exactly the way she wants, and her head feels heavy if she turns too quickly, and maybe she should just leave it and become part of the bar furniture. That’d be a hell of a way to make friends.
Kendra moves so fast that Kara nearly doesn’t realize she’s stood up, before her hands are at her neck and her thigh is pressing tight against her. Her fingers are cold but the rest of her feels warm, like she’s radiating heat every second she’s near.
When she pulls away, Kara suddenly feels freezing.
“You good?” Kendra asks, and her nails scrape gently across the back of her neck.
Kara thinks of those nails digging into her shoulder, the lines they left in her uniform. She thinks of stitching it up with the taste of Kendra still sticky in her mouth, so desperate to hide it away and still so eager to do it all over again.
“Mhm,” she agrees, but her head is even heavier now, and she can’t manage to turn it away. “Never better.”
Kendra smiles; the big, goofy kind that Clark gives her, shiny teeth and shiny hair and pretty pink cheeks when Kara leans forward, pressing the softest kiss she can manage, just on her skin.
She misjudges the distance a little, landing closer to her jaw than her cheek, but hey. Not bad for a girl who is, admittedly, just slightly tipsy.
Kendra dips her head, but her hand stays solid against Kara’s neck, thumb rubbing a tiny circle over her pulse. She breathes in, and Kara matches the pattern without thinking of it, chests rising and falling to the same beat. In, out. Up, down. Her curls flatten out under her hand, but spring back to life the moment she drops it. Like they’re giving and taking evenly.
Kendra grabs for her free hand, fingers looping around hers with ease. “Where’s your bar at?” She asks, and Kara feels her lips turning up at the excitement that beats in the question, the way her tone inches higher. Kendra likes to play nonchalant, all level-headed and clear-eyed, but she’s heard that even voice turn into a wicked whine, and Kara thinks she’d quite like to hear it again. As soon as possible, preferably.
And if she can’t find that exact bar, so what? She’d never tell him as much, but Clark was right. A night out with a friend would really do her some good.