Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10183322.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Supergirl_(TV_2015)
  Relationship:
      Alex_Danvers/Kara_Danvers
  Character:
      Alex_Danvers, Kara_Danvers
  Additional Tags:
      Pseudo-Incest, it's_not_incest_if_one_of_them_is_an_alien, sub!Alex,
      dom!Kara, But_really_more_like, Service_Top!Kara, Masturbation, Fantasy,
      Guilt, college!Alex, high_school!Kara, Pre-Canon, Could_Technically_Be,
      Canon_Compliant, mostly_-_Freeform, Alex_Knows_She's_a_Lesbian
  Series:
      Part 1 of Don't_Dream_Too_Deep
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-08 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 3039
****** Close Your Eyes (But Don't Dream Too Deep) ******
by Silent-Wordsmith_(Shatteredsand)
Summary
     Alex is home from Stanford for Christmas vacation. Pretending she
     doesn’t feel like this was easier with miles between her and Kara.
Notes
     AN: After a long absence from the world of smut, I have returned.
     Happy (belated) Sinmas.
     AN2: I’m aware this is going up mid-March, but in my defense, it’s
     actually been done since, like, December 19th. AND I wrote a slew of
     sequels while waiting to be able to upload, so. Forgive me?
Alex knows she shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong. Kara is young, younger
than her sixteen years make her seem because she’s only been on Earth for a
measly three. She’s still awed by simple things like seagulls and pigeons—there
were no birds on Krypton, Alex can hear an excited Kara say with wonder—and
this is wrong. 
Kara is supposed to be her sister. She isn’t, but she’s supposed to be. Three
years can’t destroy the fact that Alex was fifteen the first time she saw Kara,
on the sandy beaches of her home, holding Superman’s hand like a lifeline. Alex
had been fifteen to Kara’s thirteen, both grown enough, and she couldn’t see
her as a sister. She saw an interloper, and then a scared girl, and she’d
reacted to both as best she could. Angry and cold, protective and hot-headed in
their turn. But she still couldn’t see Kara as a sister, no matter how hard she
tried.  She had tried so hard. She wanted to be everything her father wanted
from her, her mother expected of her, to be the Alex Danvers they’d wanted to
see. But Dad was gone, lost in some stupid plane crash for business, and Mom
had withdrawn almost to the point of complete abandonment, only absent from
work long enough to chastise Alex for not being a better sister, for not taking
better care of Kara, for not being enough.
And then puberty had well and truly hit the Kryptonian, and Alex had been weak.
She’d known, of course, that she didn’t like boys the way she was “supposed”
to. That girls intrigued her, excited her, made her wet even when they
shouldn’t. Even when Kara shouldn’t. And, later, she’ll have to have a big
coming out with her mother, at least, but right now….
Right now, all she feels is hot, and wet, and desperately needy. And it’s
wrong, because Kara is supposed to be her sister. Kara is her responsibility,
someone she’s supposed to teach and protect, but she looks at Kara these days…
She looks at Kara and all she sees are curves that are oh so human despite
being so very much Other and a kindness that is so foreign that it’s almost
blatant that Kara isn’t from this planet. There’s something painfully innocent
about the girl living just across the hall from her, no matter the strength
Alex knows is oh-so-carefully hidden by Kara’s sweaters. Because Kara hugs her
tighter than anyone else on the planet will ever manage, squeezes the air from
her lungs until her bones creak in her skin and there are bruises on her back
in the shape of Kara’s hands, not a dominance display meant to put Alex in her
place—human, lesser than—but a joyful accident of overenthusiasm.
It’s wrong and she shouldn’t, but she doesn’t care right now. She’ll be the
model foster big sister later, in the morning. Right now, she is eighteen and
wet and so damn desperate.
Her hand slips down over her chest, slowly. So fucking slowly. Like she thinks
Kara would. Because Kara is always so careful with her, so slow and gentle.
It’s only when Kara’s overwhelmed, too caught up in something, that she lets
herself slip enough to accidentally bruise.
Alex’s breath shudders out, her hand barely beginning to dip under the
waistband of her panties. She wonders, not for the first time and likely not
for the last, what it would be like to be the reason Kara lost herself. To see
bruises darkening around her wrists, her hips, her thighs in the shape of
Kara’s fingerprints. Something more than the mottled purple-black-yellow on her
shoulders, her spine, after Kara’s hugged her with unsafe eagerness.
Fuck. It’s just an image, she hasn’t even done anything yet, but Alex doesn’t
have to move her hand to know just how she’s gushed at the thought. It
shouldn’t be a surprise—her first semester of college has made it explicitly
clear just how much she likes what she likes, knows  the people on her floor
probably think she’s dating someone named “harder, fuck, harder”—but it’s
always, always somehow more when she thinks of Kara.
Which a loaded sentiment that she’ll unpack approximately one day after the
world ends.
She finally lets her hand slip lower, just the lightest touch to start, just
running her fingers through wet folds. Kara would be curious, would be awed,
would still be being careful. It would take time, excruciating minutes of
begging and pleading and desperation, before Kara would start to break, to lose
control. To let go and go hard. The way Alex wants her to. God, she wants her
to.
Alex would beg. She knows she would. She’d beg and moan and sob for it.
Alex can feel another flood of wetness slide over her fingers.
“Kara, please.” It’s barely a whisper, Alex knows she can’t be loud, but what
it lacks in volume is more than made up for in intensity. “Please.”
Slow, steady strokes at her clit. She’s so wet it’s hard to get traction, to
get the friction she needs. But Kara would fumble at first, too. Still trying
to be careful with her, but maybe—god, hopefully—starting to lose it just a
little.
“Please, please, fuck…” She grinds against her palm, middle finger poised at
her entrance but not giving her what she wants yet. Fuck, she can see it so
perfectly, the way Kara would look up at her. There’d be something in her eyes,
something like wonder and something like hunger and something just a shade
darker than that, something Alex hasn’t seen before but just knows would be
there.
And she’d tilt her head to the side, in that way of hers, and say, “Please
what, Alex?”
From someone else, it would be teasing or mocking or demanding, but, shit, Kara
would mean it. She’d make Alex spell it out, not knowing what it was doing to
her, to have to ask, to know that all she had to do was ask…
“Inside. Please. Fuck, fuck, fuck, please.” She doesn’t have to say it. Kara
isn’t really there and the hand she’s desperately grinding against is her own,
the finger hesitating at the warm wetness is hers, but she feels like she does.
To keep the fantasy, to maintain the illusion, to make it feel real.
God, she wants it to be real.
She slips her middle finger inside, curling to brush against her sensitive
front wall, and it’s all she can do to temper the wail at the back of her
throat into a soft moan.
“Yes, please. Please.”
She knows her own body, knows exactly how to move—how much pressure to apply,
how quickly—to come hard and fast. But that isn’t what she wants right now. It
would destroy the fantasy she’s built up, the idea that this wasn’t her hand,
it was Kara’s. Kara wouldn’t know that, not yet—not ever, can’t ever—and she
has to act accordingly or everything will unravel.
Slow, measured thrusts and a curl of the finger inside her that Alex
thinks—somehow knows—would be instinctive. Too slow, too measured, too gentle
and too careful. She wants more, needs more, needs what she knows Kara could
give her if only the other girl could only stop being so self-conscious. Kara’s
too in her head, even in a fantasy, to fuck Alex the way Alex wants her to.
Oh, she’s sure there would be tender love-making some nights—can acknowledge
that slow and soft would feel right with Kara, the way they never do with any
of the girls she drags to bed at Stanford—but that’s not what she wants
tonight, and she knows that Kara would give in, wouldn’t be able to help
herself, if Alex just played her cards the right way.
Kara never could stand to give Alex anything less than what she’d asked for and
so often strove to ensure that it was more than that as well. Kara wants to
give Alex everything she can, even when she shouldn’t, even when her best is so
extraordinary that it’s dangerous. This—in the hazy mindscape of a fantasy and
longing that Alex exists in this moment, heedless of the harsh realities of the
Real World—is the safest place for Kara to do that.
“Come on, Kara.” She grits out, hips bucking against the easy pressure, the too
light touch. “Please.”
Alex hasn’t said that word so much in her entire life—she doesn’t know those
other girls, not the way she knows Kara, and she’ll take her clothes off for
them but she won’t begfor them—but it feels right. Feels close to real. As
close as she can afford to get, hidden fantasies in the dark, whispers in the
shadows. Kara gives her everything she asks for; she only has to ask. A pulse
of slick wetness coating her hand at the realization that Kara could be a god,
the way her cousin could be a god, and Alex could have her on her knees with a
word.
She’s self-aware enough to know that she wants Kara to hurt her—just a little,
just enough—to use her strength and her speed against her, for her, in all the
ways that make her keen and moan and sob. Self-aware enough to know that she
doesn’t want trembling submission from the alien could-be god sleeping down the
hall. Self-aware enough to know that, yes, she kind of does, just not the way
it’s always played out in bad porn where she ties Kara up or tells her she
can’t come unless Alex tells her to. No, she wants to own Kara, the same way
she wants to be owned by her. Or, more accurately, to let Kara know that she
already owns Alex.
She wants bruises that claim ownership. Fucking until she can’t stand, let
alone walk, the next day. Orgasm after orgasm until Alex has to beg Kara to
stop because she just can’t anymore, because another one would wreck her beyond
recovery. She wants Kara giving her everything she wants, exactly because she
knows she wants it. Exactly how she knows she wants it.
She doesn’t need to hold Kara down to have her; she needs Kara willing to let
go enough to hold her down.
She slips a second finger in with the first at the silent admission. A groan
low in her throat at the stretch, but she’s wet enough—more than wet enough—to
not bother being gentle about it. She doesn’t want gentle anyways.
“Fuck.” She picks up the pace, a little. Thinks Kara would, maybe, be a little
distracted—listening to her heartrate spike, listening to her swear and plead,
watching her face—that she might speed up without noticing, without that
intrinsic hesitation that she could so very easily hurt the human she was
inside of. Without thinking that maybe Alex wanted her to. “Kara.”
And faster still. Hoping that hearing her name fall off Alex’s lips like that
would produce a reaction in the younger girl, another lapse in control. A
little too desperate to keep the fantasy of Kara away from the reality of her
present need. A shade of embarrassment for being that desperate—Alex Danvers is
a lot of things, but desperate isn’t usually one of them—but this is the
privacy of her own bedroom, in her childhood home, in the dark of night, and a
little weakness is excusable if only because she is a little desperate.
Kara always makes her so damned desperate.
The pressure is building, low in her belly. Clit engorged with need, wetness
running over her fingers and trembling thighs.
“Please.” Alex gasps, so close. So close. “Please, please, please.”
Her orgasm is building, tugging somewhere below her navel, pounding in her
clit, thrumming through her veins. So close, so close, so close.
In the fantasy, this is where Kara would lose any semblance of control. Would
slip up, use her speed and strength in their fucking—their lovemaking—and fuck
Alex with an intensity no one else on the planet could. And thinking about it,
even if she can’t feel it—can’t manage to make her own hands capable of the
things Kara’s are—is enough.
A half breathed out name, a shuttered moan of a scream, as everything she is
shudders and quakes. The orgasm, the fantasy, is better than anything any one
of her collegiate trysts have given her, no matter how long they’d shared a
bed. How long she’d demanded more and harder and more.
And she knows, she knows okay, exactly how fucked up it is that she gets off
thinking about her alien foster sister. She’ll try harder, in the morning, to
kill these feelings. She’ll go back to school and find some girl who will get
her over it. She’ll drink and dance and fuck, and she’ll find someone who makes
her come just as hard as the illusion of Kara’s hands on her.
A tentative knocking on the door and a soft “Alex?” interrupts Alex’s pointless
self-recriminations and empty promises. “Are you okay?”
Super. Fucking. Hearing.
Taking a moment to wipe her hand off on the sheet and hoping she looks more
composed than she feels, Alex gets up to let Kara in.
She’s beautiful in the moonlight—she’s always so beautiful—and Alex hates
herself for noticing. For wanting.
Kara’s eyes dart all over her, and Alex wishes it meant more than it does.
Wishes Kara was checking her out instead of just making sure she was physically
unharmed.
“I’m fine, Kara.” Alex breathes out, trying not to notice how cute the blush on
Kara’s cheeks is, the shallowness of her breathing, the way she looks…turned
on? Alex blinks, looks closer.
“You didn’t sound fine.” Kara murmurs, head dipping, eyes on the floor now. “I
thought you might have been having a nightmare.”
There’s a tension in Kara that Alex has never seen in her before, some frenetic
energy buzzing underneath her skin, obvious enough for even human eyes to see.
Despite the orgasm she literally just had, Alex feels desire sparking below her
navel again at the sight of Kara’s flushed face, the trembling in her spine,
the clench of her thighs.
“No.” Alex breathes out, shuddery and breathless. It doesn’t mean anything.
Even if Kara is aroused, it’s not because she heard Alex getting off, it’s
just…It’s nothing at all. “I was, you know…”
“What?” That guileless innocence, that out-of-this-world naivety. That head
tilt and eyes that ask questions that Alex isn’t sure she has the answers for.
This is a new level of embarrassment, where she has to explain that she was
touching herself to someone who could hear her moan her name as she came.
“I was masturbating, okay?” Alex says, all one breath, a rush of sounds that
Alex can barely decipher as words.
“I don’t.” Kara hesitates, fidgets, all those most endearing alien traits. “I
don’t know what that means.”
Another painful moment of displacement, of having to explain something so
simple, so ordinary—no matter how embarrassing—to someone who grew up in a
different civilization, a different world. The things that are intrinsic to
Alex are things that Kara has never learned, and the gap between those worlds
is glaring now, once again.
Alex doesn’t know how to explain, how to tell this alien that
sometimes—oftentimes, every time—the feeling of her own hand, while thinking
about someone who is supposed to be her sister, is better than some random
lover she’s picked up from a bar or club.
“Humans,” Alex starts, falters. Deep breath, and tries again. “Humans feel good
when they touch certain parts of themselves. It’s, like, stress relief.”
Kara’s blush intensifies, even though Alex knows—she just knows—that Kara isn’t
picking up on all the subtleties of what Alex just told her.
“Oh.” Kara breathes out, and Alex tries to ignore the way she notices Kara’s
thighs clenching again. It doesn’t mean anything, Kara doesn’t know; it can’t
mean anything.
“I heard my name.” Kara says, pauses, continues, “I thought, I feared, that
maybe I was a monster in your dreams.”
Alex sucks in a breath sharply. She doesn’t know how to explain that for all of
Kara’s god-like power, she’s never once feared her. Even when Alex told herself
that she hated the alien who had come into her home and stolen her parents’
attention and affection, she was never afraid of Kara. This small, scared alien
who was so worried that she’d break these fragile humans who promised to care
for her. Resented her, yes, however briefly. Despised her, on Alex’s worst
days, when she’d done something good only for her parents to ignore it in favor
of their new superhuman daughter. But never feared.
“No.” Alex says, sure and firm. After her father died, there’s very little Alex
is sure of, but this is one of the only things. “Never.” Kara will never be
something monstrous to her, never be something she is afraid of. There is
nothing fearsome in Kara at all, despite the powers she has.
“Can I sleep with you?” Kara asks, voice smaller than her growing body—taller,
now, than Alex already—and the strength hidden in her bones. She sounds weak
and vulnerable, and Alex should say no. They’re grown now—Kara isn’t a lost
orphan of space and time anymore, clinging to any part of this world she
can—and it’s not appropriate. Alex is eighteen, Kara is sixteen, and everything
about this is wrong.
Alex has just gotten off thinking about Kara’s hands against her, in her, and
sharing a bed now would be wrong. Like the fantasy had been wrong. Like her
wanting is wrong.
This isn’t okay, this isn’t right, but Kara looks at her with those soft, soft
eyes and Alex is helpless to resist.
She doesn’t want to resist.
“Yeah.” Alex forces a grin, tries to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, the
reignited heat between her thighs. “Always.”
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