#ur child is dead and my friend is gone and yet the world keeps spinning

[benetnvsch]

And the world keeps spinning

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Edging Toward Synchronicity (6/8)

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: March 11, 2017

Chapters: 8

 Feedback:  Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome.  Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

 Author’s Notes:

 We’re back to it.  This is a smut chapter, folks.  The first half is plot though.

 Tagging: @mon-kai-el, @actualpuppychriswood, @pwettypwita, @contygold86, @karamelizedlove, @kelbottumbles, @starcrossed-comets, @emarasmoak, @fangirlintheforest, @ships-sailing-in-the-night, @lostin-the-desert, @somos-poeiraestelar

      Oh lights go down

          In the moment we're lost and found

               I just wanna be by your side

    If these wings could fly

            For the rest of our lives

    --Birdy – “Wings”

 Chapter 6/8

 “But that wasn’t your wife,” Ral’s voice reassures him gently.  “Nor was it your child.  You know that, right?”  His brother places a hand on his shoulder.

“It was so real,” Mon-El says, shaky hands wiping away the salty streams of tears on his cheeks.

“And so it was,” Ral explains.  “But it wasn’t your story.”

“But it was Kara and she was….”

“In dreams our mind mixes up all sorts of things.  It’s like a subconscious….” Ral searches for the right word.  “What’s that children’s party game with a stick and the candy?”

“Piñata,” Mon-El supplies.

“It’s like a subconscious piñata.  Hit your brain with the sleep stick and there’s no telling what goodies might spill out…all in a glorious mixed up mess.  Your mind is trying to process a lot of information right now – some of it new and some of it very old, but freshly remembered.  Memories with a new coat of paint,” Ral chuckles darkly, “but no less ugly.”

“Trel Gand,” Mon-El realizes.  “And Gata Fal-Ur.”

“Yes,” Ral confirms.  “At least…most of it was.”

“But…were those my feelings or his feelings?” Mon-El wonders.

“Probably a little bit of both.  Or a lot of both.”

“It was so real,” he breathes, slowly gaining control of his emotions.  “The terror, the rage, the love…all of it.  So real.”  A shiver he can’t control races down his spine.

“Remember when we were kids and we found the chest with their personal effects—the ones that survived the Purge?”

It had been a single chest, hidden away by someone who had hoped the disaster of Trel Gand and Gata Fal-Ur might one day be forgotten, but couldn’t bring themselves to destroy what parts of them were left.  Hidden away by someone who must have loved them, despite the stories that circulated.  “I remember.”

“We found the letters inside.  And the journals.  They were real paper, remember?  So their communications couldn’t be intercepted on the Daxcess.  That’s probably why they survived,” he suggests. “No one was looking for them.”

“We were just boys, looking for treasure,” Mon-El recalls.  “I hoped the pages told stories of battles.  Glorious stories of Daxamite victories over the evil Kryptonians.”  He felt mortified on behalf of the bloodthirsty boy he’d once been, before being confronted with the truth of death and loss and the cost one’s soul must pay to learn of such things.  “I wanted to impress Father.”

“That was before we learned the truth.”

“And when you lived for making trouble.”

“Those letters and journals were how I learned of love,” Ral reminds him. “I dreamed of finding a mate like Gata. Someone who would see the obstacles to loving me and laugh in the face of them.”

“You were obsessed,” Mon-El pointed out.  “You tortured me by making me read the damn things out loud until I begged you to let me stop.  I just wanted stories of glory and…heroic deeds.”

“Well,” Ral sighs.  “You were just a child at the time.  You didn’t have your priorities straight.  And you needed the practice reading.”

“I was a year younger than you,” Mon-El counters, affronted on behalf of his childhood self.

“A year can make quite the difference, huh?” Ral shrugs, dismissively. Only the sparkle in his green eyes betrays that he’s teasing.

“You were always softer than I was, Ral.  Father would say it was your mother’s influence.”

“Mother would say you grew up with a skewed sense of self.  You had to keep things inside.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” Mon-El replies, sadly.

“But Earth has done wonders for you, brother.  Cracked open that shell you built to protect yourself from his expectations.  Who’s the soft one now?”

Mon-El snorts, throwing Ral’s words back at him.  “A year can make quite the difference.”  It may have been closer to half a century since they’d actually stood in a room together, comparing and contrasting each other’s faults with good-natured jibing, but it felt like only a short while ago—thanks to pod stasis.

“Maybe in some ways Kara is right.  Perhaps Rao brought the two of you together to…make up for what happened to Trel and Gata.  A second chance at reunification.”

“You don’t believe in Rao,” Mon-El reminds him.

“I’m you, brother.  I believe in what you believe.  Make of that what you will.”

Mon-El considers the implications of Ral’s declaration for a moment before forcing himself to move on.  “What’s left to reunify?” he questions.  “Both of our planets are gone.  Krypton is in pieces and Daxam a wasteland of solar storms and nuclear winter if the reports are accurate.  There’s just…us.”

“Exactly,” Ral rejoices.  “You’ll have things so much easier than Gata and Trel.  None of that palace intrigue and back-stabbing traitors nonsense.  Seems like Rao has conveniently removed most of the obstacles.”

“Most of them?”

“Well, there have to be some obstacles,” Ral lectures, as though this should be obvious, “otherwise it wouldn’t be any fun.”

“I’m having difficulty in seeing where the fun is in the extra vivid memories of Daxam’s destruction, Ral—of your…death.  Oh!  And the added bonus of dreaming about the tragic story of two people I’d never even met.”

“Fun might not have been the right word,” Ral backtracks.  “But obstacles, and overcoming them together, makes you stronger.  So that you can face anything together.”

“I don’t want her burdened by this,” Mon-El laments.

“We take on the burdens of those we love,” Ral counsels.  “It’s our right…our privilege.  Their hurts become our hurts, their scars our scars. Wouldn’t you do the same for her?”

“But she’s never said that,” Mon-El shakes his head.  “She’s never mentioned love.”

“And neither have you.  Does that make it less true?  Would you hesitate, even for a moment, to take her pain as your own?”

“I wasn’t how we were taught,” Mon-El adds.  “How we were raised.  To love one’s mate is unnecessary.”

“But we learned it, brother.  We learned it in their journals.  We saw the other side, and how loving someone can be its own kind of glory.  We saw the lengths Trel went to in order to ensure that their love endured.  You read his last letter, don’t you remember?”

“Loving someone can also be the key to your own destruction.”

“A risk worth taking,” Ral insists.  “Would Trel not say the same, I wonder?   If he were here right now.”

“Not if loving her…destroys her.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Ral groans, melodramatically.  “She’s made of steel.  She can handle it.  Don’t let your fear dictate what happens next.  No one’s ever made a decision steeped in fear that they didn’t regret later.”

“If she does…you know….”

“Love you?”

“Yeah, that.  If she does…then finding out the truth…about what Father did.  That could destroy her,” Mon-El says, twisting the hand towel between his fists until it threatens to split in half.  “That could destroy us both.”

“Or maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.  Look, brother, splash some water on your face and get back to bed. You promised her you’d wake up with her in the morning and sunrise isn’t far off.”

Despite the dream, he’d managed to get about four hours of sleep, more than he’d cobbled together in the last few weeks.  Mon-El heeds Ral’s advice and splashes a few handfuls of cold water on his face, until the red rims around his eyes begins to clear.

“And can I just say…before we go back to radio silence…congratulations, brother!  She truly is a gift…from Rao, if you like.  I never would have taken her for a nestling in bed.”  

“Her surrender…her zeal…was a pleasant surprise,” Mon-El boasts.  

“The caretaker role suits you, Brother…especially when your heart is engaged.”

“I just want to give her what she needs.”

“Tell yourself that all you like, but it’s more than that, and you know it. As a child, your instincts were always to take care of people.  How many cliffs did you pull me back from, huh?  Then you spent nearly two decades trying to deny that part of yourself – trying to find peace in excess and debauchery--”

“Because I knew I’d never find it any other way,” Mon-El interjected.

“Now you have the chance to be true to yourself, both in your relationship and in the outside world. Makes it hard to not believe in a greater plan at work, my friend.  Your needs are perfectly matched to one another.  She needs a caretaker, and you a nestling.  You both find it arousing…fulfilling.  And what’s more…I’m not sure you even realized how much you needed to be a caretaker…excuse me…a ‘Daddy’, until you heard that word come from her lips.  A hole inside of you closed up when she called you that.”

Mon-El studies himself in the mirror, his body already reacting to Ral’s words.  He wants to go back out there and wake her.  Make her his again, in ways they hadn’t even tried yet.  His cock, a moment before just a limp, dangling appendage, is already halfway to hard.

“But…Princess?” Ral asks, his expression one of dubious certainty. “Wasn’t that a little on-the-nose?”

“It’s what they say here when they practice Dexaris,” Mon-El rationalizes.  “Or one of the pet names, at any rate.  It’s no more literal than her use of a term commonly associated with one’s father.”

“Okay,” Ral intones, but in that frustrating way he has in which he implies he doesn’t believe the tale that Mon-El is spinning.  “Whatever you say.”

Mon-El uses the facilities and washes his hands before flicking the light switch and slipping quietly out of the bathroom.  Though he doesn’t know why he bothers – despite her super hearing, she sleeps like the dead.  Somehow, by some miracle, a genuine scream for help will wake her, but he could sing the Daxam Anthem at the top of his lungs to no effect.

She appears not to have moved an inch since he left her in the bed nearly half an hour ago.  A glance out the window reveals that light pink horizon that promises sunrise in the making.  He slips under the comforter with her, his arms itching to tug her into his embrace, but afraid doing so may disturb her so few hours left for her to slumber. Instead, he rolls away from her, settling on his side with his back towards hers while he orders his rapidly heating blood to cool down.

Mon-El closes his eyes and attempts to find a calming tempo for his breath, in hopes that he can get a few more, hopefully dreamless, hours of sleep.

 *****

 In her sleep, she reaches for him, and when she comes up empty, her eyes shoot open.  Had it been a dream? Falling asleep in his arms?  Slightly disoriented from sleeping so heavily, Kara looks around taking stock. Her bed is a shambles, her headboard cracked and off kilter.  She is most definitely stark naked, her body still feeling as though it has been well used.

‘Definitely not a dream,’ she breathes a sigh of relief.

A sliver of light spills from the bathroom and Kara opens her mouth to call for him when she hears the mumbling sound of him speaking.  Without thinking, she turns up her hearing to listen.

“What’s left to reunify?” She hears him ask.  Who is he talking to?  Reunify what?  “Both of our planets are gone.  Krypton is in pieces and Daxam a wasteland of solar storms and nuclear winter if the reports are accurate.  There’s just…us.”  He’s talking about her…about them.

“Most of them?”  After a brief pause he continues.  “I’m having difficulty in seeing where the fun is in the extra vivid memories of Daxam’s destruction, Ral—of your…death. Oh!  And the added bonus of dreaming about the tragic story of two people I’d never even met.”

Ral!  Kara gasps. Wasn’t that the name of his step-brother?  The one who died on Daxam?  He’s having a conversation with his dead brother, she realizes, covering her mouth to hide the sound of her shock.  Perhaps he’s just dreaming.  Sleepwalking? Kara’s mind tries to convince her of this possibility but the sinking feeling in her gut tells her the truth she wishes she could un-hear.  Mon-El sounds completely lucid and comprehensible.  He’s…hallucinating.  

She continues to listen, hearing what she now knows is only one side of a two-part conversation.  Each of his answers revealing the deeper insecurities that lie hidden in his psyche.

“I don’t want her burdened by this,” Mon-El’s voice laments.  He’s worried about the flashbacks and, as she now realizes, his hallucinations.  How long has this been going on?

“But she’s never said that.  She’s never mentioned love.  I wasn’t how we were taught,” Mon-El adds.  “How we were raised.  To love one’s mate is unnecessary.”  Her heart cracks open at his words.  Of course he’s never mentioned love either, but she always thought…hoped.  There had been some uncertainty in the beginning, but she’d thought they were working through all of that.  That choosing each other meant something more.  He’s always seemed so open to it, which is why his words sound incompatible with his behavior.

“Loving someone can also be the key to your own destruction.”

“Not if loving her…destroys her.”

“If she does…you know….”

“Yeah, that.  If she does…then finding out the truth…about what Father did.  That could destroy her,” Mon-El says.  “That could destroy us both.”

She decides to listen no more and powers down her hearing, squeezing her eyes shut as if that’s going to help shut out the things she’s heard. There’s something he’s not telling her, something he’s afraid will destroy her…and by extension…him?  She isn’t entirely sure since she can only hear half of what’s going on in his head.  If only J’onn could read Daxamite minds, she might be able to get some insight.

What had his father done, and to whom?  And what could have possibly been so bad that it even now, so far removed from Daxam, it might threaten to destroy them both?  Her mind races with more questions than she can possibly answer.  She worries over the secret he clearly doesn’t want revealed, but her mind keeps coming back to the hallucinations.  Her mate is having full-blown hallucinations of a dead person and, first things first, that needs to be dealt with.

When she landed on Earth and went to live with the Danvers, she had grieved. The first step, denial, hadn’t been an option open to her.  No one was coming for her.   No ship would breach the sky to retrieve her, to tell her there had been a mistake and that Krypton had survived after all.  From space, in her swiftly escaping pod, she’d seen the bright flash of Krypton’s core overtaking the planet until it exploded, she had felt the shockwave strike her ship.

Transplanted to Midvale USA, Earth, Kara Zor-El spent many nights, in that shared bedroom crying into her pillow, screaming into her pillow, even unexpectedly bursting into tears at the slightest reminder of home and family. On her worst days, sweet Kara Zor-El acted out in ways that could only be defined as a desire to spread pain, and then swamped by guilt, she made promises to Rao that she would be the best possible girl she could be, if only He would bring it all back.  Bring them all back.  

But Mon-El had been allowed none of that.  

Was it because he hadn’t allowed himself to grieve, or because he hadn’t been given the freedom to?  Kara recalls in the early days of their acquaintance, after attempting to send a distress call back to Daxam, had shaken off ‘dreary’ thoughts in favor of more diverting activities.  At the time, she had dismissed this action as the frivolous behavior of a typically boorish Daxamite, rather than the act of man in an intense state of denial.

He’d been given neither the room nor the time to process the sheer enormity of his loss.  Is it any wonder that his mind would find a way to force it, even if it was only internally?

Why hadn’t she seen it for the mask it really was?  Perhaps if she had, his grief might never have progressed to this dangerous state.  A nightmare likely drove him from their bed to seek sanctuary in the bathroom, where he could converse openly with his hallucinatory step-brother while she presumably slept.  These are the types of signs for which Eliza warned her to be on the lookout.

Out of her depth in this arena, Kara recognizes that she will have to seek help in the morning, from J’onn and her mother, and even Alex. Perhaps together they can determine a plan of action.

Kara hears the toilet flush and the water in the sink turn back on, moments before he emerges from the bathroom, at last.  Lifting the comforter, he slips into the bed, and she waits for him to pull her back into the warm shelter of his arms, but he doesn’t. Instead, after a few moments hesitation he rolls over, turning his back to her.  When he clearly needs her most, he eschews even the simplest comfort she has to offer in a ludicrous, and frankly hurtful, effort to keep her at arm’s length from what he’s suffering.

Still and silent, Kara sends a prayer a Rao, seeking His guidance and some sign of where to go from here.  She could be angry, she knows, about the things he holds back from her, about the lack of trust and faith he has in her – after all the trust she’s bestowed upon him.  She could rage and rant about all of it, but a voice whispers inside that such actions would solve nothing and serve only to push him further away.  And she can’t afford that.

Right or wrong, for good or for ill—broken or whole—she loves him, and it’s a love stronger than she could have ever imagined in her girlhood fantasies. Even if that love may not be returned yet, she places her faith in Rao that someday it will be.  That his love is a fait accompli…meant to be…and so she will move forward into the future as his ordained mate.

As his stardust.

Tomorrow she will seek help, but tonight she can offer the kind of comfort of which she has endless amounts.  Even while ostensibly sleeping.  Eyes closed and trying to give her movements the appearance of shifting in her sleep, Kara thrashes about as though searching for his warmth.  She butts up against his broad back, pressing into him so that her naked skin seals against his.  Placing her forehead between his shoulder blades, Kara breathes into him, breathes him in, relaxing into his solid form as she tucks her legs against the backs of his and snakes one arm around his chest.  Slowly, their breathing synchronizes until they’re both back on the edge of sleep.

Everything will start getting better tomorrow, she tells herself. Help is just a phone call away. She needs to make him see that she’s here for him, no matter what.  Once he understands that, they can get him on the road to recovery.  Kara feels the fingers of one of his hands interlace with hers, and she takes it as a sign that he accepts her offered comfort.

His hand now in hers, Kara allows sleep to overtake her once more.

When next she opens her eyes, the morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedroom, high in the sky, but not too high.  A quick glance reveals that her alarm clock is twenty-three minutes from total meltdown. Her body is already needy because sometime during sleep, their positions had reversed and Mon-El now spoons behind her, one of his legs wedged between hers, his lower thigh pressed to her gathering heat.  One of his hands cups a breast like it’s the touchstone anchoring him to this reality, as his steady breath tickles the sensitive crook where her neck and shoulder meet.  His cock is like a red-hot poker sandwiched between her ass and his pelvis, so she’s acutely aware that at least part of him is awake.

Kara rolls her hips, simultaneously teasing his cock and riding his knee until she can feel the heat banking within her.  Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she attempts to bite back a greedy moan, and fails miserably.  Kara reaches for his thigh, urging it upwards to provide more pressure to her increasingly sensitive core.

She knows the exact moment Mon-El comes fully awake, because his grip on her breast tightens and his knee takes over some of the work of pushing her to the brink.  His mouth latches onto her shoulder, nipping and sucking at her skin, working his way up to settle at the shell of her ear as she rides his knee with masochistic languor.   “Does my little nestling need me this morning?”

“Yes,” Kara sighs, her hips continuing their drive, as she grows wetter and wetter.  She maintains her arousal, like stirring a pot to keep the concoction from boiling over, but she wants to wait for him before letting go.  Her need for him is a conundrum, because the more she has of him, the more she desires, like a boundless gluttony in the face of an unending banquet.  Each time they finish, sweaty and sated, she believes her desire quenched, only to have it return more quickly than she could have imagined and with twice the fervor. Is it like this for everyone?  Or is it simply because the yellow sun radiation constantly replenishes their energy stores?

Mon-El bites down on her earlobe hard, eliciting a gasp from her and driving her shoulder up protectively towards her ear.  “Yes…?” he growls, expectantly.

“Yes…Daddy,” she provides, the smile that lazily crosses face uninhibited and completely reflexive.

“Good girl,” he purrs.  She can practically hear his smile as he tucks his face into her neck and cants his hips into her ass, rubbing his cock into the crease between her cheeks.  With his thumb and forefinger, Mon-El pinches her nipple, drawing the bud out with a tug and a sharp twist.  The initial pain she feels, causing her to moan, settles into warm charge that travels straight to her core, providing another gush of lubrication.  Her body prepares the way for him each and every time, and with very little effort on his part.  “I need you now,” he rasps.

Mornings are an all-fire rush for him.  He can exhibit the same kind of control he usually does, but there’s something about surrendering to his body’s primal urges first thing in the morning that he finds particularly satisfying.  And judging from the warm, wet heat on his thigh, she requires no further cajoling.

“I need you, too, Daddy,” she mewls, her voice barely above a whisper. “All the time,” she confesses. “It never stops.”

“I know, Princess.  It’s the same for me.”  Abandoning her breast, his hand slides up and clasps her chin, turning her face to his waiting mouth.  Kara opens for him even before their lips touch and they taste of each other, dinking down each other’s flavors like it’s the rarest of wines.  “Every time,” he tells her when he’s capable of prying his mouth from hers.  “I only want you more afterwards.”

Twisting her torso a bit, Kara reaches behind her, in between their bodies and locates his hardened length of patient steel.  Her fingertips tease but don’t grasp and the sensation is so staggering that his throat swallows reflexively and he must force his hips to remain still so that they don’t demand more than she’s willing to give.

“I like the way your cock feels, Daddy.”

“Do you, Princess?”  His hand still cups her chin, encompassing her lower face, fingers on one cheek, while his thumb strokes her bottom lip.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she replies, licking her lips and catching a taste of the tip of his thumb.  “Like velvet.”  A pout forms on her lips and a crinkle grows between her eyebrows.  “I wish there could be nothing between us.”

“I know,” he commiserates.  “And you felt like heaven around my cock the one time there wasn’t. Gods, you are so perfect, Kara. Soon,” Mon-El promises.  “One way or another.”  He imagines taking her when she’s ripe with his child – as ripe as she was in his dream.

“One way or another,” she echoes.  “You’ll fill me up, won’t you?  Fill me with you?”  A mischievous twinkle lights her eyes before she sucks his entire thumb in to the warm cavern of her mouth.

Like giving his thumb a blowjob, she sucks and sucks, bobbing her head up and down, her tongue swirling around the tip, until he’s finding it difficult to think straight.  “Hand me a condom,” he orders quickly, before the raging beast inside that wants to fill her with his seed—wants to breed her—takes over.

Lest he change his mind, as if he would, she scrabbles for the box in the open drawer of the bedside table at speeds invisible to the human eye. “Stay right where you are,” he commands, taking the package from her and shifting to his back just long enough to roll the condom down his shaft and secure it in place.

Losing access to the pressure of his thigh between her legs, she burns for him even more now and leans into him when he rolls back into her. Skin to skin, she can feel him from head to toe, his back against her back, his massive, muscular thighs pressing to her toned, but far more delicate ones.  She heaves a sigh of relief when she feels the head of Mon-El’s cock line up to her covetous entrance, the burn for him becoming nearly more than she can handle.

“Will you—“ he begins.

“Yes, please!” she interrupts.

“If you won’t let me ask, then tell me so I know I have your permission.” His fingers at the base of his cock, he teases her with the tip, sliding back and forth through the slick seam, from the entrance to clit and back again, over and over as her hips writhe with anticipation.  “Say the words.”

“You know what I need, Daddy,” she pleads, her breath coming hard fast as she throws her head back.

“I do,” he concurs, “but I will never take you without your word. Our games can be tricky, Princess. I need to know you want it as much as I do, every step of the way.”

“I do,” she whimpers, nodding her head.  “I want it so bad.  I need you inside me.  Fuck me, Daddy.  Please? Please, fuck me?”

Mon-El loves to hear her beg, loves that high pitched tone only he gets to hear, but has no desire to torment her.  At least not this morning.  He enters in one slow stroke, as deep as he can go in this position. Spooning from behind, on their sides, this position isn’t about depth, it’s about proximity.  It’s about being close to her, their bodies aligned from head to toe, her pressing back to meet his thrusts as he whispers filthy things into her ears.

Her body remembers him, welcomes him into her like a he’s a soldier come home from war, jubilant and reverent at the same time.  Their position prevents the deepest penetration but the sensation of his hot breath on her ear and the way his hand snakes under her arm and grasps her shoulder for leverage helps to compensate admirably.

Mon-El pumps in and out of her slowly at first, just enjoying the searing heaven of her slick, clasping clutch.  The same muscles that grasp at his cock as he retreats provide an excruciating resistance upon his return that is nothing short of sublime.

Kara turns her head looking for his mouth and he is only too happy to oblige, feeding her his grunts of effort while rapaciously dining on the mewling whimpers of her unguarded pleasure.  He savors her inarticulate pleas as she devours the fruits of his labor and for both, it is a gluttonous banquet of the richest cuisine.

Words of encouragement or instruction quickly become unnecessary as they’ve learned to read between the lines of each other’s body language.  The way her body tenses, her legs and thighs quivering, fingers clamping down on the comforter like a vise grip tell him that all she needs is the final push over the edge.

His grunts vibrating into the skin of her neck and shoulder begin to resemble to long, purring growl of a predator on the hunt and his thrusts turn feral, so she knows he won’t last much longer.  Kara bends her outside leg, pivoting it upwards and lifting it closer into her body, opening herself up more for his hungry cock.  Sliding a shaking hand between her legs, she dips two fingers into the wet seam of her exposed folds and locates the swollen bundle of nerves that cries out for attention.

Mon-El slithers his bearing arm between her head and the pillow, wrapping it around until it crosses her neck and clasps onto her opposite shoulder. His free hand bats hers away, which was busily manipulating her clit to very little effect.  “I’ve got you, baby,” his voice grates like sandpaper against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.  “You just let go.”

And she does.  Kara’s body melts into him, allowing herself to be ridden by the rhythmic pounding of his cock, the sensations of fullness, of heat racing through her veins and sparking her nerve endings, and of something inescapable washing over her like a tidal wave.  Everything goes white and bright behind closed eyelids, her mouth opens wide for a scream that is silent but no less…there. Kara hears his voice praising her.

“That’s…my…girl,” he raves, fucking her through the climax, prolonging and amplifying it.  “So tight…gods…your clutch wants my cock so bad.  Do you want my come, too?”

“Yes,” she cries.

“I’m going to fill you until your womb can’t hold anymore.”  Finding something inside of himself he never before could have imagined was there, Mon-El’s hand slips from her snatch and settles on her belly.  “Do you know…what it…does to me?”  

In his heightened state of arousal it would not have taken much to send him reeling, but just the thought of it, of his child growing inside of her, does the trick.  A streak of searing electricity causes his heavy balls to constrict, like drawing taut the band of a slingshot before letting loose its ordnance.  “Fuck!” he curses when he finally lets go, his pelvis bucking into her backside with stinging force.  Reflexively, his arms tighten like a vise around her as he empties the rest of his load with three more thrusts.  Each plunge is more debilitating than the last, as if every release passes something integral from him over to her, leaving him utterly enervated by the time he finishes.

With the last shudders of his orgasm Mon-El’s arms go limp around her, and he has just enough lucidity remaining to kiss the back of her neck and along her shoulders.  Reverently, in the bubble of communion their lovemaking has created, he showers her with the love he feels but cannot yet say.

As always, separating from her is a near-traumatic experience for the both of them, but as he must for now, he carefully withdraws and rolls onto his back, his body spent.  His mind, however, experiences a brief, post-orgasmic moment of clarification that will fade all too soon as his heart rate returns to normal and his body enters its refractory period.

Perhaps he can blame it on the nightmare, the emotional conversation with Ral afterwards, or waking up with her in his arms and the sun peeking through the windows, but something about the morning sex with Kara has taken its toll on him.  Physically and emotionally.  Learning that she could be pregnant, a phenomenon unseen on Daxam since Gata Fal-Ur and another seven generations before her, and then seeing it so vividly in his dreams, had stirred up emotions he had never imagined himself capable.

He remembers, like the itch of a phantom limb, the way their son moving under her skin felt against his palm and he wants to weep with the incomprehensible loss of it.  But despite the desolation, there had been emotional profit in the dream as well.

Growing up, he’d always known that siring a child, continuing his bloodline, was a duty he would one day have to fulfill—would be forced to fulfill, one way or another.  To say he had been preveniently resentful of any future offspring would be an understatement of galactic proportions. The very thought of having a child, of giving his father exactly what he wanted, was abhorrent to him.  Mon-El had actively taken measures to prevent siring offspring, both by receiving secret injections of the male hormone suppressors that would prevent his seed from taking root, and by purposefully choosing women with who to cavort that his father would view as genetic undesirables.

But those feelings of resentment are gone now, evaporated like an ice cube in the face of Kara’s heat vision.  Falling in love and letting go of the reasons that, brick-by-brick, built that resentment, means that he can see the possibilities that lay ahead and look forward to them.  Even if he and Kara aren’t quite ready to dive in head-first.

Kara rolls to her back next to him, not quite willing to muster the energy to shift all the way to her side yet.  She splays an arm across him, the back of her sifting through the patch of hair on his abdomen, so that she can maintain an intimate contact with him.  So addicted to him, to his attentions, it’s emotionally difficult for when he has to pull away.  “What are you thinking?” she asks.  

A flash of concern strikes her and she wonders if he’s seeing or hearing from his hallucinatory step-brother right now. Kara stuffs down the bubble of jealousy that rises within her.  She doesn’t want to share him when they’re like this, but at the same time…it doesn’t make sense to be jealous of something that isn’t real.  It’s a waste of emotion, her brain tells her.  Too bad her heart doesn’t seem to listen.

Mon-El removes his condom and ties it off as best as he can, curling it into his fist, because he’s not quite ready to crawl away from her.  Reaching up, he tucks his other hand under the back of his head.  “I never wanted children,” he says.  “The idea was…well…repugnant isn’t too harsh of a word.”

Kara’s breath comes to a full stop, and her stomach clenches involuntarily with dread.

“But the reasons for that are all gone now.”

“They are?” she asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.  Though he doesn’t explain, Kara thinks she understands what he’s saying.  That his promises the night before of being in this together were about more than mere lip service.  And something happened between then and now to make that more concrete for him.

“Huh,” he says, a notion popping into his head fully formed, liked being handed an infant from the birthing matrix, without having watched it grow or develop.

“What?”

“Losing Daxam didn’t take everything from me,” he declares, feeling a piece of his shattered soul reform and shape into something new.  “Losing Daxam gave me some things, too.”

“Like…what?” she urged softly.  She didn’t want to press too hard, or force him to say more than he was ready to admit.

“The freedom to find out who I am without being told.”

“Krypton was like that, too,” she commiserates. “Birthing matrices were more efficient and resulted in fewer anomalies and mutations.  So they thought they could shape us into what they wanted, what they thought society needed, before we took our first breath.”

“And what did Krypton make of you?”

“My father was a scientist—a seeker—and my mother fought for justice.”

“So reporter and superhero….”

“I guess I never tried to fight my nature,” she comments.

“Because it’s a noble one.”

“What did they want to make of you?” Kara wonders.

He sighs, wondering if the time to tell her the truth is now, but knowing that he doesn’t have the courage, at least not completely. Not while he’s this naked…this vulnerable.  “A breeder,” he replies.

“I don’t…understand.”  Finally, she finds the energy and the wherewithal to shift her body towards him.  For the most part because she sends a wave of ennui pouring off of him in waves.  “Why would they want to breed a palace guard?”

“I have good genes.”

Kara grins and places a flirty, suggestive kiss on his pectoral.  “I can’t argue with that.”

Her joke draws a smile from him, helping him to shake off his lingering melancholy.  “Anyway…no one’s telling me what I have to want anymore.  I’m making my own decisions.  Or trying to…anyway.  It’s sad I had to lose my whole planet to gain that.  And I know that I want you and everything that comes with you.  I want a life and a partnership and a secret identity and a suit,” he chuckles.

“And…the other?”

“Whenever it happens…however it happens.  It’s not just something…I’m here for.  It’s something I want to be a part of.”  His hand slips out from beneath the back of his head and seeks hers, their fingers interlacing.  “Something that would…honor me.”

It’s another reason to feel that sense of relief, because the pink elephant hasn’t stopped weighing down her since that night in DEO gym and not just because of the bad timing of it all career-wise (for both of them), or because it’s so early in their relationship, but because of something far more worrisome and potentially sinister.

“What if…?” she begins, second-guessing whether she should share this burden with him – plant this seed on his already haunted mind.

“What if…what, Kara?”

“What if they won’t let us?” she asks.

“What if who won’t let us?”

“There’s a Senator in Congress, the one who submitted the bill for Alien Registration,” she explains.  “Alex heard rumors that she’s working on something new. Something that will make it legal to take away our reproductive rights.”

“Can they do that?” he queries.  It seems excessively cruel that he could be taken from a planet that tried to force its reproductive agenda upon him, only to end up on a planet that might seem determined to vote away his right to parenthood.  He and Kara both come from dead planets, they should have the right, if not the duty, to salvage of that what they can.

“They can try,” Kara replies.  “But, honestly…the government isn’t what worries me the most.”

It doesn’t take Mon-El long to connect the same dots that Kara already has.  “Cadmus,” he breathes, a red-hot fury rising up within him, utterly destroying the post-coital cloud upon which he floated only a moment ago.

“After the lengths they went to capture me just to get some of my blood.  It frightens me to think what lengths they would go to just to get their hands on our child.  What they might try to learn from her…or him.  How they could….” She can’t bear to finish the thought, let alone the sentence.

“That is never going to happen,” Mon-El vows, rolling towards her and taking her face in his hands, his Teflon-eyes boring into hers, sharp like knives.  “I swear to you…if anyone ever tries to harm our child, I will burn down the world to end them.  It may not be what Daxam taught,” he adds, “but it’s what my heart knows is right.”

Ending anyone, even the worst of villains, has always been a last resort for her.  Bringing death and dispensing justice are not the same things, because sometimes death is too pat an ending for those who toil in the service of harming others in the name of power.  People like Lillian Luthor.

But this is different.  This isn’t about being a superhero or playing by any set of rules designed to keep the general public safe and to maintain their trust.  This is about adhering to a set of rules designed to keep one person safe and an authority higher than she can possibly overrule instituted those rules.  These new rules are primal and unassailable and she knows that she is only getting a glimpse of the true allegiance they will compel.  

“We’ll figure something out,” she says, quirking one side of her mouth in a smile meant to be reassuring.  “If I’m pregnant we’ll find a way to…hide it from the public.”

“Hide it?”

“Well, yeah,” she replies with a shrug.  “Private Citizens Kara Danvers and Mike Matthews can have a child, but Supergirl and Valor should probably keep things professional. Lillian Luthor is savvy; she would make the connection easily, especially based on what she already knows. If she hasn’t already.”

“You don’t think your adoptive father would have…?”

“No,” she shakes her head.  “Never.  Not after everything he’s done to keep me safe.”

“We’ll find a way,” he promises.  “If I have to change my name again, change my disguise, and change my job…I swear to you, I won’t let anyone harm our Kryptamite.”

Kara’s forehead creases with a mixture of humor, confusion, and intrigue. “Kryptamite?” she echoes, a smile slowly spreading across her face.  “You didn’t want to go with Daxatonian?”

Mon-El chuckles, remembering the blissful moments of the dream as if they had been real moments from a long-lost past between them.  “No,” he tells her.  “Kryptamite sounds better.”

Kara nods and smiles.  “I think so, too.”

  TBC

  ·      

[myfuckingfanfictionblog]

THERE WAS A SEQUEL TO RED BULL PENIS

dallons in the hospital. he was diagnosed with osteoporosis.

he would be leaving the hospital the next morning after spending months in intensive care. they found socks and red bull in his bones and had to remove them. now he’s boneless. hes just skin and muscle.

like chicken nuggets.

but theres one body part u dont need bones for ;)

ur ears.

when he is released from the hospital, they tell him he has to pay 20 million dollars for all of the water he consumed during his stay. he ignores them. he puts on his sparkly pants and exits.

hes only wearing his pants. no shirt. no sexy lingerie. no socks. he hasnt worn socks since the… Incident.

he has nightmares about the Incident every single moment of his life, even when hes awake.

they had to amputate his leg and his dick stump too. he got a prosthetic dick but no leg. he has a peg leg now. just a stick glued to his leg. sometimes he likes to sit and chew on his stick. then he is reminded of the Incident and cries until he falls asleep.

he shakes away his memories and walks into the hospital parking lot, barefoot and shirtless, wondering what to do next.

he sees a strange vehicle in the parking lot. the door opens and zack hall exits. dallons heart races, he hasnt spoken with anyone associated with panic since the incident.

“fuck you dallon” zack says. he throws a cigar at dallon and drives away. the cigar hits dallon in the face and he falls over. his peg leg snaps in half. hurriedly he shoves it up his butthole, no lube or condom.

he pulls out his cellular device and contemplates who to call for help in this crisis while the peg leg leaves splinters inside him. he knows that brendon is probably smoking with zack, laughing at dallons misfortune. he scrolls through his contacts and suddenly he is hit with an idea. his one friend through everything. his main man. the guy whos never left him for anything. his bro.

he calls josh dun.

josh answers after a few rings with a confused “dallon?”

“hey josh please help me im in a parking lot there are splinters in my rectum”

“ok dallon im coming im bringing tyler” josh says and hangs up.

josh sighs and grabs his keys, giving tyler a nod as he quickly rushes to his skateboard. josh gets on his skateboard.

tyler quickly goes to sit on joshs shoulders. “onward mighty steed” tyler yodels and kicks josh in the ribs. josh screams in pain and starts obediently skateboarding.

they skateboard to the hospital gracefully and spot dallon laying in the parking lot. “ew is that dallon” tyler says.

“stop being rude” josh says

dallon cries as tyler picks him up

tyler holds him bridal style on joshs shoulders. josh cries because dallon is really heavy. tyler doesnt know what to do so he sticks his toe thumb up dallons ass.

dallon cries and smacks tyler, causing josh to wiggle and swerve. everyone shrieks. josh skates over a pebble causing tyler, dallon, and tyler’s toe thumb to fall over. josh gracefully backflips off the rogue skateboard but tyler and dallon smash into the pavement.

the peg leg is jammed deeper into dallons rectum and tylers toe thumb is still in his butthole. tyler gets a splinter. everyone is getting splinters.

josh is lying on the ground dead

tyler screams and pulls his thumb out, crawling to his dead band mate. he puts his thumb in joshs butt, but josh is already dead. tylers efforts are useless

tyler buries his face in joshs chest, mourning his lover when a car pulls up. the door swings open and two high heels drop down, and they see breezy. breezy stomps on dallon. the kids are shouting from the backseat about minecraft and fnaf.

breezy throws a grenade into the car, killing the children instantly. it hasnt detonated yet. she leans close to dallon and whispers “i fucking hated your kids anyway” then she gets up and steals a random car and drives away. dallon sobs and looks over at tyler

tyler is convulsing on the ground

before getting very far, breezy crashes into a juice bar and dies, cursing the one thing she ever loved for killing her as she takes her last breath

another car pulls up

dallon whimpers, he just wants help

a greasy kenny appears in the window

dallon sighs. he would rather have anyone else to help. kenny presses his face against the window and dallon can see the glass fogging when he breathes.

“r u ok” kenny shrieks. “is that a toe having a seizure over there”

dallon yells “fuck off kenny”

kenny gets out of the car and slips on his own grease puddle. he breaks his hip. “i am an old man” he cries “i need a hip replacement”

“ya i need one too you fucking grease whore but do u see me complaining no go shove ur dick in a pumpkin” dallon says. kenny cries and begs dallon for help but dallon just crawls over and starts beating the shit out of him. this is all in the hospital parking lot and nobody is helping

“not even my guitars can save me now” kenny says

“u can shove ur guitars up ur greasy butthole” dallon says. “at least u have natural lube"he adds

tyler is still having a seizure on the ground. foam starts to drip down tylers cheek as his body shakes and convulses

"hey tyler do u want some taco bell” josh says

tyler screams. josh is a zombie. rest in pepperoni.

“JOSH UR BACK” tyler starts violently fucking josh in the ass in celebration.

“tyler stop i just want some taco bell ur a bottom anyway please stop” josh says

tyler is out of control at the moment. there is no telling what he can do.

dallon crawls over and tries to join. tylers dick kicks him in the face. josh seems to be okay with a threesome, but tyler punches dallon in the throat. dallon rips joshs hair out in clumps. josh cries.

“my luscious straw locks. what have you done” he laments. josh now looks like tyler.

“tyler can we please get taco bell” josh says. tyler ignores him and keeps going. josh shits himself. tyler moans even louder.

“how did u know my kink” tyler says. josh cries and runs away. tyler screams.

now that josh is gone, there is only one other person to turn to. dolan. dalon. dallon.

tyler pees on dallon. “golden shower” he says. dallon screams.

another car pulls up, crushing tylers legs under its wheels. the door opens and smoke pours out.

josh comes back and beats tyler with a stop sign.

brendon and zack get out and walk over. zack gets lung ccancer suddenly.

brendon starts throwing weed at dallon. clumps of weed hit his face. everyone stares at zack as he dies of lung cancer. rip zack. sarah urie is sitting in the car drinking a smoothie and angrily tweeting fans. “bee kind” she yells from inside the car. brendon ignores her

brendon whips his dick out. its not a snake dick anymore.

“shove a bee up ur asshole!” tyler yells. tyler pulls out his toe thumb and gives them a thumbs up.

jenna joseph crawls up out of the sewers and flashes her wedding ring to everyone. tyler takes the wedding ring and eats it. jennas ugly eyebrows fall off in shock. breezy comes back from the dead to repair jennas fallen eyebrows even though her own are shit

“tyler can we get taco bell now” josh says

breezy spits on dallon and kicks the shit out of him. brendon begins eating zacks corpse.

there is still a peg leg in dallons ass.

tyler and josh come back with taco bell holding hands. sarah and breezy scream

“UNHEALTHY!!” they both run away and probably fuck in some grass

dallons ass gets an infection and he speed shits out the peg leg and all the splinters onto tyler. tyler spits his chewed up taco on dallon.

tyler moans as the peg leg pierces his nipple

jenna sees tyler nutting then cries and makes a noose with her shirt. breezy makes a green vegan gluten free extra protein smoothie shake. josh sees jenna and pushes her back into the sewer. shes gone

breezy makes some minecraft snacks and brings them to the squad. they eat the ugly torch pretzels and vomit everywhere. kenny gets up, broken hip forgotten, and roundhouse kicks her in the face. dallon swallows a pretzel stick torch whole then proceeds to drop dead

dallon says “werent the pretzels for knox and our failed abortion child amelie”

kenny drops dead

breezy says “ya but i killed ur dumbass children”

dallon puts on socks because hes cold. he cries and chews on the peg leg that was in his rectum. he has a flashback to the incident and screams. dallon stares down at the socks, the whole world slowing down around him. breezy shoves an icing pretzel torch up his butt. he cries.

brendon starts singing bohemian rhapsody in the background, demanding attention. nobody cares.

dallon lifts his foot into his lap, peeling the sock back slowly exposing the hair on his toe knuckles. he presses the warm sock against his cheek, taking a long whiff. he starts to eat the sock. he closes his eyes in bliss, remembering the moments he had with socks. he moans. his prosthetic dick has never been this hard

brendons eyes turn black as he notices, scales covering his limps. his dick starts wiggling. it elongates, until it is a wriggling tentacle.

he crawls over to dallon, head spinning around and limbs cracking.

someone drinks a diet pepsi. it is not known who.

the tentacle pokes dallons ear. brendon shoves it in dallons ear, literally fucking his brains out. dallon, still nutting to the sock, is dazed and confused. dallon nuts twice at the same time.

his brains spill onto the pavement. the pavement cracks open and ground beneath them splits, opening the underworld. tyler jumps in eagerly.

zack crawls back from the dead and mutes dallon on twitter. “you are muted. idiot” zack says then jumps into the abyss. the underworld sucks everyone in. it sucks in a mild sauce packet from taco bell, and josh cries and jumps in after it. the underworld is filled with socks and mountain dew

dallon floats up off the ground. brendon grabs onto him, afraid he will float away like a balloon. a dalloon. but brendon played himself, as dallon does not stop floating. they float until they reach space. brendon feels the gravitational pull of uranus

screeching, brendon pulls dallon into the core of uranus, where they are vaporized instantly

the end