mint flavored kisses
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The pajamas Sam has handed her are almost as soft as the look she gives her sometimes, like when she believes Lena is being too hard on herself. They also manage somehow to be both much too large and far too small for Lena to wear with any kind of dignity. The top fits her not unlike a shift dress, long sleeves hanging down well beyond the tips of her fingers. The waistband of the pants won’t stretch beyond the first swell of her hips, and Lena could have done without the reminder of exactly how short or sturdy she is in comparison to her best friend. She opts out of the pants. Rolls up her sleeves. Takes a breath, leaves the bathroom and heads down the hall.
Kara’s room is cozy, but there’s a definite chill in the air. It’s almost enough to make her shiver when she glances at Kara -- whose attention is suddenly quite obviously not on the book in her hands, but at some point just beyond, which happens to be exactly where Lena’s thighs are, at the moment.
“Good book?” Lena asks pointedly.
Kara turns bright pink and snaps her eyes back to the page. “Lovely,” she squeaks.
Lena Luthor is going to die.
She’s going to die very soon and she’s going to do it right here on the road to god-knows-where, Colorado, her hands still clutching the wheel of this foul-smelling rental car, buried under five feet of snow for the remainder of the season until some fortunate family of possums digs her up in spring, probably. (Do they have possums in the mountains?)
But before she dies, she’s going to kill Sam Arias.
In which Lena Luthor hates the winter holidays, until her best friend lures her to her cabin in the mountains where she's promptly held hostage by a very well-timed snowstorm and the irresistible charms of unexpected guest Kara Danvers. (But Lena will literally kill a man before admitting to that last part.)