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Mon-El was seven cycles old when he turned.
He’d been ill for days, dangerously feverish, nauseous and sweating, red-tinted hallucinations blurring the line between sleep and wakefulness until he could no longer tell the difference. And a feeling of hunger, an unshakable need to feed, on what, he didn’t know.
After weeks of this his parents caved and brought in a Diagnosian from a faraway system, rumored to be the best there was in all things vampire, a rare profession for a rare disease.
Mon-El was too young to understand what that meant, what this disease had turned him into. Just that when the doctor put a cup full of red liquid to his lips, nothing had ever tasted so life-saving. Like liquid gold…something he could never get enough of.
The King and Queen hired one of the Diagnosian’s apprentices, a vampire themself, to stay with Mon-El for a year. They taught him how to retract his fangs as soon as they extended, how to feed on someone without killing them, how to control his hunger at the sight of blood.
After that, it was as if he’d never been sick. The information was hidden from the public. The servants were threatened into silence. Mon-El’s parents avoided the topic every time he so much as alluded to it, and eventually he stopped altogether. They were ashamed of him, that much he understood. And maybe even a bit…afraid. It was hidden, never outright stated, but he could still see it in the way his father tensed up when he bit into a roll at a family dinner (he soon ceased attending at all), in how his mother’s hand twitched towards her belt when she encountered him wandering the halls at night, unable to regain a diurnal sleep schedule no matter how much he tried. As if reaching for a weapon. As if he were a monster.
It’s oddly refreshing, when he lands on Earth and the self-righteous Kryptonian seems to care more about him being the prince of Daxam than the fact that he’s a vampire.
***
A door opens and the Kryptonian strides in, head held high, glyph obnoxiously gleaming over her chest. Mon-El wants to comment on it, level the ground a bit, but if the frustrated crease in her brow as he ignores her questioning is anything to go by, silence is power here.
Eventually her patience runs out and when she turns to leave in a huff, Mon-El sees his window.
“Do they have vampires on this planet?”
She stops. Spins around. “What?”
“Vampires? You know, bloodthirsty, nocturnal, big pointy things in our mouths?” He opens his mouth and gestures dramatically to his fangs. “‘Cause I’m really craving a nice big glass of red stuff, but there just doesn’t seem to be many accommodations on your new planet…”
The Kryptonian walks back over, crossing her arms. “You’re a vampire?”
“Yup. Turned at seven.” Mon-El crosses his arms as well and raises an eyebrow, daring her to condemn him for this too. “I’m assuming your people consider us beneath you, as well?”
She scoffs. “No, actually, we developed the first ever treatment, although clearly that didn’t get to you in time. I’m not surprised you would make a joke of this, your entire race thinks of nothing but themselves!”
Well, this is an amusing surprise. Mon-El hides a smile. “And you would know all about my race, wouldn’t you, Kryptonian?”
***
She comes back into the room after what feels like an eternity and Mon-El can tell that something has changed but what, he couldn’t begin to guess. Her hands are clasped together, gaze drawn downwards and she looks almost subdued, remorseful even.
Even more surprising, she unlocks his cell and steps inside. He jumps up on instinct, ready for a fight if this is a trick because she wouldn’t just let him go like this, would she?
“Uh, what’s going on?” Mon-El fidgets, thrown off by this new side of her. “Thought I was a dangerous killer.”
“I don’t know you at all,” she admits, twisting her hands together. “And it was a mistake of me to misjudge you just because you’re the prince of Daxam.”
She meets his eyes and she just looks so earnest, like it’s incredibly important to her that he hears this apology and the emotional whiplash is almost enough to make him long for before, when she was all fire and barely controlled anger. Then, at least, he had a clear part to play out.
“You didn’t try to kill the President, and I apologize for assuming you did.” She presses her lips together, and takes a small step forward. “Uh, my name is Kara Zor-El. I’m from Krypton, and like you, I’m a refugee on this planet. Earth.” She smiles there, and extends her hand.
Mon-El pauses, feeling a smile begin to form on his own face, and takes her hand. It’s much smaller than his own but he can feel the raw power lying dormant underneath with the strength she grips his, something they seem to have in common. “My name is Mon-El,” he says, aware that she probably already knows, but it feels like the right move. “So uh…what now? Can you help me get in touch with my homeworld?”
“Ah…” The Kryp—Kara opens her mouth and then closes it, frozen like a deer in headlights. “Actually, you, uh. You might wanna sit down…there’s something I have to tell you.”
Mon-El plays dumb, but deep down he kind of knows what’s coming. The apocalypse that was Daxam’s last day flashes before his eyes every time he blinks.
Still, he can’t be the only one left…right?
***
He is.
***
Despite the unfamiliar nature of their first surroundings, Mon-El finds Kara’s excitement infectious as she hurries him into the tall building bustling with people, smiling and greeting as she goes. He hands out cups of steaming brown liquid to the people she points out to him, marveling at how much they seem to love him for it. Bribery works well on any planet, it would seem.
Kara looks different like this, glasses, soft-colored clothes and hair tied back. She’s still beautiful—he doesn’t think anything could negate that—but a softer, quieter kind of beautiful. He chuckles to himself imagining her reaction if he were to voice these thoughts.
Instead, he lets Eve pull him into a closet and tries not to think about Kara finding them, or how the silky hair tangled between his fingertips could be just a slightly darker shade of blond. If he doesn’t look too hard.
***
It’s not the same. That was the first thing Mon-El thought when he gratefully accepted a blood pouch from a DEO employee on the day he landed, and like always he could tell immediately what it was. Or rather, what it wasn’t: filling, for starters. He knew the drill, has known it since he was ten: the closer to his own race the blood is, the more energy it will give him. And what was in that bag was nowhere close to Daxamite.
Not human (thankfully), it was even farther away than that, still a mammal but maybe something smaller? A rodent? The specifics didn’t really matter. What mattered was that the only blood available to him would barely take the edge off his hunger. And he didn’t trust those people, the humans, enough to ask for what he needed (assuming they could even provide it). No, he had to take matters into his own hands.
And when an opportunity comes knocking, he does. Kara insists that he needs a job, even if it’s not at Catco, and he feigns reluctance but really, it’s the perfect chance.
There has to be some sort of job that involves contact with other aliens, where no one would care if one of them got hurt. Fight club? No, too dangerous. He might be strong but Mon-El is well aware of his lack of skill in the fighting department. It has to be something without witnesses, too. Perhaps M’gann will know.
“A job that involves fighting?” If M’gann’s eyebrows were raised any higher, they’d be in her hairline and Mon-El flashes her his most charming smile.
“Just looking for some practice with my new abilities. Gotta be able to defend myself, right?”
The Martian seems unfazed by his charm as she cleans a glass behind the counter. “I suppose. Although I don’t see why you can’t just ask your superhero friend for some pointers.”
“I would, but said friend is more than a little insistent that I find a way to make my own money.” He leans forward. “So…do you know of anything?”
M’gann sighs. “Ever heard of bounty hunting?”
***
As it turns out, maybe his brilliant idea wasn’t so brilliant after all.
“Mon-El?”
Kara looks more confused than anything so he supposes that’s something, but it doesn’t stop Mon-El’s heart from jumping into his throat as he hastily pulls away from Brian and wipes his mouth.
“Okay, um, before you say anything, you should know that this gentleman here—stand up Brian—has a bad habit of not paying back his debts properly—”
“I do,” Brian empathetically agrees, holding a hand to the wound on his neck.
“And so if his bookie wants to pay me a few bucks to help him…improve his habits, then who am I to say no, right?” He swallows dryly, waiting for her inevitable reaction as Kara’s face hardens.
“Run along, Brian.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mon-El starts mentally preparing an argument in his favor but before he can launch into it, he’s met with the gaze of one furious Kara Zor-El, and wordlessly shrinks back.
“This is how you’re using your powers?” She takes a step forward. “As muscle for hire?”
“It’s a living,” he tries to weakly defend himself as she scoffs. “A temporary living…”
“You’re supposed to help people. You cannot use your powers for money!”
“Why, don’t you?”
Kara looks even angrier at that, if possible. “Absolutely not!”
“Well, that’s a missed opportunity, because—”
She laughs humorlessly. “Oh for the love of Rao—”
“What?”
“You are so selfish!”
“Oh, okay.”
“I don’t know what else I should have expected from a…” She trails off and Mon-El’s blood goes cold.
“A what?” he snarls. “A vampire? A monster?”
Now it’s her turn to shrink back. “That’s not what I—”
“No, but you were thinking it, weren’t you?” He can feel his heart pounding, knows that she can hear it as clearly as he can hear hers but doesn’t care. “Everyone does. Why should I try to be anything else?”
“Mon-El, no—” Something like pity flashes in her eyes and he hates it, so he does the only thing he can think of to get rid of it.
“And I don’t know who you think you are, Kara Zor-El, but you’re no saint. You can’t just change someone’s entire personality with a fucking hope speech. I’m not a hero. Never have been, never will be.”
Just as he predicted, the pity in her eyes is replaced by hurt and anger and a small, nasty part of him relishes in it.
“Well, I guess you’ve made your choice, then.”
“Yeah, I have.”
“Fine!”
“Good!”
Kara rolls her eyes and turns to leave, then stops short. “For the record,” she adds dryly, “I was gonna say ‘Daxamite’.”
She takes off into the sky, leaving him behind.
***
The thing about being a vampire, is that it isn’t just a disease. You aren’t just a regular person who got sick.
From the moment your body loses the battle, you are someone else. Something else. Your DNA is rewritten. Your instincts are no longer simply remnants of the past, lost to evolution, but primal urges thrumming just under your skin. A roaring hunger for something you’ve never tasted in your life but suddenly can’t live without. You’re ageless. You’re full of rage. You’re starving. You’re terrified. You’re dangerous.
You’re a monster.
***
She looks so fragile, so still, lying motionless in the medbay. Mon-El thinks about their earlier argument, her fiery eyes, her scathing remarks, her flushed cheeks, tries to reconcile it with the girl on the bed and finds he can’t. Someone as alive as Kara has no business being that still.
He’s almost mad at her. Going out like that and nearly getting herself killed by some murderous parasite. It’s just like a Kryptonian, to just decide that you should be the one who saves everyone, every time.
Why does it always have to be her?
***
He swirls around the liquid in his glass, grateful for the pleasant buzz it brings. Maybe if he drinks enough, it’ll wash Alex’s words from his mind and he’ll stop contemplating going to fight a fucking parasite the size of an apartment.
He’s not like Kara. He doesn’t owe anybody anything.
Running away doesn’t make him a bad person.
Plenty of aliens aren’t heroes. Why does it have to be him? He’s hardly the best candidate, a vampire, a predator by nature.
He thinks of Kara’s sparkling eyes in the dim light of the bar, her brilliant smile.
“...Fuck it.”
I’m in your hands, Kara.
***
“Thank you,” she says, a smile in her eyes, evaporates the dozens of apologies he’s been rehearsing with only a look.
I told you so, whispers a little voice in the back of his mind.
***
“Sorry, little buddy.” Mon-El can’t see much more than heat signatures in the dark, but he can feel the bunny squirming around in his hand, desperate to escape his inevitable demise.
“I feel for you, but, you know, some of us have gotta eat. I’ll try and make this quick.”
He does just that, then takes off down the darkened street, feeling strangely unfulfilled. Well, having nothing but a tiny rabbit for breakfast will do that to you, but he doesn’t want to go back to the DEO just yet. He’s wondering if it’d be too much work to go looking for some other prey, maybe something (a little) bigger, when he walks past a homeless man curled up on the sidewalk.
The man lets out a ragged cough, pulling his sleeping bag tighter around him and Mon-El feels a pang of guilt. If he’s going to take a life, even a small one, then he should at least try to help another, right? He crouches down to the man’s level.
“Hey, is there anything I can do for you? I’m trying to be better, so I’d love to help out.”
The man lunges towards him with an electrical baton of some kind and Mon-El allows himself a moment of self-pity before he passes out.
See, this is what happens when you try to help people.
***
Mon-El’s hands are shaking and he balls them into fists to hide it. They’ve likely only been in this cage for a day or two, but it feels like a year. He can feel sweat dripping down his forehead, even as he shivers with cold.
He needs to feed.
This probably wouldn’t be an issue if he’d eaten something more substantial than the blood of a bunny rabbit yesterday, but he couldn’t get the image of Kara’s grateful smile from the day before out of his head, contrasted with the bitter disappointment when she saw him drinking Brian’s blood. It’s terrifying how much she seems to believe in him and for once Mon-El doesn’t want to disappoint her expectations. There’s something intoxicating about the light that shines through her, and he can’t shake the desire to bask in it forever.
“Mon-El?”
Speak of the angel. Or is it the devil? I should ask Winn…
“Are you okay?” Her face is suddenly close, much too close, closer than his starving body can handle. She puts her hand on his forehead, brow scrunched with worry. “Rao, you’re freezing, what’s going on?”
“I’m fine.” He’s not fine. His head is swimming. Her eyes are so blue, they look like swirling comets and he probably shouldn’t tell her that but oh, he wants to.
Kara frowns harder, looking him up and down until it dawns on her and her eyes widen. “Are you…” she lowers her voice, as if there’s anyone to overhear them, “...hungry?”
“It’s fine,” Mon-El whispers hoarsely.
“How…” she trails off and then clears her throat. “How long can you go without feeding?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never gone this long before.” It could be weeks until starvation finally claims him. Or just days. Hours. Minutes. She smells so sweet. (Like prey—shutupshutupshutup.)
Kara bites her lip, and he can practically hear the gears in her mind turning. After a moment she reaches up and slowly pulls her hair to one side, exposing her neck.
“No,” Mon-El croaks.
“You need to eat, Mon-El,” Kara reminds him, but her voice is shaking.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers and hates how weak it sounds.
“I’m not gonna let you die,” she says, eyes blazing with determination. She grabs his arm and pulls him into a seated position, closer to her. “Come on.”
Mon-El finally gives in, leaning into her space. He puts his hand on the other side of her neck (for stability, that’s necessary, right?) and ducks his head, hovering over her as he feels his fangs extend. Her skin is so soft. He’s so, so hungry.
“Mon-El,” Kara whispers, and it’s a command.
He swallows dryly. “I’m sorry,” he breathes and bites her.
She inhales sharply, fingernails digging almost painfully into his shoulder and he retracts quickly, covering the wound with his mouth and beginning to drink.
Rather than satiate his hunger, the first taste of her blood only seems to sharpen it, and his entire being hums with urgency.
More, his darker instincts hiss. More. Prey…
No, his mind argues, Kara.
Time passes, Mon-El isn’t really sure how long, and little by little the primal hunger fades away, replaced by a feeling of contentment, of fullness, his body temperature rising and heartbeat stabilizing.
He switches from sucking to licking, gently lapping away the last traces of blood, his tongue lingering on Kara’s skin for probably a bit longer than necessary before he pulls back. “Thank you.”
Kara blinks, sluggishly, as if just waking up from a long nap. Her gaze seems unfocused, her heartbeat faster than normal in his ears and Mon-El feels a wave of panic arise. Did he take too much? Did he hurt her?
“Are you okay?” he asks, gripping her shoulders in case she falls over.
“Yeah.” She shakes her head a little, as if to clear it. “Yeah, I’m fi—”
Their cell door opens with a bang.
“Kara, it’s me!”
“Jeremiah?!”
***
The next day, back in the safety of the DEO, Mon-El dreams of his fangs tearing into Kara’s neck, of her eyes dull and lifeless, of his chin dripping with blood that tastes sweet.
He wakes up choking on tears and the phantom liquid that seems to fill his throat, and without thinking he seeks out her heartbeat across the city, slow and calming, alive, and lets it lull him to sleep.
***
The air is thick with orange smoke, sour with the smell of death. The floor is littered with bodies. The woman who sat with him earlier now lies sprawled out next to her bar stool, her eyes still wide with panic.
Mon-El forces himself not to flee, to walk in deeper. Every step reminds him more and more of that last day on Daxam and the pain of it is shocking, like taking a wrong step on a frozen lake and plunging into its freezing depths.
***
When he drifts back into consciousness, she’s there. Mon-El smiles weakly, dragging in a labored breath. “Hey.”
The corner of Kara’s mouth turns up, sadness shining in her eyes. “Hey,” she echoes along with her twin.
Mon-El squints, trying to separate the two. “Did you learn a new power where you can duplicate yourself? Because I’m seeing two of you now, and it’s really cool—”
“No, sorry, no new powers,” she shakes her head, pressing her lips together. “I think the double vision’s all you.”
“Oh, so I have a new power?”
“Yeah.”
She doesn’t roll her eyes at his dumb joke like he was hoping she would and Mon-El grows somber again. “Your Earth mother, Eliza, she thinks I’m dying. I might not have your hearing, but…mine’s pretty good.”
“She’s gonna find a cure,” Kara insists, her voice trembling.
“It’s okay.” Mon-El grips the edges of the bed and pulls himself upright, fighting off a wave of dizziness. “I’ve, uh, cheated death more times than anyone should. Literally.”
Kara shakes her head, her resolve breaking. “It’s not okay, you shouldn’t be dying.” Tears well up in her eyes. “The only reason you are dying is because of my family.”
“Eliza did her best.”
“No, not her,” Kara corrects miserably. “My birth father created Medusa. He’s the reason that you are in so much pain, and the reason why I can’t do anything about it.” Without thinking Mon-El reaches for her, wanting to comfort her somehow and she holds his hand in a death grip. “I promised I’d protect you,” she whispers. “Everything bad that’s happened to you is my fault.”
Mon-El doesn’t really know what to say to that, how to convince her of how incredibly wrong she is, but he gets the feeling that she isn’t even properly listening to him anyways. Instead he reaches up and combs a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her face, cradling her cheek. “You know, you look beautiful…” and she does, oh she does, “with the weight of all these worlds on your shoulders.”
“You don’t have to make me feel better,” Kara whispers and Mon-El kisses her.
***
Now that he thinks about it, there’s a good chance that this potent desire of his to consume her might be much more complicated and a whole lot less literal than he originally feared. He wants her. He loves her.
And he can never tell her that.
***
It’s a week later and they have a game night on Friday, to celebrate the momentary defeat of Cadmus and the foiling of the Medusa plot. Mon-El isn’t planning on going, until Kara drops by his room at the DEO to ask him personally, a hint of shyness in the form of a blush when she says quietly that she’d really like it if he came. (She really is his Kryptonite, isn’t she?)
And this colossal mistake is how he ends up on her couch, with her fast asleep practically on his lap and him debating whether it’s more polite to move her into a less compromising position or to just let her sleep.
It happens like this: Winn, Alex, J’onn, Mon-El and of course Kara are all there in Kara’s apartment, playing games and drinking beer that in most of their cases does nothing but tastes good regardless. And it’s nice. Nicer than almost anything he can think of in the past month. (Kara claps her palm against his, her eyes bright like stars as she throws back her head in a laugh.)
When the games start to wind down and Winn has yawned more than five times in the last thirty minutes everyone begins to pack up, drifting off to their respective homes after giving Kara hugs goodbye. Mon-El is about to follow suit (and if she tried to hug him, well, he wouldn’t refuse) when Kara touches his arm and asks if he would mind staying back to help with cleanup. He still doesn’t know much about earthly social customs but this seems like the sort of thing that would be rude to refuse. (It has nothing to do with the way her touch is warm against his skin and her smile makes his heart beat faster. Absolutely nothing.)
They work in companionable silence, and then before Mon-El can make his escape, Kara’s plopping down onto the couch and asking if he wants to stay for a movie and he knows how dangerous this is but he can’t say no.
The movie is apparently an old one by Earth’s standards, that starts out black and white and then bursts into color as the main character finds herself in a magical new realm. Mon-El watches attentively, fascinated. There’s music, too, and Kara starts to sing along and then catches his eye, blushes, and stops. He shakes his head, movie forgotten. “No, keep going.”
“You should hear the songs as they are,” Kara insists and he misses her voice for the rest of the movie.
However much Kara loves this movie (which Mon-El surmises is a lot), it evidently isn’t enough to overcome her sleepiness and she’s out by the time Dorothy’s trapped in the green lady’s castle. (Or does she just live there? He hasn’t been paying much attention to the second half.)
Kara’s slumped sideways towards him, head tucked into the couch cushion and soft inhales and exhales punctuating the silence when Mon-El pauses the movie.
“Kara?” he whispers, leaning in slightly. “Are you asleep?”
She doesn’t answer, just grumbles sleepily and then sort of slides forward until she’s lying down and (oh gods) tucked against his side, her arm slung over his torso and face buried in his shirt.
“Um…Kara?” Panicked, Mon-El jostles her shoulder a bit and she ignores him. He gulps. Should he try harder to wake her up? This doesn’t seem like a very…friendship-y position. Or maybe it is? What does he know? And she looks so cozy and peaceful, it feels like a crime to consider waking her up. Maybe, maybe it’ll be okay if they stay like this, just until the end of the movie. If he pulls the blanket back over her and tucks it under her chin. If he pets her hair a little bit. Maybe.
The credits roll all too soon and Mon-El switches off the TV, darkness blanketing the room as he ponders what to do. Maybe there’s a way to get up without waking her? He shifts a bit, trying to move her arm off him so he can stand.
But he isn’t careful enough and she stirs, rubbing at her eyes as a yawn escapes her. “What time’s it?” she mumbles.
“Uh…” Mon-El checks his watch. “Almost eleven.”
“Hmph.” She makes an effort to sit up, finally noticing the position they’re in. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to trap you.” Chuckling under her breath, she stumbles off towards the kitchen, seemingly unperturbed.
Mon-El follows, grabbing his jacket from its hook as they reach the kitchen. “I should, uh, probably get going,” he says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“No, wait!”
He turns and Kara is fidgeting, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. “Um, do you want a cup of tea? Just before you go?” She looks nervous and the tiniest bit desperate and Mon-El doesn’t know how to feel about that. She’s drawing this out and they both know it; but for what, he couldn’t begin to guess. Only one way to find out.
“Uh, sure.” He sits down and watches as Kara pours tap water into two mugs, hitting them with her heat vision until they bubble. “That’s so cool,” he whispers, her power always managing to be impressive no matter how many times he witnesses it.
“Meh.” Kara shrugs, but there’s a little self-satisfied smile on her face when she hands him his mug. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a minute of silence where Kara pushes her mug back and forth between her hands, seemingly gathering up her courage. Mon-El waits patiently, taking a sip of his tea. It’s warm and calming and tastes faintly flowery. “It’s good,” he comments.
“Mmm-hmm,” Kara mumbles distractedly, not looking up. Her hand drifts to her neck absentmindedly, tracing over her skin and Mon-El recognizes the spot as the place where he bit her. The vampire venom causes it to heal at a normal pace rather than an accelerated one, and there are two little white lines marking the spot where his teeth sunk in.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she says suddenly, as if reading his mind. “That night at Cadmus, when you…you know.”
Mon-El swallows hard. “I’ve been thinking about it, too,” he admits in a whisper. This is it. She’s going to say that it was horrifying, that he’s a monster and she regrets ever letting him get close to her and she never wants to see him again and—
“I wonder what it would be like if you did it again.”
Mon-El chokes on his tea. “What?”
Kara doesn’t seem to notice his near-death experience and continues on thoughtfully. “Except without the, you know, life-threatening situation.”
“Uh…” Mon-El manages to recover enough to speak full sentences. “I don’t…think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, I do.” Kara takes a casual sip of her tea, her gaze suddenly mischievous and playful instead of anxious. She grins at him over the lip of her mug and his heart speeds up. “Dare you.”
(It seems like he’s been missing a major puzzle piece here, one that is rather obvious now that he thinks about it.)
In a heartbeat he has her backed against the counter, trapped against him, fangs out and hovering over her neck just like before. “Are you sure?” he whispers. He can feel his hands shaking.
“Do it,” she says, and who is he to refuse her?
Mon-El closes his mouth over her neck and presses in, just a little. Kara makes a sound that’s not quite a gasp, one that he’s worldly enough to know what kind of sound it is and it makes his heart thrum with need. He adjusts a little and suddenly it’s his regular, duller teeth that sink into her neck instead, just barely hard enough to bruise but not to bleed. He runs his tongue over her skin, to soothe it and she shudders against him.
“Mon-El,” she sighs.
Mon-El pulls back and looks into her eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that haunt him night and day. I love you, is what he wants to say. What he says is: “I remember.”
Kara blinks. And then blinks again. “What?”
“Kissing you.” He takes a deep breath. “I remember.”
“Oh.”
That seems to be her only reaction. Mon-El presses on. “I didn’t want—I didn’t know how you felt about it, about the kiss, and when you didn’t bring it up again I just figured that it meant that…you didn’t want it. Sorry,” he adds.
“Me too,” Kara says quietly. “For the record, though…” Her hand slides up his chest, gathering a handful of his shirt in her fist to tug him closer. “I did want it. This. You.”
Mon-El grins. “Well, I know that now,” he says and this time she’s the one to kiss him.
As it turns out, her blood may be sweet, but the taste of her lips is far sweeter.
Fin