[Alex is more enthusiastic after beating up alien.]
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SONG: 1965 by Zella Day _________________________________________
They don’t always talk about their days. Theycan’t always talk about their days.
Not because of anything “classified”: before long, Maggie’s gained baseline clearance at the DEO, and Alex has achieved a similar status with the few NCPD officers she meets through Maggie.
No: they often don’t talk about their days because if they do, they’ll bring all the death, all the threats, and all the betrayal, into their homes.
And sometimes, it’s necessary to do just that, and they do, and they find it both odd and beautiful to have an understanding shoulder to cry on.
But they’re both just as relieved to have someone they can just sit with, just sink into the couch with, and just grumble “long day” or, for that matter, say nothing at all: and the other will get it.
The other will be there, the other will be patient; the other will understand the heaviness of her shoulders and the gravity of her sighs, because she shares them.
But – words or not words – Maggie can always tell the days that Alex has taken down some threat, some murderer, some torturer. She can always tell because – while she herself gets silent, gets sullen, on physically brutal days like that – Alex gets… aggressive.
She never hurts Maggie – ever – and she never fails to check in for consent. But whereas on regular nights, Alex’s check ins are soft – wide eyes and gentle fingers seeking permission to take Maggie’s shirt off, to unhook her bra, to slip her fingers inside her – on nights like this, nights that punctuate the days where Alex has survived yet another battle, she seeks permission, but not softly.
On these nights, she does nothing softly.
If Maggie’s home first, she’s usually cooking, and Alex will not verbally respond to her «hey babe!»
She will shrug off her jacket, toss her gun onto the chair, stalk into the kitchen, turn off the burner, back Maggie against the sink, and kiss her breathless, kiss her relentless, kiss her hard.
«Good?» she’ll ask raggedly, and Maggie will whine and Maggie will nod, because god, yes, yes, it is.
If Alex is home first, Maggie rarely makes it past the threshold of the door, because Alex pins her against it so quickly, tugging down her jacket and yanking up her shirt, pausing only to growl – “yeah?” – before she strips Maggie entirely, pressing her naked body against the back of the door, lifting her, holding her, fucking her, filling her mind with Maggie’s enraptured screams instead of tortured yells, cleansing herself of ripped open skin and hard bone with Maggie’s soft curves and pliant warmth.
When they finally make it to the bedroom – and they will, because especially on the nights that end days of war, Alex is never satisfied with making Maggie cum only once or twice – Alex quickly arranges the pillows so they’ll cushion Maggie’s head before she pushes her down onto the mattress, sometimes on her back, other times on her stomach, always biting into her neck, always clamping her wrists down onto the bed, always kissing her so hard her makeup smears and her lips swell.
«Alex!» Maggie will scream, and Alex will unleash a string of filthy curses into her ear, perfectly calibrated to topple her over the edge, to make her pulse around Alex’s fingers, to make her entire body shudder with the force of her response to Alex’s thrusts, to Alex’s words, to Alex’s raw need.
«You can cum harder than that, baby.»
Alex will chide, and every time Maggie think she’s wrong; but every time, Alex will prove herself right.
It’ll usually take at least five or six orgasms – Alex will cum when Maggie does, but quietly, quietly, and Maggie only knows from the way Alex holds her breath, the way the rippled muscles in her back go completely rigid – for the fevered, heady glare in Alex’s eyes to dissipate, and then she’ll gather Maggie into her arms and leave tender kisses on all the harsh hickeys she’s left on her neck, her chest, her tight abs, the insides of her thighs.
She’ll crawl back up to kiss her mouth, and she’ll whisper that she’s beautiful, and Maggie will pull her head down onto her chest and stroke Alex’s hair until her breathing regulates, until her sweaty body shivers with cold and Maggie tugs the comforter over them both.
«Babe.» she calls one night, one of those nights, when Alex destroys threats to earth by day and battles her own demons through her girlfriend’s body by night. «You had a rough day, huh?»
Alex grunts, and Alex sighs, and Alex lets herself relax under the gentle rhythm of Maggie’s fingers stroking her hair.
«I nearly lost one of my agents. He’ll be fine, he’s gonna be fine, but…I nearly lost one of my agents.»
«And last week, when you fucked me like this?» There’s no judgment in Maggie’s voice, just concern. Just curiosity. Just understanding and a burning desire to know the woman she loves better, so she can love her better.
Alex shifts so she’s looking up into Maggie’s eyes, and her gaze is steady. «Kara got hurt.»
Maggie nods in understanding. «How come?» she asks, but it’s not about Kara.
Alex sighs silently and she turns her face away, pressing a thoughtful kiss to Maggie’s chest.
«Being surrounded by death like that… beating it like that gives me this energy, it makes me need you. Makes me need to feel your pulse under my lips. Hear the sounds you make, taste you, feel how warm you are, how you move, how…alive you are. I need to feel how alive you are.»
«So you can also feel how alive you are.» Maggie supplies, and Alex nods almost imperceptibly.
Maggie presses a kiss into her hair and pulls her body closer to her.
«I got you, babe. I got you.»
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Quitesmutty, am I wrong? So, wouldyoupreferdatingMags or Alex? And why?
