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I'm (always) yours.

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“Tell me again.” 


Lexa sits on a chair in the corner of their bedroom with her forehead leaning into the heel of her palms, elbows resting just above her knees. She’s been like that for so long now that she knows if she were to lift her elbows, there would be bright red circular marks in their place. 


“Lexa, I -” 


Clarke sits on the edge of the bed, staring desperately at her wife, trying to urge her through some kind of telepathic means to just look at her because asking her verbally has gotten her nowhere over the past two hours. 


“This isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making it worse,” she continues, finishing her cut-off sentence. 


Lexa does look at her then, finally, but the steeliness of her gaze sends a cold, unpleasant shiver down Clarke’s spine. It’s a look she has seen directed at others before, but never at herself. 


“You don’t get to tell me what is helping or is not helping me,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to tell me anything unless I specifically ask you to. So, do it. Tell me again how it happened. Every detail. Don’t hold anything back.”


Clarke just stares back at her, frozen, held hostage by the overwhelming hate and anger and disappointment in Lexa’s verdant eyes, paralyzed from knowing exactly how badly she had fucked up. 


“I -” she starts, nearly choking on the single syllable over the lump in her throat. She swallows, tries to compose herself. “It was 3 weeks ago, while you were in Dallas.”


“While I was in Dallas, with a client, trying to secure a deal that would set us up financially for the next 15 years,” Lexa clarifies, as if either of them didn’t already know that. As if this wasn’t the 10th time of the night having this exact conversation, nearly word for word. 


“Yes,” Clarke agrees, fighting to keep her voice from trembling. “You were in Dallas, and I’d gotten off of a particularly long overnight. There was a car accident, and I lost a patient. A 16 year old girl who I promised would be okay right before we put her under.” The memory of it makes it even harder for Clarke to hold herself together, but she has to. Lexa isn’t here to offer her sympathy, and she knows that there is no excuse for her actions, anyways. 


Lexa has dropped her head back down into her hands again, and Clarke isn’t sure if she is relieved to have her burning stare off of her or not. She takes a breath and continues. “My mom had the kids, so I went to the bar across the street for a drink when I got off. I just...I just needed something to take the edge off, to help me forget everything I had seen and gone through the past 18 hours.”


“All it helped you forget is that you have a wife ,” Lexa spits, and she glances up at Clarke for a brief second as if only to display the utter disgust painted across her face before she puts her head back into her hands and stares at the floor. 


Clarke is not unperturbed by the statement, but this isn’t their first round with this conversation, and she knows better by now than to argue. Than to say I would never forget that. I could never forget you because it would inevitably open up a whole different can of worms about how she had done exactly that. 


“Wells showed up only a few minutes after I got to the bar. We had a few drinks together and tried to talk about anything other than that surgery. He had stepped in to help me in the OR after he had patched up the other passenger so he only caught the last 4 hours, but...that was probably the worst part of it.” Lexa still hasn’t looked up again. Clarke can see how her body is shaking and how her breathing is too fast and she yearns to reach out and comfort her almost like a physical pull towards her. “We lost her anyway, even with both of us giving it our all.”


When Lexa speaks, her voice is slightly higher than normal, but she manages to make it sound otherwise unaffected. “And how many drinks did you have? How many did it take for you to throw 8 years of marriage and a 15 year relationship down the drain?”


“I - we had maybe 4 or 5 drinks, Lexa, but know that isn’t what I was doing. It wasn’t what I was trying to do. I got to me so bad, Lex, and you weren’t here, and the kids weren’t home, and…” Clarke is openly crying now, tears flowing freely down her cheeks and her voice breaking and cracking. “I just wanted to not feel anything, to not think , and the alcohol made me make a horrible, terrible decision. But I swear, Lexa, it was only that one time, and I knew as soon as it happened what a horrible mistake it was. I don’t care about Wells, Lexa, I don’t give a shit about him. It was only sex. I love you . I married you . You’re the mother of my children and the love of my life.”


For a few moments the only sound in the room is each of their ragged breathing and Clarke’s choked and stifled sobs as she tries to muffle her crying with the back of her hand.  She musters up the courage to speak again after several moments of unbearable silence. 


“Lexa, please. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know that I will do whatever it takes to fix this, to make it right. No matter how hard it is or how long it takes.  Please .”


Lexa slowly raises her head and looks at Clarke dead in the eye. Her eyes are still dull and glazed and entirely unlike what they normally look like; vibrant and full of life and vigor and passion and intelligence. But they lack the outright hatred that has been emanating off of them for the past few hours and Clarke thinks, for a second, that she might have actually gotten through to her. 


“And then what?” she asks, holding Clarke’s gaze still as if daring her to argue, to refuse to repeat what happened next again. “Tell me how you ended up back at our house. In our bed. Tell me how he fucked you in our bed, Clarke.”


Clarke deflates. But again, she knows better by now than to argue, or try to refuse. This is what Lexa wants. This is what Lexa thinks will help her. And she’s right, who is she to deny her that? After what she has done?


“It was already really late, and the bar was closing. I offered to split a cab home with him, since we had both been drinking, and told him that we could continue back at the house. It felt good, cathartic, to just bullshit with him about nonsense, after the night we had. We came back here,” she says, and suddenly is acutely aware that maybe in their bedroom wasn’t the best place for this conversation, “and had a few more drinks. Honestly, Lexa, I don’t remember the fine details of anything after that. I just...I remember him kissing me, and...I woke up the next morning with him in bed beside me.”


Lexa is still looking at her, which should feel like progress, only it’s very much not given the way Lexa is glaring at her. “Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t remember, Clarke. You know you did it. I know you did it. Why hold back the details?”


And Lexa isn’t completely wrong. She does remember some more details than she is letting on, although truthfully everything is pretty blurry and jumbled up in her mind. Either way, there’s no way she’s talking about any of it with Lexa. She can’t, and she won’t. Clarke just stares at her and shakes her head slightly, bites down on the inside of her cheek until she almost draws blood. 


Lexa stands then, abruptly. This is new, not something she has done the other times they’ve run through this same exact conversation, and before Clarke even really registers what is happening Lexa is crowding into her space. She slides her hands under Clarke’s arms and shoves her roughly back into the bed and then slides in after her, climbs on top of her. She nudges Clarke’s legs open with one of her knees and settles between them when Clarke gives way to her. She bears her hips down into Clarke’s roughly enough to elicit a whine from her wife. 


“Was he on top of you, Clarke?” she asks, and one of her hands snakes up Clarke’s body and settles over her throat. She squeezes, not hard enough to cause pain but hard enough to cut off some of the circulation, and she drops her face lower so that her lips brush the shell of Clarke’s ear when she speaks again. “Or did you ride his cock for him like a fucking slut?”


Clarke whimpers, feeling an overwhelming rush of conflicting emotions. Heartbroken, stressed, anxious, and now, as Lexa nips and bites at her neck and sucks the skin in a way that will surely leave her mottled with black and blues in the morning, undeniably turned on. Desperate for a connection with her wife that has all but shut her out for the last 48 hours. She can’t help the way her back arches into Lexa as she grinds her hips down into her and sinks her teeth into the flesh around her collarbone, yanking her shirt down and out of the way so roughly that they can hear the fabric ripping and stretching. 


Lexa releases her grasp on Clarke’s neck and pulls back to meet her eyes, and there’s a look in them that, once again, Clarke has never seen before. It’s anger and possessiveness and burning and Clarke stares back with wide, watery eyes like a deer caught in headlights. 


“Or maybe he took you from behind,” Lexa growls then, and looks at Clarke with her head tilted  as if the thought had just occurred to her. In one clean move she manages to flip Clarke over onto her stomach, and she shivers when Lexa’s breath tickles the back of her neck with her next words. “Maybe you couldn’t bear to look at him while he fucked you, knowing it wasn’t me,” she whispers. 


Clarke feels Lexa’s hands grappling with the waistband of her pants before she just yanks them down over the swell of her ass, unbothered by the way the denim scrapes across her skin on its way down. She grabs one of Clarke’s ass cheeks in one hand and squeezes before pulling back and landing a smack that seems to echo in the small room, and Clarke gasps at the sting of it. 


“He did, didn’t he?” Lexa asks, and her hand slides down between Clarke’s legs then, over her curves and then over the heat of her, fingers skimming along damp cotton panties, and Clarke makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan. “You’ve always liked it this way, haven’t you?”


Lexa ,” Clarke pleads, but she doesn’t know what exactly she’s pleading for. For her to stop? For her to please not stop?


“That’s right,” Lexa says, and then she’s pushing Clarke’s underwear aside with her dexterous fingers until she is able to slide through her soaking wet folds. “You’re fucking soaked for me. Beg me to fuck you, Clarke. We both know that no one can make you come the way I do. No one knows your body like me, what makes you tick, how to make you scream so loud neighbors 3 doors down complain.”


Clarke whimpers again. “Lexa, please. Please, I….” 


Again, Clarke doesn’t know what she’s pleading for. But her lack of clarification doesn’t seem to bother Lexa. Her fingers start to stroke in a rhythmic way and she slides her way up Clarke’s wet heat until she finds her clit and begins working it over in rushed, erratic movements. Clarke’s body jerks at the sensation, a little too much too fast, but she quickly acclimatizes to the brutal pace Lexa sets and she finds her hips rocking with the motion of it. 


Lexa presses her body more firmly on top of Clarke’s back as if to keep her still, and with her free hand she grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls , just shy of being too hard. “That’s right, babe ,” she says into Clarke’s ear, and she emphasizes the last word as if it’s a dirty word. “You’re going to come for me and you’re going to realize that no one else can ever make you feel this way, this good. You’re like putty in my hands, Clarke.”


With that she plunges two fingers directly into Clarke’s entrance. Despite how wet she is the sudden stretch makes Clarke gasp and her body stiffen up, but then Lexa is pumping her fingers in and out and curling them at just the right angle and she feels a familiar tightness forming in her lower abdomen, a heat that starts in her belly spreading out towards her limbs. 


“Tell me you’re going to come for me, Clarke,” Lexa growls, biting down onto Clarke’s shoulder in a way that is definitely going to leave a mark. “I know you are. I can read your body like a book. Say it .”


“I’m going to come,” Clarke grits out obediently, and almost as if on cue Lexa hits that spot one more time with her long, slender fingers and then Clarke is wailing with pleasure and her entire body goes taut beneath Lexa. Her walls squeeze desperately around Lexa’s fingers and the waves of pleasure roll over her and then before she is even finished riding out the aftershocks of it all, Lexa abruptly pulls her fingers out and is sliding off the bed. 


Clarke inwardly careens at the loss, her body suddenly feeling cold without her weight on top of her, and any traces of post coital ecstasy are quickly erased. Lexa stands beside the bed, staring at her, shoulders heaving and tears rolling down her cheeks, the muscles of her jaw tense enough that Clarke can see them bulging. 


“I want you out,” she says, her voice frighteningly calm and even despite the way her face is and body language is saying something else entirely. “I’m picking up the kids from your mother’s, and I want you gone by the time I get back. I’m serious, Clarke.”


And she leaves. 





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To say that Lexa is relieved when she wakes up is an understatement. 


She shoots upright with a gasp like she’s been underwater for 3 minutes, a thin layer of sweat creating a sheen over her body, heart beating too fast in her chest for someone who had been asleep only seconds ago. Her breathing is ragged and uneven as the memories of her dream, her nightmare , continue to wash over her. She tries to steady her breathing, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She glances over to her left then, finally, and lays eyes on Clarke, still asleep beside her, facing away from her. Her eyes scan over the angle of her shoulder blades and the faint knobs of her spine that are visible beneath her creamy white skin and she closes her eyes. 


It was just a dream. It was just a dream. Everything is fine. It was just a dream. 


Just a terrible, terrible dream about losing the one thing that matters most to her in this world, but a dream nonetheless. 


Most people, after having a dream about their spouse cheating on them, might lash out. They might let the feelings of betrayal and anger cloud the rest of their day or make them look at their loved one differently until they could finally shake off the remnants of the dream. 


But not Lexa. No, Lexa is so terribly and irrevocably in love with Clarke that all she feels is relief. Relief and the desire to protect and claim and make sure that she gives Clarke every reason in the world to never cheat on her like ‘dream Clarke’ had. Relief and an overwhelming kind of love that makes her chest feel tight and her breath hitch as she watches her wife sleeping peacefully beside her. Relief and unbridled gratitude to whatever higher forces may be out there that she is lucky enough to be alive at the same time as the most incredible woman she has ever met, lucky enough that she finds her worthy and loves her back just as fiercely. 


It’s with all of these emotions of love and pride and gratefulness sitting heavily on her chest that Lexa reaches out and gently rolls Clarke over so that she’s on her back. Clarke mumbles something, still asleep, and the corner of Lexa’s mouth quirks up affectionately. She waits a few seconds and then slowly shifts, sidling closer to Clarke and then straddling her beneath the thin cotton sheets of their bed set. Clarke, ever the heavy sleeper, somehow manages to stay asleep even as Lexa leans down and presses soft kisses against her neck, trails down across her shoulder and then over her breasts, down the toned expanse of her stomach. 


Lexa hears Clarke inhale sharply when she takes one of her nipples into her mouth and circles her tongue around it, and she glances up to see that Clarke is still asleep, yes, but her body is obviously responding to Lexa’s ministrations. Her nipples go stiff and her back arches ever so slightly and there’s a red blush creeping across her chest as her legs fall open a little wider instinctively. 


Lexa takes it as an open invitation and gladly lowers herself to settle between her wife’s thighs. Her nose brushes up against neatly trimmed and wiry curls as she breathes in her heady scent, and she can’t help the quiet moan that escapes from within her just before she lets her tongue meet Clarke’s wet heat with a long, broad first stroke. 


Lexa isn’t sure exactly when Clarke woke up, but she knows that she is awake now when her hips cant upwards into her mouth as she withdraws slightly, seeking more contact, and she hears a whispered, “ Fuck, Lex.”


“Good morning, Clarke,” she murmurs in return, letting her hot breath hit against Clarke and make her squirm as she speaks. Looking up, she can see Clarke’s head tilted back into her pillow, the tendons of her neck standing out and taut as she writhes for Lexa in the most intoxicating of ways. 


“Yes, it is,” Clarke agrees, breathless, and she gasps when Lexa finally brings her tongue back down with another long, slow stroke.


A moment or so of Lexa’s slow, extensive exploration goes by.  “Not that I’m complaining,” Clarke says, and her voice hitches and cracks as Lexa starts to transition from her long and slow strokes with her tongue to focus on her clit, sucking and swirling in a rhythmic kind of way, “but what did I do to deserve this?”


Lexa shifts to bring her right hand close to her face and to Clarke’s waiting entrance then, runs her finger gently up and down Clarke’s folds to collect her wetness, and then slides one finger inside of her. Clarke moans loudly and her hips jerk so wildly that Lexa has to apply pressure with her left hand on her hip to hold her down and in place so she doesn’t just slip right out of her. 


“You didn’t have to do anything,” she says, and she watches as Clarke’s eyes screw tightly shut when she starts to pump her finger in and out of her, curling the tip into her front wall each time she reaches depth. “I just want to show you how much I love you. How much I love fucking you.” She drops her mouth back down then and refocuses her attention on her wife’s clit, which is now tense and stiff and nearly throbbing beneath her tongue. Clarke’s hips are rocking into her faster now and she slips in a second finger which makes her cry out loudly, and the sound of her wife’s ecstasy is like music to Lexa’s ears. “ Fuck , Clarke, I just can’t get enough of you.”


For a moment the only sounds in the room are Clarke’s soft moans and encouragements of Oh, right there, yes, fuck , and the sinful sounds of Lexa’s fingers pumping in and out of her wife’s wetness. Lexa lets her teeth graze softly over Clarke’s clit and inserts a third finger and within a few seconds Clarke is falling apart in her mouth and around her fingers. Lexa doesn’t slow down as Clarke’s walls squeeze and clench and contract and her hips jerk and her body trembles, not until she can tell her orgasm is nearly over. She gently slides out her fingers once the muscles around them have relaxed, but she remains in her place and gently licks up and down Clarke’s folds, careful to avoid her oversensitive clit as she helps to clean up the mess she made, eager to lap up everything Clarke has to offer. 


By the time she is satisfied and slides up to lay beside her wife, Clarke’s breathing has evened out but her skin is still mottled with red splotches along her neck and chest and her eyes are closed. Lexa presses a chaste kiss to her mouth but Clarke reaches out and grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a deeper one, with open mouths and tongues sliding against each other and Clarke moans when she tastes herself on Lexa’s lips and tongue. 


“That was…” Clarke says, with her eyes still closed, and Lexa smirks at the look of pure bliss and relaxation on her face, her skin practically glowing. 


“A nice start to your day, hopefully,” Lexa says softly, a small smirk on her lips as she leans forward to kiss the corner of Clarke’s mouth. 


“Definitely,” Clarke responds, and she finally opens her eyes and Lexa is overwhelmed by the amount and depth of the love that she sees within those blue irises. “I love you, Lex.”


“And I love you, Clarke,” she says with a smile. She reaches up to gently trace her fingers along the line of Clarke’s jaw. Clarke leans into the touch, and when Lexa’s fingers start to roam down her neck and then down to her chest, she raises an eyebrow suggestively. 


“I told you, I can’t get enough of you,” Lexa explains, and she’s pleased by the way Clarke’s breathing stutters as she rolls one of her nipples gently between her index finger and thumb. She’s shifting and leaning forward and about to replace her fingers with her mouth when she hears the sound of bare feet padding down the hall towards their bedroom door. She knows that Clarke hears it too when she groans, and Lexa smirks. “Raincheck?” 


Clarke nods and Lexa rolls off of her and out of bed, and they both slide into sweats and a t-shirt just as they hear a soft, “Mommy? Mama?” from outside their door. 


Clarke opens the door to reveal their oldest, 5 year old Aden, standing there in his dinosaur onesie pajamas and clutching his well-worn favorite blanky. “Good morning, baby,” Clarke says, ruffling his golden brown hair. “Ready for breakfast? Should we go get Madi, too?”


Aden nods, still looking half asleep, and Clarke reaches out to take his hand. She glances back at Lexa then and shoots her a knowing grin and Lexa is nearly bowled over by the adoration she feels, for both her wife and her son on this lazy, laid back Saturday morning. She steps forward and places her hand on the small of Clarke’s back. 


“I’ll get Madi,” she tells her. Then she turns her gaze to Aden. “What do you say we all go to the diner? And get chocolate chip pancakes?”


His eyes go wide with excitement and he does a small little jump and pumps a fist into the air. “Yes, mama! Yes!”


Both Clarke and Lexa smile and Clarke says, “Okay, let’s go brush teeth and get dressed then, okay?”


Aden eagerly dashes back down the hall towards the bathroom, blanket trailing behind him the entire way, and Clarke hangs back by their bedroom door. Once he enters the bathroom, she turns around and grabs onto the collar of Lexa’s shirt, yanks her down until their mouths are almost touching, close enough that her lips brush against hers with her next words. 


“You’re mine later,” she says, her voice low and raspy and it sends a pulse straight to Lexa’s core, especially when she sees the look of hunger in her wife’s blue eyes that accompanies her statement. 


Lexa kisses her, briefly but with as much passion as she can pack into only a few fleeting seconds. 


“I’m always yours.”