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I don't do fake love (but I’ll take some from you tonight)

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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Clarke moans, splayed fingers and sweaty palms sliding with condensation on the floor to ceiling windows she's pressed against. The sensation of the cold glass against her stiff nipples and the warmth of the body behind her has her shuddering, moans caught in her throat. Lexa's teeth dig into her shoulders and the thick head of her strap bumps up against Clarke's front wall and Clarke's breath sobs out of her, head spinning with how unfair it is, how good this feels. How good it always feels.

This was never supposed to happen.

"Say my name when you come," Lexa whispers, lips brushing the shell of Clarke's ear. She noses at the back of her neck, nuzzling against the sweat-damp curls pressed there. She licks her way up to whisper again. "I want to hear you."

"Make me," Clarke pants, the breath caught in her throat and twisting into a low groan when Lexa grips her hips and pulls her back, pushing deeper inside her, filling her up.

"You know I will." Lexa's fingertips dig into her skin, and the idea of her leaving bruises gives Clarke far more satisfaction than it should. She wants them, wants this proof scattered all over her skin.

She wants every reminder of Lexa to endure so that later, hours later after she finally drags herself out of Lexa's bed and returns to the apartment she shares with her boyfriend, they'll still linger like a ghost, a phantasm that floats around her and leaves her drenched in its warmth.

"Fuck, Lex," Clarke groans again, knees trembling beneath her, stomach tightening as everything in her seems to rise, clenching. "Fuck. Baby, I'm—"

"I know. Come for me, Clarke."

This was never supposed to happen, this was wrong, but God, it felt so—

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Lexa, I'm— I'm coming—"

It felt so fucking right.


Six months ago


Of all the things Clarke expected to implode her world, a lacy crotchless thong was not one of them.

She's frozen in place squatting beside Finn's Tesla, holding a flimsy scrap of lace gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. She's been cleaning out the car for the better part of a whole five minutes, and at first she thought she'd dropped an old spare mask. But when she'd bent down to fish it out from where it landed half beneath the car, she pulled this up. A thong. A thong that does not belong to her. A thong that does not belong to her and yet has taken up residence beneath the passenger seat of Finn's car. Her boyfriend's car.

What the actual fuck. Those are the first words that float through Clarke's head.

(Actually, they're not.

Rotten fucking pig bastard motherfucker—)

She knew better. That's all she can think as she climbs out of the car, the thong balled up in her fist, a dull rage burning in her bones. She leaves the car door open as she storms back into her house. She hopes the bastard's battery dies.

She finds Finn lounging in his favorite recliner, eyes glued to the television. Clarke stands there, trembling with fury, and it only grows when Finn doesn't even spare a glance at her but instead offers an easy, "Hey babe."

He still doesn't look at her, even when she doesn't respond. She's going to strangle him with this damn thong. She steps directly in front of the television, and Finn immediately frowns in confusion, blinking up at her and the thong she holds up for him to see.

"What's that?"

Clarke gives a jerky, furious shrug. " I don't know, you tell me. I found it in your car."

Finn stares for another second before it seems to sink in. He blanches, eyes widening for a split second before he controls it. "It must be yours, then."

"Mine? We haven't fucked in your car since our trip to South Carolina," she hisses. "Try again."

"Well it has to be yours, because who else's could it be," Finn blusters, and Clarke's rage grows to such immeasurable heights she's surprised it hasn't caught the apartment on fire yet.

"Who else indeed," she grits out. A protracted silence stretches out between them as Clarke stands there staring at him with wild eyes, and Finn sits there staring back, wide eyes twitching as though he's afraid a blink will imply weakness, white-knuckled as he grips the arms of his recliner tightly enough he'd stay in it even if it suddenly launched into the stratosphere. He's not going to back down, Clarke realizes with a sinking dread almost immediately swallowed back up by her devastating fury.

"I'm not an idiot. Clearly you've cheated on me, again, and what did I say when you did it before, Finn? What did I say?"

She should have dumped him then. She did dump him, actually. When he came home the next morning after she'd been up all night frantically calling all their friends to find him, and he stumbled in after noon smelling like booze and another girl's perfume. Clarke had raged at him and went up to pack but when he'd broken down, she hesitated.

He was drunk and it was a mistake and he was upset because he had'd cancer and he spiraled and he didn't know how many opportunities he had left and he was so sorry and it would never ever happen again—

She stares at him, stomach roiling with disgust and anger, and wonders what his excuse is now. He's been in remission for two years, and he just got a promotion not too long ago. Life was good.

Or at least on paper, it was.

Finn grows even paler, and begins spluttering. "I— Clarke, I swear, I don't know whose those are. Maybe they're Jasper's?"

Clarke looks at him with such shrewd disgust Finn cowers in her wake.

"I mean— I mean not his, but— he borrowed my car a couple weeks ago, remember? Maybe he— maybe he hooked up with someone in it, and she left those behind—"

"Do I look like an idiot to you? You know what, don't answer that. Clearly I must be, be dating you. God, I don't even want to look at you. You're such a fucking asshole."

Finn switched gears at the speed of light. "I'm the asshole? You never trust me! I made one mistake and all you do is throw it into my face."

"Are you kidding me? You're seriously acting like the victim right now?"

Finn surges to his feet and begins to pace, running a hand through his hair. "You didn't even give me a chance to explain my side! You just stormed in here all pissed and went off on me! Which, you know," he scoffs, "is probably the most you've talked to me all week since you'd rather spend all your time at work than with your boyfriend."

"You know work's been busy," Clarke says, outraged. "It's not like you can't get off your ass and come have lunch with me, but obviously you're too busy fucking other girls in your car!"

"I haven't touched anyone but you so stop accusing me of shit I didn't do!"

Clarke makes a scathing noise of anger, throwing the thong at Finn, who bats it away, and then storms out of the living room, down the hall and into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Finn is silent and doesn't follow, and Clarke wastes no time in yanking open her closet to drag a bag out and start furiously shoving clothes into it.

The door rebounds against the wall as she storms out again, marching into the bathroom to grab her other things. By the time she's back in the living room, Finn is pacing in place, running a hand through his hair again.

"Okay, so, there was this time last week that I had some drinks and this girl asked to hang out, but in the morning I couldn't remember anything so I didn't think anything happened, but maybe—"

"I don't want to hear it," Clarke snaps, swinging into the kitchen to grab her keys off the counter. Finn panics.

"Clarke, wait, please. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I just, I panicked, because I'm a fucking idiot and I made a mistake and I— I love you, I don't want to lose you, please don't go—"

Clarke pauses before the door, every inch of her body vibrating with rage. She looks back at him, and he quails in the face of her fury. "I'm going to my mom's tonight. Then I'll be back to get my stuff in the morning. We're done."

Utter panic drains the remaining color from Finn's face, but Clarke shuts the door to him before he can say anything else.

The tears build behind her eyes as she storms out of their apartment complex. She angrily wipes them away as she slips into her car. She feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when she notes Finn's car door is still wide open. She hopes someone steals it or trashes it or something.

She grips her steering wheel and rests her head against it for a moment. God, she feels like an idiot. She should have known. She's wasted three years with him.

Okay, well, there's no use crying about it in the damn car park, is there? She leans back, scrubs her hands over her face and buckles her seatbelt. But then she hesitates— because the last thing she wants to do is actually go to her mother's and be faced with all her intrusive questions and unsolicited judgment. Hot pressure stings behind Clarke's eyes again and she squeezes them shut to keep them at bay, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel she clutches, sucking in a shaky breath and struggling to fight down the swell of rage and anguish rising in her chest.

She jolts when her pocket vibrates. She pulls her phone out, her mood lifting at the name of the text notification.





Clarke hiccups a laugh, lips tugging up into a grin despite herself at the ridiculous meme. She presses her thumb to the screen to laugh-react to it, and then stares at it for a moment longer, smiling stupidly. She blinks when she realizes what she's doing, and half rolls her eyes at herself as she wipes away the tear tracks cold on her face. Leave it to Lexa to make her laugh. She always seemed to do that, and Clarke had only known her for five months now, since she joined the company.

Finn's words drift back to her.

You'd rather spend all your time at work than with your boyfriend.

Well. It wasn't totally wrong. Clarke did spend an awful lot of time at work, specifically with her coworkers after work. She'd always been close with Wells and Monty and the others, but after-work drinks to wind down were undeniably more fun once Lexa became a fixture there.

She glances down when her phone vibrates again.


It's so boring when you're not here to annoy me


I do miss throwing things in your tea


She chuckles when Lexa dislikes the comment.


How's your day off going?


Right. It's a bitter reminder. Clarke looks up at Finn's car, door still hanging open, and exhales as the fury and devastation bubbles in her gut again. She thinks about brushing off the question. But why?


Pretty shit, honestly


Oh no :(
That's not good
Want to talk about it?


It's exactly what Clarke needed. Her thumbs fly over the screen and she grinds her teeth as she angrily types out the whole story. How she went to look in Finn's car for her missing extra phone charger, because her own cord was frayed and on its last legs, and instead found some stranger's thong. How Finn reacted and how Clarke is so stupid for letting this happen again, and—

And good God, she's typed out an entire novel for the past ten minutes. She's just started deliberating whether she should even send it when Lexa texts again.


Or if you don't want to talk about it, maybe you want to drink about it :)
We're all going for the usual at Grounders if you want to come


Of course. It's Thirsty Thursday, which means half-priced drinks at the local club. Their whole gang at work made it a habit to unwind there once a week after work.

Clarke bites her lip, twisting the steering wheel in her grip. Part of her thinks maybe she should do as she told Finn, and go to her mom's and sulk.

The other part of her thinks fuck Finn, and fuck him for making her feel guilty about hanging out with her coworkers.


Sounds good
I need to get fucked


It sinks in about ten seconds later when Lexa still hasn't responded. Clarke's eyes widen, and she hastens to add more, flushing.


I need to get fucked up, haha 😅


Clarke bites her lip, watching the three dots oscillate for a moment.


Don't we all 😏
Okay tho, we could head out early? I can finish up here and meet you there in fifteen


Clarke starts her car.


Don't bother, I'll swing by and pick you up


Are you sure?


You're on the way anyway


Okay. See you soon :)


*Liked a message*


Clarke tucks her phone in the cup holder, takes a breath, and drives.



After a ten-minute wait and three unanswered texts, Clarke parks and fishes her fob out of the purse on the floor of her car to scan herself into the building. She waves at Harper at the front desk and makes her way over to Lexa's office, not too far across the hall from her own. Lexa is indeed in there, moving quickly.

"Hey! I'm so sorry, I was about to leave and then got a call from Floukru Shipping— they were trying to cancel this weekend, so I had to do some damage control."

"It's okay," Clarke says, smiling slightly as she leans against the door frame, watching Lexa gather her things. "I'm not in a rush."

Lexa glances at her as she fishes for the pen she'd dropped under her desk. "Are you okay? What's up?"

Clarke gives a jerky shrug. "I'll explain at the bar. I don't want to get into it here."

Lexa nods, before the crease between her brow grows and her jaw sets, annoyed at this missing pen. She turns around to bend down, ass in the air, and Clarke quickly looks away, warmth rising to her cheeks.

She's not blind, okay. Lexa is very, very attractive, and Clarke is only human. It doesn't help that she knows the attraction is mutual— not just from the way she often catches Lexa's own gaze lingering on her, but from the fact that during her first week here, Lexa had actually asked Clarke out, before she realized she had a boyfriend.

Why did I have a fucking boyfriend. Clarke bites her lip, struggling to get a rein on the confusing mix of emotions warring in her stomach, and finally looks back at Lexa when she gets to her feet, putting the pen in its rightful place in the Trikru Alum mug sitting on her desk.

"Okay," Lexa says, a little breathless from her search. "I'm ready, let's get out of here."

They wave goodbyes to a few other coworkers, and on their way out the lobby, Harper speaks up from the reception desk.

"Hey, have fun on your date later, Lexa!" Harper calls to them. Clarke stops in her tracks.

"You were supposed to have a date tonight?"

Lexa stops too, turning to look at Clarke with this….careful expression. "I was. Not anymore."

"You canceled it?" Harper asks, glancing between Lexa and Clarke.

"I did. We're heading to Nightblood early, so, we'll see you guys there," Lexa tells her, before grabbing Clarke's arm and hauling her forward toward the door. Clarke stops right before it, and Lexa turns to face her again, exasperated.

"Lex!" Clarke exclaims, ignoring the way her heart beats faster. "You don't have to cancel your date just for me! I'll be fine, I don't need a pity dinner—"

"Stop," Lexa says then, and it's crazy because Clarke does. She always does, when Lexa uses this tone— soft but commanding, and it never fails to entirely arrest Clarke's attention. Lexa walks forward, brows raised as she fixes a serious look at her. "I'm not going on a pity dinner with you. We're going to have some drinks, dance a little, people-watch and have fun to take your mind off your shitty day." Lexa's lips quirk when Clarke's tilt up ruefully. "And I didn't cancel the date for you," Lexa adds, though the pink tips of her ears belie her words. "I just wasn't in the mood for small talk."

Clarke worries her lip for a moment, watching Lexa, ignoring the warmth that floods her chest. "Are you sure?" she asks, because she has to check.

A corner of Lexa's lips tilts up even higher. "I'm sure. Now come on, I'm starving."



Sometimes Lexa is so utterly predictable.

Lexa has been coming here for five months now. And every single time, every week, she always orders an extra large helping of seasoned fries to go with her beers.

"You are an addict," Clarke informs her, just like she does every time, and like every time reaches forward to steal a fry, dragging it through the ketchup before popping it into her mouth.

Lexa gives her an exaggerated glare, curling her arms around her fries and half turning to shield them from Clarke, but Clarke only has to pout for five seconds before Lexa is rolling her eyes and dipping a fry, offering it to Clarke and then smirking when she smears ketchup on Clarke's cheek before slipping it into her mouth, snatching her hand back before Clarke can bite her fingers. Clarke smirks as she chews. Like she said— Lexa is predictable.

Then again, sometimes she's not.

"So," Lexa begins, taking a sip of her beer between fries. "What'd he do?"

Clarke looks at her, remnants of her undying fury at Finn returning to simmer in her gut, along with a small side helping of embarrassment. "What?" In lieu of an answer, Lexa merely arches a brow at her and waits expectantly, chewing another few fries. Clarke sighs. "He cheated on me. Again."

Lexa immediately scowls, brow furrowing and lips thinning into an annoyed line. "What an absolute jackass. And again? He's done it before?"

"Yep." Clarke props her elbow on the table and leans her hand on her face, grabbing another fry. She twirls it between her fingers rather than eat it. "I know, fool me once, shame on him, fool me twice…I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Lexa immediately dismisses. "You dated an asshole who doesn't deserve you. You know I can relate."

They share a miserable look of camaraderie, because Clarke knows all about Lexa's ex. She'd been cheated on too. Only unlike Clarke, Lexa was smart enough to end things the first time.

"How'd you find out?"

Clarke's nostrils flare as she glares down at her fry. "My phone charger's been fucking up so I went to grab the extra one from his car. Instead I find a thong, and I know it's not mine because it's fucking crotchless. Who even wears crotchless thongs? What's the point?"

Lexa snorts, though Clarke notices she doesn't answer. There's a pink tint to her cheeks as she takes another swig of her beer. For the sake of her own warm face, Clarke decides to let it slide.

"Anyway. I confronted him right away, and of course he denied everything. Then he freaked out when he realized I was actually leaving, and changed his tune real fast, but too late. Fuck him."

"You're leaving him?"

"I mean I'll have to go back and pack up all my things, but yeah. I was so pissed at the time I didn't think of that, I just wanted out of there. I told him I was going to my mom's and left while he was still freaking out begging me to stay." Clarke made a quiet scoff of derision, shaking her head, still idly twirling a fry, salt all over her fingertips. "I can't believe I've wasted three years on him. God. Fuck him."

"So you're really done with him," Lexa says again. She watches Clarke closely, brow still knitted.

"Of course. I'm not making that mistake a third time. It's over." Clarke finally takes a breath in, out. "I'm officially single." She eats the fry.

Lexa pauses, holding her beer suspended where she'd been bringing it to her mouth. She stares at Clarke, a strange intensity in her eyes that has Clarke fidgeting in her booth, pressing her thighs together. "For real?"

Clarke nods. "Seriously. I told him I was done. I'm single."

Lexa's lips tilt up, one corner at a time, into a crooked grin as she lifts her beer up. "Welcome to the club, Griffin."

Clarke smirks back, tipping her own beer against Lexa's with a clank. "When should I expect the welcome basket?"

"By Tuesday afternoon," Lexa says without missing a beat.

"And what's in these gift baskets?" Clarke takes the fry Lexa offers her. "Alcohol is a given, I presume."

"Correct. Alcohol, chocolate, some popcorn." Lexa's grin grows. "A vibrator."

Clarke laughs. "Sounds like a pretty stellar gift basket. Anything else in there? A puppy, a million dollars?"

"Is it too soon if I say crotchless thongs?"

Clarke throws a balled-up napkin at her, and Lexa swats it away and laughs.

"But seriously," Clarke groans, planting her elbows on the table and her face in her hands as it hits her again. "Who even wears crotchless thongs?" Her expression morphs into one of sickened alarm, eyes widening as she pulls back her hands when a thought suddenly occurs to her. "Oh my God. Hookers. Hookers wear crotchless thongs. Do you think he hired a prostitute?"

Lexa laughs. "No! Plenty of people wear crotchless thongs, including non-sex-workers."

"Sex workers, right. Ugh, I'm sorry, I'm setting the feminist movement back like thirty years." After dragging her hand over her face, Clarke frowns and lowers it, looking at Lexa. "Do you wear them?" She blanches horribly a beat later when it sinks in, she and Lexa just frozen and staring at each other.

To her credit, Lexa just laughs, a small smirk curling her lips. She leans back in her chair and shrugs, and Clarke forgets that she's supposed to be mortified at blurting that question out.

"Oh my God, you do."

Lexa just looks at her with this secretive smile, mischief twinkling in her eyes, and shrugs again, thumb playing with the overturned corner of the label of her beer.

Clarke can feel heat crawling up the back of her neck to flood her face, can feel a strange pull in the pit of her stomach, but it all gives way to the morbid curiosity and courage the alcohol sends through her.

"Are you wearing one now?"

"Clarke!" Lexa laughs incredulously, and she seems so at ease, even despite the pink tint to her face and the way the tips of her ears burn red. "No, I'm not."

What are you wearing right now?

Are you wearing anything?

Clarke just manages to bite her tongue and not say that aloud, at least. The questions burn her from the inside out, leave her mouth dry and her head swimming. She tips her drink back but it doesn't come close to parching the thirst.

"They're not something you just wear around every day," Lexa adds, amusement still layering her voice. It's a little lower than usual, Clarke notices. "It's the type of lingerie you wear when you want to make an impression…and give easy access."

Clarke's stomach bottoms out.

Fuck, she should not be having the mental images she's having right now. Suddenly it's all she can see. Lexa, lying on some bed with her wild curls fanned out on the sheets behind her head, wearing nothing but a crotchless thong, black lines cutting across her hips, long legs spread wide—

Oh, fuck.

These are absolutely not thoughts Clarke should be having, and she hates that they don't feel as shocking as they should. But it's hard to feel guilty when she glances up and finds Lexa watching her with dark eyes, thumb still absently roaming across the neck of her beer bottle. Her lips tilt up when she catches Clarke's eye, but she says nothing. Does nothing, save for lifting her bottle to her lips and taking a drink, never breaking eye contact.

"Want another drink?" she asks when she lowers her empty bottle, gesturing at the empty glass in front of Clarke.

Clarke jokes before she can even think about it. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Never!" Lexa's eyes twinkle as Clarke laughs. "I'm not," she insists, but her smile lingers as she takes a sip of her glass of water now, and yet again Clarke can't help but watch the way her lips wrap around her straw. "I want you sober."

Clarke pauses at that, heart thudding as those three words echo in her head. She holds Lexa's stare, that small, knowing smile never going away, before finally shaking her head and having another swig of her own drink, the burn down her throat not quite as insistent as the one in her stomach. They lapse into silence, looking up at the band for something to do, and Clarke turns Lexa's words in her head, over and over.

What did that mean, exactly?

"Actually, we should really get some water and food to sober you up properly," Lexa says suddenly, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "I'm hungry, too."

"I would say I can't believe it considering how many fries you ate, but I know you better by now."

Lexa laughs, standing up to usher Clarke out of the booth. "Yeah, you do."

This strange energy is still thrumming between them by the time they slip back into their booth with baskets of food between them. The alcohol has Clarke feeling a little light-headed, but the greasy burger she fills her belly with certainly helps level things out. She's not sure it's a good thing, actually. Because now that she can think straight, she realizes that she's not thinking straight at all.

Her whole body feels hot and tense as she watches long fingers pluck fries out of a tray. Watches plump, full lips wrap around the amber rim of her beer. Clarke eventually realizes she's staring, blatantly, and looks down at her half-eaten chicken tenders. Don't be stupid, she tells herself. She and Lexa are in a good place. They're friends. Clarke rejected her once and they still managed to become good friends. She can't turn around and pounce on her now the minute she's single again, that just looks tacky.

"So, what did you do with that pair of crotchless panties, anyway?"

Clarke chokes on the swig of beer she'd just taken. Lexa watches in amusement as she coughs and wipes her mouth with a napkin before croaking, "What, the panties I found?"

Lexa's brow arches, just as she finishes her beer and waves a waiter over, ordering a glass with another beer. "Are there other panties I don't know about?"

Clarke huffs a laugh. "I threw them at him before I stormed out. Why?"

"Oh, I was just thinking." Lexa shrugs as she pours her beer into her glass, and for a moment there's only that sound of the liquid filling the cup, before Clarke prompts:


"Just some possibilities for revenge."

Clarke snorts. "What, like putting it in my car for him to find?"


"There's an idea. Maybe I should pretend like I hired a hooker, that'd really hurt his ego," Clarke muses. "If he thinks sex with him is so bad I had to go hire someone."

"If that's the case maybe you really should."


"Just fuck someone else," Lexa shrugs, and Clarke's mouth goes dry but she resolutely ignores it. Lexa gives her a crooked smile and Clarke feels very warm, suddenly. It must be the alcohol in her system. "A girl, for a change. Some hot sex with a hot girl might just turn your life around," Lexa teases.

Clarke gives a throaty laugh. "Lex, you do know I've fucked women before? I mean, you know I'm bisexual?"

"I know. But you've been dating a selfish asshole for years now." Lexa's smirk lowers to the rim of her glass, taking a sip and never breaking eye contact as she says, "I assumed you might have forgotten what good sex is like."

"Finn isn't bad," Clarke disagrees. "Is he the best sex I've ever had? No." She tilts her head, considering. "That probably goes to Niylah, a girl I was off and on with in college."

"I'm seriously doubting your judgment if you think Finn could possibly be not bad," Lexa says, wagging her fingers in the air to quote those last two words for emphasis. "He's selfish, and selfish people don't make competent lovers."

Clarke laughs. "Okay, Webster. What does?"

"Someone who doesn't lie to you, for one." Clarke sobers slightly, though she's still amused even as Lexa coolly surveys her. "Someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated. Who doesn't eat all your leftovers, or record his games over your favorite shows, or flake on a double-date you've had planned for weeks. Someone who buys you donuts in the morning, and listens to your jokes because they're really fucking funny. Someone who listens when you vent about how stupid Jaha and Sydney are for not letting you take point on a project. Someone who sings shitty MGK songs with you. Someone who loses their breath every time you walk in a room, and spends all day thinking about all the ways they're going to make you feel good when they get home— because they've spent the day thinking of how you look, how you sound, how you smell, how you taste."

Clarke remains still. Frozen in her chair, fingers loosely curled around the neck of her half-drank beer. Her stomach has bottomed out, a low ache blooming places it shouldn't be. Lexa listens. It's the first coherent thought she has. She knew it already, of course, but there's something different about Lexa throwing back everything she's complained about Finn not doing— Lexa had remembered it all.

And Lexa was waiting for Clarke's response.

Clarke's heart pounds, but she forces herself to take the leap. "But maybe I don't want to fuck a stranger."

"Then don't." Lexa takes another sip of her drink, never looking away. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Clarke takes in a slow, hopefully subtle breath, and bolsters her courage. It's not too difficult, with the hot need coursing through her. "You know, maybe there is a way I could get even with him."

One of Lexa's brows arches infinitesimally at the words. Her eyes are dark and curious as she regards Clarke, absently tracing a fingertip along the rim of her glass; Clarke follows the movement before her gaze darts back to Lexa.


Clarke shrugs, hoping the nonchalance she's aiming for hides how dry her throat is, how fast her heart races. (What is she doing?)

She wets her lips, stomach bottoming out when Lexa's eyes track the movements and seem to grow even darker. "Well," Clarke says, "I'm not sure yet." She bites her lip before she can stop herself. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Are you?" Lexa's quick and Clarke somehow feels like she's still catching up.

"I am." Clarke leans forward, struggling not to squirm in her seat, satisfaction burning low at how Lexa blinks at the sudden proximity, how her throat dips as she swallows. Clarke can feel that she's wet. She shouldn't be, but God, she is. Already. "Are you?"

Lexa's eyes dart all over Clarke's face, lingering on her lips before rising to her eyes again. "Depends on the suggestion."


Clarke sits there for a moment, processing. Her heart races and her blood surges and she can't help but look at Lexa's hands again when they wrap around her glass, those long fingers curling over the glass. There's a tightening in the pit of her stomach, an insistent warmth that has her crossing her legs just so she can squeeze her thighs together, and she uses it as an excuse to slouch in her chair a little, leaning an elbow on the table and hopefully looking like she possesses way more chill than she actually does right now. She holds Lexa's gaze and lifts a brow.

"Would you...would you want to…?"

"Yes," Lexa blurts out. Her eyes widen when Clarke's does, and there's a cute spread of pink from her cheeks all the way to the tips of her tiny ears that has Clarke's lips quirking. Lexa lifts her glass to her lips as though in an attempt to salvage the situation. "Yes," she answers, voice even and steady after she takes a drink and lowers the glass. She meets Clarke's gaze, eyes dark and heavy-lidded and full of anticipation. "Whatever you're going to say, the answer is already yes."

Silence stretches between them, the air thick with tension. It takes only a beat suffocating in it before Clarke makes a decision.

Clarke scoots across the bench, sidling around to Lexa's side; the temperature seems to rise by a few degrees as their thighs and shoulders press together. Lexa is silent as Clarke reaches over to take the glass out of her hand, their fingers brushing, and brings it to her own lips. She watches Lexa over the rim as she takes a drink, neither of them even blinking. And then, as she lowers it back down to the table, she leans forward.

"Dance with me?"

She bites back a grin at Lexa's audible intake of breath.



This is….such a bad decision.

And it's the best one Lexa's ever made.

Though the word decision implies Lexa has some choice in the matter. She didn't, not really. Not with Clarke sitting across the table, looking at her with eyes a darker blue than Lexa has ever seen them. Not with the way she'd leaned in close, her perfume invading every Lexa's senses, body warmth radiating and—

Yeah. It was a no-brainer. Except now Lexa is in trouble, and she doesn't really have anyone to blame but herself, and the hips swaying before her like a siren's song she follows directly into the throng of writhing bodies in the middle of a dance floor, her hand firmly clasped in Clarke's.

She's only slightly weak-kneed as Clarke turns to face her and pulls her close. Lexa vaguely registers everything that's happening— the way the dance floor seems to shake with the blasting music, the way Clarke's hips feel beneath her hands and the way Clarke's hands feel on the small of her back, palms blistering through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

Mostly she's too distracted with the way Clarke rolls her body and holds her close. The way she keenly watches Lexa watching her, with blue eyes as dark as they are sharp- too sharp considering how many drinks she'd tossed back. Clarke's arms shift up to rest on Lexa's shoulders, fingers playing with the baby-fine curls at the back of her neck, and it's so easy to drop their heads, foreheads resting together. It would be so easy, Lexa thinks, to draw Clarke's air into her lungs. To finally kiss her until they're both gasping. By the way Clarke looks at her, by the words she said earlier and the way she's pressed so close now, Lexa thinks it's a very real possibility. The air is thick with the promise of later, maybe.

That turns into later, definitely, when Clarke stops dancing and starts merely swaying with Lexa instead, even while those around them continue to bounce and dance to the exuberant beat of whatever top-40 song is currently playing. They're so close. They've never allowed themselves to touch like this, to be closer than they ever dared to before.

Lexa's heart races when Clarke's hips press against hers, and she presses their cheeks together, breathing out an unsteady exhale against the side of Lexa's neck. Clarke shudders in her arms when Lexa grasps at her hips again, daring to slip her fingers beneath the hem of Clarke's shirt that had already ridden up, and tuck her fingertips just inside the waistband of Clarke's jeans. Lexa's eyes nearly roll back into her head when Clarke utters a breathy "oh, fuck," into her skin, and then lifts her head to meet Lexa's eyes, her pupils blown wide.

Lexa's gaze drops to watch as the tip of Clarke's tongue darts out to wet her lips. Lexa aches with the urge to taste it.

Even with how she has to raise her voice to be heard over the music, Clarke's voice sounds hoarse, thicker than usual. "I have another suggestion."

Lexa knows she must look so ridiculously thirsty right now as she stares at Clarke. She can't help it, and it's hard to feel guilt when the warm skin of the small of Clarke's back is under her fingertips.

"I already told you yes."

A crooked smile curves up a corner of Clarke's lips. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

Lexa swallows, ignores the thrill in the pit of her stomach as she dares to lean forward and dares to say what she's about to say next. "Yeah, I wanna hear you."

Fuck. She's not sure if she heard Clarke mutter it or if Lexa just thought the word herself. Perhaps both. Either way when Clarke leans back her eyes are black, and Lexa thinks that later, definitely, has turned into right now.

"Kiss me."

You don't have to tell Lexa twice.

The words have barely left Clarke's lips before Lexa is tasting them. Before she's groaning, her head spinning at the taste of this girl she's wanted for far too long. This girl who has a boyfriend, even if they are fighting and she claims it's over, and who now has her tongue in Lexa's mouth.

Clarke tastes like everything but regret. Lexa cups her jaw, holds her tightly as their mouths move together; Clarke clutches her hips like a lifeline. And when they finally break apart, Lexa's head continues to spin and spin until every last rational thought warning her that she shouldn't do this has slipped away into the nether.

"I have a suggestion of my own now," she says lowly, voice rough with need she's certain Clarke can hear, if the way her grip tightens on Lexa is any indication. She stares at Clarke, looks between her eyes, pauses before continuing. "I think we should find somewhere a little more private."

Clarke's eyes gleam. They look at each other while the music and the crowd keeps pulsing around them, holding one another like if they loosened their grip this whole night would slip through their fingers like smoke.

When Clarke finally speaks, her voice is lower, raspier than Lexa has ever heard it. "Follow me."

As if she even had to ask.

They weave their way through the crowds for the only area that even remotely offers privacy: the bathrooms. The moment they're through the door, Clarke is grasping Lexa's hand and tugging her to the side, to the single narrow stall with a working door. The bathroom is grungy and dimly lit, only a single flickering light, but Clarke wastes no time in crowding Lexa up against the wall and kissing her.

Fuck, she makes her head spin. Lexa's heart pounds as Clarke licks into her mouth, body pressing into hers; Lexa's hands skate a dangerous path up and down the length of her torso, at one point even braving a splay, thumb gliding over the soft curves of her breasts. Clarke shudders and grasps Lexa's hands and places them on herself more firmly, a gasp spilling into Lexa's mouth when she squeezes, massages. They're full and soft and even through the cotton of her shirt Lexa can feel the stiff peaks of her nipples against her palms.

For a moment, the reality of this suddenly sets in— she's touching Clarke. Clarke. Her close friend, her coworker, who still technically has a boyfriend even if he is a bastard. This is not the type of thing Lexa does. By all accounts Lexa should stop this and take Clarke home, or let her crash at her place and curl up on the couch with fluffy blankets, a tub of ice cream, and a good horror movie to get her friend's mind off the asshole that cheated on her.

But Lexa doesn't, because Clarke is groaning desperately as Lexa flicks her thumbs over her nipples. Because Clarke has one hand cupping the back of Lexa's neck and the other looped under her arm, clutching at her upper back. Because above all things, this is Clarke.

She's intoxicating. The scent of her perfume fills Lexa's nose, swells and expands in the cavity of her lungs. She tastes like vodka and coconut chapstick, and her body feels like fire beneath Lexa's palms, sparks crackling to life in the fingertips she digs into her waist before daring to slide lower, shifting inside Clarke's jeans. Clarke's desperate hitch of breath spills into Lexa's mouth when she grips her ass, her fingers digging into Lexa's shoulder blade. Clarke arches into her touch, breasts pushing against Lexa's, pressing her against the wall, and it's instinct more than anything that has Lexa's legs shifting to slip between Clarke's, a strangled gasp crawling from Clarke's throat as Lexa's thigh presses up against the heat between her legs.

"Jesus Christ," Clarke whines against her lips.

Lexa wants to ask her if she's wet. She wants to pull her close by her hair and set her teeth on her neck and tell her to beg for Lexa to touch her, to taste her. She also wants to drop to her own knees and beg Clarke to let her.

But they're in a dingy bathroom in the middle of a rowdy club. This isn't how this should happen, not at all.

Lexa pulls back at that, but it doesn't deter Clarke. Her lips drop to Lexa's throat, tasting the wild beat of her pulse, and Lexa's hands on her ass flex reflexively, especially when Clarke's lips part for an open-mouthed kiss and her tongue darts out to taste her skin.

"Fuck, Clarke," Lexa huffs, biting back a groan and licking her lips as Clarke sucks what's sure to be a bruise. "Wait."

Clarke leans back at once, blinks hazy hooded eyes at her, dazed like she couldn't even fathom being pulled away like that.

"Too fast?"

"No." Not fast enough, Lexa thinks. "I just— are you sure you want to do this?" Lexa looks at her, trying to discern any regret or indication Clarke wasn't fully conscious of this decision.

Comprehension smooths the frown from Clarke's face, and Lexa loses her breath all over again when Clarke presses against her. "Lexa," she says slowly, dark eyes watching as Lexa bites back a strangled groan when Clarke presses her thigh between her legs and her lips to her neck. "Can you not tell how sure I am about this? How much I want it? Want you."

"Fuck," Lexa manages through clenched teeth, her chest heaving as Clarke grinds into her again, and again harder still when Lexa squeezes her ass. "But— are you drunk?"

"Tipsy enough to fuck you in the bathroom at the club. Sober enough to know exactly what I'm doing."

Lexa's breath hitches again when Clarke nips her ear and grinds. "Okay, fine. Can I say something?"

Clarke's nose trails along the curve of her neck. "I want you to say a lot of things."

Lexa licks her lips, struggling to rein in the desire threatening to overwhelm her. "It's another suggestion."

Clarke nips at her earlobe. "I'm all ears."

"If you really do want to get even with Finn—" Lexa finally manages to pull back, pressing forward to crowd Clarke up against the wall instead, and the way she looks up at her makes her feel like she's seconds from spontaneously combusting. She take a breath, voice low and only slightly breathless as she says, "I think you should let me fuck you properly."

Clarke stares, eyes more black than blue. "You really think so?"

"I really do. This bathroom isn't good enough for the things I want to do to you."

Clarke breathes out unsteadily. Her eyes have glazed over and she seems lost in thought for a moment; she blinks and comes back to when Lexa squeezes her ass again.

"What's your answer?" Lexa finally prompts, unashamed of the strain to her voice, the need and barely withheld restraint.

Clarke licks her lips, biting the bottom one, and gives a few shallow frantic nods, her hands shifting up to wrap around Lexa's wrist, pulling her out of the restroom. "Come on."

They stand pressed together as they close their tabs. Lexa's throat is so dry she's tempted to toss another shot back, but then Clarke is dragging her toward the door and Lexa's mind goes blank.

They climb into the back of a cab and Lexa's heartbeat pounds in her ears, muffling Clarke's voice until Lexa realizes with a start that she's looking expectantly at Lexa wondering where they should go— they can't exactly go back to Clarke's place, where her boyfriend awaits. Lexa ignores the unpleasant twist of her stomach and instead rattles off her address to the driver. They pull into traffic and Lexa settles back against the seats, so painfully aware of how close they sit, the sides of their bodies pressed together.

"You never gave me an answer," Lexa reminds her quietly, brushing her thumb over the back of Clarke's knuckles. She stiffens in surprise when Clarke suddenly turns her hand over to grip Lexa's, and drags it forward. Lexa's stomach bottoms out when Clarke leans forward as she brings it between her legs, as discreetly as she can so the cab driver isn't alerted, and shifts aside shorts and panties, gently urging Lexa's fingers forward into wet heat.

Fuck. She's soaked.

Clarke's teeth scrape across her ear lobe before she whispers, "My answer was already yes, too."



The moment they're in Lexa's apartment, Clarke presses Lexa against the door to close it, mouth latching onto the delicate arch of her neck. Her hands roam across lean biceps and the soft flare of her hips, up to cup small, perky breasts in her hands, swallowing the gasp Lexa spills into her mouth.

"Take this off," Clarke says, teeth tugging Lexa's ear as she pointedly pulls at Lexa's shirt.

Lexa does so, and Clarke's eyes trail over perfect breasts encased in a plain black bra, down over a lean stomach and slacks hanging low over her hips. She's gorgeous, and all Clarke wants to do is explore every inch of her.

But before she can so much as reach out, Lexa is putting her hands on her hips and spinning them around, switching their positions so Clarke is the one pressed against the door. Clarke's quiet gasp is immediately swallowed up by her, kissing her deeply, tongue coaxing Clarke's out until she can suck on it, and it's all Clarke can do to merely cling onto her shoulders and crane her hips up, desperate for friction.

Lexa crowds up against her, those full lips pressed to her throat, teeth skimming her skin. She pushes Clarke's shirt up, fingertips burning as they shift over each notch of her ribs before reaching her bra. When Clarke hurriedly nods her consent, Lexa pulls the shirt off and fixes her mouth on Clarke's chest, kissing across her collarbone and down in her cleavage as she reaches behind to unclasp the bra with one hand, quickly. She exhales slowly, unsteadily, as Clarke's breasts fall free, round and full and almost too big for Lexa's hands.

"These are even better than I imagined," Lexa breathes, eyes wide and dark as she massages Clarke's breasts, her touch soft but firm.

Clarke gives a breathless, strangled laugh. "Knew you were a tit girl."

Lexa glances up at her, lips curving crooked. "Oh, don't worry. I'm a fan of your ass too."

Clarke doesn't even get the chance to laugh then, because Lexa dips her head down and wraps her lips around a nipple and it's all Clarke can do to press back against the wall and try not to slide right down it.

"Touch me," she begs, hips craning up again. "Please."

Lexa makes her wait and ask for it twice more before she finally gives in, sliding a hand down Clarke's body and into her pants.

"You're so wet."

It makes Clarke feel oddly shy, Lexa voicing this aloud. It's silly, because it's not like she's never had sex with someone who was vocal about what they liked. But for the last few years it had been Finn, who was damn near silent and when he wasn't, it always sounded like he was trying too hard and Clarke tended to just…tune it out.

But this? Lexa's voice is like smoke on velvet. It feels like a glimpse into something special and forbidden, because Clarke had never heard her sound like this before. She didn't even realize someone could be so hot.

And it emboldens her to be just as open.

"You made me that way," she husks.

Lexa hums in approval, and Clarke thinks she's not the only one who appreciates learning a brand new side of her friend. She takes a few more exploratory swipes through her, before lightly pressing a fingertip over her entrance. Clarke's breathing turns more haggard. When Lexa pauses, unmoving, Clarke's eyes flutter open, hooded. Lexa looks expectantly at her, and Clarke nods at once.

"Inside me."

Lexa pushes in, slowly, and Clarke sighs in relief, in pleasure.

"How many?" Lexa whispers.

"Two. Three. Anything."

Lexa starts with two. Clarke tips her head back against the wall, lost in the pleasure washing over her body as Lexa presses in deep. The reach of those fingers, Jesus. Where has she been her whole life? "Oh, fuck. I've wanted this," Clarke groans.

She can feel the quirk of Lexa's lips, curved into a crooked smirk and trailing along the curve of Clarke's neck. "Really?"

"Yes. Have you seen yourself?" Clarke shudders as teeth scrape along her skin. "God, Lexa. The minute I saw you. I wanted to go home with you so badly. I would have, if it weren't for…"

"Finn," Lexa finishes for her.

"Fucking Finn," Clarke confirms.

Lexa hums, turning Clarke's face so she can kiss her, biting down on her bottom lip. "Can we not talk about your ex-boyfriend while I'm inside you?" she murmurs into Clarke's mouth, punctuating the request with a particularly hard thrust that has Clarke gasping. It bites off into a moan when Lexa presses the pad of her thumb against her clit.

"I can't even remember his name," Clarke says breathlessly, hips canting.

"I've wanted this too," Lexa says after a moment, voice pitched low and directed into the crook of Clarke's neck, as though the fact that it's muffled will lessen how damning it is. "Since the moment I met you."

The strike of arousal those words bring is so strong Clarke's knees nearly buckle. She clutches at Lexa's shoulders, moaning and panting. "Fuck. You…you have?"

"Yeah. You were wearing those tight pants. That was the first thing I saw when I walked into the company." Lexa suddenly pulls out, ignoring Clarke's whine which cuts off anyway a second later when she urges her around, pressing her into the window again. One hand gropes her ass while the other slips between her legs, fingers filling her in one deft motion. "Your ass, looking good enough to eat."

Um. Does Lexa mean what she thinks she does? Clarke has never particularly been into that, but somehow Lexa's words have her reconsidering her stance. She shudders, painfully aware of how close Lexa's wrist is as she fucks her from behind.

"And you were wearing that cute blouse. The blue one with the buttons. You had the first two undone and when you turned around, I couldn't look away. I didn't even know your name, but I knew I wanted my mouth on these." Her spare arm snakes around Clarke's body, cupping a breast in one hand. Clarke gasps, pants against the window as Lexa squeezes and pinches her nipple.

"You were wearing that suit," Clarke huffs, voice breathy as Lexa's fingers press deeper inside her. "The black one. You— oh, fuck— you took off the jacket and pulled your sleeve up and I could— I could see your tattoo. One of them, anyway. I just wanted to see it. All of it."

"If you'd asked me, I probably would have shown you. I would have taken my clothes off for you," Lexa admits. "Even then."

"Not sure if me asking to lick the new hire's tattoos would have been the smartest idea."

"Sounds like a great idea to me."

"Lexa." Clarke huffs, hips craning and body straining for more of Lexa's touch as she merely ghosts it along her.


Clarke pants, tipping her forehead against the window. Fucking hell, of course Lexa's a tease. "Please."

"Please what, Clarke?"

"Fuck me. Make me come."

Lexa trails her nose up Clarke's neck. "I plan to. Many times."



"Then why don't you?"

"I need to know you want it, Clarke." She bites on her ear lobe, pulling her fingers out and then her hand entirely out of Clarke's pants, making her whine. "Explicitly."

Clarke shudders, bites back a groan. "Fuck, you— you know I want it. You can feel it."

"Yeah. But I wanna hear you say it, too."

Jesus Christ, Lexa's going to be the death of her. Clarke has never been so turned on in her life, and she's surely going to combust if Lexa doesn't touch her. "I want it. I want you."

The tip of Lexa's nose traces over the line of Clarke's jaw, her lips brushing her ear. "How do you want it?"

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, head tipping back against the wall, shivering at the ghost of Lexa's teasing touches. "First I want you on your knees. I want your hands squeezing my ass and your face buried between my legs. I want to feel your tongue all over me, inside me. I want to come on it."

Her face burns; she's never been so forthright and honest with her dirty talk. But there's no shame here, especially when Lexa presses more tightly against her in response and makes this noise, somewhere between an approving grunt and a needy growl. Clarke gasps as she feels her fingertips brushing over the exposed skin at her lower belly where her shirt has ridden up.

"I've thought about this so many times," Lexa admits in a hoarse voice, licking a strip up the side of Clarke's neck before sucking what's sure to be a bruise there. She slips her hand below Clarke's waistband, fingers gliding over underwear so wet it clings to her. Clarke trembles with need. She wants her back inside her again. "Do you know how often I've been in your office and fantasized about just dropping to my knees? Begging to let me taste you? I've imagined bending you over the desk and taking you from behind. Imagined wearing my strap to work and filling you up with it. Fuck, imagined you riding me on your desk—"

"Fuck—fuck, Lexa," Clarke cries out, pulsating; it took just one swipe of Lexa's fingers against her throbbing clit, combined with the mental images she was giving her, to send an orgasm roaring over her.

When it's over, Clarke is left jelly-legged and trembling, barely pinned up by Lexa. Her face burns even more, and she drops her head to Lexa's shoulder, muffling a breathless, embarrassed chuckle.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to…that fast. I—"

"Why the hell are you apologizing?" Lexa chuckles, dark and—God. It's hot, and has Clarke's body prickling all over with pleasant anticipation. "We're not done yet. Not even close."

Clarke swallows. Before she can say anything, Lexa is sinking down onto her knees, stripping Clarke of her jeans and ruined underwear as she does so, and it's all Clarke can do not to swallow her own tongue. All she can do to merely tangle her hands in Lexa's hair and hold on, as her tongue moves through her, slick, long.

"You taste so good," Lexa murmurs, voice hoarse. The vibration has Clarke's breath catching, her back arching.

"Oh, Lexa, fuck—"

Lexa slips her fingers in, hooks them to rub against Clarke's front wall as her tongue circles and laps her clit. "Come for me again, Clarke."

Fuck. How she says her name. How she touches her. How she's eating her out. How it's LexaFuck.

Clarke cries out as the orgasm floods her body, white-hot and overwhelming, her toes curling and her thighs damn near cramping up.

Jesus Christ, she thinks, head spinning as she comes down. She's never come so hard in her life. The proof reverberates in every bone of her body, singing like metal struck on metal, and in the huge puddle underneath her ass.

And Lexa is still licking her.

"Wait, wait," Clarke pants, hips jerking, twitching. "Too sensitive, I can't."

"That's okay," Lexa murmurs, Clarke shuddering as her lips brush against her. She's trailing her tongue around her swollen, oversensitive clit, never directly on it, just near enough it has Clarke tense with anticipation. "I can just clean you up…get you ready again. Is that okay?"

Clarke nods, chest still rising and falling so heavily. She slowly relaxes, as Lexa continues to gently lick around her, avoiding direct contact on her clit. When Lexa notices how hard her legs are shaking and how much effort she's putting into staying vertical, she stands and gently steers her over onto the couch, and then wastes no time in crouching next to her and continuing, these soft kitten licks that feel so nice, so tender it has Clarke slipping into this strange, almost dream-like trance. Yet slowly, the need returns, which Lexa reads by the way Clarke's hips start craning again, her breathing quickening once more. When she licks her clit it's not overly sensitive anymore. Lexa keeps going, and going, until suddenly Clarke is coming all over again- and again, and again, when Lexa repeats the cycle, so patient and relentless, even when it has Clarke utterly writhing beneath her, soaked in come and sweat, lungs burning as she can't get quite enough air. And still, Lexa brings her to the threshold yet again.

"I can't. I— I'm not used to coming so much, I can't do anymore—"

"Yes you can," Lexa murmurs, and the vibration of her voice has Clarke moaning, back arching, Lexa's fingertips digging into her hips to keep her still. "One more orgasm. You can do it."

"You said that five orgasms ago," Clarke groans, but her hands flex in Lexa's hair and she spreads her legs even wider, hips grinding up into Lexa's mouth. "Fuck, Lexa."

"I am," Lexa whispers, and Clarke can feel the curve of her lips. "And you seem to be enjoying it."

"An understatement, but don't let it get to your head," Clarke chokes out. She moans again when Lexa's chuckle vibrates against her.

"I love how you taste." Clarke should be embarrassed, at the slurping noises, but God, she's not. Not at the filthy things Lexa is saying. Not at the way she sobs out Lexa's name as she comes again, hard. Not at how Lexa's face shines, absolutely drenched, when she finally draws back, hands on Clarke's knees, admiring her work.

The only thing she's embarrassed of is the fact that she passes out before she can return the favor.

It must have only been minutes, but it feels like it's been a day when Clarke cracks her eyes open, blearily looking around until she finds Lexa curled up next to her on the couch, lying on her side with her head propped up on one hand and the other tracing feather-light patterns over Clarke's stomach. The sweat on her body has cooled, and when she shivers Lexa momentarily leans up to grab the blanket that's draped over the back of the couch and spreads it over her.

"You've killed me," Clarke croaks, running a shaky hand through her wild hair and stopping when she's snagged on tangles.

Lexa's lips twitch. "You look pretty alive and well to me."

Every inch of her is pleasantly aching. She feels amazing, but she'd feel a lot better once Lexa felt just as good. She rolls her head on the pillow to look at her, and promptly loses her breath. Lexa's lips are swollen and kiss-bruised, her cheeks flushed a bright red, her eyes dark, so dark. Clarke can practically feel the heat rolling off her in waves; she needs her turn, immediately.

"Get on top of me," she slurs.

"What was that?" Lexa says, amused.

"Get on top of me," Clarke repeats, enunciating better. "I can't move. You have to do it."

Lexa huffs a laugh, but she rolls over, heaving herself atop Clarke. She's still wearing her bra and pants and that's far, far too many clothes— especially when Clarke is completely bare beneath her. "I bet I could get you moving again."

"Don't even start." Lexa softly laughs, especially when Clarke struggles to unclasp her bra. Who can blame her, she's just had six orgasms and can barely feel her legs. She finally gets the bra off and tosses it aside, a bit of strength and energy returning when Lexa is topless astride her— and especially when Lexa's breath hitches, her face growing serious and intense when Clarke cups her breasts. When she sweeps her thumbs over her nipples, coaxing them stiff, Lexa shudders.

Clarke can tell, by the barely-restrained tension in Lexa's body, tightly coiled and ready to spring, that she's desperate, so she doesn't make her wait. She hooks her fingers in Lexa's waistband and pointedly tugs, so Lexa lifts herself up and helps Clarke to shimmy her pants down her legs, kicking them off somewhere behind the couch. Clarke can feel the heat emanating, but still she pauses, fingertips drifting over a flat, quivering belly.

"Are you wet?" Clarke breathes, only a split second of hesitation.

Lexa's nose brushes along her ear before her lips follow the path. "Why don't you find out?"

She's more than wet. Clarke breathes out unsteadily, mixing with Lexa's quiet, keening moan, as she slides through drenched folds. Lexa's soft and soaked and Clarke can't help the way her heart thunders against her chest, just as frantic as Lexa's own. She still can't believe this is happening. Only yesterday, she was still dating Finn, and Lexa was her coworker and friend. And now—

"God, Clarke," Lexa whispers, voice strained, her hips rolling so Clarke's fingers slide into her.

Now she's inside her. Feeling Lexa's muscles clenching and fluttering around her, tasting the pulse fluttering at the hollow of her throat. They're both sweating, both breathless, both moving against each other in long, fluid movements, Clarke's arm straining as she tries to thrust up, Lexa up on her shaky knees to give her more space to move.

It's perfect— except for one little problem. The burning of Clarke's arm is not an exaggeration. Her face screws up with effort as she tries to keep up a rhythm but it's hard, and painfully obvious how she's moving in strangely slow, erratic jerks.

Lexa stifles a laugh in Clarke's chest. When Clarke huffs, pouting, Lexa looks up with a smirk. "Struggling?"

"Don't be smug.

"I'm not," Lexa says, eyes glittering and mouth curled— the definition of smug right now. "You can stop, though, it's okay. You don't have to…"

"I do," Clarke says at once, frustrated. Lexa made her feel so good. She has to return the favor. She wants to make her feel good too. "Can you— um, would you want to sit on my face?"

Lexa's eyes widen, but they seem to turn darker too. Clarke smiles; she takes that as a yes, and pats Lexa's ass, urging her up.

She sighs as the hottest view overtakes her, Lexa shuffling up to put her knees on either side of Clarke's head. She's beautiful, glistening and swollen. Clarke wastes no time, lifting her head even as Lexa lowers herself onto her mouth. The next sound is Lexa's hand slapping onto the wall the couch is pushed up against, supporting her as she gives a long, low groan as Clarke's tongue moves through her.

She tastes amazing, and Clarke idly thinks this is all she needs to live. Just this. Forever- which is a terrifying thought but Clarke is nothing if not a bisexual disaster and can't even blame herself here, not when Lexa is rocking into her face, her head tossed back, chest heaving. Clarke grips her ass with one hand and trails the other up the length of her torso, hard with muscle and strained with effort, up to her chest, those soft breasts that sway with every movement.

"Clarke," Lexa moans, hips jerking. "Fuck. I'm…"

She's already incredibly close. Clarke can taste it, can feel it drenching her face.

She gives a throaty hum of approval and takes a deep breath before she pushes her tongue inside Lexa, her nose pressing against the swollen jut of her clit, and swallows everything Lexa gives her when the orgasm crashes into her, has her arching and convulsing atop her, crying out loudly enough all her neighbors can probably hear.

Lexa collapses atop her. They remain there, tangled up together, breathing heavily until their racing hearts finally begin to settle, and Clarke lazily drifts a hand along the length of Lexa's back, damp with sweat.

"I owe you like, at least five more," Clarke whispers, her smile growing when Lexa snorts, her head tucked beneath Clarke's chin, pressed to her.

"You don't owe me anything. Believe me, that was just as pleasurable for me as it was you."

Clarke gets that, because it felt the same way when she brought Lexa to orgasm, too. But still. She wants to do it again— and again, and again.

"Are you…okay?" Lexa asks.

"Yeah," Clarke says after a moment, just as softly. "You always have a way of making me feel better."

There's a pause, before Lexa says wryly, "Well. I've never used this method before." Clarke laughs, until Lexa adds, "not that I didn't think about it." Then she can't help but fall quiet because— yeah. Lexa did tell her that. And Clarke has been utterly wasting her time with Finn, all because of, what? Nostalgia? The hope that he'd turn back into the same charming, humble guy as the one she met in that treatment center years ago?

"I was telling the truth, you know." Lexa nuzzles at her, nose pressing into her neck. "I meant it. I've had…the most embarrassing crush on you since day one, Griffin."

"I tried not to think about it," Clarke admits.

"My crush on you?" She can practically hear the wince Lexa gives. "Was it that obvious? Aside from the fact that I asked you out that first day, I mean."

"No, I meant my own. My crush on you." It feels so silly and childish, using the word crush. Clarke clears her throat. "My attraction to you. My feelings for you. Even Finn made the comment, earlier today when we fought, that it seems like I'd rather spend all my time with my coworkers than with him."

Another pause. Then: "well, Monty is pretty cool."

Clarke lightly swats the part of her ass she can reach. "It's not any coworker but you. You made me laugh, you're fun, you're smart. Very nice to look at," Clarke playfully pinches her, pleased with the chuckle she gets in response. "Who wouldn't want to spend all their time with you?"

Clarke can tell, by the way Lexa squeezes her in sort of a hug, that it means a lot to her, hearing that.

"I hope you know that all of that? Right back at you. You're amazing, Clarke." Lexa clears her throat. "And speaking of time. Would you…want to stay, tonight?"

Lexa's voice is quiet, which isn't unusual— but there is this strange little note in it, hopeful, hesitant. That uncertainty is uncharacteristic in Lexa, and it has Clarke's heart melting. After everything they just did, everything they just confessed, Lexa truly thinks it's even a question?"

"Of course I'll stay," Clarke brushes a soft kiss to the damp curls atop Lexa's head.

She feels the imprint of Lexa's smile on the center of her chest, and knows it'll last there for days, glowing like its own sun.



The sunlight filters in through the window blinds and hits Clarke directly in the eyes. She squints, face screwed up, and grumbles as she rolls over, burying her face in the wild mane of brown curls scattered over the pillow.

Lexa mumbles something incoherent, and even despite how much she typically hates mornings, in this instance…Clarke can't help but smile.

"What?" she asks in amusement, lifting her head up.

"What's the time?"

Blinking blearily, Clarke reaches over, fumbling for Lexa's phone on the nightstand. Last night, she and Lexa had eventually relocated to the bedroom. Lexa's bed is big and comfy and now in severe need of a wash, and Clarke sorta never wants to leave it.

"Half-past seven."

Lexa's eyes snap open. "Shit," she groans, immediately untangling herself from Clarke and the still-damp sheets, dragging herself out of bed. Clarke rolls over onto her back, propped up on both elbows to watch as Lexa stumbles across the room, naked, and disappears into a walk-in closet. "I'm going to be late.

"What're you late for?" Clarke frowns, trying to recall seeing Lexa scheduled for anything today on the work calendar. "I thought you didn't have anything today."

"Remember Floukru Shipping tried to cancel on us this weekend?" Lexa calls out, voice muffled. "I calmed things down by offering to reschedule, and they said they could only do tomorrow."

"Oh." Shit. "What time?"

"Less than an hour. And I still need to shower." Her voice grows clear again as she emerges back into the room.

Clarke rolls up onto her side, propping her head up on an elbow. One side of her mouth slowly curls up as she looks Lexa up and down. She's lean and lithe and utterly bare, decorated with several love bites and scratches. "Hmm, you could save time if you skip the shower…" She trails off suggestively, raising her brows, smile growing when Lexa freezes, dark eyes immediately zeroing in on Clarke. Her grip on her clothes turns white-knuckled.

"Fuck." She breathes out unsteadily, green eyes glazing over. Her throat dips as she swallows. "That is…no. No." Lexa shakes her head, more as if she's trying to emerge from a trance rather than in dismissal. She points accusingly at Clarke. "Don't you dare seduce me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clarke says innocently, still smirking as she stretches out across the bed, deliberately so the bedsheets slip just a little lower, exposing part of her hips and breasts.

Lexa's eyes glaze over even more. "You look so fucking gorgeous it's unbelievable. And you know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?"

"Clarke," Lexa says slowly, warningly, even as she gravitates forward, as if compelled. "I can't miss this meeting. I'll probably be fired if I do."

"Well we can't have that. Of course…you could just have Luna fill in for you." Clarke's lips twitch. "While you fill something else."

"That was terrible," Lexa tells her, one knee on the bed, dropping her clothes as she puts a hand on the exposed skin of Clarke's hip.

"Sorry," Clarke says, not sorry at all. She rolls onto her back as Lexa leans forward, and loses her breath when Lexa suddenly straddles her. Naked. So naked. And in the soft morning light, she's somehow even more beautiful.

"Luna is on vacation this week," Lexa murmurs, leaning in until her lips are just brushing Clarke's, and Clarke skates her hands up and down the length of her back. "So I have to go, because there isn't anyone else. And now, thanks to you, I'm going to spend the whole meeting wet. Thinking about you in my bed, and how I could have better filled my time."

Clarke gasps, when Lexa's hand snakes down the blanket and between her legs. She's already embarrassingly wet. Lexa dips inside her, shallow and teasing, leaving Clarke craning her hips after her, and bites her bottom lip.

"I'll be thinking about how I want to fill you, too. With my fingers. Or my tongue. Or the strap in the nightstand drawer next to you."

Clarke's eyes widen, desire striking through her like lightning, her lips parting to suck in a desperate gasp.

"But sadly…" Clarke cries out in disappointment when Lexa's touch suddenly withdraws, and she drops a quick peck to her lips before rolling off her, standing before her with a stern brow raised and a smirk curving her lips. "We have to rain check, because if I get fired then I won't be able to stare at you from my office anymore and that just won't do."

"Fuck." Clarke stares up at the ceiling, Lexa's laughter ringing in her ears as she gathers her dropped clothes and disappears out of the room. Clarke hears a shower turn on from somewhere in the house, but a moment later Lexa pops back in.

"I'm taking a five-minute shower and then getting out of here. If you want to wait, I'll give you a ride to your place?"

Clarke nods dumbly. Lexa smiles fondly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. It's unexpectedly intimate and brings warmth to Clarke's cheeks. She swallows and smiles back up at her, feeling a bit dopey.

"I was serious about that raincheck," Lexa says softly, stroking Clarke's hair back. "Would you…would you want to get dinner together, today? After work?"

As in a date? Clarke doesn't say it aloud, and Lexa doesn't specify even though Clarke can tell, by the pink tips of her cute little ears, that it probably is meant to be a date.

Clarke can't kid herself here; she wants it too.

Her smile grows, as does Lexa's when she says, "It's a date."

They kiss, warm and gentle and then firmer, deeper, until Lexa drags herself away with a groan, shooting Clarke a look that has her laughing as she shuffles out of the room again.

While Lexa showers, Clarke finds her clothes. She brushes her teeth with a spare toothbrush Lexa directs her to from the shower, and fails to tame her hair. Her high spirits aren't dampened even when she finds her phone and a couple dozen notifications, missed calls and texts from Finn begging her to come back so he can explain. She rolls her eyes. She's going to have to see Finn again, probably within the next fifteen minutes now, because she does have to go home. She needs to pack up her things and take them to her mom's until she can get a place of her own.

But first, she helps Lexa blow-dry her hair as Lexa puts on her makeup, and kisses the hell out of her just before they leave. They don't kiss in the car when they've pulled up in Clarke's drive but they give each other warm, knowing smiles before Clarke hops out and waves her off.

Then she turns, and braces herself. Finn's car is there— door closed now. But great. That means he's not at work. Of course he's home.

Clarke is already scowling as she marches in. Finn calls her name but she ignores him; he comes into view when she storms past the living room, where he sits in his chair watching some sports game, scrambling up to greet her. He trails after her when she enters the bedroom, the door bouncing off the wall.

"Clarke, wait. Hang on just a minute!"

"I told you we're through, Finn." Clarke opens her closet and pulls out her suitcase.

"No, wait, seriously! I— I know it's not an excuse, but there's a reason I was an idiot!"

Clarke rolls her eyes, says "there's always a reason," as she begins pulling her clothes out of her closet, losing and stuffing them in the suitcase. She doesn't even notice Finn disappeared until he comes back into the room, paper in hand.

"Clarke, I'm— I'm sick again."

Clarke freezes, an old hoodie she's had since high school held in her hands. Slowly, her heart thudding, she turns to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Finn looks pale, grave. "They had me go in for tests and it— it didn't look good. That was the same day I…I hooked up with a girl from the Ark Strip Club in my car that night." He at least has the decency to look ashamed, but Clarke doesn't give a fuck. Anger boils in the pit of her stomach and she shakes her head in disgust, turning back to her clothes.

"You're even lower than I thought, acting like a normal fucking doctor's appointment gives you an excuse to fuck around. You're—"

"Clarke, I swear, look, I have the paperwork to prove it!"

Clarke's brow creases, her mouth tilting down into a frown as she finally surveys the paper Finn holds before her face. Her heart sinks.

"It's dated last week," she says, voice considerably calmer despite the scowl on her face. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Finn's throat dips as he swallows, and says softly, "I didn't want to worry you."

There's a pregnant silence between them for a moment. Clarke doesn't know what to do, conflicting emotions warring within her. She's still furious at him for cheating again. She's scared for him, remembers how weak and sick he was during chemo. And even though she knows she shouldn't, because technically they weren't together…she can't help but feel guilty, that she took the first opportunity immediately after leaving him to sleep with Lexa. It feels like cheating, even though it wasn't.

And while she was out doing that, Finn was home alone with this information. Scared.

Clarke sways where she stands, uncomfortably shifting her weight from leg to leg. Part of her wants to hug him; another, stronger part still wants to punch him in the face. "When do you find out?"

"Any time. They said they'd call in the morning. They open at eight."

Clarke glances at the clock. It's almost a quarter past. Clarke takes a deep breath, blows it out as she scrubs a hand over her face and sinks onto the couch. Terror has congealed in the pit of her stomach. No matter how enraged she is, she doesn't want this, she doesn't want Finn sick again. She doesn't want him to die.

Before she can say anything, the phone rings.

She waits, stomach twisting and heart thudding against her chest, as Finn answers the phone. Whatever they say, it causes his expression to morph, shifting from apprehension to an absolute blank, shell-shocked expression. He filters through a few general "uh huh, yes, okay" phrases before finally thanking them and saying goodbye. When he lowers the phone, Clarke waits half a beat before pouncing.

"What did they say?"

Finn stares at her, eyes wide, expression blank. Then he blinks, his face crumpling. He nods wordlessly, and Clarke's heart drops.

"It's positive," she says dully.

Finn just nods, face screwed up, red as it gets when he fights tears.

"I, uh. I start chemo this week."

That's fast, Clarke thinks numbly. It must be bad. Aggressive enough to warrant them to move quickly on it.

"Babe. Please."

She looks up when Finn speaks, his voice cracking. He falls to his knees before her, shuffling over to place placating hands on her knees, looking at her with big brown eyes. "Please don't leave me. I— I can't go through this alone. Please."

"You can't just cheat on me like that," Clarke says, voice shaking, mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. "You can't— you can't go off and fuck some girl every time you're sick. Cancer isn't an excuse."

"I know. I know, I'm so sorry babe. I'm a fucking idiot and you deserve way better. But please." His eyes are glossy, filled with fear. "Don't leave me alone, when I'm sick and— please, Clarke. Don't leave me. I'll do better, I promise, it'll never happen again."

"I." Clarke shakes her head again, brow knit, her eyes stinging. "I can't be with you like that anymore. I'll still be there for you. We can try to be friends but—"

"No," Finn says at once, his voice cracking, tears leaking and streaming down his cheeks. "Please, Clarke, no. Don't do this, don't break up with me. I'm in love with you. I don't want to be your friend, I want to be yours, I want to— just. Please. Give me another chance. I can't do this without you. I can't. I can't do it without you."

Clarke thinks of Lexa, of their date tonight. She thinks of the dull, pleasant ache between her legs even now, the bruises on her neck that fortunately her hair is covering from Finn right now. She thinks about how her trust in Finn is forever broken, and she doesn't love him, she doesn't want to be with him.

And she thinks of her father, in his last few months. How gaunt and close to death he looked before he finally succumbed to it. Imagines what it would have been like, if he didn't have her and her mom.

She can't leave Finn now.

And Finn sees it in her eyes, his face slackening with relief. He immediately wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly. Clarke's lower lip wobbles, a scowl still fixed on her face as she hugs him back. "I'm sorry," Finn whispers, assuming her near-tears are due to him.

Which, she supposed partly they are— but mostly, it's the overwhelming disappointment that she's going to have to tell Lexa that they can't go out. She's going to have to cancel their date, and tell her that she's back with Finn but that it's not forever, just until he's beat cancer again and is back on his feet— so she and Lexa can't be together now. Not yet, but maybe someday.

And she's not sure if Lexa will want that, after she tells her.

She wipes furiously at the tears that escape, before Finn can see them.

It's a sharp pain, Lexa's heart immediately dive-bombing somewhere near her toes. She can't do anything but stand there in shock, Clarke standing next to her at the counter in the break room, the ancient coffee machine grumbling between them.

"I'm so sorry. Believe me, this is not what I want." Clarke certainly looks as miserable as she sounds, but Lexa doesn't get it. Clarke isn't stupid. This doesn't make sense.

"I…uh. I'm…a little confused, I guess?" The last words lilt up like a question, and Lexa shakes her head, struggling to articulate. "He cheated on you. You were done with him? You seemed…pretty firm on that yesterday." Clarke closes her eyes, brow knit, and Lexa tilts her head, frowning, trying to ignore the overwhelming disappointment and hurt churning in her belly. "What changed?"

"He's sick again." Lexa blinks, and Clarke opens her eyes; they're filled with a tired sorrow. "His cancer came back, and he starts chemo next week."

"Oh, God." Lexa shakes her head, baffled, awkward, sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I still don't want to be with him," Clarke says, voice dropping to a whisper. She glances around as though to make sure they're still alone, before looking back at Lexa and stepping closer to her, face serious. "I'm leaving him as soon as he's better. I just…I can't leave him to deal with this alone. His sister lives across the country and takes care of his mom. He doesn't have anyone else. And I…he helped me a lot, when my dad died— that's how we met, actually, at the cancer treatment center. I…I owe it to him."

Lexa clears her throat. "I don't think you owe him anything, Clarke," she says quietly.

"I feel like I do. So I can't. We can't. I'm sorry. I was…" Clarke sighs, blue eyes filled with regret. "I was really excited for our date. I hope you know that."

Lexa nods, stoic to avoid showing the crushing disappointment that sunk its claws into her the moment Clarke cornered her in here to tell her she had to cancel their date and she got back together with Finn. "So was I."

"Maybe…" Clarke hesitates, a shadow of hope slanting over her face like the sunlight streaming through the window. "Maybe we could rain check?" When Lexa blinks, brows raising, Clarke hastens to elaborate, "I mean, if— by that time, if you're still interested, that is."

The little wobble of her heart tells her Clarke's hope is infectious. And damn it, Lexa can't be angry about this— Clarke is a good person, and she's just trying to do the right thing here. Lexa's the idiot who had the bright idea to fuck her recently-broken-up coworker.

"I'm pretty sure I'll still be interested," she says, a corner of her lips quirking up, especially when that hope grows in Clarke's face, crawls across it to slightly curve her pink lips. "I get it, Clarke. I'm sorry you're going through this. I'm…" She makes a vague gesture at herself with one hand, the other holding her freshly poured coffee. "You know where to find me. I'm here for you, and I hope Frank is okay."

Clarke's lips twitch. This is not the first time this has happened, and this time she definitely knows that Lexa knows what his name is. "You know it's Finn."

Lexa smirks. "Oops."

Clarke chuckles, and Lexa can't help the way her heart swells at successfully pulling them out of her. They fade as Clarke sighs, looking at Lexa with relief. "So, can we…go back to normal?"

Normal. Lexa's eyes catch on the hint of a purple patch of skin on Clarke's neck, barely hidden by her hair. Her gaze trails down before she can stop it— over cleavage and full breasts, a curvy waist… it's hard not to think about the fact that she had her hands all over that body only last night. Less than twenty-four hours ago, that body was writhing atop her, beneath her, inside her. Lexa had her tongue inside Clarke only hours ago. She swears she can still taste her. It has her stomach bottoming out, gripped with a sudden, aching need.

She snaps her eyes back up to meet Clarke's, and finds them dark, knowing. She's not smiling, even when Lexa grows a crooked one at being caught.

"Not sure if we can go back to normal," Lexa murmurs truthfully. She lifts her coffee up as though toasting her, taking a sip and watching her over the rim. "But sure. We can try."

She sweeps past her, shoulder lightly brushing her as she does, and hides her smile in her coffee cup. It's a little mean, she'll admit, but if they're returning to normal then a little harmless flirting is part of that, after all.



She's not going to do anything. She's not.

Clarke tells herself this. Very firmly. It becomes like a mantra she chants in her head every time she's near Lexa— and even when she's not. Even when she's alone in her office and Lexa strides past with legs for days on display beneath a skirt that's almost inappropriate for work. Even when she's home in bed, Finn snoring next to her, and biting her lip to curb her smile as she texts back and forth with Lexa, things that border just a little too far left on the side of flirtation. Even when she's in the shower, hand between her legs, choking back a moan as she remembers how Lexa's tongue felt between them.

She makes it almost a week.

It happens the day before Finn's first chemo appointment, and Clarke hates herself for it but she can't help it. She's been aching for this. It's been days and it's like she's in withdrawal, desperate for Lexa's touch again.

It starts with the break room. She walks in to find Lexa in there alone, fixing herself a coffee, and the room is immediately filled with tension every bit as noticeable as the scent of coffee in the air.

Lexa smiles, that same knowing little smile she's had for nearly a week now that never fails to remind Clarke that Lexa has seen her naked.

"Clarke," Lexa greets, her hair falling over one shoulder as she gives her a side-long glance, stirring a spoon through her coffee. "Did you finish the episode?"

Last night they'd been texting while Clarke watched the latest episode of Hawk-eye. And possibly flirting. Again.

"I did." Clarke swallows, trying like hell to act normal as she stands beside Lexa and begins to prepare her own coffee. "How's your morning been?"

"Mm. Better now." Lexa smiles as she sips her coffee, cooled thanks to the ridiculous amount of cream she just added to it. Green eyes flicker the length of Clarke's body and she immediately grows warm in response, her stomach clenching. "I really like that top."

It was low-cut, showing perhaps more cleavage than necessary. She may or may not have been wearing these types of tops, and form-fitting pants, since they slept together. But she's trying not to think about that.

"Thanks." She's not going to do it. She's not going to do it. "So," she begins, voice far calmer than she feels inside, as she picks up her cup of coffee and turns, hip leaning against the counter. They're definitely standing too close, but she doesn't care. Damn it. She's totally going to do it. "How has your week been? How have you filled your time?"

Lexa's eyes narrow, a tiny smile of delight playing at the corner of her lips. "Are you sure you want the answer to that?"

Clarke blows her coffee, steam rising and curling between them. "Positive."

Lexa's brown twitch up, pleased with her response. "Okay. Let's just say I've been…entertaining myself. Often."

Clarke blows her coffee again, holding Lexa's gaze. "You know I'm a details person."

Lexa half-laughs. Clarke's breath hitches when she sets her cup aside and steps forward, into her space, their noses nearly brushing. Clarke tips her head up expectantly, almost embarrassingly, because all Lexa did was move her head beside her own so she could speak into her ear. "I can't stop thinking about you. I keep replaying that morning over and over again, imagining how it could have gone if I didn't go to work. If I just said fuck it and we lost the merge. I think it would have been worth it. Making you come until you passed out. I know you have a boyfriend and you can't, but all I can think about is fucking you." Lexa's voice is low, like velvet, and it's all Clarke can do to just stand there, swallowing thickly. "There. Is that what you wanted?"

"Not even close," Clarke whispers. Lexa's eyes are so dark. She imagines they're probably as dark as her own right now, pupils blown wide.

"Why don't you tell me what you do want? Because personally…" Lexa leans back to look her in the eyes, reaching up to tuck a curl of blonde hair behind Clarke's ear. "I kinda want to stop talking and use my mouth for better things right now."

Fuck it.

Clarke dumps her full coffee and puts the mug in the sink. "We don't have to talk at all."

Lexa doesn't look surprised, when she takes her hand and drags her into a supply closet to pin her against the wall and kiss her senseless. She also isn't particularly surprised when Clarke makes her come in less than a minute— the first time, anyway. She was already drenched, and Clarke wonders if she's been thinking about it all day, like she has. By the way Lexa drops to her knees and eats her out like it's her job, Clarke biting back noises so she doesn't alert what remains of the entire office what they're up to in here, Clarke thinks she definitely has.

"Fuck," she moans quietly, panting as she comes down from it.

Lexa stands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I missed that taste," Lexa breathes, her legs trembling slightly as she rises back up. Her fingers curl around the back of Clarke's neck as she kisses her, letting her taste herself.

Clarke thinks of what Lexa spoke promisingly of, days ago when they were wrapped up in bed that morning.

"I want you to take me home," Clarke tells her, as softly as the way she cups her face. "And rail me through your bed with that strap. Please," she tacks on with a wide smile, when Lexa just stares at her, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

Lexa's swallow is audible, and Clarke can practically feel the promise in her slow smirk, before it falters.

"But…what about Fred?" Her lips still twitch slightly at how Clarke raises a brow in amusement. "He'll wonder where you are."

In answer, Clarke fishes her phone out of her pocket and swipes open her messages. She taps out a text to Finn and sends it before showing it to Lexa.


Hey, work's been crazy. I'll be working late and then I'll probably just stay at Raven's since she lives close.


Before Lexa can say anything, Finn texts back.


Aw I'll miss u :( ok tho. Have fun luv u


Clarke merely likes his response before clicking it off and slipping it back into her pocket. She looks at Lexa expectantly.

"Are you sure you're okay doing this?" Lexa asks seriously.

Clarke can't deny the guilt swimming inside her, but she also can't resist the pull of desire, still burning and pooling low. "Just one more time can't hurt," she says quietly, fingers toying with Lexa's. They're still slightly damp. "Right?"

Lexa tilts her head. Licks her lips. Nods. "Yeah. One more time. Just to get it out of our systems."

They both know they're empty words, and it's not going to stop at once.

Clarke leans in, kisses her breathless before putting her hand on the supply closet doorknob, ready to turn. "Take me home."