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Lexa has been gone an awfully long time.
Not that Clarke is in any position to judge accurately. She knows the seconds are ticking by because the sunbeams shining through the window have moved slightly across the stone floor, and because her heart is beating (too loud and too fast, even though she hasn’t exerted herself).
Yet. She hasn’t exerted herself yet. But she hopes she will soon, because if Lexa has hogtied her and left her here, sprawled naked on top of the bedfurs, only to deny her, or untie her and leave her to her own hand—or forbid her from touching herself at all—she will be annoyed. Very annoyed.
Annoyance isn’t the only emotion swirling through her, though. Desire, anticipation, and hope cause the hairs on Clarke’s nape to prickle, and her face and upper chest to flush. All sorts of thoughts race through her head, thoughts she can’t silence or soothe:
Lexa said she’d be just outside.
Her eyes dart toward the door. Locked, although the guards in this part of the tower have surely been dismissed.
Is she listening from out there? Can she hear me?
Her breathing picks up automatically.
What’s she gonna do when she comes back? When is she coming back?
Clarke tests the silk cord around her wrists again, even though she knows it won’t budge. The ache in her shoulders intensifies, and a shudder races through her as she remembers the way Lexa slid her thumb between the rope and her skin to make sure the cord wasn’t wrapped too tight, before kissing her forehead and leaving the room without a backward glance.
I didn’t know sadists could be so sweet. Leaving me here like this is just…
(The fact that she had asked for this particular scene is irrelevant. Lexa had obviously enjoyed the suggestion, too.)
She huffs and squirms on top of the furs, clenching her knees. Trying to ignore the slickness smeared across her inner thighs. Rubbing them is the only relief available to her, with her ankles bound together as well. But it only makes things worse. Lexa definitely chose to tie her up this way on purpose.
Fuck, where is she?
Then, a noise. A knob turning. The door creaks open, and Clarke’s breath hitches. She knows the sound of those footsteps even before Lexa strides in, dressed in her usual leather armor, her red cape swirling behind her. The perfect picture of Heda, of a leader, of someone used to being unquestionably obeyed.
“My apologies, Wanheda, for leaving you in this position, ” she says, in a cold voice Clarke almost never hears from her anymore.
The corners of Lexa’s lips twitch upward, not enough to prevent the spike of adrenaline that surges through Clarke’s system, but enough to remind her that this is only a game. That Lexa loves her, and will untie her with a single word. But then Lexa’s face returns to its former stony state.
"The meeting to decide your fate ran longer than expected."
Clarke licks her lips, summoning a rasp of an answer. “Fuck you.”
Lexa’s brows arch, and the flash in her brilliant green eyes strikes Clarke’s very core. More wetness runs down her thighs, and she fights the impulse to squirm...and fails miserably. She knows she must look pathetic, tied up like freshly hunted prey ready for transport, but very much alive, wriggling and dripping all over herself.
“I must say,” Lexa murmurs, in a voice that resonates with power despite its soft tone, “I expected more from the Commander of Death. It seems to me that you enjoy being here, at my mercy.”
Clarke flinches at the statement. It’s very much the truth. She does enjoy being at Lexa’s mercy, just as she enjoys having Lexa at her mercy once in a while. And she gasps, trembling even more noticeably, as Lexa approaches the side of the bed, placing a hand upon her cheek.
She expects Lexa to seize her chin in firm fingers. To yank her forward and inspect her. But Lexa merely tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her touch frustratingly gentle. Clarke’s inner walls clench, even though there isn’t any contact between her legs.
That reminds her of her role. If she wants Lexa to fuck her, she needs to play her part.
“Just kill me then,” she snarls, glaring daggers into Lexa’s eyes. “I know your people. They have no mercy.”
“Oh, no?”
Lexa seizes her hair, tugging with all the roughness Clarke had anticipated before. It strains Clarke’s neck, but she welcomes the mild pain and discomfort, just like she enjoys the soreness in her shoulders and thighs. The feeling flashes through her like fire, and fresh sweat sprouts along her skin.
“I think you will find that I can be quite merciful, Wanheda... if you are prepared to obey.”
Lexa releases Clarke’s hair, pushing her onto her stomach. With only the bedfurs in her line of sight, Clarke tenses, waiting for…something. A slap? A caress? She doesn’t know what Lexa will do, where she’ll strike, and that just makes this all the more arousing. She hisses as blunt nails rake along her flank, scoring the skin there.
“I smelled you as soon as I stepped into the room,” Lexa says, removing her hand before Clarke can shift away from or into it. “Perhaps Wanheda is not the proper name for you.” The mattress dips, and Clarke senses Lexa climbing onto it, hovering behind her. Studying her. Sizing her up.
Clarke grits her teeth. Not being able to see Lexa is maddening —not knowing what she’s about to do even more so. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
Both Lexa’s hands touch her this time, starting at the bends of her knees, spreading out and travelling slowly up the backs of her thighs toward her ass. “ You know exactly what I mean, Heda kom Gafen . My people believe you are an animal who only wishes to kill, but I know what you truly desire. What you need. What it takes to tame you.”
“Tame me?”
Lexa’s thumbs dip between her legs, running along the pouting lips of her pussy, spreading them apart for inspection. It’s all Clarke can do to swallow a whimper. Having pressure there—real pressure, not just her own useless clenching—makes her head spin.
“You simply need relief. And some firm guidance.”
Lexa removes her thumbs, and this time, Clarke can’t stifle her whine of disappointment. It’s a soft, pathetic thing, and her face burns with embarrassment. But she remembers that it’s Lexa. Her lover, her everything. This is only a game, one Lexa won’t think any less of her for playing.
“So, what?” Clarke tries to add an indignant scoff to her voice, but it isn’t convincing to her own ears. “You think you can fuck me into submission or something?”
The growl Lexa gives in response, however, is very convincing indeed. Lexa grasps her by the hair again, shoving her face sideways into the bed. “No, Wanheda,” she whispers, bending low over Clarke’s back. The new position puts more strain on Clarke’s shoulders, and the heat of Lexa’s breath hits the back of her neck. “I do not ‘think’ I can make you submit. I know I can.”
“Yeah?” Clarke says, barely able to contain her desire and anticipation. She knows Lexa can sense them, but she’s too desperate to worry about it. “Then prove it.”
Lexa’s teeth sink into her shoulder the same moment her fingers plunge into Clarke’s pussy. It’s a rough, demanding show of force, completely different from the thin wire of tension Lexa has drawn taut between them since returning to their bedroom, and it leaves Clarke howling.
Shit. Lexa made her wait so long, and now she’s finally full of…two? Three fingers?... while sharp teeth bury themselves in her flesh. Marking. Claiming.
Clarke barely has a chance to cry out before Lexa starts fucking her. The stretch is enough to stun her, and the harsh movements threaten to undo her. She’s full, then empty, then full again, and everything has become a heated blur. Only a few sharper, more distinct sensations remain, all of them caused by Lexa.
Lexa’s breath on her neck. Lexa’s weight pressing her further into the bed. Lexa’s fingers pumping in and out. They aren’t trying to hit any particular spots, but somehow, they hit every spot.
“Fuck,” Clarke chants, over and over. “Fuck, Lexa, fuck fuck FUCK.”
She barely remembers the roleplay. Barely remembers her own name. Her body has craved this since before Lexa left her tied up on the bed, and now, finally, she’s getting some relief. The few minutes Lexa had been gone, and the shorter length of time she’s been back, have felt like an eternity.
Until, suddenly, she isn’t anymore.
Lexa pulls out, and Clarke cries out in dismay. Her inner walls throb, clenching at such cruel deprivation. Lexa’s weight disappears from her back, and Clarke can no longer feel the texture or heat of her leather armor, nor the occasional metal stud burning cold points of fire into her bare flesh.
“That was merely a taste. Now that you know what I can provide, will you submit?”
Clarke finds herself unable to answer. She can’t. Her body is a tangle of crossed wires, and it’ll only take a spark to set her off. She tries to rub forward into the mattress, but it isn’t enough. She wants Lexa’s fingers back. Needs them. And no matter how much she pulls, the bonds around her wrists and ankles aren’t giving. There is only one option available to her.
Sorry, babe. You probably want me to hold out longer, but sometimes, a girl’s gotta fucking come.
“Yes,” Clarke says, not even trying to make the word sound like anything other than a plea. “I’ll submit, if you just fucking make me—shit!” Her voice rises in a yelp as Lexa descends on her again, pushing back inside her. Clarke is so wet, there’s barely any resistance. No resistance, either, when Lexa curls hard against her front wall, applying pressure right where Clarke loves most.
That’s all it takes.
Clarke goes rigid in her bindings, tensing from head to toe, then melting in a series of uncontrollable shudders. Her walls clamp desperately around Lexa’s fingers, trying to pull them deeper, but Lexa is already all the way inside her, still curling in search of the perfect spot. Lexa’s teeth return to her shoulder, the same place as before, and Clarke cries out, spilling a flood over Lexa’s hand and down her wrist.
She realizes right away she’s going to leave a mess, but that doesn’t stop her. Sheets can be washed. In this moment, all she cares about, all that matters, is coming. Coming for Lexa. That makes all the difference, makes her scream even louder into the furs beneath her as Lexa draws out her climax.
Spots continue flashing behind Clarke’s eyelids for several moments after her orgasm fades to aftershocks. She feels limp. Drained. She hadn’t expected her release to hit that hard, especially for a first orgasm. (And she hopes there will be more. Definitely a lot more.)
Lexa places a soft kiss on the bite mark she’s left, and Clarke responds with a sobbing sort of laugh. “Oh fuck.”
“That happened very quickly,” Lexa muses, in a kind and teasing tone, completely different from the hard edge her voice had taken on whilst playing her role. “I thought you would hold out much longer. You must have had a very enjoyable time awaiting my return.”
“Sorry,” Clarke mumbles. “I didn’t ruin it, did I? I just…fuck, Lexa, I really had to come.”
Lexa withdraws her fingers, slowly and carefully. “Nothing is ruined, niladon. This was all for you, although I very much enjoyed it as well.” With another kiss to Clarke’s temple, she rolls to one side, and Clarke catches a glimpse of her removing her boots. “So much, in fact, that I believe the Commander and Wanheda still have unfinished business.”
Clarke grins. “Can I stay tied up?”
Lexa’s eyes narrow. “Do you feel any pain or numbness—”
“I wanna stay tied up,” Clarke says, without a trace of shame. “If that’s okay.”
Lexa’s smile turns predatory. “In that case, I will have to turn you again, Wanheda. Your hands may be bound, but that insolent mouth of yours is still free. I believe I should teach it how to serve Heda properly.”
Clarke licks her lips. She really likes the way Lexa thinks.