Work Text:
Under normal circumstances, it is difficult—almost impossible—to distract Lexa from her duties. The responsibilities of Heda are heavy and numerous, but after a lifetime of training and self-denial, she has learned to bear the burden gracefully, with an effortlessness that leaves her subjects in awe. She sees the way they look at her, from the humblest villagers to the celebrated ambassadors of her Coalition. They treat her as a deity, gazing at her with shining eyes, lips forming supplications.
Though she is young, and slender, and a girl, they look at her as though she is ten feet tall. To them, she is Heda, the alpha of alphas. The Commander of the Twelve Clans. She is to be respected. Obeyed. Even feared.
But there is one person who doesn't look at her like a goddess. One person who smirks instead of simpering. One person who, with a slow blink of her sky-blue eyes, can make Lexa's mask of authority crumble in an instant. Those eyes see straight through her, boring into her very core, where she is nothing but a mess of selfish desires. She has spent her whole life putting aside her own wants and needs in order to serve her people, but Klark kom Skaikru, a simple omega, makes her want.
It doesn't help that Clarke is currently staring at her, the plump curve of her bottom lip gleaming where her soft pink tongue has swiped over it. Her eyes are cloudy with lust, and also alight with a playful sort of knowledge. She knows the effect she has, and she knows exactly what she is doing as she shifts in her chair, crossing her legs to show off her plush thighs, encased temptingly in leather.
Lexa swallows, clenching the armrests of her throne. Clarke isn't simply trying to get her attention. Clarke is toying with her. It's obvious from the way the Sky girl is presenting herself that she wants to be noticed. With her shoulders back and breasts pushed out ever so slightly, braided golden hair awash about her shoulders, chin tilted just so to expose the swan's curve of her throat, she is clearly seeking admiration. She wants to be a distraction, and to Lexa's annoyance, she is succeeding.
Heda she might be, alpha she might be, but Clarke is the one who commands her, body and soul, whether she likes it or not.
She only possesses one weapon, one way to retaliate, and while this council meeting is in session, it isn't at her disposal. The Floukru ambassador is droning on and on, and thanks to Clarke's efforts, Lexa hasn't the slightest clue what he's talking about. All she can think about is Clarke's mouth—warm and pink, lips barely parted. Clarke's chest—the way it rises and falls with each breath, causing her shirt to strain almost imperceptibly beneath the generous dip of her cleavage. Clarke's hips, a lovely curving flare, the perfect shape to grip...
Lexa shakes herself. She knows she cannot fight such a tempting distraction forever, but still, she tries her best. She strains to listen as the Ambassador continues his dry speech, deliberately looking away from Clarke, but it's little use. She can sense Clarke's presence even while her eyes are fixed elsewhere, burning like a beacon. Clarke is looking at her, staring, practically daring her to do something about the crackling connection between them.
It’s an invitation, a silent challenge, and a plea all at once.
There is no resisting. “Em pleni,” she snaps, interrupting the Ambassador mid-sentence. He stammers for a moment, but a stern glare has him tapering off into silence. “We will resume this meeting in an hour, after we have taken a meal.” From all the way across the room, she can hear Clarke’s slight hitch of breath. Obviously, her lover knows exactly what sort of hunger she is referring to.
“But Heda,” Titus protests, stepping out from his place beside her throne to beseech her, “we have barely gotten started—”
“Hosh op! It will be as I said. Now, bants. All of you, gon yo we.”
The dominant flare of her scent and the commanding square of her shoulders, even while seated, are far too powerful for the Ambassadors to quarrel with. They scatter like birds, fluttering out of the room, but Lexa's eyes barely track their movements. Her attention is fixed on her target: Clarke, who is sauntering rather than scurrying toward the wide double doors of the throne room.
"Klark, kamp raun," Lexa barks, and Clarke immediately freezes. The turn she makes, however, is much slower. She seems in no particular hurry as she pivots, and as she comes to a stop, she places a cheeky, expectant hand on her hip.
"Yes, Heda?"
The use of her title isn't respectful, but teasing, almost a taunt for Lexa to come closer. So she does, rising from her throne without bothering to make sure Titus and the others have finished leaving. If they witness what is to follow, it is their own fault for not being fast enough. "I noticed your lack of attention during this morning's meeting," she says as she strides toward the omega, hands folded behind her back and chin held high. "I expect better from the Ambassador of Skaikru."
Clarke doesn't appear fazed by the reprimand. She merely grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I was paying attention to something, but I'm not sure you were. Not that I blame you. My tits are pretty interesting..."
That does it. Lexa had hoped to hold out a little longer, at least long enough to make Clarke work for a reaction, but she is already reaching the threadbare edges of her patience. Her mate's scent curls into her nose, urging her to bring their bodies close, and her half-formed cock twitches painfully against the front of her pants as it extends to its full length. She has reached hardness in an instant, all because of the way Clarke is taunting her.
Such disobedience cannot stand, especially since she knows this is part of Clarke's plan. Lexa needs to feel in control once more, and Clarke...it is obvious what Clarke needs from the longing look behind her self-satisfied smirk. Without another word, Lexa surges forward, grasping Clarke's wrists in her hands and dragging her forward.
Their bodies align perfectly, just as they do every time. Their shapes melt together, a mixture of hard muscle and soft curves on both their parts, and when Lexa folds a hand around the back of Clarke's neck, tilting her head for a deep kiss, the omega doesn't object. Her tongue slips forward to tease, and her lips part invitingly. She tastes of heat and sex and something sweet beneath it, and Lexa can't stifle the growl of desire that rumbles in her throat.
Clarke is the only one who has ever tried to defy her, but somehow, that defiance only arouses her more. It drives her to rip off Clarke's clothes as quickly as possible, and though her fingers fumble with the buckles and clasps, she makes short work of them through sheer desperation and tosses them to the floor. First the shirt, then the pants, although she doesn't bother taking them all the way off because of Clarke's boots. She's in far too much of a hurry. She needs to feel Clarke's flesh. Needs to mark Clarke's unbroken skin. Needs to reassert some of her slipping control, because Clarke always drives her so wild. Makes her feel so unlike herself. So...
Free.
As she drags Clarke down onto the floor with her, their lips part long enough for her to let out a grateful gush of breath. Free is right. Clarke is the only one who makes her feel as though she can fly. She is the Commander of the Ground, but it is Clarke who shows her the sky.
Lexa nips down the graceful line of Clarke's neck, dipping her tongue into the hollow she had been admiring earlier and tasting salt. Clarke is sweating lightly, and if Lexa has her way, her entire body will be covered in a fine coat before they're finished—and perhaps some other fluids as well. Her lips glide over the soft ridges of Clarke's mating mark, and she latches on, relishing in the whimper Clarke makes.
Now, Clarke is no longer defiant. With just a simple bite, she is a shuddering mess, hips canting upward, begging to be taken.
Lexa's hands are everywhere at once, trying to cover the entire landscape of Clarke's body at once. She parts the omega's knees, raking her nails over Clarke's sensitive inner thighs, and begins kissing down the slope of Clarke's chest when she hears a hiss. The sound is welcoming and encouraging enough to make her want more, so she pulls the stiff pink peak of Clarke's nipple into her mouth, biting down hard as her fingers find their target.
Clarke is absolutely soaked for her already. The omega's folds are slippery as silk, parted and dripping. Her outer lips are pouting open, and the inner ones practically suck Lexa's fingers in without her even having to push forward. Instead of taking the invitation, made all the clearer by Clarke's whining gasps—"Lexa, please , inside..."—she moves up in search of Clarke's clit, grinding the stiff bud in circles. Clarke gives a full-body jerk, and her begging trails off into a high-pitched cry.
While she's occupied, Lexa hurries to unfasten her pants. It's tricky one-handed, but she's too desperate to care about her clumsiness, and Clarke doesn't seem to notice. She bites her lip as she takes her shaft in her hand, giving it a short pump to test its sensitivity. She's already primed, almost as wet as Clarke. The sensitive, swollen head of her cock is leaking with anticipation, and she hurries to set it against Clarke's entrance.
"Oh fuck, yes," Clarke mumbles, but Lexa is barely listening. Clarke's knee has hooked around her waist, offering her a better angle, and she's already pumping forward, groaning as the omega's clinging inner walls seal around her. They're hot and smooth and wonderfully tight, but so slick that she has no trouble sinking inside. Clarke yelps with every inch, and Lexa takes her lips again to muffle the noise, jogging her hips in short, sharp strokes.
Soon, they're rutting so fast and hard that there isn't even a pause between pulling out and thrusting in. It's a constant rolling motion, harsh and rhythmic, and the sound of their bodies colliding blends with whimpers and sighs. Lexa has forgotten about the meeting, about her advisers, about everything to do with her job as Heda. Her world has narrowed to Clarke, and for a few fleeting moments, nothing else matters. Nothing but Clarke clenching around her, Clarke's nails scoring her back, Clarke writhing beneath her.
"You asked for this," Lexa pants, nipping at the omega's plump lips in the hopes of getting them to part for her tongue again. "Giving me that look..."
"You wanted it," Clarke mutters back, seizing her own bottom lip and biting down sharply enough to make Lexa's pace falter as she processes the slight pain. "You were so tense, I thought—"
Lexa has never been good at admitting what she needs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the part that isn't consumed by lust and the need to bury her knot, she knows she should be grateful. Grateful to have a mate who knows her so well. A mate who straddles the line between dominance and submission, challenge and obedience, so neatly. A mate who complements her in every way—who gives as good as she gets.
"Jok, Klark," Lexa mumbles, speeding up even further. "Ai na strik au."
She had hoped to push Clarke over the edge first, simply as a point of pride, but today, she can't hold back. Clarke feels too good around her, and her entire length is throbbing with fullness. The base of her shaft aches, and even though she knows it's a bad idea, she starts nudging forward, trying to bury the heavy swell at the bottom. Knotting Clarke means the meeting won't be able to resume for some time, but she's beyond caring. She wants to claim Clarke completely, to feel the omega's inner walls wrapped tight around every inch of her, to make sure every single drop of her release remains inside.
"Then come," Clarke says, tearing their panting mouths apart so she can latch onto Lexa's shoulder, right over the burning mark there. "Fill me up, Heda. "
Lexa has heard her title before from hundreds of different lips, but no one says it like Clarke does. People have whispered it in fear, cheered it in praise, murmured it in respect, and even spat it like a curse—Clarke included. But this time, Clarke says it like an 'I love you', and Lexa knows without being told that it is more than just a respectful address. Clarke loves her. Clarke accepts her, even this part of her, the wild animal she so rarely unleashes because the rest of her life is so tightly controlled.
"Ai hod yu in, Klark," she mutters back, before her hips give one last jolt and she latches on to Clarke's mating mark in turn. Her knot sinks all the way in, locking them together, and a rush of come spills from her cock, bursting from the twitching tip to splash against Clarke’s inner walls.
Once it starts, the flood goes on and on, pouring out of her in pulsing waves. She feels as if she's emptying a river inside of Clarke's deepest places, and a split second later, Clarke ripples around her, howling out her own release. The feel of her omega, her mate, her hodnes coming with her is too much. Lexa releases everything she has, making sure to catch the swollen bud of Clarke's clit with the base of her shaft as they crest together.
Their twined pleasure spins out for several minutes, until both of them are panting and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Clarke looks so beautiful when she's spent, so young, so soft and happy that Lexa almost laughs in joy. The look Clarke gives her before they do this is bewitching, but the look Clarke gives her afterward is even better.
"That meeting isn't going to happen for a while, huh?" Clarke says, scratching affectionately at the nape of her neck.
Lexa closes her eyes, resting her cheek against Clarke's shoulder and giving a low, throaty purr of contentment. The meeting can wait. Resting here with Clarke, tied and happy, able to feel her mate's firm breasts and softly curved belly pressing comfortably into her, is all she wants.