Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m never going to get this right,” Clarke groans, dropping her hands from Lexa’s shoulders and letting out a huff. “Remind me again why I have to do this?”

“It’s tradition for the leaders of the attending Clans to lead the dance to start the Festival of First Harvest,” the alpha says patiently, as though she hasn’t just explained it for the tenth time that day.

“Yeah, well, clearly I can’t dance,” Clarke says sourly, aiming a kick at the dirt of the campground. “At least not something this complicated, anyway. And I thought you said we weren’t a Clan?”

“You’re not,” Lexa says, clasping her hands behind her back, “but it sends a message to the rest that you’re being invited to Trikru’s feast. It suggests that they would be foolish indeed to attack you. And it gives your people the chance to meet those of mine who are not warriors, so that each side might actually believe us when we tell them that the others are not savages.”

Clarke sighs, knowing that Lexa’s right – why does she have to be right all the damn time? Despite the tentative alliance between them, she knows that the Arkers still fear and distrust Lexa’s people. Aside from Lincoln, the only Grounders they’ve come into close contact with are the warriors – fearsome, heavily armed, wearing masks of human skulls – who’d come to take Finn away and torture him to death. Even her friends – those who’d come with her to Tondisi to treat with Lexa, or accompanied her to the Commander’s camp for various errands – still view the Trikru with hostility and suspicion, and for the most part Lexa’s people match them. While they may have hammered out a ceasefire, the situation is still a powder keg. Clarke is undecided as to whether this Festival thing will serve as a bucket of water, or a spark.

Lexa’s watching her carefully, and seems to sense Clarke’s worries. “If you’d like, we can take a break from this for maybe an hour,” she says, stepping a bit closer. “Indra’s been nagging me about attending to various matters of state since breakfast, and I’m sure you’re probably hungry. You could visit the market and get something to eat, and if you finish early you can wander around the village, if you’d like. There isn’t much, but I thought that you might be interested in visiting the blacksmith and the weaver…”

Clarke can’t help but smile at the alpha’s eagerness to please. Although Lexa spoke in the same carefully considered tone she almost always does, she can tell that the Commander is eager to make certain that Clarke enjoys her time here. She’s a bit nervous about walking through the village alone – her people aren’t the only ones still hostile to those they’ve only just recently stopped seeing as their enemies – but she figures that as long as she doesn’t wander outside of the walls, she’ll be fine. Apparently Lexa’s noticed her nervousness, because she hurries to say, “I can have one of my guards escort you, and we’ll see about finding you a local guide – not a warrior – who can show you around.” And make certain I don’t get lost, Clarke thinks, but she accepts Lexa’s offer with a grateful smile.

“That sounds really good.”

The alpha’s answering grin is shy but brilliant, like the few fleeting moments today when the sun has peeked out from behind the heavy grey clouds, and Clarke’s stomach flips. Fuck. Down, Griffin. You fucked one time; that doesn’t mean that you’re mates or anything. Jesus. They stare at each other for a long, awkward moment, and Clarke feels heat rising to her face, but it’s Lexa who breaks first. “I…um. Well. Let me…I’m sure you…”

“I’d love to get some food,” Clarke says, taking pity on her and cutting her adorable squirming short. Lexa nods, abruptly all business, and then holds out her hand as though she expects Clarke to take it. Before the omega even has time to react, she blushes even more furiously and snaps it back down, clasping it behind her back in a strict, military posture.

“Yes. Let me take you back to the village, and I will speak with Indra about finding you lunch, and a guide.”

Lexa’s steps are brisk as they head back up the path to the main area of Tondisi, and Clarke is grateful – the chill of the air and the exertion of keeping up with the Commander’s long strides can definitely explain away the flush in her cheeks. They don’t speak, and the silence hums with the tension between them, but it’s not an entirely unwelcome tension. Maybe, Clarke thinks, they don’t have to talk at all.

Indra’s there waiting, looking grumpy – but, Clarke thinks, slightly less grumpy than usual, so there’s that. She immediately starts speaking to – or, rather, at – Lexa in rapid-fire Trigedasleng, the only word of which Clarke catches is Heda. Lexa responds in kind, and Clarke's a bit miffed, but she figures that Lexa would tell her if anything they were saying concerned her. Still, she thinks, watching the ground go by under her boots, I definitely need to see about getting Octavia to teach me some of the Grounders’ language…even if it's just the dirty stuff.

She snorts to herself, then nearly runs right into Lexa's back because she hadn’t noticed they'd come to a stop. Clarke blushes when she realizes that both Lexa and Indra are staring at her – the beta sharply disapproving, the alpha merely quizzical – and also because of what she’d just been thinking about. To cover up her slip, she says cheerfully, “So, what’s for lunch?”

Indra huffs something at her in Trigedasleng that Clarke is 99% sure isn’t complimentary and then turns away, heading for the large underground meeting hall. Clarke looks back at Lexa, somewhat amused, to find the alpha glaring at her general’s retreating back. “I don’t think she likes me,” Clarke quips, hoping to lighten the mood, but Lexa’s frown just deepens.

“I should go,” she says abruptly. “There is much still to be done in order to prepare for the festival.”

Clarke pouts a bit. She’d been hoping Lexa would at least get lunch with her – it kind of sucks being the new kid in the dining hall, when you don’t know anyone and you don’t have anyone to sit with. But she’s determined not to let it show. “No rest for the Commander, huh?” she says casually. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Lexa nods distractedly, and Clarke can’t quite help the brief pang of disappointment she feels, although she refuses to interrogate it. No time for that now, Griffin. Right now let’s just focus on not doing something that’ll get you killed.

When she enters Tondisi’s main hall, she finds it humming with people moving briskly, grabbing a bite to eat quickly from the trestle tables pushed up against the wall, loaded down with meat and bread and fruit, before heading back out on official festival business. See? she tells herself. Everybody’s got something to do…except me, apparently. She manages to put together a decent lunch for herself and is just tucking in at a table by herself when the bench she’s sitting on shudders.

Clarke looks up to see the tallest Grounder she’s yet encountered dropping onto the bench next to her with a heavy thud. His face is heavily tattooed and bearded, his hair bedecked with intricate braids that somehow manage to make it look even wilder, and he has a massive bow slung across his back. Without looking at her, he says in heavily accented English, “I am Ryder. Heda sent me to keep watch over you in the village.”

Clarke nods, gulping down a piece of chicken without chewing it nearly long enough in her haste to respond, and spends the next several minutes attempting to avoid choking to death. At last she gasps out, “Nice to meet you.”

His only acknowledgement is a grunt, without looking up from vacuuming up his food with remarkable efficiency. After it becomes clear that Ryder’s not interested in any further conversation, Clarke returns to her meal, doing her best to not look utterly terrified.

There is something of an advantage to having the huge beta at her table, however: people are far less likely to shoot her dirty looks, or say rude things under their breath in Trigedasleng, in the presence of the Commander’s appointed bodyguard. Still, Clarke eats as fast as she can, eager to get out from under the weight of the eyes on her. Upon emerging back into the grey, chilly afternoon, Ryder at her heels, she somehow still feels warmer than she had in the meeting hall.

Ryder takes the lead then, informing her brusquely that the guide appointed by the Commander to show her around the village is waiting for them in the square. Clarke follows him closely, attempting to avoid looking at the bloodstained post set into the center of the marketplace, but she can’t help noticing the fresh red patches that must have come from Raven…and Gustus.

However, her mood is soon lifted by the arrival of their guide: another beta, but far less intimidating than Ryder. He’s roughly her age, maybe a little older, with shaggy brown hair that hangs in his eyes where it’s fallen out of the leather strip pulling it away from his face, and he’s dressed in simple clothes – no armor or leather, just a pair of patchy pants with black smudges all over them and, despite the day’s chill, a sleeveless shirt, exposing his impressively muscled arms. Unlike most of the people she’s interacted with, he doesn’t have tattoos, and the few braids he wears in his hair are very simple. And, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be her guide, his English leaves much to be desired.

But he’s got a friendly, open face, and Clarke takes to him immediately – in no small part because he’s the first Grounder who hasn’t bristled and growled at her on sight. It turns out that the reason for his discrepancies in appearance from the other Grounders is that he isn’t a warrior, he explains in halting English. However, he’s managed to pick up some of the language – which Grounders call Gonasleng – from the warriors he serves, as apprentice to the village’s blacksmith. And, he says sheepishly, after Clarke reminds him that he has yet to properly introduce himself, his name is Bran.

She can't help but laugh at that point. Bran’s sweet, and he has a good sense of humor and an infectious laugh, and if she were looking for someone, he wouldn't be the worst choice. But, she thinks with a pang, he reminds her a bit too strongly of Finn – his shaggy brown hair, his kind eyes and easy smile, his beta safeness – and the pain of losing him is still too near. And then there's the other complication – the alpha whose scent she can still catch, ghosting around her even though it’s been a week since they fucked, and days since they've done more than touch each other in the barest capacity. Lexa has been strictly professional – and yet even those light, brief moments of contact have sent shivers down Clarke’s spine, forcibly transporting her back to that night in the Commander’s tent.

She shivers now, thinking about it, and then blushes when Bran asks with mild concern, “You okay, Skayon?”

Clarke nods, darting him a smile. “I'm fine. Just cold.” He frowns, clearly not understanding, and she fakes another shiver, rubbing her arms vigorously. The beta’s face clears.

“Ah! Chili.” He mimics her gesture, and she nods, unable to keep from grinning at his exuberance. “Well, we walk fast, sha?”

He squires her around the village for the next hour or so, showing her its few points of interest but somehow managing to convey something funny or insightful about each one. Several times Clarke catches him looking at her with an appreciative eye, and a few of the things he says make her suspect that he’s flirting with her, but the language barrier makes it difficult for her to tell. When she attempts to call him out on it, jokingly, he just grins disarmingly and moves on.

Ultimately, they wind up at the smithy, where a massive, hulking man merely looks up and grunts at them when they walk in, and Bran introduces Clarke with exaggerated aplomb. This, Clarke surmises, is Bran's master, the smith, who looks generally unimpressed as his apprentice squires her around the shop, demonstrating the use of various pieces of equipment. As he works the bellows to heat the forge, and then goes to work vigorously beating the dents out of a piece of sheet metal to be used in repairing the roof of a house, Clarke can’t help but watch his muscular forearms and biceps ripple, and has to swallow to soothe her suddenly dry mouth.

Of course, she also can’t stop herself from comparing Bran’s masculine bulk to Lexa’s leaner, wirier frame. While the beta huffs and sweats with exertion, perspiration dripping through the tight crevices of his body in the heat of the forge, Lexa had handled Clarke’s entire weight effortlessly, barely making a sound that wasn’t one of pleasure. Bran’s clearly been toughened by years of hard work and heavy lifting in pursuit of his training, but Lexa’s strength has come from decades of training and fighting for her life. Despite the sweltering temperature in the smithy, Clarke catches herself shivering again as she remembers the way Lexa had picked her up and carried her to the bed, still imbedded inside of her, desperate fire in her eyes. She had been captivated by the sensation of the tightly controlled power rolling over her, above her, inside of her, and she shuts her eyes as her insides pulse with the memory…

“Skayon.” Ryder’s rough voice makes her eyes snap open, and she again finds herself thanking her surroundings for providing her with an excuse for the flush creeping over her skin. “The Commander will likely be done meeting Indra by now. She will escort you back to your camp so you may prepare for the festival tomorrow.”

Clarke gulps, nodding, and says with a jocularity she doesn’t feel, “Sounds good. Lead the way!”

She follows Ryder out of the hut, grateful for the way the fall air chills her overheated skin. To her surprise, however, warmth follows just at her back; when she looks over her shoulder it’s Bran. He gives her a charming smile and she returns it, a little nervously. Definitely flirting, she thinks. And the thing is, she'd probably welcome the attention unequivocally, if not for the still-healing scars of Finn, and the… complication that is Lexa.

Speaking of complicated…

Lexa waits at the edge of the village with Indra. As they approach, she's speaking quietly with her general, but when she hears them coming she looks up. She doesn't smile at Clarke, not exactly, but there's a certain lightening to Lexa’s eyes that makes her stomach flip uncomfortably. A moment later, however, the calm green gaze flicks over Clarke’s shoulder and narrows – only a little bit, but somehow it’s considerably darker and stormier.

The Commander strides up the path to meet them, saying to Ryder, “Eting ste ogud?”

The huge beta nods. “Sha, Heda.”

Lexa turns her attention back to Clarke then, and the omega has to bite her lip to keep from shuddering. While very little about Lexa’s expression or demeanor has changed, she’s suddenly exuding alpha pheromones, a charged, heavy scent like the air before a storm. It makes Clarke’s skin prickle dangerously, drawing her in even as it warns her away. She has to stop herself before she takes one step too close, crossing the unspoken boundary between propriety and property.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, clicking the last part of the word between her teeth, and the omega feels herself twitch. “I trust that you found your meal and your guide satisfactory?”

Even though she gives no indication, Clarke can tell that there's a second question lurking behind Lexa’s words. Now it’s Clarke’s turn to narrow her eyes, thinking, I know what you're up to, and I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction. “It was just fine,” she says, cheerfully ignoring the way Lexa’s scent is flickering across her skin as though attempting to seep into her pores, claiming her. “We had a good time. Bran was great.”

That gets a reaction, although it’s likely that Clarke’s the only one who notices: the alpha’s pheromones flare, and there's just the gentlest curl of her lip. “I am glad to hear that. However, it is time to return, if you are to reach your people’s settlement by nightfall. Ryder will lead your escort to ensure that you make the journey safely.”

Clarke’s blood is rising with every second she spends in close proximity to Lexa, and she’d like to say, Fuck your escort, where do you get off on telling me what to do? But she's not sure she wants to know the answer to that question, and in any case, she's not stupid. So she nods, feeling the tension between them drop sharply the moment she acquiesces, and then turns to Bran to make her farewells. He holds out his hand and she takes it, thinking he wants to shake, but to her shock he lifts it up and presses it gently to his lips, before retreating with a bow to Lexa and a smile for her. Clarke closes her eyes for a moment, thinking, Well, that’s it. He’s officially dead.

When she turns back to look at Lexa, the alpha’s expression is calmly murderous. She shoots her a warning look, but Lexa ignores it, the grouchy pheromones continuing to radiate from her as she jerks her head towards to the campground outside the village, where Lexa’s army is staying. Clarke follows, glaring at Lexa’s back. Hey asshole, if you've got a problem with me, just say it. Otherwise, calm the fuck down. It’s not like we’re fucking mated or something.

But if Lexa’s going to refuse to acknowledge that anything’s bothering her, Clarke can play this game just as well. They keep up a cheerful, polite, and entirely maddening conversation as they make their way to the encampment, and by the time they say their farewells, Clarke’s just about ready to scream with how utterly civil it all is.

She grumbles about it to herself on the ride back to Camp Jaha, Bellamy and Octavia squabbling quietly just behind her with Lincoln attempting to mediate, while Monroe and Lennox bring up the rear. This…whatever between them sucks, because it’s not how they were before, both before the sex and after. They’d fought and shouted at each other, they’d kissed each other breathless…but at least they’d been able to talk things through. Now they’ve got this thing between them, stealing the words out of Clarke’s mouth and replacing them with fucking small talk.

It begins to rain just as the lights of Camp Jaha begin to wink on in the distance, light and soaking and chilling her to the bone, and Clarke heaves a sigh. As incredible as fucking Lexa had been, and as much as she might like to do it again, she’s starting to think that sleeping with the Commander might have been one of the worst decisions she’s made since coming to the ground.

Chapter Text

By the next morning, brisk autumn winds have swept the rain clouds away, and the journey back to Tondisi is swift under a clear blue sky. Everyone in the delegation is talking and laughing excitedly, swapping stories of their encounters with the Grounders and rumors and ideas about what the feast will entail. She’s prepped them as well as she can, of course, and she’s fairly certain they’re not going to do anything that will accidentally get them killed, but her stomach is a thunderstorm of worry. She slept like shit, she’s barely eaten, and she’s going to see Lexa again today…along with her mom. Clarke squints up at the clear blue sky, and asks it to issue her a lightning bolt.

Please just kill me now.

But the weather holds, and the Tondisi campgrounds come into view as the sun is lowering over the hills. Clarke turns her horse’s nose in the direction of the sound of strange instruments scraping into tune and the low hum of excitement as hundreds of people mill about, waiting for sundown and the lighting of the torches that will mean the festival’s truly about to begin. Well, Clarke thinks as they get nearer, at least we aren’t late. So not everything is gonna go wrong today.

As dusk gathers and the Ark delegation begins its final approach, a horn sounds, harsh and strange and wild. A double line of torches flares to life, guiding their approach, and the noise of the crowd hushes. Clarke dismounts just before the entrance to the twin paths of flame, stomach fluttering. She knows there must be people beyond the fire, making the low susurrus she can hear just under torches’ crackle, but with the dimness of twilight and the sudden firelight she can’t make anyone out.

Until, that is, someone steps into the center of the path of flames. Their flickering brightness obscures the figure’s face, but Clarke knows who it is as surely as if they’re back in that bed together, resting in one another’s arms while Clarke traces the sharp lines of cheekbones that contrast beautifully with the soft curve of her skin… She shudders, then shakes herself briskly. Snap out of it, Griffin. You’re here to start the ceremony, not mate with her in public. Swallowing hard and locking her knees to keep them from shaking, she makes her way down the line of torches towards the tall, proud outline of Lexa.

As soon as she takes the first step down the path, Lexa begins to make her way forward to meet her. Their strides soon follow the rhythm of a drum, not loud but somehow Clarke feels it in her bones. The shared cadence seems to connect her with Lexa, reminding her of the way it had felt to be joined with her, moving in total sync, their bodies wrapped tighter and tighter around each other until it had been difficult to tell where they had ended and begun… She shuts down that line of thinking, but not before she feels a trickle of wetness begin to soak her panties. Dammit, Clarke, get a grip! she tells herself, but then they reach the middle of the line of torches and all hope of that flies out the window.

Lexa’s warpaint is as sharply drawn as Clarke’s ever seen it, serving to emphasize the fine lines of her face that are almost harsh in the flickering firelight. But the flames are dim in comparison to the green blaze of the Commander’s eyes, burning inexorably into Clarke’s. Then there's the way that the shadows bring out the lean, predatory lines of her body as she practically stalks forward, and Clarke feels anticipation coil in her belly. Whether it comes from fear or lust, she can't be sure, but she finds herself almost mesmerized as they draw even with one another. The whole effect combines to make Clarke go rather weak at the knees.

Lexa’s scent hits her like a freight train, all dominance and power and alpha, more powerful than she's smelled it since their first meeting in the tent – and that had been indoors. The fact that Lexa’s broadcasting this strongly is remarkable, especially considering that she's not the type of alpha to do so deliberately – her usual scent is fresh and clean, like she’s been training outdoors in the rain (not that Clarke's watched her do that multiple times or anything, she’s not that thirsty), and if anything she smells a lot lighter than most other alphas Clarke's met. The only other time she’s smelled this riled up is the night that Clarke had come to her, come on her fingers and her tongue, sucked her cock and then ridden it until Lexa exploded beautifully across Clarke’s stomach…

Oh. Shit.

But by the time Clarke’s realized just how much trouble she’s in, it’s already too late. Lexa’s giving her a look that, under the mask of warpaint and dominance, is full of questioning concern. While Clarke would love to say “No, absolutely not, I’m not going anywhere with you until we’ve figured out what’s going on with this, with us, whatever we are,” she knows that they don’t have the luxury. Swallowing hard, she shakes her head very slightly to ward off Lexa’s unspoken query, and makes herself look straight ahead, into the darkness behind the flickering of the torches.

Lexa holds out her arm, and after a moment Clarke realizes that she’s offering it for her to take. Oh, right. The dance. I still have to get through this bullshit somehow. But there’s nothing she can do except thread her own arm through the alpha’s, and attempt to ignore the heat she can feel radiating through Lexa’s jacket. As soon as she does, a towering bonfire bursts to life at the end of the row of torches, nearly blinding her. A roar goes up from the Grounders clustered just beyond the fire’s light, and then she and Lexa are half-skipping, half-running towards the flames, and Clarke’s able to pretend that the sweat trickling down her back to pool at the base of her spine is just due to the inferno she’s approaching.

Despite the horrible visions Clarke’s been conjuring all day about what might happen during the dance – she might forget one or two or all of her steps, she might trip and fall on the hem of Lexa’s coat or on absolutely nothing because she’s just that talented – she manages to make it through, almost entirely without incident. She and Lexa turn together around the bonfire in increasingly complicated patterns, joining arms and hands and twirling with measured steps to the hollow thump of drums, the high-pitched call of pipes, and the plaintive keen of fiddles. Despite it being primitive, the music somehow gets into her blood and sets it afire. Before long, her heart is racing in her chest, and her vision seems to have narrowed to the way the alpha’s eyes burn into hers, hot as the flames they dance around. Although the rest of the crowd has joined them by the time their first circuit is complete, for all that Clarke cares, they might as well not even exist. The world has fallen away, and all that matters is the few small places where her skin touches Lexa’s, the brush of their palms together.

And then it’s over. She and Lexa fall together into a breathless, giddy mess, and Clarke finds herself clinging to the alpha’s overcoat for balance, dizzy from the dance and the contrasting heat and chill of the bonfire and the night air and, of course, the alpha’s scent. It’s everywhere, despite the fact that there are plenty of other bodies pressing in close around them, laughing and clasping their arms and shoulders and saying things in Trigedasleng she should probably have learned but hasn’t yet, because she’s been busy learning other things. Like the way Lexa’s abs flex when Clarke’s teasing her cock with warm, wet kisses; the way her jaw clenches when she’s holding herself back from reaching out and taking Clarke; the sinuous coordination of all of her muscles when her self-control finally snaps…

The fiddles are tuning up again, but Clarke knows she’s not going to make it. “Air,” she gasps out, clawing at Lexa’s jacket in an effort to keep her feet while she frantically wheels around, searching for a gap in the crowd. “I need…”

“But Clarke, there’s…” Whatever there is will have to wait. There’s a slight opening between two of the revelers and she throws herself into it, only just barely catching herself in time to keep from falling on her face and probably being crushed by the tightly-packed crowd. She manages to stumble her way into a less-populated area, and realizes that she’s found the alcohol. Perfect.

A grim smile spreading across her face, Clarke marches up to the Grounder manning the table, who looks somewhat alarmed at her forceful strides. “Give me whatever you’ve got that’s strongest,” she orders, not caring whether he understands or not. When she mimes tipping back a drink, he nods, smiling, and snaps to it, pouring her a tankard of something from a big oak cask. That gesture, at least, appears to be universal.

The stuff from the cask is dark and bitter, but most of all it’s potent. Clarke’s first mug of it puts a smile on her face for everyone; her second has her laughing and joking with everyone who comes to join her at the table, touching her arm or her shoulder and saying lots of stuff that she doesn’t understand a word of, except Skayon. They might be telling her she did a terrible job and made herself the laughingstock of the festival, but she doesn’t care – she’s giddy with the goodwill flowing freely through the fairground, and the alcohol flowing freely through her veins.

Clarke signals for her third tankard, thinking that it might serve to finally get the taste of Lexa out of her nose and mouth, but a hand catches her elbow before she can catch the bartender’s attention. She turns, pout in place, preparing to receive a lecture from her mom or Kane or even, ridiculously, Bellamy, but instead it’s Bran, the blacksmith’s apprentice from the village, his grin wide and his teeth shining in the firelight. He’s so bronzed with work and with the outdoors that his skin seems to glow, and she feels her stomach flip a bit. Not entirely pleasantly, however, as she remembers the little display his friendliness had prompted the other day. And goddammit, she knows she should not encourage that sort of thing, should not find the alpha-ness of it so hot, but she does. She finds herself looking around half-nervously and half-eagerly for Lexa, even though she’s well aware that she’d smell the Commander ages before she caught sight of her.

“How many?” Bran asks her, and when she doesn’t answer, he holds up first one finger, then two. When she nods, he laughs. Shaking his head, he says, “Leom’s beer is…tofon. Maybe you try some food before you have noda?”

Clarke sticks her tongue out at him, but he just laughs harder. His laugh and his smile are infectious, however, and she allows him to lead her through the crowd towards the banquet tables laden with food, an answering grin stretching her mouth. He seems…nice, she thinks. Trustworthy, even; kind and sweet. With a bittersweet pang, she realizes that he reminds her of Finn. Not physically – Finn hadn’t had nearly his bulk – but in the way he feels and smells safe. Nothing like the dark, powerful, heady smell of alpha that seems to fill her nose and seep into her lungs and threaten to swallow her up, until she can scarcely smell or taste or breathe anything else – and she doesn’t want to…

Clarke is suddenly aware of a low rumble, like the vibrations of an oncoming freight train. Her heart simultaneously sinks and starts pounding harder before she’s even realized what’s making the sound, but then that strong, rich, dangerous scent that she’d just been ruminating on hits her nostrils and she lets out a quiet moan – thankfully covered by the music and the crowd, but still. In the state she’s in, Lexa will have surely sensed it somehow.

Bran’s not nearly as sensitive to the stink of fury and dominance and possession that another alpha would experience as a challenge, and that an omega is supposed to find arousing. An omega like Clarke. She resists the urge to put her hand over her nose, a gesture that’s considered mildly rude (as it implies that someone in the vicinity stinks), but that’s not quite why she’d be doing it. The smell is overpowering, but not in a bad way; in fact, it’s a little too good. She feels herself begin to trickle gently into her undershorts, and her heart sinks. Lexa will definitely have smelled that.

Bran stops short, finally smelling the furious alpha, and Clarke is distracted enough to nearly run right into his broad back. Stomach thrilling with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation, she peers around him, and finally locks eyes with Lexa. Only this isn’t Lexa, she realizes all of a sudden; this is the Commander.

Although Bran’s beta status means that he doesn’t feel the wave of pheromones flooding from the alpha nearly as strongly as another alpha might, it’s potent enough that he’s crouched low to the ground in short order, whimpering and showing his neck. Clarke is struggling against another reaction entirely. You want her to fuck you, her inner omega whispers, keening against the restraints of Clarke’s self-control. You want her to take you. You want her to throw you to the ground or bend you over a table, rip off your pants, and show everyone that you’re hers…

“Oh no you don’t,” Clarke mutters to herself, though it comes out like more of a whine. With every breath Lexa takes, her snarls are growing louder, and with each one that comes ripping out of her chest Clarke gets just a little bit wetter. Given that this little tableau has been going on for maybe thirty seconds now, that means she’s just about drenched. Well, that’s great. Yet another pair of underwear ruined. I should keep a tally and start charging the Commander for them.

But while she’s managed thus far to avoid dropping to her hands and knees and presenting, her self-control is flaying rapidly. Lexa is slowly advancing, the wave of alpha pheromones bearing down on her even more powerfully, her snarls reverberating so loudly that they’re nearly making Clarke’s teeth rattle in her head. She knows that this is only going to end one of two ways: with Lexa fighting, possibly even killing Bran for daring to touch the Commander’s omega, or with Clarke being taken vigorously and thoroughly somewhere entirely too public… And while her omega is positively dripping at the thought of either one, Bran is too nice of a person to deserve that, and her mother is at this festival. There is no way she’s going to let herself get caught in flagrante delicto with the Commander, bent over and taking her cock to the hilt, gasping at the delicious stretch…

“That’s enough.” To her own surprise, the words burst out of Clarke’s lips in a snarl. The wave of pheromones pouring at her pulls back momentarily, and Lexa blinks, looking suddenly owlish under her warpaint. A second later it comes rushing back, but that second is enough for Clarke to shore up the last dregs of her self-control. Pushing past Brant’s kneeling form, she snatches the Commander’s hand in a firm grip and begins towing her in the direction of her own tent. Or at least, what she thinks is the direction of her tent…honestly, she has no fucking idea. All she knows is that she needs to get herself and Lexa to somewhere at least minimally private, so that they can prevent absolutely everyone knowing that the Princess and the Commander are fucking.

While originally there had been some resistance against her arm, it had been minimal – attributable to Lexa’s confusion at what Clarke was doing, where Clarke was taking her. Now, however, there isn’t any, something Clarke realizes with no small satisfaction. The pheromones of an alpha in a full dominance display are incredibly powerful, especially from such a strong alpha as Lexa; but the scent of an omega who knows what she wants is nearly irresistible. She can still hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head, warning her that she shouldn't be rewarding an alpha for this kind of behavior, but that voice gets smaller and smaller with every step they take away from civilization. At this point, Clarke’s desire for Lexa has gone from being a want to being a need. If she doesn’t fuck the Commander senseless at some point in the very near future, she’s going to scream or explode or both.

Her frustration rises steadily as they tromp through the forest, the lights of the village getting smaller and dimmer with each step they take. At no point, however, does she see the tent. It’s not small – in fact, it’s the largest tent in the encampment, and it’s hard to miss the gigantic fucking encampment of a gigantic fucking army – and she can’t understand why they haven’t reached it by now. Unless, of course, she’s been leading them the completely wrong way and dammit, why hasn’t Lexa taken control by now? It’s her camp and her village, and these are her woods; she knows her way around much better than Clarke does and is it too much to ask that she not have to do everything around here…?

She whirls, ready to say as much to the Commander, and demand that she be brought somewhere she can be thoroughly fucked in private, but the words die in her mouth when she catches sight of the alpha’s face. Even without the moonlight turning her cheekbones into twin knife blades, and accentuating the firm, strong line of her jaw, Clarke still suspects Lexa’s beauty would leave her speechless. There's still plenty of arousal there, enough to make Clarke quiver, but there's also chagrin, contrition, and an aching openness that makes Clarke’s heart sting in unexpected but pleasant ways. It's frightening, but it's the contradiction that is Lexa – the fearsome, ferocious alpha, the Commander, juxtaposed with the shy, sweet, vulnerable girl. For all that she knows Lexa’s training means she could snap Clarke like a twig if she so chose, there's a part of her that's worried that she, Clarke, will break Lexa if she pushes her too hard. And so, despite the way her omega’s keening to be released, she forces herself to pause, to take a literal and figurative step back.

“Clarke…” Lexa says, her voice rough with need but her face still suggesting that she feels lost, even in woods she's likely known her whole life. She holds out her hand, but when Clarke doesn't immediately move to take it she starts to let it drop, a slight blush darkening her features under the moon’s wash. Before it can fully fall back to Lexa’s side, however, Clarke reaches out and snatches it up, stepping in close and pressing herself up against her neck. But while her omega yearns to tilt her head up and breathe in the alpha’s scent deeply, she knows that's not what Lexa needs. Instead, she tips her own head back, exposing the hollow of her throat and the scent glands beneath her chin.

There's a sharp intake of breath and then all of a sudden Lexa’s there, pressing her lips against the sensitive skin of Clarke’s pulse point and nosing up under her chin. Clarke holds herself very still and wills her scent to become soothing, even though the fact that their bodies are now pressed firmly together means that her arousal has increased tenfold. They stand there for a few moments, Lexa just breathing her in, Clarke fighting the urge to grind against the hardness she can feel pressing at her thigh. Just when she’s about to give up, however, Lexa beats her to the punch. The first thrust of her hips backs Clarke up against a tree – when was there a tree conveniently just behind her ass? – and the second has her panting.

At this point, all rational thought has left her head. The only thing she can do is gasp, “Fuck, Lexa – fuck!” She has no idea what else there is to say, except to add one more word: me. Fuck me. Oh god, Lexa, fuck me… And the alpha certainly seems determined to do so, despite the barriers of clothing between them – which seem more insubstantial by the second, with the way she can feel the throbbing pulse of Lexa’s cock as it grinds up against her own heated sex.

Clarke’s about two seconds away from giving in and letting Lexa dry-hump her until one or both of them comes embarrassingly in their pants, but then she’s vigorously assaulted by the sense-memory of the hot stretch of Lexa’s cock inside her, splitting her open in the best of ways; how it had twitched and throbbed relentlessly, signaling her readiness…and then Clarke’s feeling of emptiness as she’d pulled out at the last second, the hot splashes of come she’d expected to fill her deepest places unfurling instead on her belly and thighs. She moans at the thought, but her eyes narrow. There’s no way in hell she’s letting that happen again. Lexa’s orgasm is going to be hers, one way or another.

With all of the strength and willpower left within her, Clarke shoves the alpha away from her, holding out her hands to prevent Lexa from simply coming right back for more (and coming where she shouldn’t). The Commander’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, as if she can’t quite believe that Clarke dared to shove her; dared to shove Lexa, the Commander of the Twelve Clans, Alpha of All Packs and whatever other titles Clarke’s heard bestowed upon her that certainly don’t make her shiver a little every time she hears them. But! That’s beside the point. Clarke answers Lexa’s snarl with one of her own, and then, before the alpha can regain her bearings, grips Lexa’s shoulders and whirls her around so that she’s the one with her back to the tree.

That elicits a much louder snarl, and Lexa’s eyes burn. The smell of dominance hangs in the air like smoke from the bonfire, and Clarke’s knees quiver as her body urges her to bend down, to submit, to let the alpha take her however she likes. She nearly stiffens them to keep her hard-won control – but then an idea strikes her, and she allows herself to sink to the ground. She keeps her eyes locked with Lexa’s as she does so, and watches as they go wide and dark.

“You need to be quiet,” Clarke rasps. “Anyone could find us here, so I don’t care what you have to do – bite off your own finger if you need to, but when you come tonight, it’s gonna be dead fucking silent – and it’s all gonna be inside me. Do you understand?”

Lexa’s already nodding before she’s even finished her sentence. It’s the go-ahead her omega’s been craving since her eyes first met the alpha’s kohl-darkened ones at twilight, before the bonfire began. Her fingers fly over Lexa’s laces and then she’s drawing the Commander from her pants, hard and dripping and throbbing in her hand and good god if her mouth doesn’t just start watering right there. She squeezes the alpha’s shaft and receives a growl; gives it a long, slow, torturous stroke and is rewarded with a groan, and the sight of Lexa’s head tipped back to the sky, every muscle in her neck drawn exquisitely taught as she fights off what’s sure to be a truly spectacular orgasm.

When her chin drops again, her look is pleading. Clarke raises an eyebrow, simultaneously asking Are you ready? and Are you going to play by my rules? But a flash of defiance crosses Lexa’s face, and she slides her hand into Clarke’s hair, gently but inexorably pulling her forward. The omega’s fairly certain she’s got enough left in her to resist – but at this point, why wait? Every part of her is crying out to taste the Commander’s release, and she’ll only be prolonging her own torment.

So she allows Lexa to draw her forward, and only gives her one teasing lick before taking the alpha’s cock into her mouth. She’s instantly overwhelmed by the taste – sweetness with just the right mixture of salt, surprisingly light and clean for just how strongly the alpha’s scent comes through. She suckles the head for a few moments, lashing her tongue along the sensitive underside to make Lexa’s cock pulse and throb, and then slipping through the slit for more of the delicious flavor.

But Lexa’s been keyed up all night, and from the way she’s shivering against the tree and twitching in Clarke’s mouth, she’s not going to last long. So Clarke sets to work, sliding her mouth forward to take an inch or two of the Commander’s shaft into her mouth, then pulling back to tease the head again. Lexa’s hands flex warningly in her hair, as though she’d like to pull Clarke forward, but all it takes is a firm look from the omega to put paid to that nonsense. Patience. If you can be patient for a minute, you’ll get what you need. With each bob of her head she takes another inch, and then another, until her entire mouth is full of alpha cock. Then she has to take a second to breathe, deeply, preparing herself – even as her own inner walls twitch jealously – before relaxing her throat to take more. Before long, she’s taken every hard, throbbing inch, and her lips are kissing the base.

Her only warning of what’s about to happen is a low, helpless groan, and Lexa’s fingers tightening almost painfully in her hair. And then the alpha’s cascading down her throat, pulse after pulse of her release spilling into Clarke’s belly. She feels an answering tide of wetness seep from within her in anticipation of taking that flood inside of her pussy, but right now it’s all she can do to keep swallowing, unwilling to let even a drop escape her mouth.

It feels like a never-ending tide, wave after wave pulsing down her throat, but eventually it tapers off. Clarke lets out a low whine, but Lexa slumps back against the tree, panting, and she’s forced to admit defeat. Except her own need hasn’t diminished, only heightened, and while that might have been one of the better blowjobs she’s ever given in her life, that had better not be it for Lexa tonight. When she lets the alpha’s cock slide out of her mouth, however, she’s pleased to find her hard and ready as ever. I guess I can give her a couple of seconds to recover, Clarke thinks, more than a little smugly. I did just make her come about half a gallon…

But Lexa, it seems, has other ideas. Taking one tottering step forward, she reaches out to brush a little bit of her release from the corner of Clarke’s lips – and gasps sharply when Clarke catches hold of her thumb with her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue along the calloused digit until there’s no way there’s anything left. After shaking herself vigorously, however, the alpha slides her thumb under Clarke’s chin and draws her slowly to her feet. With one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder, she’s treating Clarke rather more gently than the omega would like – are we gonna fuck, or are we gonna waltz? she thinks impatiently.

A moment later, she has her answer. All the gentleness goes out of Lexa’s grip as she whirls them around again. Clarke’s back slams up against the rough bark of the tree, nearly hard enough to knock the wind out of her, but a second later she doesn’t care. The long line of Lexa’s body is pressed up against hers, and her mouth is on Clarke’s, hot and hard and wonderful, fierce and biting yet gentle as well, clearly mindful of her puffy, well-used lips. Lexa’s tongue slips between Clarke’s teeth, exploring, flicking against her upper incisors before withdrawing. Clarke moans, protesting the loss…but then Lexa’s hands are on her hips, sliding around to squeeze her ass, and then further down, taking a firm grip on her thighs and all of a sudden she’s in the air. The alpha’s hands slide forward, urging Clarke to wrap her legs around Lexa’s waist, and the omega eagerly obeys.

She’s rewarded with Lexa’s mouth again, harder this time, nipping at her lips and her tongue as it darts between them, because she wants to taste Lexa too… But then her brain short-circuits, because she feels a hand dip down below the waistband of her shorts – when had Lexa even unbuttoned her pants? – and slide along her slit, testing the wetness within. Lexa needn’t have bothered – Clarke’s fairly certain that she’s not only ruined her underwear, but started dripping through her pants as well. Lexa’s torturous fingers circle her clit once, twice, and Clarke’s already gasping hoarsely into the heat of her lover’s mouth. Just a little bit more pressure and stimulation, and she’ll be hurled into a swift, sharp release…but before she can get there, Lexa’s fingers withdraw.

Clarke whines miserably, hips jerking forward in a futile attempt to recapture the sensations that seem to have made sparks travel through her body, but Lexa’s muscles are adamant. All she can do is grind uselessly against the alpha’s abdomen, desperate for the stimulation even though she knows it’ll do little more than fan the flames. But she’s so wet and so ready for it that she can’t help herself. Her inner omega has almost entirely taken over. She has no idea what Lexa’s waiting for until the alpha starts kissing down her neck, although as she gets closer and closer to Clarke’s pulse point, she begins punctuating it with little nips. When Lexa reaches her destination, sudden realization floods the omega’s body, and with a full-throated groan, she tips her head back.

Lexa lets out a snarl of triumph before sinking her teeth into skin just above the wild flutter of Clarke’s pulse, and a wave of desire and submission sweeps through Clarke, the two needs powerfully entwined. She can’t think of anything she wants more than to feel Lexa stretching her, filling her, moving inside of her, but right now she’s putty in the alpha’s hands, to do with as she pleases. This isn’t something she’s ever experienced before, especially with other alphas that she’s been with…but despite the fact that they’re in the forest at night, fucking up against a tree where anyone might just come them, there’s something in Lexa’s scent, in the solid press of her body against Clarke’s own, that makes her feel as though nothing can go wrong. And if it does, Lexa will be there, standing with her, fighting for her, protecting her.

Seemingly satisfied with Clarke’s display of submission, Lexa leaves off sucking at her neck with a possessive growl, and lets Clarke’s legs drop to the ground. The omega whines, mourning the loss of Lexa’s hardness pressed up against her, but it’s only momentary – with a swift, sharp tug, Lexa has divested her of both her pants and her undershorts. She only has time to gasp before Lexa’s hands are on her thighs again, boosting her into the air and up against the tree again. This time Clarke’s ready for it, moving to lock her ankles behind Lexa’s back before the alpha even has time to urge her – and then they both pause, passing the same heavy gasps back and forth.

Lexa’s cock is pressing up against the length of Clarke’s soaking slit. Clarke can feel the alpha twitching against her, pounding with unreleased pressure, and she clenches just thinking about the way it’ll feel, finally bursting free inside of her. She knows that if she tilts her hips just a little bit, the head will start sliding into her, and with just how wet she is she can’t imagine how the rest won’t immediately follow. But the sudden wildness of Lexa’s eyes, juxtaposed with the sureness of her grip, makes her pause, waiting for the alpha to be ready.

And she can feel it too – a tension in the air between them, in the way their bodies fit perfectly together, better than anyone Clarke’s ever been with if she’s being honest. It’s hard to understand why it should be here, of all places, and Lexa, of all people, with whom Clarke seems to have found this symmetry, but it’s inescapable, even though it makes her tremble, and undeniable, even though she would dearly love to. But the powerful pull she’d felt during the first night they’d spent together wasn’t a fluke, wasn’t just chemistry or hormones or pent-up lust. There’s something here, and it terrifies Clarke. The only reason she doesn’t beg Lexa to put her down right now and run away is because she can see that something shining in the Commander’s eyes as well, and can tell that Lexa’s just as scared as she is.

The alpha licks her lips, seemingly gathering her courage, then presses a kiss to Clarke’s mouth – a kiss, but also a question. “Yes,” Clarke whispers into the fluid glide of Lexa’s lips. “Yes, Lexa, please –”

Then Lexa’s slowly pressing into her, splitting her open, and all of the omega’s breath leaves her in a rush. Lexa’s eyes are locked with hers as she continues, searching for the barest hint of discomfort, but there’s also determination in them. She’ll keep going until Clarke winces or tells her to stop. Clarke takes deep breaths, willing herself to relax, to accept the firm, wide head of the cock into herself, desperate not to lose the burning stretch, desperate to feel utterly, completely full.

Lexa pulls her hips back just a bit, then pushes forward again, and with one short, firm thrust, the head of her cock pops inside of Clarke’s tight, dripping opening. The omega tips her head back and screams silently into the sky, but she doesn’t give herself long to adjust – she’s too ready for this, and she needs Lexa all the way inside of her, bottoming out and filling her up. So she drops her chin again, meets Lexa’s wide, desperate eyes, and gives her a sharp nod.

The alpha thrusts again, and a little more of her thick shaft slips into Clarke’s tight channel. Clarke has to lean forward and bite down on the collar of Lexa’s coat to stop herself from keening. She’s not sure how she could have forgotten just how big Lexa is, but she’s eager for every inch. And the Commander’s more than happy to give it to her – a few more swift thrusts and she’s sheathed all the way inside of Clarke’s cunt, the tip of her cock grazing the omega’s cervix. Her entire length is throbbing with need as Clarke flutters around her, struggling to adjust to the new fullness, but except for some violent trembling, the rest of Lexa remains utterly still.

Clarke would be touched by the consideration if she weren’t so desperate to be taken, and she feels a little bit guilty when she shifts her bite to the side of the alpha’s neck. All of that guilt disappears when Lexa snarls – and good god, she hadn’t thought she could get any wetter, but that noise coming out of Lexa proves her wrong – and then thrusts brutally into her. Clarke lets go of her bite to meet the alpha’s burning gaze, and then slowly squeezes down around Lexa’s shaft in answer to the unasked question: yes, this is what I want. Fuck me, use me, fill me…

She hadn’t realized she was actually saying those words until they rip from her throat in a scream. Lexa’s set a furious pace, pounding into Clarke, and the only thing that prevents it from being painful is just how fucking wet she is, how much she needs this. Every powerful thrust has the omega’s back scraping harshly against the bark of the tree behind her, but she can’t be bothered to notice. All she cares about is that Lexa’s finally in her, finally filling her, finally giving her what she needs. She’s incapable of following her own directives to be quiet – Lexa has her screaming hoarsely in short order, one hand clawing at Lexa’s shoulder and the other tangled in her braided mane. At this point anyone at all could come across them – Bran, Bellamy, her mom – and she wouldn’t care. Lexa’s here with her, inside of her, filling her up and using her so perfectly that they could exclaim in disgust or stand there and watch, and she wouldn’t be able to muster even half a shit to give.

But the downside to having been so keyed up for so long is that she can feel her orgasm approaching like a breaker, preparing to crash down on her. She struggles to hold it off, not wanting this feeling to ever end, the feeling of this powerful alpha pumping into her, all of her considerable strength focused on driving Clarke’s pleasure to greater and greater heights. She tries to warn Lexa about what’s coming, but the only things that come out of her mouth are gasps and moans. But somehow, shining through the darkness of need and lust clouding Lexa’s eyes, there’s understanding. “Let go,” she murmurs, almost tenderly even as she continues pounding brutally into Clarke’s trembling channel. “Let go…”

Clarke comes with a scream, her loudest yet, inner walls squeezing down around Lexa’s thick shaft, and wetness courses out of her around the base of the alpha’s cock. Both of their clothes are certainly ruined, but Clarke can’t even bring herself to think about that, much less care. She’s completely overtaken by the pleasure coursing through her. And Lexa keeps pumping into her as she flutters and shivers, drawing her orgasm out beyond what she’d even thought possible. But even through the haze of her release, she can feel pressure pounding within her, matched by the throb of Lexa’s cock. She’s not going to be fully content until she’s received Lexa’s own release, pouring into her in heavy streams.

And so she forces herself to focus long enough to release her death-grip on the alpha’s hair, and stroke her trembling thumb along Lexa’s tense jawline almost tenderly. “You too,” she rasps, trying to sound open and welcoming, not desperate and needy. “I want to feel you come too. Want you to fill me…”

With a groan, Lexa does. One final thrust of her hips, the hardest of all, sheathing herself inside of Clarke all the way to the base, and then the pressure racing along her shaft finally finds an outlet. Hot jets of come pour into Clarke’s cunt, which eagerly accepts it, prolonging her own orgasm, or possibly even triggering another. Clarke’s inner walls flutter and squeeze around Lexa’s length, eager to milk as much as possible out of the alpha’s straining member. Lexa obliges, her release filling Clarke so completely that soon a tide of their shared release is flooding out of the omega’s cunt. Clarke whines, wishing suddenly for a knot to keep it all inside of her, if only for a little longer – but if they mate, that won’t be for some time now, no matter much Lexa’s been acting like she’s in rut. Still, she shivers a bit at the thought, caught between delicious anticipation and confused worry that she’s already considering it. Mating with someone – allowing them to help you through your heat – is incredibly intimate; your bodies will come together over and over again, entwined for hours at a time, tied…

Clarke gives another shudder, clenching around Lexa’s cock, and the alpha’s hips rock into Clarke’s one final time before she lets out a ragged gasp and then falls forward, trapping the omega against the tree. Her grip on Clarke’s thighs loosens, and the omega relaxes her hold on Lexa’s waist, letting her legs fall to the ground. She’s grateful for the firm weight of Lexa’s body pressing her to the tree, both for its warm comfort and because she’s not sure that her shaky limbs would hold her on their own. They're both content, for a time, to allow themselves to simply breathe each other in, the scent of their sex and sweat and submission.

But there's something else, something that goes beyond all of that, something uniquely Lexa. Clarke’s overheated brain struggles to discern what it is, until it comes to her all of a sudden with a jolt: home. She can't explain why, or how, this could have happened to suddenly, especially with someone who literally lived on a different planet not even a month ago, but once she's come to the realization she can't dislodge it. Bran had smelled like safety, but Lexa smells like home.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating, like rushing a million miles an hour through the dark sky, and Clarke feels abruptly dizzy. Letting her head loll back against the coarse bark of the pine, she tries to focus on the glitter of the moonlight through the canopy, the slow turn of the stars overhead. But her legs have yet to stop trembling, and while Lexa’s body is warm and comforting, draped over hers, it’s also heavy. Unless the two of them want to wind up in a heap on the forest floor, they're going to need to move.

“Lexa,” she murmurs, stroking the alpha’s hair to get her attention. When all she receives is a grumpy rumble, she says her name again, more loudly – but she can't help the smile that spreads across her face. Oh fuck. Careful, Griffin. You're in some deep shit. It takes another minute of careful pushing on Lexa’s shoulders and gentle tugging on her hair before the Commander raises her head. When she sees the cranky, sleepy look on Lexa’s face, she can't help but laugh. The alpha attempts to darken her glare, but Clarke just laughs harder, and soon it softens into a sleepy smile.

“We should probably get going,” Clarke says, after she's managed to calm herself. “Unless you’re planning on us sleeping here…” Lexa’s already moving before she finishes her sentence, and her voice trails off into a groan as Lexa slides out of her, releasing a tide of their shared wetness. Clarke shudders, and while a little bit of it is in disgust at their combined filthiness, a lot more is on account of the way her inner walls clench emptily. She feels need sparking to life in her belly again, a need to have that fullness back inside of her, and so she hurries to pull on her ruined underwear and pants, knowing that if she doesn’t make it more difficult for herself she might just wind up hopping right back on Lexa’s cock and riding her until morning. And that’s what I intend to do…just not here.

Lexa’s standing there, looking a little bit lost and forlorn at the sudden lack of bare skin on display, and Clarke grins. Reaching forward, she gently tucks the alpha’s cock back into her pants, even though she’ll likely have shifted enough pretty soon that it won’t be necessary. But just before doing up the Commander’s laces, she gives the shaft a sneaky squeeze, making Lexa jump. “Don’t go anywhere,” she murmurs into the alpha’s ear, eliciting a sharp gasp. “Once we get back to your tent, I’ve got plans for you…”