The tap-tap-tap of Clarke’s stilettos echo around the empty hallways, the simmering rage she felt since late last night when the papers were delivered fueling her stride. She goes deep into the belly of the building, old tile and smell of cleaner from the night crew her only companions.
It’s early. Way earlier than it should be, but she knows she won’t be alone when she reaches her destination.
When she turns into the long corridor she knows so well, it’s dark save for one lone light at the end. Her pace picks up and her blood boils as she approaches, the door wide open and soft keystrokes coming from inside.
Clarke throws the file on the desk, nearly knocking over the mug of steaming coffee that sits next to the computer.
“What the hell is this?”
She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge anything amiss. Simply keeps typing, eyes on the screen. Face lit in soft lamplight.
“Good morning to you, too, Clarke. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Cut the crap, Lexa. What is this?”
Lexa finally looks up, her hair down and relaxed over one shoulder. Not pulled back into the bun she usually wears in court. Her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her face stoic and guarded as usual.
“It’s a plea deal. I thought you’d be familiar with them, seeing as how you’re a defense attorney.”
“ That’s a plea deal? Ha, good one, Lexa.”
“That is what the DA and I felt was reasonable considering the charges.” Lexa doesn’t look upset at the disruption to her morning. If anything, she looks bored.
“Oh fuck off, that’s a shit deal and you know it.” Clarke huffs, her fingers tingling.
“Considering the charges, I would say it’s quite fair.”
“Fair? He’s a first time offender, Lexa. You want him to plead out for six years with no parole?”
“It’s second degree arson, Clarke.”
“He’s barely eighteen, Lexa.”
Lexa’s eyes flash with something then. She stands from her chair and hands the file back to Clarke, a warning clear on her face. “I suppose you’ll have to discuss this with your client. Take it or don’t, he’ll still see time.” She shrugs and it pokes at Clarke’s pride.
“Is there something you’re seeing that I’m not in the discovery you sent over? There’s no clear evidence of his involvement.”
Lexa sighs and her eyes lift to the ceiling for just a brief second. “It’s early, Clarke. This isn’t my only case. Could we perhaps discuss this at the scheduled hearing for today?”
Clarke snatches the file back from Lexa’s hand. “Sure, Lexa. We’ll go with your schedule and your convenience like we always do. Maybe next time don’t be such a coward and send over shit plea deals after nine at night.” She spits her anger and again, Lexa remains unfazed.
“I knew you’d still be at the office. Don’t I get points for that? It was either late at night or right before the hearing. And I know how much you loved that last time. Take your pick, Griffin.”
Clarke grumbles and shoves the file in her bag, “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
She leaves before Lexa can answer, taking the last word with her out the door. When she turns at the end of the corridor, she catches Lexa taking a deep breath at her desk, running hands through her long wavy hair.
It flits inside of her, the feeling of landing a punch.
“Your Honor, how can I proceed if the defense insists on objecting to every question I have?”
The judge looks at them both with a disapproving glare from behind the bench. Clarke would feel ashamed at her antics if it was anyone else across the aisle, but getting under Lexa’s skin always gives her a thrill.
“You know as well as I do that Miss Griffin’s tactics are just a piece of gamesmanship, ADA Woods. You should also know from experience how to rise above.”
Clarke can hear Lexa’s jaw grind next to her.
Nope, no regrets at all.
“Yes, your Honor,” Lexa bites out, annoyance practically wafting off of her. Clarke can see her clenched fists down at her sides.
“As for you, Miss Griffin, try not to waste the Court’s time. You should also know from experience how to rise above.”
And, well, she wasn’t expecting that.
She nods and ignores the way Lexa puffs up a bit next to her.
“You may return to your seats and we will return to our hearing.”
“Yes, Judge.” They both respond in unison, returning back to their tables. Clarke moves her notes around and ignores the look her client gives her.
Lexa continues with her questioning of the expert witness and Clarke tries to bite her tongue. She studies her notes, keyed in to everything that comes out of Lexa’s mouth.
“You know,” her client leans over, his voice low and playful. “That was kinda hot.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth right now. I’m the last thing that stands between you and spending your twenties in a jail cell with three other dudes.” She glares at him, leaving no room for argument. Her stomach churning with disgust.
He holds his hands up in defeat and sits back, smarmy smile on his face and his eyes roving over Lexa’s lean form as she stands before the table talking to the witness.
Clarke kicks him in the shin. He grumbles but turns his eyes down to the table again.
And Clarke can’t help it if she notices just how Lexa’s pants seem to hug her frame just right. And, yeah okay, sure Clarke thought she was hot the first time she passed Lexa stalking through the halls of the courthouse years ago. She can’t deny that.
But that attraction was quickly replaced by annoyance and animosity and rancor.
Lexa, Lexa has been a thorn in her side from day one. Clarke tries to focus on that.
And yet, her eyes keep drifting.
She shakes her head, blushing and annoyed with herself and feeling no better than her gross client. Instead of wallow in it, she stands and yells. “Objection, outside the scope!”
The distraction more for her pride than anything else.
Lexa throws her hands in the air and spins around with fire in her eyes, and it’s enough to pull her back in the game.
The bar is crowded and loud, just the way she likes it. She spots Octavia at the bar and pushes her way through the Friday group, the attorneys she usually sees so buttoned up as they roam around the courthouse in various states of dress and drunkenness.
And fuck does Clarke need a drink today.
“Hey, O.” She greets Octavia with a wan smile and a sigh, setting her bag down on the footrest under the bar and sliding onto the stool as delicately as her skirt will allow. “Did you order?”
“Yes, Griffin. Your burger still bleeding will be up shortly.” Octavia slides her a shot and flags the bartender over. “I figured you’d need this after your texts today.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite human?”
“Once or twice,” Octavia smirks and raises her shot up to Clarke’s in cheers before sliding it down. The burn stings the back of Clarke’s throat, but it feels good after the long week.
“How was your day at the office?”
“Rough. Why didn’t anyone tell me working full-time and going to law school at night would be this hard?”
“No idea,” Clarke laughs and pats Octavia on the shoulder. “You can always take fewer hours…”
“Nah, I don’t want to leave you guys hanging. Besides, it would make me look weak and I love running circles around those bitches in class who literally don’t do anything but study.”
Clarke snorts, “Yeah, plus then you wouldn’t get to ogle the hot messenger three times a day either…”
“Oh, you did not just throw my crush on Lincoln back in my face!” Octavia shoves her hard in the shoulder and moves her a few inches to the right.
Just enough for her to see who walks in the door with a small group of people.
Her stomach sinks. “Oh fuck. Just what I needed today,” Clarke murmurs, but Octavia hears it anyway.
“What?” She looks around the crowded bar. “Oh,” she laughs. “You mean, you didn’t want to see Woods tonight while you’re licking your wounds. The ones she inflicted, might I add.”
“Okay, first of all, uncalled for. Secondly, no I did not.” Clarke takes a long swig of her beer and grimaces at the way the fizz cuts down her throat.
It’s at that exact moment that Lexa’s eyes find hers across the long bar. Her face softens for a second, for a blink, before her mask is pulled back down and she’s distracted by the tall man next to her talking animatedly while they wait for the bartender.
“Did that kid really make that gross comment?”
“He sure did, fucking punk.”
Octavia sighs, “Remind me again why we want to defend the accused with every fiber in our bodies?”
“You know, sometimes I really don’t know, Blake.”
Octavia disappears with a lame apology about schoolwork before dinner even arrives, smirking at her phone and throwing her bag over her shoulder. Clarke would be mad if she didn’t see the way Octavia perked up as she walked away. How her step seemed downright giddy out the door.
Her burger will taste just as good alone as it does with company.
She’s about to order another drink when someone moves the newly vacated stool away and stands quietly beside her. Clarke would know that presence anywhere.
“Can I help you?”
“Just repaying the favor of your lovely visit this morning.” Lexa’s voice is calm, collected. Her shirtsleeves are rolled back up and Clarke doesn’t miss the way her forearms flex against the wood of the bar, how the fancy watch she wears catches the light.
“Ah, well,” Clarke raises her half empty beer in cheers and takes another sip.
Lexa orders a round of shots from the bartender and doesn’t break the silence again. Not until Harper sets the shots down in front of them and walks away.
Lexa slides one towards Clarke.
Clarke looks up, feeling her own brow furrow in confusion.
This, this is new.
Does Lexa think she can be calmed with a drink? Or is it her odd way of rubbing her victory in? With that air about her that follows her around. Like she's always on the ball. Always right.
Lexa shrugs, a small hint of a smile on her face. Clarke wonders if it’s truly there or a trick of the lighting.
“You did a good job today, you deserve a drink.”
“I did good today? I thought you were annoyed with my gamesmanship?”
“Well, I was. Way to be mature, Griffin.” Her lips tilt up in that hint of a smile again. “But, then you got your head in the game.”
“Yeah, well… that’s the job, isn’t it?”
Lexa nods, “It was a hard case.”
Clarke scoffs, “It wasn’t until you pulled that argument out of your ass. How’d you even get there, Woods?”
Now Lexa truly does smirk, her eyes gleam. “Well, if I told you my secrets, I’d have to kill you.”
“Big words coming from an ADA…”
“I know people,” Lexa says coolly, downing her shot before Clarke can even register the statement.
When she does, a laugh sounds from her mouth. Unbidden and free and entirely without permission.
Lexa’s eyes light up again.
“Wow, who knew you had a sense of humor?”
“Oh, there’s plenty you don’t know about me.” Her words drip with something. Something Clarke tries to ignore.
She shifts and returns to her beer, clearing her throat.
“Well, you were right in any case. He saw jail time.”
“Are you holding up okay?”
And her voice is quiet enough to make Clarke feel it. The remorse that hangs around her neck with a loss. Even one in a case as tough as this one, with the evidence, mounted against them.
“Yeah. I still feel bad, he’s a kid. A gross, smarmy asshole, but still a kid.”
Lexa’s eyebrow quirks and she studies Clarke’s face for a second.
“He made a comment in court today.” She waves her hand and tries to shake it off, to change the subject.
“No. He was definitely checking you out though, so don’t feel too bad about putting him behind bars for his early adult life.”
Lexa watches her with laser focus after that.
“Can’t say I blame him. You cut a nice imposing figure in your suit.” Clarke feels heat creep up the back of her neck as she says it, hears the way her words carry that familiar weight. Tries to push the vision of Lexa’s ass in those pants out of her mind. The ass that’s currently right next to her. Blames it on the shot she just swallowed.
Lexa’s face morphs and her hands fidget on the bar top.
Clarke regrets it as soon as it’s out of her mouth. Or she would if Lexa’s eyes didn’t darken immediately.
“Clarke,” her voice is low, she leans in closer, her hip brushing against Clarke’s knee.
And suddenly the moment is charged.
There’s just enough alcohol in Clarke’s system for her to feel it, to not shy away from Lexa’s gaze.
Green eyes flit to her lips and stay there for what feels like an eternity.
“My place is around the corner,” Clarke husks out involuntarily.
She's not sure why she says it. Except Lexa looks good in those pants and she's got a smirk on her face that Clarke just wants to wipe off.
The words slip out and she can't be bothered to take them back.
And she just needs to feel anything other than the weight of defeat.
And, fuck, Lexa is right there. With that look on her face that Clarke cannot stand.
And, well, she's not exactly saying no so...
Lexa shakes herself out of her trance and gives the slightest nod, backing away so Clarke can stand and dig around in her bag for money to throw on the bar.
She walks out the door, extra sway in her hips, Lexa’s strong presence behind her.
Somehow they make it back to Clarke’s loft.
Somehow they make it up the stairs, not wanting to wait for the ancient elevator to slowly collect them.
Somehow Clarke remembers how to unlock the door and push Lexa inside before their lips meet.
She closes the door with her own body, pulling Lexa into her and moaning as a taut body is finally, finally against her own. Her hands grip the collar of Lexa’s shirt, afraid to let go. To waver. To do anything that will end this moment.
Lexa’s hands drift down to her waist, around her back and down to her ass, pulling Clarke against her as she licks relentlessly into her mouth.
Clarke hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, but this is already better than anything she can remember.
And when she thinks about how easily Lexa gets under her skin, a shudder runs through her.
Lexa gasps when Clarke nips at her bottom lip, taking charge again and tugging at the hair on the nape of her neck. Working hands into the bun that sits there taunting her. Pulling long waves free and tangling her hands in it. Something she’s been wanting to do since this morning when it was thrown over one shoulder. Something she didn’t let herself realize until she had it in her grasp.
She pulls Lexa closer, closer.
The kiss is maddening, devastating.
Lexa’s mouth slides along hers with intent. Dark, deep intent.
She moves her body more fully against Clarke, sliding Clarke’s skirt higher and higher up her thighs.
“Lexa-” Clarke breaks away, breathless and wanting. Lexa’s lips red and plump, her cheeks flushed, her eyes black. Lexa succeeds then, pulling her up and changing the angle of their mouths. Nipping at the underside of Clarke’s jaw before Clarke can claim her mouth again.
It’s hot and wet and the dirtiest kiss Clarke has ever experienced.
Lexa moves, nips at collarbones and the tops of Clarke’s breasts peeking out from her apparently unbuttoned shirt. Clarke would give her credit for the smooth move but can think of nothing else but getting Lexa on top of her.
She’s carried back to the large bed in the corner of the room and spun around as Lexa readjusts before they both hit the mattress. Clarke keeps her legs wrapped around Lexa’s waist, needing the friction. The feeling.
Lexa’s mouth is relentless on her chest, her stomach, her neck, until Clarke tugs her back up to her lips and kisses Lexa the way she needs to.
Fingers move quickly along Lexa’s button up, stripping it from her shoulders and pulling it down her long arms. They break away to pull the shirt off Lexa completely, and Clarke takes in the lacy bra, the toned stomach.
She reaches out and runs her hand along hot skin, enjoying the flutter of Lexa’s belly.
Clarke works at Lexa’s belt, a pool of arousal hitting her with the familiar clinking sound. The zipper drags slowly and Clarke finds a matching pair of lace around Lexa’s hips.
“Really did not peg you for the lace.”
“We all have our secrets, Clarke.” She smirks and Clarke needs to kiss it. Lexa moves away at the last second, laughing at Clarke’s growl.
“You, too.” She nudges her nose into Clarke’s cheek, her hands pulling Clarke’s shirt off slowly. Clarke looks up as she lies back, lifting her hips so Lexa can slide her skirt off, the look on the other woman’s face sending another shiver down Clarke’s spine.
It happens fast after that.
Lexa crawls up her body, situates them further up the bed and claims Clarke’s mouth again with that same devastation as before.
Like she’s been yearning for this and can finally set it free.
Her hands are sure and deftly work Clarke up. Clarke who is aching for her and has been since they felt the change in the air back at the bar.
She nearly comes as soon as Lexa’s fingers dip inside, begin moving with the rhythm of her hips. It feels so good she almost cries, digging her fingers into Lexa’s back and wrapping a leg around her trim waist to keep her there, to guide her forward.
Their bodies move together slick with sweat and heat and lust.
It feels like a fever dream.
Lexa’s long hair tickles Clarke’s chest, her neck. Her gaze is penetrating, locked onto Clarke’s as she builds her up. The same look she has in court when she’s locked in and running away with it.
Clarke would hate it if it wasn’t so fucking hot.
If the whole thing wasn’t so fucking hot.
She feels her orgasm build quickly, biting her lip and trying to prolong this a little bit more, a little bit longer, but Lexa must be able to feel it, the way another flood of arousal coats her. Her eyes gleam and she tilts her fingers just right. Curls them just enough and sends Clarke over the edge.
Her muscles pull deliciously tight and Lexa’s name slips from her lips, and it feels like it never ends.
Lexa doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, redoubles her pace and keeps thrusting into her.
Clarke comes again quicker than she ever has before, her hands searching for purchase on sweaty skin, her moans loud and unfiltered until she goes silent with pleasure.
The deep breath she can pull into her lungs when it’s over sounding like a gunshot around the room.
Lexa pants into the crook of Clarke’s neck, her own breathing ragged, her lips licking at the sweat they find on Clarke’s skin. Nipping and teasing. She moves up jaw, to ear, tugging on the lobe and chuckling at Clarke’s sigh.
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Griffin.”
Clarke shoves at her shoulder, too content and too blissed out from the best orgasm she can remember to care about the sass.
Lexa nips at the hinge of her jaw and retracts her fingers. Clarke groans and clenches around nothing, overly sensitive and still coming down.
It’s charged and heavy again for a moment, a breath, before Clarke readjusts her hips and feels Lexa against her.
She smirks then, using her distraction to flip Lexa over and delighting at the look of lust that crosses those perfect features again.
“You too,” she repeats Lexa’s words from earlier, and pulls a hard nipple into her mouth, reveling at the moan that leaves Lexa’s lips and the way fingers tighten in her hair.
She doesn’t tease. There’s no time for that. Lexa’s writhing below her and it’s hotter than Clarke could have ever imagined. She moves her hand down and finds Lexa absolutely drenched, her own moan at the discovery mixing with the needy noise that escapes Lexa.
Clarke is transfixed at the sight below her.
The normally put together woman sweaty and flushed against the sheets, head thrown back and neck taut. The muscles on the side, so familiar in her anger and frustration, now apparent for another reason.
Clarke is frozen. Taking it all in.
Doesn’t feel Lexa begin to move beneath her, urging her fingers. Not until green eyes fly open with a fire that sears into Clarke.
And Clarke buries two fingers inside her without warning, almost coming again with the way Lexa cries out and grabs on to her, pulling her deeper.
Pulling them flush together. Bellies sliding along each other, hands tangling in hair, Clarke’s muscles aching in that delicious way with the angle of her thrusts, her hips moving in time, not daring to stop or slow down for anything. Not until she can watch Lexa break apart.
Lexa’s legs open wider for her, her breathing in Clarke’s ear getting thinner and raspier the closer she gets.
There’s a small whimper, a catch in the back of her throat, and then she’s coming all over Clarke’s hand.
Clarke wakes up and the bed is empty beside her. Her curtains are still open and the light from the street seeps into the dark room. She hears the front door shut quietly and she knows what pulled her from her slumber.
In her half asleep state, she rolls over and pulls the extra pillow closer to her. There’s still body heat in the sheets and she sinks into her exhausted, just wonderfully fucked sleep again.
The sun is fully in the sky when she wakes up again, a delicious ache in her muscles and her hair all over her face. Flashes of the night before come back to her quickly as she turns over and stretches her bones. Her sheets are a mess and her clothes are haphazard around the room and shit, did she actually fuck Lexa Woods last night?
She rubs her hands over her face and tries to clear her thoughts, but Lexa’s eyes flash through her memory and it’s useless.
Clarke swings her legs over the bed and tries to tell herself the feeling in her stomach is regret, but when she sees her bra hanging half off the desk and her shoes thrown in the living room, she just feels a rush of heat again.
Who knew uptight Lexa was such a wild thing in bed.
Clarke allows herself a smile, and then two, before she starts the coffee and heads to the shower.
She blushes when she finds the mark Lexa left behind on her hip bone, and the other on the side of her boob, before turning the water colder.
It was pure frenzy that overcame them. The spark of chemistry that ignited at the bar, fueled by shots and the weekend feeling.
A strange dance between two people with too much enmity between them to work out in any other way.
And now it’s over, done, and out of her system.
It’s not as easy as she thought it would be to put her tryst with Lexa from her mind.
When she arrives at the office alone in the quiet of a Saturday morning, there’s a pile of mail waiting for her on the desk and three new case files with a pink sticky note on top.
She sighs and flips the lights on, tucking in for what is sure to be a long day.
The mail is already sliced open and waiting for her. Two motions finally arrived, one that is a week overdue. A transcript from a deposition three months ago that will be used on trial in the coming weeks, the one she’s been co-chairing with Murphy. And to top it all off, a few heavy letters from the DA’s office.
She recognizes the clean, clipped handwriting on the front of the top one and a buzz flies through her.
Get your head in the game, Griff.
Maybe she should work on getting laid more often.
She ignores the letters from the DA’s office, slides the new cases down to the floor to be looked at later, and pulls out the deposition as she turns on her computer and puts her feet up on the desk to read.
It’s only a moment before she almost falls off her chair, the name on the first page jumping off at her. Murphy didn’t tell her which DA was assigned to the case when he asked for her help, but it’s there in bold letters for her to read.
Assistant District Attorney Lexa Woods.
Well, fuck. So much for that plan.
And yeah, it’s gonna be a long day.
There’s some noise at the office door and the elevator groans as it closes, but Clarke can’t be bothered to check and see who it is.
Welcoming the intrusion instead.
At first, she had blushed whenever she saw Lexa’s name on the page, rolling her eyes at herself even as her stomach flipped. But with every page of the deposition her ire grew.
Lexa is smug even on the page and Clarke can practically see how she must have looked sitting there. Making her arguments and crossing off her questions neatly one by one in her folio.
How her bun was probably tight and just perfectly round at the nape of her neck.
Her suit perfectly pressed.
Her arguments weighed and measured and hitting home again and again.
Clarke knows how she is in court. Has read their transcripts before, how their arguments seem heated even through the stenographer. But this, this is different entirely.
She forgot just how insufferable Lexa can be when she feels she has a case that gives her the moral high ground.
When she's taking up the cause for the good of the people.
When she feels superior.
Not only is the case going to be harder than Murphy lead her to believe, but she was not prepared for the assault of one of Lexa’s perfectly crafted arguments to be the first thing she met after the assault of Lexa’s perfectly crafted kisses the night before.
Instead of that warm feeling residing in her stomach, it churns into annoyance.
Because of course Lexa fucking Woods is the opposing counsel on this case.
And of course Lexa fucking Woods is in her head.
And of course Lexa fucking Woods is always just fucking there.
And, well, fuck.