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Paradise (In Your Arms)

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Clarke wakes early at the tender brush of Lexa’s lips on her temple. Her skin pleasantly tingles at the spot where Lexa’s affection left a mark known only to her, but even as part of her revels at this warmth, she frowns. Her eyes remain closed as she grabs at air and sleepily tries to catch her wife, knowing that her tender kiss meant another temporary goodbye.

Lexa grasps her searching hand with her own, and as Clarke feels their fingers intertwine, she opens her eyes to the sight of Lexa laying another soft kiss upon her hand.

“Good morning, Clarke,” her beautiful wife murmurs softly, her voice forming the greeting and her name with just as much love and tender affection as the gentle, feather-light strokes that her other hand leaves on Clarke’s sleep-marked cheek. It’s not even 6:30, the blaring red light of their clock tells them. But Lexa is already dressed for another long day at the office. Her dress shirt and slacks are crisply pressed, make-up perfectly classy hiding the deep bags underneath her eyes, and Clarke knows she is just a few moments away from leaving her again.

With a sleepy mournful sigh, Clarke pulls their entwined hands to her chest.

“Don’t go,” she rasps, firming her grip on her wife’s hand.

Clarke may leave for the hospital early and return late, but lately it seems Lexa had been leaving earlier and returning even later. Just last night, she had come home and slid her weary and tense body next to Clarke on their bed only a few hours ago, so late in the night that Clarke’s similarly tired self had barely mustered up the strength to turn and snuggle into her before they fell asleep. They may have both been exhausted to the bone, but they were relieved and at ease, safe in each other’s arms for several moments that would pass by too quickly for their tastes.

“I would rather stay here with you,” Lexa says sincerely, her green eyes steadily meeting hers. “But we both know I can’t miss this.”

Ever since her mother Becca Woods’ untimely death had shaken the tech industry a couple of months before, the weight of the company and the expectation to excel further had fallen to her young shoulders. And despite no love lost between the two prodigal visionaries, with their faces looking so seemingly alike but with hearts farther from each other than the planet’s poles, Lexa still knew she was born for this, and she respected her mother’s achievements and life work enough to not only continue them, but expand them and add to them with her own.

Today, especially, was quite monumental. Later that morning, Lexa was scheduled to officially launch one of her mother’s brain children, the Hyperloop* – a high-speed cross-state transportation system employing clean renewable energy – at its LA central station. Lexa was still a child when her mother had first begun work on its design, and the technology of Becca’s time had limited her from seeing it come into fruition. But now, almost a quarter of a century later and after hours upon hours of hard work from their team, Lexa was ushering in a new era in clean and efficient transportation.

Both Clarke and Lexa know that ridiculously busy days are worth it, of course. They know that Clarke saving lives and Lexa reducing humanity’s environmental footprint means being away from each other quite often. They are doing well and doing good and they are proud of themselves and each other. But their days remain both too long and too short. Work seems to stretch and multiply, making the clock seem to tick slower, and yet their long days never afford them enough time to really meet. Clarke cannot even remember a time where they ate a meal together in the last month, and the most time they have spent physically together in the last few weeks are the times they spend just sleeping in the same bed.

Calls and texts are just not the same, Lexa would often tell her sadly. Calls and texts are all we have for now, Clarke would murmur back. And that’s all they have clung to these past few weeks – that, and these small moments the two of them would never trade for anything if they had the choice.

Clarke lowers her gaze and shifts her hold on her wife’s hand, choosing instead to brush her thumb lightly at Lexa’s wedding ring. “I miss you,” she whispers. “I miss us.”

“I miss you too,” Lexa breathes out, unable to resist meeting Clarke’s lips with her own.

Lexa kisses her searchingly, passionately, as if Clarke’s lips possess all the air and life that duty has wrung out of her lately, and her palm is perfectly warm against Clarke’s cheek. Clarke opens her mouth and kisses back with equal fervour, and tries not to muss the intricate braids Lexa has. In this, Clarke succeeds. But as Lexa forces herself to drag her lips away lest she end up losing the will to resist, Clarke can’t help her amused smile at seeing her wife flushed – all smudged lipstick and heavy lidded eyes.

“Debauched is such a good look on you,” she says, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She haphazardly uses the white sheets to blot away the mess.

 “Claaaarke,” Lexa laughs, batting her hand away lightly. “Don’t start what we can’t finish,” she pleads.

“It’s been weeks,” Clarke can’t help but whine. She hooks her fingers on the belt loops of Lexa’s light grey slacks. “I miss you,” she repeats.

“I know. Me too,” Lexa soothed, running her hand along Clarke’s arm. “But as soon as this project is up and running, I’ll move heaven and earth to finally make time for you, for us,” she vows.

“Even if it’s the president?” Clarke challenges, knowing the tendency of powerful figures to often demand some of her wife’s time quite abruptly and without prior notice.

“Yes. Even if it’s her,” Lexa affirms. “Just us, phones off - away from it all.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Clarke squeezes her hand.

Lexa glances at the clock. 6:40am. “I really do need to leave,” she says regretfully.

“Can I at least…?”

“Of course.”

Clarke gets off the bed with a rumpled dress shirt of Lexa’s clinging to her form, and pads barefoot to their enormous closet to grab a thin forest green silk tie and her favorite Patek Philippe. It had become their routine of sorts, to dress or accessorize each other on big days for luck. And while life, adult responsibilities, and ridiculous work hours have gotten in the way recently, it remains a comfort and adds a sense of normalcy to their day.

Grasping Lexa’s dainty wrist, she presses a kiss to the back of it before fastening the watch. (So every time you look at the time, whether in impatience or boredom, you get reminded that I love you! Clarke had beamed at her so many years ago, flushed tipsy and loud, yet overflowing with affection on the very first time she had done this.)

Some may say it was overly sappy, and surely her competitors would never believe that the stoic, unyielding, visionary CEO of the world’s largest and most successful technology company would be so sentimental, but small moments like this, with her wife’s limitless love so softly making itself known, are what gives her strength.

Next, Clarke carefully lifts the collar of Lexa’s crisp white dress shirt and puts the tie in place, crossing and looping and tightening meticulously at the right times, before smoothing it down and helping Lexa into her suit jacket. Clutching its notched lapels, Clarke lightly tugs her wife for a long, languid kiss.

“I love you,” she murmurs against kiss-swollen lips, keeping their foreheads together for another moment.

Times like this, peaceful and lovely, had been far too sparse the past few weeks and Clarke was determined to cherish and prolong it. Lexa was of the same mind, brushing their noses together before moving in for another kiss, this time a bit fiercer.

“I love you too, Clarke, so much,” Lexa breathes out once they separate, sparkling green meeting deep blue. Clarke can’t help but smile, because Lexa always says it so sincerely, so fervently as if it’s the only thing in the universe of which she can be sure.

Finally, Clarke fastens the button of her jacket and sends her off with a reassuring squeeze of her hand and a light kiss on her knuckles. “Have a good morning, Mrs. Griffin-Woods,” she grins.

Lexa’s lips twitch in a failed effort to contain her own smile. “You too, Dr. Griffin-Woods,” she returns after a final kiss to her wife’s forehead.

 


 

Clarke’s shift for this day doesn’t start until nine, but she finds the bed far too cold and empty to go back to sleep. After a light workout to shake off the lethargy, she comes down to their kitchen at half-past seven to find that Lexa had packed her some lunch and left her a sticky bun on the breakfast counter.

Her wife may not be around right now to play footsie with her under the breakfast counter as she drinks tea or to turn her affection-filled gaze from just above the rim of her glasses as she reads the morning paper like she used to, but Clarke still feels an uncontrollable surge of affection for Lexa. That her busy sleep-deprived wife spent her precious time to wake earlier than she needed to pack her lunch and buy her sticky buns from her favourite place two blocks away makes Clarke feel better. Eating her breakfast with gusto, she mentally notes to thank her wife extra special.

Later after clearing the table, she decides to take her time in the shower, only to step out to another small surprise. Lexa had left her a message on their now-steamy mirror: I love you.

Clarke’s morning just keeps getting better.


 

“Well, aren’t you cheerful today,” Anya notes with a raised eyebrow, looking up from her chart up at Clarke.

“I wonder why,” Wells smirks playfully.

“Must be Lexa,” Raven continues, echoed simultaneously by the other two.

Clarke rolls her eyes in good humor as she closes the door to Anya’s office at fifteen-past eight. “Shut up, guys,” she says without heat. All of them knew it was true.

“You’re surprisingly early today, Griffin.” Anya was right. While Clarke valued being on-time and was almost always on-the-dot punctual, it was rare that she dragged herself out of Lexa’s arms any earlier than was necessary.

“Maybe I just wanted to congratulate you first on the new office,” Clarke replied, gazing proudly at the shiny plaque on the desk declaring Anya Karev, Chief of Surgery, Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

“Or maybe you just want to ply me to pay for dinner and drinks this weekend,” Anya counters.

“Could be both,” Clarke concedes with a grin.

“I know that’s what me and Wells are here for,” Raven adds around a mouthful of m&ms she swiped from the jar in Anya’s desk drawer, absently avoiding Anya’s hand grabbing the jar back and instead passing it to Wells.

“Reyes!”

“Aw, c’mon babe. I know you keep that jar just for me.”

Anya does in fact keep them for Raven. But she’d never admit she developed a soft spot for the candy ever since she started associating them with her new girlfriend.

“Not here in the office,” Anya glowers, unsuccessfully fighting a blush at the pet name.

Wells fake gags. “You two will be as bad as Clarke and Lexa in no time.”

Clarke giggles, still partially unable to believe that her stoic, stand-offish friend was melted by her loud and crass bestfriend Raven.

Anya coughs awkwardly, still slightly flushed. “Your congratulations are appreciated. I can only do my best to ensure Abby’s trust in me is not misplaced.”

Abby Griffin had retired quite early, deciding to leave her position to her star protégé and volunteer for Doctors without Borders with her boyfriend Marcus. Only in her mid-thirties, Anya was very surprised to be promoted so young, but was doubly determined to do well anyway.

“Since you’re all here already, I’d like to invite you for a dinner party this Sunday at my apartment to celebrate.” At Clarke and Wells’ dubious expressions, she hurriedly added. “And no, neither Raven nor I will be doing any of the cooking.”

“Thank god for that,” Wells said in relief.

“Fuck you, Jaha junior. I can totally cook! Babe, tell them I can cook!” Raven demands.

“Sunny side ups don’t count, Raven. A five-year old could do that,” Anya says dryly.

“I can do pancakes too!”

“Only with box mix,” Wells interjects. “Still doesn’t count.”

Before the room could devolve into a fight courtesy of her supposedly-adult friends, Anya sighs and raises a hand to stop them, the other one deftly taking Raven's cane so she couldn't use it for nefarious, if playful, purposes.

“Stop. It’s nearing the start of our shifts already. Before that, I’d like to do a consult with you three regarding Tris.”

All three doctors in front of her sober immediately, recognizing the importance of the situation.

“As you all know, Tris has been my patient since she was still learning how to read. Even if I’ve been promoted, I must admit I’m still invested in her recovery. Jaha, I’m transferring her to your care. I want you and Clarke to take over my part of the project with Raven.”

Anya and Raven had met at a consult after Tris’ first heart replacement surgery. Recognizing that the new heart likely won’t hold for long, Anya had wanted to try a bio-medically engineered heart specifically for Tris, which is why she had come to ask for Raven’s help. While Raven's experience was mostly in state-of-the-art limb prosthesis - like her own leg - Raven's reputation as the one of the best preceded her, and thus inadvertently began not just an ambitious research project, but a flirty friendship that wouldn’t bloom into a relationship until several years later.

Wells and Clarke, as attendings in paediatric and cardiothoracic surgery respectively, would be fit to work with Raven, who was now fiddling with the coffee machine in the office corner.

“I’m building you a better coffee machine,” Raven grumbled as she poured some into paper cups. “But first, here’s the treatment plan…”

 


 

The elevator doors open, and at once, Lexa is greeted with her officemates’ applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” Lexa smiles as she waits for the applause to revert to respectful silence. “For almost three years now, we have worked tirelessly and passionately to produce Hyperloop, and I want to thank you all. For without you and the build team, it would remain nothing but a dream scribbled on a piece of paper, and this country would still be unwavering on the path towards increased carbon emissions. Today, with Hyperloop’s launch, we have all proven that it is possible to provide national transportation that is reliable, efficient, and sustainable. Because of this, it is with much hope that I say, one day soon, our children and their children will be able to live in a world with a clean and sustainable environment and minimal carbon emissions. This is a step towards the right path, and I hope today’s victory will inspire us all to work on expanding this project worldwide.”

After another round of applause, Lexa raises her hand. “These past few months have been hectic, I know. All of us have been running ragged, deadline after deadline being met, and I wish to recognize and appreciate those efforts. At noon, a full-course meal will be catered for us all in Tesla Hall today, and we can all take an extra lunch hour to unwind and celebrate our first victory. But for now, let’s all get back to work, shall we?” With a smile and several more encouraging words for her colleagues as she walks, Lexa finally makes it to her office.

Still thrilled from her project launch, Lexa lets herself relax into her high-backed office chair for a long moment, only to be interrupted by her secretary, Monty, who had a small package and a small bouquet.

“You got me flowers, Monty? You know I don’t swing that way,” she teased.

Monty snorts, “Neither do I.” He places the package on her desk. “But they’re actually from Clarke.”

At this, Lexa visibly brightens.

“That’s the good news.”

Lexa frowns. “What’s the bad news?”

“And another piece of good news,” Monty delays as he settles the flowers into an ornate vase, “is that I was able to clear your schedule for a week starting this Saturday, so you can finally enjoy some time off with Clarke like you’ve been wanting to for so long.”

That is good news, Lexa mentally acknowledges. But Lexa stares at him pointedly, knowing that Monty still had some presumably upsetting news to deliver.

“But the bad news is that you have a flight to Seoul later at 2am, for a three-day stay to discuss the partnership with LG.”

“Three days?!”

“It’s several consecutive meetings and presentations of Hyperloop and several others of our smaller projects. I’ve included the itinerary and respective agenda in the brief,” Monty explained, gesturing to the folder.

Lexa peruses the folder quickly, brows furrowed.

“I’ve made sure to schedule things as close as I could so you could go back home as soon as possible, while still leaving you some time to go gift shopping for Clarke.”

“What would I do without you, Monty?” She sighs gratefully.

“I would have said ‘jobless’ because there would probably be no company still standing here without me, but I don’t know. You’re pretty tenacious and stubborn, Lexa. I’m sure you’d end up a lawyer or some high admin position somewhere nice.” Monty’s cheeky grin is infectious, and somehow it manages to lessen the sting of disappointment at being apart from Clarke for three days.

“Thank you, Monty.” He gladly waves her thanks off and walks quietly back out.

Finally alone in her office, Lexa doesn’t even try to suppress her smile. Clarke had sent her a bouquet of red roses, with a complementary smattering of pink camellias, ivy, and ambrosia: I love you so much. I miss you. Wifely affection. Reciprocated love.

Along with the flowers, her wife also sent her some dark chocolate and a tiny scented candle in a jar. It’s rosemary and lavender with hints of peppermint, which makes her laugh a bit as she remembered their little ‘argument’ about a month ago.

 

(“That’s not how it works,” Clarke had said dubiously. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.” Their spooning had been interrupted by an unintentionally contentious text from Raven to Clarke.

“Raven’s a doctor too,” Lexa countered, her face still muffled in Clarke's hair. “And a genius. She wouldn’t send us something unverified or filled with lies.”

Unseen by Lexa, Clarke raises an eyebrow at that. “One, Raven has a Ph.D. in biomedical engineering. She’s not that kind of doctor. Two, this is the same person that tried to convince us chickens are basically left-over dinosaurs. Three, she literally said she read it on a buzzfeed listicle, how can you believe that?

Clarke turns in Lexa's arms and shows her the phone in slight exasperation.

*fire emoji*Raven*bomb emoji*: lol make ya girl check out
number 8 buzzfeedcom/17-body-hacks-for-stress…

*fire emoji*Raven*bomb emoji*: it says that rosemary &
lavender scented candles are good
for destressing

“I just wanted to try it.” Lexa may or may not have pouted. “For the record, two is an over-generalization – chickens are descended from avian dinosaurs. There’s a study that compares their genome to a reconstruction of the avian ancestor genome. And three…” she falters. “Well, you can’t just assume one hundred percent of what they say is bullshit. There may be nuggets of truth there.” It’s weak. They both know it.

“We’ve gone off topic,” Clarke sighs and kisses her forehead soothingly. “Lexa, I love you and I want to make you happy. I recognize that candles make you happy. But-,” she gestures self-explanatorily at the tall shelf nigh-overflowing with candles of various shapes, colours, and sizes. “How about you go through your stash first before we buy anymore? At least finish the ones from our wedding gifts?”)

 

Smiling fondly, she finally unfolded the tiny note that came with the candle. Written on the back of a clean piece of prescription paper was no wordy message. Instead, there was the cutest doodle of a tiny cartoon Clarke in a doctor’s coat kissing cartoon Lexa’s cheek as cartoon Clarke hugged her waist from behind. Tiny party poppers and confetti decorated the background of the new Hyperloop station. A thought bubble originating from cartoon Clarke's chest revealed a hyper-realistic drawing of a human heart with motion lines that indicated beating, and underneath - in even tinier block script - was written LE-XA, LE-XA, LE-XA.

Lexa switches her gaze from her wife’s sweet gift to the pile of work that awaited her.

She knows her priorities.

“Monty,” she called out, gently pinning Clarke’s work on the edge of her board. “Cancel the rest of my meetings after lunch today, please.”

The rest of the world can wait to have their piece of Alexandria Woods. She may have to leave soon, but for this day, she decides to be Clarke’s Lexa.

 


Clarke sets her keys on the counter and sloppily toes off her shoes near the door. Dropping her bag near the shoe shelf with a yawn, she’s puzzled to find Lexa’s shiny Oxfords neatly set aside on the middle row.

“Lexa?”

“Clarke! You’re home,” her wife warmly greets her, her voice carrying from the kitchen.

Clarke eagerly walks the hall to see her - a fourth, maybe seventh wind energizing her tired bones at the thought of spending time with Lexa – only to be stopped by the cutest sight she has seen in days: Her wife, hair up in a messy bun, barefoot in yoga pants and in Clarke’s old debate team hoodie with Griffin in fading block letters on the back, thick-rimmed glasses perched precariously on top of her head to avoid the steam from her cooking.

Lexa carefully turns the heat down to a simmer before stepping away to greet Clarke with an enthusiastic kiss.

“Welcome home,” she murmurs against Clarke’s lips and tenderly brushes a lock of blond behind Clarke’s ear.

“Happy to be home,” Clarke sighs happily back, tightening her arms around her wife’s waist for a longer moment. Happy I’m with you.

 

“Smell really good...”

“Mhmm. Made your favorite. Beef stew and mustard dumplings.” Lexa’s voice is slightly muffled against Clarke’s collar.

Clarke let out a light chuckle. “I meant you.”

“Wish I could say the same about you,” Lexa teased, even as she nuzzled into Clarke’s neck.

Both laughed freely, just happy to have a silly moment to themselves after weeks of missing each other.

“You should go wash up while I finish dinner,” Lexa gently nudged her hip, reluctantly letting her go after another kiss.

“Mhmm,” Clarke grunted noncommittally, eyes still closed and still trying to chase Lexa’s lips.

“Clarrrrkkke,” she giggled with a playful push. “Go. Shower. You. Stink.” Lexa punctuated each word with a kiss to her nose.

“Fine,” Clarke pouted.

“And Clarke? For goodness sake, wash your hair.”

 


 

With her freshly washed damp hair sticking to Lexa’s old soccer jersey she claimed as her own long ago, Clarke finally steps back into the kitchen. The enticing smell of Lexa’s homecooking and the comforting sound of her humming pulls her in, and with this moment, their usually empty house finally felt like home again.

They eat heartily and merrily. Conversation flows long and easy, as does the wine, and both are grateful to have each other so close. They may not be dressed fancily or doing something new and exciting, but here, in their own home, they are just Clarke and Lexa – unburdened by responsibilities, just focused on each other.

As their meal draws to a close, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you for dinner, babe. Tonight was a really nice surprise. I missed this.”

"Thank you for the gift earlier. It really made my day."

"You've been stressing out for this project for too long. Chocolates and candles are the least I could do."

"Not just that, the drawing too. That was really sweet."

"That silly thing?" Clarke giggled. "I've drawn and painted you countless times, each with better technique than that five-minute doodle. Not a worthy enough congratulatory gift for a project you've worked on for years."

"You have done a lot of amazing pieces," Lexa acknowledged with a fond smile.  “This one just made me realize why I continue to love what I do. Because even if my goals were ludicrous and people kept telling me they were unfeasible, you were always by my side - unconditionally supporting and loving not just Alexandria Woods, but me, Lexa. Today, I was able to actualize a vision my mother had more than two decades ago, because you gave me the courage and the inspiration to take a risk, even when it felt like the world was pressuring me to bend to the will of oil magnates by not pursuing clean transport. In a way, today's success was yours - simply because your big heart keeps beating my name. You give me so much strength, so I just wanted to do something nice for you tonight. You’ve been so understanding and supportive of me the entire time I was stressed out of my mind, and your job is even more stressful than mine is. And I have been neglecting you, neglecting us, for a while now. I am so sorry, Clarke. I know one dinner isn't enough. I just wanted us to spend time together, and I’m happy we got to do this.”

“Oh, Lex. We’re married; of course we’re each other’s support system. Besides, I put you through worse when I was studying for boards.” Clarke pauses, noting that Lexa’s eyes are still downcast, all the built up stress and guilt still dulling those emeralds Clarke loves so much, so she stands up and moves to sit on Lexa’s lap and hug her.

“Lex, look at me,” Clarke softly nudges her chin up with a finger, letting their eyes meet. “We understand the demands of each other’s jobs. We always have. Most of the time, it’ll be hectic. And we both accept that it will be difficult. But all the little things we do for each other, the things that make sure we know we still love and miss each other, those help a lot. The moments we spend together in the morning, the little gifts, the calls and texts just to remind that we love each other, those mean a lot. And as long as we keep in mind that our marriage comes first, that we keep each other grounded, we’ll be okay. Okay?”

Lexa nods, misty green eyes meeting reassuring blue with relief. “I missed this,” she echoes, taking Clarke's hand in hers and brushing a soft kiss on her palm. “I missed us.”

Clarke leans down to kiss her slowly and savours the feel of soft lips against hers, of her wife’s arms around her, and of her warmth beneath her. 

Lexa gasps into her mouth at the first gentle brush of her tongue, and Clarke can’t help but feel thrilled at knowing Lexa still reacts so passionately even after nearly nine years together. 

Clarke moves in for a deeper kiss, humming in contentment at feeling Lexa suck on her bottom lip, chasing her mouth immediately when she shifts angles, unwilling to part even for a second.

“My schedule’s clear next week,” Lexa breathes out quickly against her lips once they break for air again. She brushes her nose delicately against Clarke's and leaves a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Let’s go anywhere you want.”

“Only place I want us is in bed,” Clarke whispers into her ear.

“Your wish is my command,” Lexa grunts, smoothly lifting Clarke in a bridal carry and marching to their bedroom.

Lexa gently lays her down even as Clarke draws her in for a fierce, hungry kiss.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers into Clarke’s ear after a soft nibble to her lobe.

Clarke absolutely loves it when Lexa ‘takes care’ of her. She loves those nights filled with gentle lovemaking, all sweet whispers and handholding, soft kisses and nuzzles, slow and deep build-ups for the most satisfying and prolonged peak.

But right now, Clarke needs. It’s been about a month since their last, and even then that was only a quickie in the shower before work. She feels the burn of desire low in her stomach, and the throb in her cunt intensifies as she watches Lexa’s eyes darken.

“I’d rather have you writhing and screaming under me,” Clarke growls as she flips their position. Hurriedly, she takes off her jersey and Lexa’s glasses and hoodie, and immediately runs her fingers up Lexa’s sides to cup the soft swells of her chest. She’s pleased to see her wife shiver in want, her nipples stiff under the warmth of Clarke’s thumbs.

More than her own release, Clarke needs to see Lexa unravel, for all the stress and tension to uncoil, for her to forget all her worries for a while, all under Clarke’s ministrations.

That’s why she goes straight for Lexa’s weak spot – her collarbones.

Straddling her wife’s hips, Clarke holds herself up with one forearm while the other strokes the baby hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck.

Clarke just loves the way Lexa gets all shivery, needy whimpers falling from kiss-swollen lips as every sensitive spot near her collarbones is kissed and sucked and marked.

“Love having you underneath me,” Clarke murmurs lovingly as she goes back up to kiss Lexa’s jaw. “Your skin against my skin,” she continues, kissing up her jawline to right under her tiny ear. “Your lips against my lips.” Clarke pours her hunger into their next kiss. It’s long and wet and just the slightest bit desperate.

“I don’t want you to leave this bed until the moon rises tomorrow night,” Clarke pants as the kiss ends.

“Moon- what-” Lexa’s words have the slightest bit of a slur, and Clarke is pleased to see her eyes so glazed and lust-drunk.  She’s a bit more lucid in the next moment. “Can’t. Flight at… at 2am.”

Wait, what?

“You’re leaving?” Clarke asks in disbelief.

Lexa nods tiredly. “Later,” she admits in disappointment. “To Seoul, for three days.”

Clarke groans, dropping her head to Lexa’s shoulder. “That sucks.”

Clarke feels Lexa nod. “It does, and I’m sorry. But you have me for the week after, all of me, all the time. If you want us to stay in bed all week, we can. If you want me to take you anywhere in the world, I will.” Lexa promises.

“Let me make it up to you,” Lexa whispers earnestly as she strokes down Clarke’s back.

“I want you naked the moment you get home. We’re not leaving our bed for 24 hours,” Clarke says firmly.

“Pinky swear,” Lexa intones seriously raising a hand to meet Clarke’s. “But for now, we have a bit of time.” She looks at the neon blue digital clock display on their bedside table. Five hours before she absolutely needs to leave.

“Let me make it up to you in advance,” she says suggestively, tugging lightly on Clarke’s shorts.

Clarke eagerly takes off her remaining clothes. The low thrum of desire starting back up deep inside her has her shivering in anticipation. She gets back into place straddling her wife, and the moment her slick heat makes contact with Lexa’s toned muscular thigh, they both moan.

“Fuck, Clarke, you’re so wet.” Lexa’s eyes are a deep forest now, her intense gaze roving down her body to settle at the juncture covered by neatly trimmed blonde curls.

Lexa licks her lips and meets Clarke’s eyes, and they both know what’s coming next. Clarke feels her cunt throb at the thought of Lexa’s mouth on her after so long.

Lexa lightly lifts her thigh, grinding it a little on Clarke’s clit to nudge her upwards, and Clarke crawls into position over Lexa’s mouth with desperate enthusiasm.

After a moment to savour the sight of her wife’s pussy and thighs spread wide and so slick with desire, all for her, Lexa happily grips Clarke’s ass and gently but firmly pulls her down.

Clarke’s hands, by force of habit, settle on her messy bun, and she throws her head back with a groan of frustration as Lexa’s soft and eager tongue finally strokes featherlight over the drips of wetness on her thighs. She licks gently, but fleetingly, slowly sucking red marks all over the insides of Clarke’s thighs.

Lexa hums happily and takes her time. She has a few hours and she’ll gladly spend them all satisfying her wife. She wants to leave this bed with Clarke all loose-limbed and passed out from pleasure – that means no rushing.

She licks and nibbles at the seams where thigh meets labia, eagerly awaiting the day she comes home and sees the marks she left on Clarke’s thighs again, knowing that even if she’s halfway around the world, some part of her would remain and remind her wife of her promise.

“Lexa,” Clarke whines, hands in Lexa’s hair tightening involuntarily.

Lexa finally gives in and swipes a long soft stripe from her entrance to her clit. She hums, pleased at the little shivers that wrack Clarke’s body, and Lexa strokes a thigh reassuringly as she keeps a slow and steady pace with her licking, tongue flat and firm enough while throwing in a few gentle sucks on her inner labia.

Clarke grinds her hips a little harder on Lexa’s face, but Lexa is determined to keep the slow build up. She knows what Clarke needs, and after all the frustration of the past several weeks, all Lexa wants is for Clarke to unravel.

“Please,” Clarke gasps desperately. The swollen bud of her clit was nearly begging to be sucked, and who was Lexa to deny her?

Lexa circled her clit slowly, but this time a bit more firmly, moving one hand to clasp one of Clarke’s, revelling in the contact, before sucking her bud into her mouth and stroking it in the way she knew Clarke loved. She felt Clarke’s thighs tremble and eased the pressure, not wanting for it to be over so quickly.

A quick orgasm would not even put a dent on the tension she’s sure her wife held in, and Lexa only wants the best for Clarke.

Lexa goes back to running her tongue up and down her slit, firmly over her folds and circling her opening. She pulls more of that tangy deliciousness from the depths of her wife, entering her with her tongue and stroking as deep as she could reach.

Clarke’s erratic breathing and soft whimpers is only barely audible through the clamping of her hickey-covered inner thighs over Lexa’s ears, and Lexa can’t help but want more of her sounds.

Lexa dives in even more earnestly, wanting more of Clarke’s wetness, more of Clarke’s sounds, more of Clarke. She wants the deep, mindblowing, release brought upon only by slow and deep lovemaking. But she feels Clarke’s desperation in the tenseness of her thighs, in the grip of her hand in her hair, in the stiffness of her fingers twined around her own, and her heart is at once powerless to ever deny Clarke.

Clarke’s hips grind even more insistently. She’s shivering and whimpering, and her peak is so close she can almost taste it.

Lexa lets the pressure build and build and build before she pushes her wife over the edge with a firm circling swipe of her tongue.

Clarke’s body stiffens – mouth open, head tipped back, spine arched, grip on Lexa’s hand and hair near-iron – and with a choked wail of Lexa’s name, she peaks strongly.

Lexa keeps a steady pace even as Clarke jerks and shudders above her, revelling in the ragged gasps and moans Clarke lets out and the sight of Clarke’s breasts heaving. She continues her pace until Clarke signals her with a double-squeeze of her hand to start slowing down. Her descending pace lets Clarke ease down from the clouds, and as Clarke’s forehead gently hits the tall headboard with a satisfied sigh, Lexa begins to happily clean up the slick mess, savouring each drop.

Clarke’s thighs are now weak with the remnants of her peak and are trembling with the effort of keeping her upright. Lexa brushes a few more soft kisses on her mound before gently laying Clarke back down and cuddling her close.

Clarke lays her head on Lexa’s chest, feeling it beat for her and takes comfort in the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She could fall asleep to this rhythm anytime, anywhere, and know that she was safe in her wife’s arms. The temptation is great, but if she only had a few hours left, then she’ll use them to her best advantage.

Clarke’s hands trail down Lexa’s waist and slips between her thighs and under the waistband of her yoga pants, but Lexa gently stops her with a gentle grip of her hand and shakes her head.

“I want to take care of you,” she whispered. “Let’s make tonight about you.”

“But you haven’t- it’s been a long-“

“I’m okay,” she reassured. “I have a few hours left, and I want to spend them breaking my record of how many orgasms I can give you before you pass out, and maybe have a little nap in your arms if I can.”

Clarke sighs in contentment. “I love you,” she whispers onto Lexa’s lips before taking her bottom lip between her own. She moans as she tastes herself on Lexa's lips and feels the simmer of desire begin to take over again.

Lexa ties her record of six before they both succumb to the need for a nap.

At midnight, she wakes up on Clarke's stomach, her wife's hands still in her hair, and slowly disentangles herself for a hurried shower. She quickly packs a moderate-sized bag efficiently, and by the next hour, she is once again kissing Clarke on the forehead as a temporary goodbye.

“Leaving now?” she rasps out, bleary blue eyes blinking open to meet green.

“Unfortunately,” Lexa sighs.

"Should've woken me up so I could join you in the shower..." Clarke trails off as her hand sneaks down to cup Lexa's ass.

She shakes her head and kisses Clarke’s lips for a long moment. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises. “And then you can ravish me all you want."

"I can't wait," Clarke sighs against her lips.

"Is there anything you want me to bring back from Seoul?”

“Your ass. Naked. At least. 24 hours. Phone free.” Clarke sleepily commands, punctuating her words with chaste kisses.

“Your wish is my command, my love.”

  


 

Much later, Lexa steps out of her jet and stretches under the warm sun over Incheon Airport. A twelve hour flight is still a twelve hour flight, even in the lap of luxury.

Starting to walk down, she takes her phone off airplane mode and is immediately greeted with a text from Clarke with an image attachment.

Lexa opens the message and inhales sharply.

The message was a simple but sincere, “Clarke: I love you too. ;) See you soon, wifey.

The image attached, however, had Lexa nearly tripping off the plane’s stairs.

It’s a mirror selfie, with Lexa’s steam message from the day before still clear on the glass: I love you. But Clarke was wet and naked from her shower, water droplets from her hair dripping down the valley of her breasts and down to the downy blonde curls between her legs.

Lexa is sure of three things:

One, three days will feel like three years.

Two, Clarke, as much as she brightens up her life, will be the death of her.

and

Three, her fingers will be so, so, so busy these next few days. (And maybe, just maybe, she’ll find the courage to return the favour, with interest.)