Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Octavia is sitting at the nurses’ station when Raven and Clarke arrive for their afternoon catch-up, 3 coffees in hand.

Raven can’t always join them due to her busy schedule of “knocking bitches out” for surgery. But when the three of them are together, all feels right in their little world.

And Raven more than makes up for her absences with her extensive video collection of patients coming out of anesthesia.

“Ohhhhhh shit bro …” a college age woman is laughing dopily at the camera, lying in a hospital bed, her knee wrapped in surgical bandages. She holds up her hands in front of her face and gawks at them like she’s never seen them before. “I am soooo high right now … When did I get so high?!??,” she says, not seeming to notice that she’s in a hospital. Raven’s snickering can be heard in the background. All of a sudden the woman’s eyes lock onto the camera and she whispers desperately, “Dude … Do not tell my mom about this … She is gonna be so pissed! … Just be cool ok? … Be cool …” Her head rolls back against the pillow as she mumbles to herself, “Just be cool …”

The three of them are grinning like goons at Raven’s phone screen, and Clarke asks, “Are you allowed to film patients like that?”

“Don’t be a buzzkill Dr. Griffin,” Raven teases, “It’s a perk of the job.”

“I do kinda wish some of my patients were unconscious …” Clarke muses, taking a sip of her coffee, “Like, sure, tell me about your symptoms, but when I start taking your blood, how about we just knock you out and skip the part where you start telling me about how cellphone towers are controlling people’s thoughts.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Octavia chimes in, “We’ve got a guy in recovery room 3 right now who keeps asking me to give him a sponge bath,” she shudders. “Even the way he says ‘nurse’ creeps me out. Like ‘Please sir, for the love of god, just sleep ...’”

Down the hall, Clarke spots Dr. Woods getting off the elevator and stopping to chat with a colleague. She tightens her bicep and feels the same sharp sting in her elbow that she’s had for almost a month now.

Turning back to her friends, she asks, “Do you know anything about Lexa Woods, that new GP?”

Raven and Octavia exchange a look.

“Umm …” Raven sips at her coffee, and then says with a smirk, “I know there’s an office pool going for how long it takes her to make her way through each of the eligible women on staff. And another for how long it takes her to burn through the not eligible ones ….”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at this information, and then hurriedly clarifies, “Wells says she’s pretty great with sports injuries. I was thinking of asking her to take a look at my tennis elbow. Do you think she’d be willing to help?”

“I could ask her for you,” Raven shrugs, “She’s joined my team for lunch a few times. But honestly, I don’t really know her that well. It was kinda hard to hear what she was saying over the sound of panties dropping.”

Octavia laughs, “Seriously. I walked in from the parking garage with her this morning and ugh … If she had stayed on the elevator with me for one more second, I would have asked her out ...”

Clarke’s forehead crinkles, “Are you not straight anymore Octavia?”

Octavia looks at Clarke like she’s a small child and says to her slowly, “Everyone is at least a little gay, Clarke.”

Clarke looks to Raven for help, but Raven looks equally disappointed in Clarke for not knowing that.

Clarke clears her throat and tries to shift their attention away from herself, “Let’s maybe not slut-shame an accomplished female coworker of ours.”

“Oh, it’s not slut-shaming, Clarke,” Raven corrects her, “It’s genuine curiosity, and like, how we cope with the jealousy. But yeah, I definitely think you should hookup with her. I actually kind of need you to if I’m gonna win the office pool ...”

“I’m team Clexa too,” Octavia nods, “End this ridiculous dry spell of yours, Clarke,” and then she booms in a low voice, “Release … The Kraken!”

Clarke shakes her head, “Nobody is releasing anything. Taking a break from dating is perfectly healthy. Necessary sometimes even …”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a break,” Raven agrees, “but at this point, it’s starting to look more like you’re retiring. And no one is saying you have to date her …” she says pointedly, “Just have fun. Get back in the game. Join the living, ya know?”

*****************************

When Clarke does meet with Dr. Woods, she starts seriously considering releasing the kraken …

From the questions Lexa asks, it becomes clear quickly that she is extremely competent, thorough, and professional. Much more thorough than the doctor Clarke had seen previously.

Clarke does feel a little awkward about having to put on the hospital gown though. Especially because she was already wearing a shorter sleeved blouse, so her elbow was already visible.

But Lexa had asked nicely … and Clarke found it difficult to say no to her killer smile and sparkling green eyes.

And it turns out that the gown actually was necessary for Lexa to be able to examine all the impacted muscles and tendons.

Lexa’s hands work methodically up from her wrist to her forearm, then from her elbow to her shoulder, then across her back, applying gentle pressure and checking her range of motion as she asks Clarke about where she feels tension.

Her fingers explore each muscle and tendon carefully, so as to not cause pain or further injury. And Lexa seems highly attuned to Clarke’s comfort, detecting when a movement hurts or a nerve twinges even before Clarke says anything.

And Lexa’s hands feel awfully good.

Clarke finds herself thinking that maybe it would be fun to try something casual with Lexa.

Something low stakes …

The feeling of Lexa’s warm hands pressing against the extremely thin fabric of her gown is starting to make pursuing that idea feel like an urgent necessity all of a sudden.

As Lexa’s hands work, it’s as if Clarke can feel her libido waking up from hibernation, shaking itself off, and stumbling out into to warm sunlight of Lexa’s attentive gaze ...

And there is something Clarke is finding especially … engaging … about this whole appointment with Lexa that she can’t quite put her finger on. Something about the combination of Lexa’s extremely professional demeanor, her attentiveness, and the feeling of Lexa’s inspecting hands on her that is making her very, very into this exam.

When the full realization clicks into place in her mind, Clarke instantly blushes from head to toe. What she wants, what she really wants, is for Lexa to be her doctor like … recreationally …

Her thighs shifts on the exam table at the idea.

Lexa notices the movement with a fleeting glance, and as the seconds tick by, and her fingers keep working their way across Clarke’s forearm, she seems to pick up on the sudden change in the air between them.

Lexa’s eyes turn to meet Clarke’s as she’s pressing gently, feeling for tension, and she says, “You know, tennis is great for building strong wrists and forearms … but it’s important to build up that strength slowly, consistently, daily, and for steadily increasing durations.” There’s a little twinkle in Lexa’s eye as she says it, the corner of her mouth just barely curled into a little grin. And Clarke can also see that Lexa is looking at her face attentively, waiting to read her reaction.

Unconsciously, Clarke’s teeth graze across her bottom lip, and her eyes look knowingly into Lexa’s, telling Lexa everything she needs to know.

“Hmmm …” Lexa hums, raising an eyebrow at Clarke’s response and giving her an amused smile, and then she turns her attention back to Clarke’s arm.

And yeah, Clarke really wants Lexa to be her unofficial doctor now. She can feel her pulse quicken and sweat starting to form in …. places.

Lexa steps away from the exam table and sits down at her desk, starts writing on her pad. She writes out the names of 3 stretching exercises Clarke should be doing each morning to help speed up her recovery, along with the type of compresses she should be using.

“Daily, gradually increasing exertion for those forearms,” Lexa repeats, handing her the note, looking Clarke in the eyes in a way that is … doing things to her …, “steadily increasing durations.”

“Yeah …” Clarke says taking the note, her eyes blazing at Lexa, feeling the urge to give her forearm a little workout right now. She and Lexa stare at each other for a long moment.

And then Clarke suddenly feels very naked under the hospital gown. She clears her throat and Lexa steps back to her desk, breaking the trance.

Clarke pulls herself together and thanks Lexa for her time and advice, and then, behind the privacy curtain, she reluctantly puts on her clothes.

Chapter Text

By 6 on Friday, Clarke, Octavia, Raven, and their little crew of friends from the hospital are at the bar down the street. They’re already 3 drinks into happy hour, and laughing loudly at each other’s shenanigans.

“GriffinGriffinGriffin …” Raven whispers urgently as she digs a sharp elbow into Clarke’s side, glancing at her and then over to a table where Lexa is talking with some colleagues.

When Clarke sees Lexa, her mouth forms a little “Oh …” and her brain flashes a highlights real of the extremely vivid dreams she has been having on repeat since their appointment. Dreams in which she goes to Lexa’s office to get a “check-up”. Dreams that have been making her spend a solid extra 15 minutes in bed each morning, “processing” them in great detail.

And of course, the dreams are just the way she starts her days. Now that her libido is apparently awake again, those thoughts also pop into her brain at random moments in her workday as well.

Clarke can feel a warm blush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks ...

“Umm …” Raven says. Clarke has been staring at Lexa unblinking for a solid 60 seconds now, her jaw working but saying nothing as she turns progressively pinker.

“What …” Clarke says absently, reluctantly shifting her gaze to Raven.

“This is your chance to inappropriately proposition her …” Raven drunkenly stage-whispers loud enough for Octavia to hear from across the table. Octavia whips her head around, spots Lexa, and then, smirking at Clarke, starts chanting, “Krak-en, krak-en, krak-en …” under her breath.

“Shhhhh shhhhh shhhhh,” Clarke shushes her, her fingers fluttering in the air in front of Octavia pointlessly, like she’s trying to cast a spell to silence her.

Ok, Clarke might be a little drunk.

“Duuude …” Raven slurs, but with heartfelt sincerity in her eyes as she looks at Clarke, “this is your chance.” Raven then nods emphatically, agreeing with herself. “You’re a bad bitch Clarke …” she hisses, “and you’re gonna march over there and tell her that you need a house call …”

Clarke shifts uncomfortably in her seat. That’s a little too close to the actual fantasy she’s been obsessing over.

Then three pairs of eyes watch as Lexa stands up from her table, walks over to the bar, orders a drink, and then takes a seat there to wait for it.

Alone.

“Gurrrrrrrllll …,” Octavia says, turning back to face Clarke, and reaching over to give her arm a shove, “You got this! Turn on the charm and get her.”

A shot of adrenaline runs through Clarke then, sobering her up just enough. She sits up straight, rolls back her shoulders, shakes out her hair just a bit, and gives them both a flirty smirk.

“Fuck yes …” Raven says, scrambling out of the booth so Clarke can get up.

“Make us proud …” Octavia nods approvingly as Clarke steps past her.

Clarke feels her confidence building with each step. She is in this. She is going to make this happen.

By the time she is standing next to Lexa at the bar and they have exchanged pleasantries, she knows exactly what she’s going to say.

“It seems I’ve run into a new issue since I saw you last …” she says casually.

Lexa shifts into doctor mode instantly, her expression now a look of concern.

“Oh … I’m so sorry to hear that, Clarke. I’d be happy to take a look if you’d like to make an appointment.” She gets out her phone to start checking her availabilities.

Clarke leans in just a bit closer and says in a lower voice, “I do want an appointment … but I think it would be better if I was your patient … unofficially …,” her eyes are blazing at Lexa, then she adds slowly, “This would be more of a personal favor ... A professional courtesy …”

Lexa’s eyes darken considerably.

They both know that having sex with official patients is a huge no no, and breaks some pretty serious hospital rules.

Lexa puts down her phone, leans toward her a little, and says slowly, “I … do have some other people I’m doing favors for at the moment Clarke …”

But Clarke is undaunted, “Of course you do …” The drinks have given her courage. She puts her arm on the bar between them, closing the distance, and gives Lexa a look that is positively molten, “I want the very best to take care of me … And you might be the only one who can help.”

And then she adds lightly, “If you can spare some office hours, that is.”

Lexa’s mouth opens a little, and her eyes shift to Clarke’s mouth for a long beat.

“Next week,” she says, standing up next to Clarke with her phone in her hands, and they schedule the time.

Chapter Text

On the day of their appointment, Clarke steps into Lexa’s office buzzing with anticipation. She has been imagining this interaction for days already.

Her curly blonde hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing her favorite French blue button down shirt, gray suit pants, and a very flirtatious grin.

She pushes the door shut behind her and takes a few step inside.

“Thank you for seeing me doctor,” she says in a amused tone, re-affirming the roles they are each about to play.

Lexa stands up from her desk chair, takes a step toward her, and says, “Oh it’s my pleasure Clarke,” a little smile curling the corner of her mouth.

The words glide off her lips, into Clarke’s ear, then slide down her body to … someplace lower.

Lexa adds lightly, “You’re my last appointment of the day, so we can be as thorough as you’d like …”

Clarke’s eyes sweep over the handsome woman standing in front of her and she says without a second thought, “Good ….”

Her eyes focus on Lexa’s mouth.

Remembering the game that they are supposed to be playing, Lexa clears her throat a little, shifts into an entirely neutral expression, and then asks evenly, “What brings you to see me today?”

Clarke’s eyes darken noticeably.

The real answer is pretty X-rated.

But Clarke’s mind contains a library’s worth of knowledge on the symptoms of various conditions, several of which are very relevant to what brings her here today …

Clarke thinks carefully for a moment, smiles just a little, and then says, “Increased heart rate … Shortness of breath … Sweating … Other physical symptoms …”

Clarke could play this game forever.

“Is that so …” Lexa raises an eyebrow, fully in character, “It sounds serious …”

“Very serious …” Clarke agrees.

“And your other symptoms?” Lexa says, taking a step closer.

Clarke feels a rush of anticipation. Lexa is playing her role even better than Clarke had hoped she would. She’s already wet and they haven’t even touched - but that’s something she would very much like change …

“Increased sensitivity to touch …” Clarke says evenly, looking Lexa dead in the eye.

She sees a flash of something in Lexa’s gaze, sees her purse her lips and nod slowly, sees her eyes getting darker.

Lexa takes a step past her, stands just behind her.

She’s so close that Clarke can faintly feel the heat radiating off of Lexa’s body through her clothes, can feel Lexa’s breaths teasing against the back of her neck.

“Should I take a look?” Lexa asks, her voice low in Clarke’s ear.

Clarke nods, and hears Lexa click the door locked. A little thrill runs down her spine.

Lexa walks slowly around her to face her again, stopping in front of her - easily within arms reach.

“Is that a ‘yes’ Clarke?”

“Definitely a yes,” Clarke breathes as she takes in the sight of Lexa so close to her now, her strong jaw, her dazzling eyes, the way her wavy brown hair is cascading down over her left shoulder.

Lexa’s fingers start trailing slowly down the side of Clarke’s neck, and then back up, her eyes following them.

The feeling is electric.

Lexa presses the tips of two fingers gently under the curve of Clarke’s jaw, just beside her throat. Her eyes flit up to meet Clarke’s, holding her gaze as they both feel her pulse racing.

“What else have you been experiencing?,” Lexa asks professionally.

Clarke’s list of symptoms shifts into narration of what she’s feeling right now.

“Heightened arousal …” she whispers.

Lexa nods slowly, her eyes wandering across Clarke’s chest now.

Her fingers move to Clarke’s shirt and start slowly unbuttoning it.

Clarke takes in every nuance of Lexa’s serious expression, registers each fleeting push of Lexa’s fingertips against her chest as they undo each button, one after the other. When it’s unbuttoned all the way, Clarke pulls her shirt off slowly and Lexa watches her chest and shoulder muscles shift as she drops it onto the floor beside them.

Lexa’s fingers start moving slowly across Clarke’s skin then, inspecting. Clarke’s heart flutters at their warmth, at the sensation of them tracing across the top of her chest, as they tease down along the edges of the lavender, lace bra she’s wearing.

Lexa glances up at her and Clarke licks her bottom lip.

Lexa steps in closer, her face hovering above the crook of Clarke’s neck, close enough that Clarke can feel the gentle breeze of her exhales on her now uncovered chest.

Lexa’s warm hand wraps around the back of her neck as her other hand slides slowly down her lower back, down to her ass - squeezing it firmly. Clarke’s thighs clench at the sensation and she lets out a little sigh.

In this position, Lexa is almost holding her.

Lexa leans back a little and puts her warm palm against the corner of Clarke’s jaw. The fingers of her other hand trace along the edge of Clarke’s bra again, where the lace edge of the cup rests against her breast.

“Increased sensitivity here?,” Lexa asks absently, meeting Clarke’s gaze as her fingers trace the same path back and forth along the edge of the lace cup, back and forth, back and forth. Clarke can see that Lexa’s normally green eyes are almost entirely black now.

Clarke nods, her gaze falling to Lexa’s lips. She’s desperate to taste her all of a sudden. But Lexa’s other hand shifts its grip a little on the back of her neck, holding gently but firm, keeping her in place. Clarke’s thighs clench at Lexa’s subtle assertion of control.

It’s a little reminder that if Clarke kisses her now, it will shatter their little game entirely. And it’s a bit too early for that.

She realizes then just how thoroughly Lexa’s steady movements across her skin have lulled her into a little trance. How completely ruined her underwear already is.

Lexa’s eyes fall back down to Clarke’s chest, scanning the flushed skin, now tinted pink from her touch.

Her warm hands cover both lace cups of Clarke’s bra fully, feel the weight of her breasts, and start kneading … until her nipples are so hard against Lexa’s palms that they could cut glass.

“What else?” Lexa breathes, glancing at her eyes, still kneading.

“Aching …” Clarke says, closing her eyes, feeling something coiling in the base of her spine.

She feels one of Lexa’s thumbs start tracing across her bottom lip and Clarke catches the end of it very gently between her teeth, just before the knuckle. She teases the tip of her tongue slowly against the little ridges of Lexa’s thumbprint.

She feels Lexa’s other hand pull down the cup of her bra roughy, grip the underside of her breast firmly, and then … feels the warmth of Lexa’s tongue teasing around her hard nipple, in the same way Clarke’s tongue is teasing against her thumb.

Clarke lets loose a muffled groan and starts sucking on the tip of Lexa’s thumb, and Lexa starts sucking her nipple.

Clarke’s hips roll back a little at the feeling, slick heat pooling between her thighs. Lexa slips her thumb out of Clarke’s mouth and uses that hand to pull down the other cup of her bra, her hand kneading against Clarke’s breast like it’s her fucking job to do it well.

Clarke can’t seem to stop herself from moaning at the thought, at the feeling, at Lexa, at everything.

Lexa’s tongue roams over to deliver teasing, and then achingly slow, licks against her newly exposed nipple, then she sucks at it steadily, until Clarke’s whole body feels like it’s about to burst into flames.

Lexa’s hand drops to the clasp of Clarke’s pants and pauses there.

“Any other symptoms?”

Clarke is breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling, her nipples still exposed, hard and glistening.

“Lots more …” Clarke whispers honestly. She’s kind of amazed that she’s still standing. It feels like she’s floating right now.

“Tell me …” Lexa says, her voice low and gravely in Clarke’s ear, bringing her back to the moment.

“Restlessness …”

Lexa unclasps her pants and pauses again, looks at Clarke expectantly.

“Trouble sleeping …”

Lexa unzips her pants, her left hand gripping the fabric now the only thing keeping them up.

“When did that start?” Lexa says evenly, looking her in the eye.

“Last week,” Clarke whispers.

“When exactly?” Lexa’s tone has just the faintest edge of a demand in it. She’s going to make Clarke say it.

“After we met ...”

Lexa gives a little grunt of approval and lets go of Clarke’s pants. They pool around her feet.

Then Clarke adds, “After you had your hands on me …” and closes her eyes again.

She feels Lexa’s hand slide between her thighs, pressing against her completely soaked underwear.

“Repetitive thoughts …” Clarke continues, as Lexa’s hand mooshes steadily between her legs.

Lexa’s other hand squeezes her ass again, and then starts tracing along the outer seam of Clarke’s lace underwear. The tips of her fingers slip underneath the edge and retrace the same path, up and down along the curve of her butt, but this time, fingers against skin.

“Fuck …” Clarke breathes into Lexa’s ear at the way her hand is moving between her legs, the feeling of Lexa’s fingers tracing across her ass, the way she’s slowly working her up.

“Throbbing…” she practically moans through panting breaths.

Lexa pauses for a beat.

And then her hand pushes the soaked fabric of Clarke’s underwear to one side, exposing her for just a moment. Then her fingers slide between the slick folds, inspecting.

Clarke puts her arms on Lexa’s shoulders, her knees feeling weak all of a sudden, and moans into Lexa’s ear as her fingers dip low over her entrance, circling against it slowly, around and around, through the wetness.

Lexa’s slick fingers move up to Clarke’s clit, teasing around it, and then against it, and Clarke groans loudly.

Lexa touches their foreheads together as her fingers slide down to Clarke’s entrance again, the heel of her palm pressing slow circles above her lips and clit.

Clarke is panting hard now, trying to catch her breath.

“You’re doing so well Clarke …” Lexa whispers steadily, “You’re going to be ok …”

Clarke nods a little and Lexa’s fingers slide inside.

Clarke surges forward to kiss her then, unable to stop herself anymore. Lexa’s tongue moves slowly and deliberately in her mouth as her fingers push and pull into her in a relentless rhythm. Clarke moans loudly into her mouth as they kiss, at the feeling of Lexa inside her.

Clarke is gripping Lexa’s shoulders, still kissing her, when the first orgasm crashes through her, leaving her thighs shuddering and coated with the slick wetness of her desire.

Lexa’s hands slide under her butt, lifting her, and then she sets Clarke down gently on the examination table.

Clarke lays back, her chest rising and falling under her bra, trying to catch her breath, her head rolling back on the stiff little pillow.

Lexa stands between her knees at the end of the exam table.

She waits until Clarke’s breaths have evened out a bit.

And then she says, “We can absolutely stop if you want Clarke … but in my professional opinion, I don’t think you are completely done yet …”

Clarke hips roll back against the exam table, and she groans out, “More …”

Her fingers slide down into her underwear, between her thighs, her eyes locked with Lexa’s as she swirls her fingers in little circles under the lace, as Lexa watches her.

She watches as Lexa’s eyes wash over her, feels Lexa’s gaze moving across her face, over her chest, down her stomach to where her fingers are swirling desperately between her legs. She physically feels Lexa’s gaze on her body, as if it was Lexa’s warm hands moving across her skin.

She’s still swirling her fingers as she watches Lexa open a drawer, pull out a bottle of lube, pull two latex gloves out of a box, turn them inside-out, and pull them onto her hands.

Clarke scoots her butt down to the very edge of the exam table, as close to Lexa as possible, and starts swirling her fingers again faster to get ready for her.

She feels Lexa’s fingers hook around the sides of her underwear, and slide them slowly down her legs … until they are completely off. She feels the faint pressure of Lexa’s fingers guiding her knees apart so she’s left open and exposed, fingers still swirling for Lexa to see, on Lexa’s exam table, as Lexa watches her. She feels Lexa’s hands slide up and down her open thighs, feeling her, while her fingers work.

Then she feels Lexa gently take her wrist and pull her hand away from between her legs. Feels Lexa’s left hand close possessively over her hip, holding her steady.

Then she feels the well-lubed fingers of Lexa’s right hand slide inside her gently, easily. Feels the silky smoothness of the inside-out glove as it slides in and out of her, over and over, steadily building her up. Feels Lexa’s fingers curl at just the right angle, brushing against the soft pillow of nerves inside, while her thumb plays with Clarke’s clit outside.

The next orgasm is even harder than the first. Devastating. Her hips roll back hard against the exam table over and over, her muscles clamping down all at once, tightening around Lexa’s fingers as her back arches up.

Clarke is covered in sweat, groaning to herself as her thighs clench and unclench.

Off in the distance somewhere, she faintly hears Lexa pull off the gloves, open a cabinet, hears water running at the little sink, and then Lexa is standing next to her offering her a glass. Clarke accepts it readily. Fuck she’s thirsty.

She hands the empty glass back to Lexa and lays back down, still panting.

Lexa runs her strong hands up and down Clarke’s thighs again, and she feels their warmth run through her.

“We can stop of you’d like, it’s fine.”

But Clarke shakes her head ‘no’.

Lexa is watching her, eyes devouring every inch of her skin, and Clarke feels both helpless and invincible under her gaze.

Clarke’s hand slides down her body for Lexa to see, her fingers landing between her thighs, swirling, watching Lexa with the same intensity with which Lexa’s is watching her.

She watches as Lexa pulls another pair of latex gloves out of the box, turns them inside out, and pulls them on.

Lexa holds up her right hand so Clarke can see the shape she’s making with it, so she can know what Lexa is planning.

Clarke nods.

“Done this before?,” Lexa asks, her professional tone is back.

“Not sure …” Clarke pants out honestly, her fingers swirling faster.

Lexa nods.

Clarke watches, moaning, swirling, as Lexa covers her hand with lube, as she steps between her open knees.

Her fingers keep swirling as she feels the tips of Lexa’s fingers, pressed together tightly, sliding in gently, gradually, carefully, in and out.

She throws her head back and concentrates on the feeling.

The pace is slow and steady. Lexa asks questions throughout, “more?”, “less?,” and Clarke answers in nods and head shakes. The pressure builds up one step at a time, carefully, gradually, until she feels the low pull of her muscles relaxing completely, opening, the soft stretch, groaning as she takes Lexa in entirely.

And then they both freeze in place.

Clarke feels her mind separate from her body. She feels weightless and full. It’s not an orgasm, it’s something else entirely. The feeling of Lexa fully inside her is total nihilation by Lexa’s hand, the feeling of fluctuating between being and nothingness, sending Clarke off to another plane of existence.

She feels Lexa’s warm panting breaths across her stomach.

Then Lexa slowly … carefully … slips out.

Clarke feels high. Free of whatever it was she had been carrying.

She looks up at Lexa then, her eyes half closed, her smile radiant, every part of her glowing.

Lexa looks down at her so softly, so sweetly then, and Clarke feels so utterly and perfectly content in that moment.

“Feeling better?,” Lexa smiles at her.

And Clarke can’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

After her appointment with Lexa, her experience with Lexa, Clarke’s libido came roaring back.

She is fully booked with back to back appointments for the rest of that week, and the week after that, which she figures is probably a good thing.

She isn’t sure what Lexa’s definition of “casual” is, but she’s pretty sure it isn’t Clarke bursting into her office quite as often as she feels the urge to.

Her poor, sex deprived brain just wasn’t ready for what Lexa had delivered. And for her own sanity, focusing on work as much as possible right now seems like the best plan.

But as she goes through her busy days of meetings with patients, she can’t help but mentally catalogue every symptom they bring to her that sounds even vaguely like the kind of thing she would like to bring to Lexa for “treatment” in the future.

During the free moments between appointments, she finds herself on her computer idly scrolling through the symptoms of medical and psychological conditions.

Some of the latter hit pretty close to home these days.

This little refresher she’s doing of her symptomatology knowledge even helps her correctly diagnose a rare condition in one of her patients.

But still, she feels like she can’t entirely keep her mind focused on work. Some part of her brain seems to have permanently relocated to the gutter, or in her case, to Lexa’s office.

As the days tick by, she scrupulously follows Lexa’s treatment plan for her, spending mornings and evenings slowly and consistently building the strength and endurance of her forearms … for longer and longer durations … Moaning over the fact that she’s doing it because Lexa told her to.

She can feel her arm, her everything really, feeling looser, better, and new muscles starting to form. She’s pretty sure that when she’s back out on the court, her tennis game will be considerably improved given the *ahem* effort she’s been putting in. All of her game will be improved really …

She’s not sure whether the fact that she hasn’t seen Lexa in over 2 weeks now is making things better or worse for her psychologically.

But what she is sure of is that the longing … ugh … the longing y’all … has been exquisite.

When she finally does see Lexa, she’s standing next to the nurses’ station with Octavia and Raven, having their regular coffee break.

She sees Lexa step off the elevator, and Lexa looks at her with that expression of professional indifference, no smile at all - the same expression from their “appointment” that drives Clarke absolutely wild - but the look in Lexa’s eyes is fucking smoldering. And she keeps looking at Clarke as she walks toward her destination. And Clarke looks back at Lexa like she wants to tear her to pieces in the best way.

Then Lexa disappears into an office.

She vaguely hears Raven’s voice in the background saying, “Clarke? … Clarke?”

Octavia and Raven are both watching her stare at the door Lexa went into with that predatory look on her face.

“Jesus Clarke …” she hears Octavia say, “What did she do to you?”

“Yeah, Clarke, what did she do to you?” Clarke’s brain purrs at her from the gutter, “What else could she be doing to you? What could you be doing for her?”

Her eyes widen, and she feels the coffee cup she’s forgotten she’s holding start to slip through her fingers.

She grips it, sets it on the counter, shoves that voice in her head back down, and turns to rejoin the conversation with Octavia and Raven.

They’re both just looking at her in silence.

“I’m fine,” Clarke lies to her best friends and herself in a neutral tone, her blood boiling, not really answering Octavia’s question.

“Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long,” Clarke thinks to herself.

Then she thinks defensively, “But she could have come to see me too …” - though of course a) she wouldn’t have actually been available if Lexa had come to see her before, and b) Clarke knows better than anyone that that’s not how their little doctor-patient relationship works.

Clarke abandons her internal discussion and tries to rejoin the conversation Raven and Octavia are now having without her.

But when she does, Octavia looks at Clarke and lifts her chin, indicating past her. When Clarke turns, she sees that Lexa is walking back toward the elevator, looking at her.

Clarke abandons Octavia, Raven, and the rest of her coffee, and starts walking briskly toward the elevator.

They stand there waiting for the elevator to arrive without a word. When the doors open, it’s packed with people. Lexa steps in, turns around, and looks Clarke right in the eye. Clarke steps in directly in front of her, and then subtly but firmly presses her butt into the front of Lexa’s pants, leaning back into her just enough.

Lexa reaches around her and presses the button for the very top floor, higher than the floor her office is on.

As people get off 1 by 1 around them, Clarke subtly presses back further and further, until Lexa’s back is against the back wall of the elevator.

When they reach the top floor, a few new people step in and Clarke pushes the button for the very bottom floor, and then steps back to press against Lexa again.

After a moment, she feels Lexa’s fingers discretely tracing under the curve of her butt as the elevator slowly descends. People get in and out on every floor, and Clarke watches the numbers of the floors change on the display panel as she feels Lexa’s hand slide under her butt and between her thighs, the tips of Lexa’s fingers circling under her, against the fabric of her pants.

It is taking everything in Clarke to stay silent.

When the doors open on the ground floor, the last few people step out and no one gets in. Leaving them alone.

Clarke stops pressing back into Lexa, and takes a step forward. Looks straight ahead as the doors close.

Lexa steps forward beside her, presses the button for her office’s floor, and also looks straight ahead at the closed doors.

That’s when Clarke says:

“Increased appetite ...”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lexa check her watch, and then hears her say, “Show me ...”

And Clarke spends the next half hour on her knees in Lexa’s office showing her.

———

They don’t say another word to each other. Behind the closed door, Clarke is on her knees in the middle of Lexa’s office, looking up at her hungrily as her fingers pry open Lexa’s belt and unclasp Lexa’s pants. Clarke already knows that this moment is going to haunt her dreams.

Lexa looks down at her with that professional indifference, and Clarke can already feel how soaked her underwear is, just from being on her knees in front of Lexa, just from seeing Lexa, really. Her walls are already fluttering.

She sees Lexa purse her lips and narrow her eyes at her, and it’s almost as if Clarke can hear Lexa’s unspoken question in her mind:

Where have you been?

And god, the subtle tinge of annoyance on Lexa’s face is really working for Clarke. In that moment, she doesn’t know how she managed to stay away for so long.

But she looks back up at Lexa unwavering, eyes intent.

She is going to it make up to her. And she has a lot of anatomy knowledge to help her do it …

Lexa had been so generous with her at their last encounter. It had been entirely one way, all for Clarke. But not this time …

Clarke feels Lexa’s hand in her hair as she pulls down Lexa’s underwear. She feels the tension in Lexa’s strong thighs where her hands are gripping.

She presses soft kisses slowly across Lexa’s inner thighs. And god, Lexa’s thighs taste like honey. She trails her tongue against sensitive spots, luxuriating in the taste, grazing her teeth against skin.

Her hand starts massaging between Lexa’s legs as she trails kisses and her teasing tongue across the tops of Lexa’s hips, across her stomach, below her belly button. She slowly licks her way down the little valleys where Lexa’s thighs roll into her center as her hand mooshes.

Clarke stops massaging Lexa and pulls off her shirt, and Lexa watches Clarke’s chest rise and fall heavily with each breath. Clarke looks up at Lexa then and hesitates for a moment.

Clarke is so wet right now. Her clit is throbbing at the sight of Lexa’s bare thighs in front of her … from the weeks of not seeing her.

Lexa is looking down at her with dark eyes, taking in Clarke’s hungry expression. Her gaze lands on Clarke’s lap, where her hands are, and she tilts up her chin at Clarke, giving her the go ahead.

Clarke doesn’t need to be told twice. She unbuttons her pants, unzips, and then lets her hand slide down and work against the soaked fabric of her underwear. She groans in relief as her fingers work. Lexa lets out a deep sigh, as if it were her own hands on Clarke, and Clarke feels a deep tremor run through her at the way Lexa is watching her.

Clarke leans in so Lexa can feel her hot, panting breaths between her thighs, as her hand works away between her own thighs. She plants gentle kisses across the soft, swollen folds. And then she leans in and delivers a long, slow lick, starting low, her tongue shimmying side to side up through the wetness, taking it all in as she works her way up to Lexa’s clit. And god, tasting the proof of Lexa’s desire, warm and wet against her tongue, is better than anything she can remember.

Clarke’s underwear is so wet it feels like she’s not even wearing them anymore. Her hand is now completely soaked at the taste and feel of Lexa on her tongue.

She feels Lexa shudder at the sensation of the broad, flat strokes of her tongue licking steadily, hungrily, as her nose teases against Lexa’s clit. Half-way licks that starts low, occasional long strokes that stop just before her clit.

She feels Lexa’s hand on the back of her head, pulling her in closer, and Clarke moans, mouth full, her face pressing firmly into the wetness. She feels Lexa flutter at the vibration of the sound against her pussy.

Clarke’s left hand starts massaging the soft mound just above Lexa’s slit and she hears Lexa’s soft growls as all the nerve endings light up. Still massaging, she presses her tongue against the sensitive spot at top of her slit. Gentle, soft licks, letting the back of her tongue graze against the top of Lexa’s clit. Clarke feels the wetness creeping down her own thighs from the sound of Lexa’s satisfied sighs above her.

Lexa’s clit is so firm against the back of her tongue that Clarke know it’s time to move past tongue alone. She wraps her lips around Lexa’s clit and starts gently sucking. She pulls her hand out of her pants to slide her fingers through the warm wetness underneath Lexa. Feels her own brain melt into a puddle. Her tongue starts sliding along the underside of Lexa’s clit while she sucks, her lip sliding across the top.

Her left hand massaging against Lexa’s mons, her tongue and lips working against Lexa’s clit, her face pressing into Lexa, and her fingers circling the wetness underneath all fall into the same rhythm.

She feels Lexa’s muscles tighten, feels the subtle retraction of Lexa’s clit against her tongue. The signal that she’s about to come. Clarke starts alternating licks along the soft wetness of Lexa’s inner lips, where the legs of the clitoris branch down, as Lexa rocks against her tongue.

Clarke’s tongue trails lower, over Lexa’s entrance, swirling through the wetness. She hears Lexa’s heavy groans above her, feels Lexa’s fingers tighten in her hair. And then she feels the orgasm rip through Lexa, feels her muscles rolling.

The warm gush against her mouth leaves Clarke breathless, she feels like she’s about to faint as her hands grip Lexa’s thighs, for sure leaving bruises as she makes Lexa ride it out against her face, the buck of Lexa’s hips against her mouth is completely entrancing.

Clarke licks slowly then, tenderly, cleaning up the mess as her heart pounds in her ears like it’s about the explode.

She doesn’t remember zipping up Lexa’s pants, or putting on her own shirt. But she does remember stepping over to the desk, writing down her phone number, and holding the pen high so that it drops with a thud on Lexa’s desk.

She steps back in front of Lexa, who is still standing in the middle of the office panting, pupils blown, her mouth half open.

Lexa’s eyes lock onto Clarke’s like she’s just woken up from a trance. Her eyes narrow, lips purse, and she looks at Clarke like she’s seeing her for the first time … and then the corner of Lexa’s mouth slides into a sly grin and she gives Clarke a little nod of respect.

Clarke lifts her chin, looks straight back at Lexa, expressionless, as she nonchalantly wipes the back of her hand against the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes study Lexa’s face as she slips her bottom lip into her mouth, runs her tongue across it to taste Lexa, thinking about the way Lexa tastes, Lexa’s insane ability to stay quiet and restrained while her muscles flexed and rolled as the release had ripped through her.

Lexa’s restraint isn’t an absence of wanting.

And then Clarke turns around, opens the door, and strolls out of the office.

Clarke can’t stop grinning for the rest of the day ...

Chapter Text

Over time, the end of the day on Tuesdays became their default.

But then there was that one Thursday when Clarke had worn a smart black pencil skirt to work. She spotted Lexa in the hospital cafeteria and looked at her with blatant wanting.

And then she caught herself.

“Get it together Clarke …” she mumbled under her breath, “… you were just with her 2 days ago …”

Then she watched as Lexa’s eyes traveled up the backs of her calves, up the fabric over the back of her thighs, and then over the curve of her ass. She felt Lexa’s gaze moving across her body as if it was Lexa’s warm hands caressing her.

Then Lexa’s eyes locked with hers and she gave Clarke that look, as her mouth dropped open a little.

The effect of their Tuesday “appointments” had been therapeutic for Clarke. Her confidence, her happiness had soared under Lexa’s care. She approached her work with a new clarity, a new authority. She was thriving.

But the look on Lexa’s face in the cafeteria that Thursday absolutely undid her, and made Clarke a distracted mess for the rest of the day.

And then, after Clarke’s last appointment that evening, Lexa had shown up at her office with a black medical bag in hand - the kind doctor’s used when making house calls in the 1950s.

The kind that, in the original comic, Wonder Woman had used to carry her superhero costume in.

And indeed, when Clarke had finished locking her office door and wandered over to where Lexa was unpacking it on her desk, she saw the black harness and silicon strap-on it contained.

Just standing next to Lexa and watching her hands pull a bottle of lube out of the bag and deftly slide the strap-on into the harness made Clarke groan under her breath, and sent a little wave of muscle contractions coursing through her thighs.

When Lexa set it down, Clarke couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. Her hands were in Lexa’s hair, she felt the warmth of Lexa’s body pressed against hers, felt Lexa’s hand holding her cheek gently, Lexa’s other hand against her back holding her close … and then sliding down to squeeze her ass as their mouths moved against each other’s hungrily.

And then Lexa stepped away and sat on the edge of the desk.

Clarke looked her right in the eye as she started unbuttoning her shirt, revealing the light blue silk camisole she was wearing underneath, the shape of her hard nipples clearly visible. Lexa watched wordlessly, her expression neutral, appraising Clarke’s face, her chest, watching her fingers unbutton …

“What do you have for me today, Clarke,” Lexa said evenly in her professional tone as Clarke dropped her shirt on the floor.

Clarke stepped forward into the space between Lexa’s knees, hypnotized by the look on Lexa’s face. Standing right in front of her, she reached out to rest her forearms on Lexa’s shoulders, intertwined her fingers in the air behind Lexa’s head. She felt Lexa sliding the backs of her fingers up and down the sides of her silk camisole, up and down, up and down. Clarke’s eyes closed, her head rolling on her neck at the feeling of Lexa’s touch.

Then she leaned in and whispered into Lexa’s ear:

“Hysteria …”

And for just a moment, Lexa was the one groaning.

***

Key sidenote:

Hysteria is an old fashioned diagnosis doctors and early psychologists used - especially in the 18 and early 1900’s, with roots going back thousand of years to ancient Egypt. It’s also described in the Hippocratic texts.

It was an “affliction” seen as plaguing those with a uterus - which Aretaeus of Cappadocia described as "an animal within an animal". In the 2nd century, Galen identified women eager to have sex as afflicted. Passionate women, women inclined to “venery” / sexual indulgence. It was also called "the widow's disease", with “women’s secretions” believed to turn venomous if they were not regularly released via climax.

Hysteria was believed to be the cause of the licentiousness of certain women - their lack of restraint, and their insufficient respect for societal standards regarding sexual conduct. It was seen as a “nervous condition” brought on by lifestyle factors such as women deciding not to get married. Symptoms included sexual desire, shortness of breath, sexually forward behavior, insomnia, and just generally “causing trouble”. It was considered extremely common in the Industrial Age, and women commonly carried smelling salts with them in case of “swooning”.

It is now seen as a totally sexist diagnosis and fell out of use long ago.

One of the treatments for hysteria was manual stimulation of the patient’s genitals by midwives (and sometimes doctors) to induce “hysterical paroxysm” / orgasm in the afflicted - because women engaging in self-stimulation / masturbation was considered taboo.

It’s a “treatment” that goes back to antiquity. And, you know, to the beginning of humanity …

For more on the fascinating history of hysteria see: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Female_hysteria

***********************

Lexa stood up from the edge of the desk to begin her examination of Clarke.

She slid her warm hands slowly down Clarke’s neck and across her shoulders. Watched the muscles at the top of her chest flutter under her touch. Felt her way down the silk camisole with teasing fingers, then with full hands roaming across Clarke’s hips, kneading her soft breasts and hard nipples, her even breaths and little sighs warm against Clarke’s ear.

Then, Lexa gently pushed Clarke back a step, and leaned down to hook her fingers under the hem of her skirt. She pulled it up slowly, until the fabric was gathered over Clarke’s waist, her green-black eyes taking in the dark wetness spreading across the front of Clarke’s underwear.

Then Lexa looked her in the eyes and said, “Show me what you’ve tried …”

Clarke’s right hand was between her thighs in a flash, but her fingers worked slowly, steadily against the moist fabric of her underwear, trying to ease the low ache. Working away with little gasps, she watched Lexa’s face, watched Lexa watching her fingers work.

Lexa was watching her fingers as if she was judging her technique, and some part of Clarke’s brain slammed its fists against a table in outrage over how hot it was.

Her fingers moved faster.

Lexa met her gaze, looking into her eyes with a look that devoured the last vestiges of Clarke’s sanity, and Clarke’s fingers started to work frantically.

Lexa’s eyes were so dark now, gazing into Clarke so steadily.

Clarke watched Lexa’s lips move, and heard her say, “Finish.”

And Clarke came so hard she saw stars.

(To be continued …)

Chapter Text

(… continued from previous chapter)

It seemed that Clarke had blacked out for a moment there.

But she gathered that she was laid out on the examination table in her office. She was breathing hard, and her thighs were still clenching and unclenching. Her silk camisole was soaked with sweat, and her skirt was back down to its normal length, coverings her.

And her libido was still roaring.

She felt an ache yawning within her, acute but vast, to have Lexa and to be had by her. For this not to be the end. To be smashed to pieces by their desire, together.

Lexa appeared above her, was standing beside the examination table looking down at her face carefully.

But Clarke didn’t want her concern.

The more careful, the more restrained Lexa was with her, the more it made Clarke want to be reckless, to give in completely to her desire.

Blackout be damned.

She looked at Lexa hungrily, projecting her thoughts into Lexa’s mind.

And then her hands went down to her hips … and started slowly pulling at the fabric of her skirt, inching it higher.

Even in her delirium, she hadn’t forgotten about what Lexa had laid out on her desk. And she wanted it. Wanted everything, anything Lexa was willing give her.

Clarke saw a look of concern flash across Lexa’s face, and heard her say, “Clarke …”

But Clarke just shook her head slowly and said “No,” dismissing whatever it was that Lexa was going to say. Her eyes filled with steely determination as her fingers pulled the fabric of her skirt higher, inch by inch.

Lexa still looked … hesitant.

But Clarke’s fingers kept inching up her skirt until it was up to her thighs.

And then her fingers were tracing along her inner thighs, and then swirling slowly against the wet fabric of her underwear for Lexa to see.

To tempt her.

Lexa’s eyes fell lower, watched her fingers working, eyes darkening, the look of concern that had been on her face now replaced with a battle between restraint and desire raging across her features.

And even though it was quite difficult under the sweaty, fingers-working-between-legs circumstances, Clarke drew way down deep on her fortitude, on her training, on her resolve, to pull herself together.

She was going to need every bit of her mental capacities to get Lexa to keep going with her, to shove Lexa off her stable footing of prudence and reasonableness, to send her crashing down into the gutter of reckless abandon where Clarke was, where Clarke needed her to be.

Clarke’s mind snapped back into gear.

She needed to make Lexa lose it. To lure her back.

Clarke’s eyes were aflame as she looked at Lexa’s face, her fingers picking up the pace between her thighs as she said slowly, “I will apply … for the benefit of the sick … all measures required …”

It was a line from the hippocratic oath. Ancient, fundamental ethics for those who practice medicine. She was reminding Lexa of her duty, her responsibility to help those in need …

And Clarke was in need.

Lexa looked at her then as if Clarke had just lit a church on fire.

Clarke’s clit twitched at Lexa’s reaction, and her fingers started working frantically. Moaning. Her other hand reaching up to knead her breast through the silk of her camisole, groaning as she showed Lexa just how badly she needed her, her head rolling back, her thighs rolling against the table in a steady rhythm.

She felt Lexa’s eyes on her, moving across her like lava.

“Please ……………………,” she moaned out, and then, “I need you ………………………, I want you ………………………, I have to ………………………, help me ………………………, please ………………………”

When she looked back at Lexa again, she saw an expression on her face that she had never seen before. Fury. Desperation. Animal.

Lexa was off her footing.

The look seared into Clarke’s brain for all eternity. She looked into Lexa’s eyes and reached out to her with her hand, with her mind, with her whole heart. Called out to her, her voice steady, beckoning her, not with desperation but with certainty - like she was delivering a prophecy, “My love … come to me …”

Lexa started undoing her pants. And Clarke started to lose it.

Whatever composure she had pulled together evaporated instantly. Clarke’s fingers slid under her underwear and started working desperately, her eyes glazed over with lust, groaning. Her whole body shuddering, arching, sweating on the exam table. Maybe she came, maybe more than once, she wasn’t sure anymore.

She was begging. Begging Lexa to come to her, to have her, to ruin her.

And Lexa was pulling on the harness.

Clarke was standing, leaning over the examination table on her forearms, and Lexa was behind her, sliding into her, and Clarke could barely keep from exploding at the feeling.

Lexa’s hand was on her hip, the other in her hair, her thighs working their devastating magic, rolling into Clarke over and over.

Lexa was leaning over her, whispering things into her ear that were beyond words, that coiled around her mind like a snake, squeezing every thought out of her brain except for the feeling of what was happening.

Clarke could hear the pops and crackles of her neurons firing with the knowledge that Lexa was doing this to her, for her, to take care of her.

It had only taken one look from Clarke across the cafeteria for Lexa to see that Clarke needed her, and she had come to her.

All restraint gone, les petites morts* crashed through them on a grand scale again and again. They were dying in fire and being reborn. Soft as evening, hard as light. Beauty, truth and madness ripping through them. Burning in a cocoon of fire spun from their own desire. Burning from wounds that burned to heal, and then becoming the fire. The heat of the transformation unbearable, but necessary. Burning away all artifice, all illusions, everything that was unnecessary. Their pride, their fear of themselves and each other all reduced to ash, leaving only the glowing molten core of what was essential, the white hot knowledge of what it was to be together fully in this moment, completely unrestrained. Knowledge that, once learned, could never be unlearned. And the feeling of holding that knowledge within them for as long as they dared, while it seared through their bodies, the anguish and the peace of it. Something in them rising out of the black smoke, out of the bonfire of their desire, weightless, wrapped in the night sky, in a blanket of stars. Eternity blossoming before them like a field of sunflowers.

It was apocalyptic. Nuclear devastation. Their bodies radioactive. It was total obliteration.

And then Clarke was lying on the exam table, Lexa next to her, their bodies covered in sweat, trembling. Lexa’s hand was on her cheek, she was whispering magic words into Clarke’s ear to lure her back to herself. Clarke was moaning Lexa’s name like it was the only word she knew. They were panting, their minds struggling to contain something that is infinite. Holding each other. Comforting each other. Trying to catch their breath.

Chapter Text

When Clarke woke up the next morning, she felt completely shattered by the experience.

It felt like she had taken a hit of raw joy, distilled down to its purest form. Her body, her mind, her heart just didn’t know what to do with it.

And now came the withdrawal.

She suddenly felt so vulnerable, so raw … like everything was covered in sandpaper. It felt like her soft heart was pinned to the front of her chest, exposed, bruised and tender from overuse. And those were not feelings she had much experience dealing with.

She went through her Friday entirely on autopilot, her years of training doing her job for her with surprising competence while her mind just sat back and watched, trying to regroup. Trying not to feel the absence of Lexa’s hands on her. Her face a mask of composure.

Between patients, she checked how many vacation days she had for the first time in years. It was a lot, which was comforting. She arranged to take Monday off. She wasn’t sure what the time was for, but she knew she needed it.

She avoided everyone that Friday.

Lexa texted to make sure she was ok, and Clarke had texted back honestly:

not sure need time

And then she locked her phone in a drawer.

Just seeing Lexa’s name pop up on her phone was too much. Just the idea that Lexa existed at all was too much.

She made excuses to avoid all contact with anyone over the weekend.

On Saturday, she sat on her couch and watched TV in her pajamas to distract her brain. Left her phone on silent in a drawer. Ordered takeout for every meal. Did everything she could to distract herself from her feelings, but each minute seemed to stretch out into infinity.

And despite all her efforts, despite forbidding herself from feeling anything or even thinking Lexa’s name, it just happened sometimes.

Her logical brain didn’t know how to process their experience, and it just kept poking at her for an explanation. But she didn’t have one.

She wasn’t a religious person, but it had been a religious experience.

Those were the only types of words she could use to make any sense of what she had felt.

Lying in bed on Saturday night, the feelings started flooding in, and she just couldn’t stop them. Her eyes closed and she let them come. Big sloppy tears rolled down her cheeks.

She didn’t know why.

She felt so lost, like she had woken up on the shore of a strange land, alone. Like her mind was just puttering around gathering driftwood on the shore. Like she was huddled next to a little fire she had cobbled together with her own hands, just staring blankly into the flames, trying to survive as the chilly sea breeze whipped by endlessly. While the feeling of her experience with Lexa stretched out beneath her in all directions, like beach sand sparkling in the sunlight, so bright it was impossible to look at. But it was everywhere.

Now, in the middle of her Saturday night, exhausted from the effort of trying to do nothing, trying to feel nothing, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the way Lexa had taken care of her Thursday night.

Had held her so tenderly, so carefully that it hurt. Had driven her home. Had stood on her doorstep while Clarke’s fingers clung desperately to her shirt, holding on like Lexa was the only thing in the world to hold on to. How Lexa’s voice in her ear had been so soft and gentle while she held her there that it made Clarke want to die. How she couldn’t look at Lexa, how she had pushed her away a little to get out her keys, had shut the door, and just went straight to bed to shut everything out.

Everyone talks about the euphoria of love, the ecstasy. But holding that white hot feeling in our frail human minds for long just isn’t sustainable. Eventually, our dopamine and serotonin levels come crashing down from the high. It can only ever be ephemeral. And with every heartbeat, Clarke felt the distance from that euphoria grow. It was painful. Her heart was now a tomb filled with secrets, filled with feelings she couldn’t name, beating uselessly in her chest as the sands of time ran through it and out into nowhere and nothingness.

From nothingness things had come into being, and to nothingness they had returned. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The veil had been lifted and the view had been so achingly beautiful, so vast, that she just had to turn away.

On Sunday morning she woke up to the sound of knocking on her front door, but she just stayed in bed.

Whatever package was being delivered, whatever petition they wanted her to sign meant nothing.

She wasn’t home.

The knocking went on so long she stopped noticing it.

It just became the soundtrack to the careful inspection she was doing of the ceiling above her bed.

She barely registered the sound of glass shattering, but then her mind heard the echo of it and she was out of bed walking toward it.

She was standing in her living room looking at a side window that had been completely bashed in. Heard the breeze blowing through it. The floor was a sea of sparkling shards and Lexa was standing in the middle of it.

They crunched under her feet as she came to her. Lexa was whispering in her ear that she shouldn’t be alone.

And all of a sudden she wasn’t.

Her heart sparked at the feeling of Lexa’s heart beating against hers, at the warmth of their bond forged in heat, cooled by distance, and now given shape.

The feeling of Lexa holding her was pure heroine.

And it didn’t matter what happened next, because she had this now.

She had needed Lexa, not in the heat of desire but in the cold, and Lexa had come to her.

In sickness, and in health.

The past merely prologue.

******************

And that’s when Clarke saw it.

A whole other side to Lexa that their little arrangement had never let her see before.

Lexa: the fierce cuddler. Lexa: bringer of tea and snacks. Lexa: the person vacuuming broken glass off her floor, duct taping a temporary cover over her window frame and calling someone to come replace it.

Lexa: the person teasing Clarke for not showering in days. Lexa in her bathtub with her, washing her hair, kissing her sweetly and running her soapy hands all over her - the best medicine of all.

Lexa pulling on a pair of her boxer shorts and one of her t-shirts from her pajama drawer. Bringing Clarke her favorite cookies on a little plate while she sat in bed.

Every second in Lexa’s company made her feel a little stronger. Even Lexa’s teasing made her feel more like herself, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile at it all.

“You’re pretty adorable when you’re being all domestic like this,” Clarke teased, digging into her cookies.

“Yeah well, I’m more than just a fantastic lay, Clarke …” Lexa said with her sly smile, eyes twinkling as she crawled into bed beside her.

Clarke rolled her eyes at that, but like, she also couldn’t really deny it, because jesus christ …

“Yeah well, about that, you might need to get a warning label tattooed on your body … I think you broke my brain …” Clarke murmured.

Lexa laced her fingers with Clarke’s and said, “Well, I guess they’d have to be matching tattoos then, because I am definitely not the only brain-breaker in this bed,” the truth of it written all over her face, “I was completely wrecked till last night.”

“Is that why you smashed my window? Vengeance?,” Clarke smirked.

Lexa arched an eyebrow at her, “I smashed your window because you weren’t answering your fucking phone, Clarke …” she grabbed a cookie and mumbled, “… lucky I didn’t break down the god damn door …”

Hmm, Clarke liked hearing Lexa swear.

“And you should be nice to me, otherwise I won’t tell you my recovery secrets …”

Clarke pouted at her. She really did want to know that.

“Fine …” Lexa gave in immediately to the power of the pout.

Grabbing her phone off the nightstand, she pulled Clarke closer so she was cuddled up against her under the covers.

And then Lexa read aloud to her from Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.

Clarke was a hard science person, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had read poetry. But the words rolling off Lexa’s tongue were fucking music to her ears. She liked the part about how the dragons in our lives are sometimes just princesses waiting to see us be beautiful and brave. How when things are hard, you shouldn’t think that life has forgotten you. To remember that life holds you in the palm of its hand. And not to shut out discomforts or sadness because “you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.”

And then Lexa read to her some of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. About how:

“When love beckons to you follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep, And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth … But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.”

And god, wasn’t that the fucking truth. The words were like a cool balm on Clarke’s little mending heart.

“It’s beautiful …” Clarke said, snuggling against Lexa a little tighter in their cocoon of blankets, “I … would not have pegged you for a poetry person.”

Lexa put down her phone and wrapped her arms around Clarke, planted a little kiss on the top of her head, and said gently, “We’re all poetry people Clarke. Poetry is just what it feels like to be alive. Not sure what yours was like, but my residency was brutal. So much life and death every day, people struggling to get better. To live. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes not. Poetry helped me when it all felt like too much and I wanted to shut down. It helped me see the struggles that our patients go through, and that we go through with them, as something beautiful … It feels like an honor to witness people in those moments, to help them, to be there with them while the fight their dragons, while they are being brave and beautiful, regardless of the outcome …”

Clarke felt little tears bubble up in her eyes and she just had to kiss her then, because she knew that Lexa was talking about her right then too. About being here with her while she was fighting her dragon. Lexa was there waiting to see her be brave, helping her not run away from what she felt. Was saying that her struggle was beautiful.

And in that moment, Clarke was brave. She let her little heart expand all the way to the sore edges and felt it fully, maybe more than she had ever truly allowed herself to feel the depths of her feelings for Lexa.

Her brain pulled together the totality of everything they had experienced together, everything they had ever said to one another, every look that had passed between them, every expression Lexa had ever given her, every touch, every gesture and kindness. Lexa had been her poison and the antidote, it had all just depended on the dosage.

And she smiled at the secret knowledge burning within her that she was going to let Lexa be her weakness and her remedy. That that they would be each other’s ruin and rebuilding. That they would be brave.

—— THE EN:D —-