WARNING: This has magic!cock in it! G!P. Lexa has a dick. Beware.

AN: this is for decaheda. i'm so sorry for this sin. i used a line from tell daddy as the title b/c i can never think of titles

(Oh, and y'all can follow me on tumblr at raedmagdon for more sin.)

. . .

Only Queen Bees

get to step to a boss

. . .

Maybe it's the way Lexa's fingers grip the edges of the throne's armrests, slender but strong, curling with purpose around the polished wood. Clarke has spent more time than she wants to admit studying those fingers, those hands, memorizing the calluses and the small white scars that slash between the knuckles. Over the past few weeks, they have roamed over every inch of her body, and still, staring at them is enough to make her shift uncomfortably in her own chair.

Or maybe it's the way Lexa tilts her face up when Titus leans down to murmur beside her ear. The proud line of her jaw is always prominent, but its shape is even sharper when she raises it ever so slightly. Clarke has followed the angle at least a hundred times with her mouth, enough to know exactly how many kisses it takes to drift from the point of Lexa's chin to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

It might also be Lexa's lips. The way they move whenever Lexa speaks—the way they remain ever so slightly parted even when she is not speaking—is nearly enough to make Clarke forget the voices all around them. Her ears only have room for Lexa, and even while the other representatives are talking, she finds herself incapable of tearing her eyes away from the impossibly faint freckle above Lexa's upper lip on the left side. In her defense, it is a very nice upper lip. Almost as nice as the plush bottom one where she loves to sink her teeth.

But whatever the reason, Clarke is certain of one thing: whenever she and Lexa are in the same room, regardless of who is with them, she finds it extremely difficult to pay attention to anyone else.

The conversation carrying on around her is in English, mostly for her benefit, but she doesn't care to listen. She blinks, trying to focus, but the attempt at collecting her thoughts is a complete failure. The Floukru Ambassador is raising his voice, bushy beard quivering, but she barely even spares him a glance. Instead, she watches Lexa watch him, fighting the temptation to run her tongue across her own lower lip. Her mouth has gone dry, but other parts of her body are emphatically not—the slight dip between her breasts, the shallow pool of sweat at the small of her back, the warm, sticky mess spreading between her legs each time Lexa so much as breathes...

This is important, she tells herself, struggling once more for some sense of decorum. You're an Ambassador now. You need to pay attention. But Lexa is the only person she feels like paying attention to. When the Commander shifts on her throne, adjusting ever so slightly to one side and crossing one leg over the other, Clarke has to bite the inside of her cheek. She doesn't hear a word the sour-looking Sangedakru Ambassador says. Her gaze has dropped dangerously low, and she can't help but let it wander up along Lexa's thighs. They're wrapped in sleek leather, bound with buckles and straps that her fingers itch to unfasten.

"What is your opinion, Klark kom Skaikru?"

At first, the sound of Lexa's voice sends a shiver down her spine. It is a melody she has heard many times before, in several different octaves, from the high gasp when Lexa indulges in rare laughter to a low growl when the Commander's teeth are against her throat. But this time, it is clearly laced with amusement. To her embarrassment, Clarke realizes that Lexa is looking straight at her, green eyes alight with mischief. Immediately, she knows she has been found out, and the points of her cheeks begin to blaze.

Oh no. What were they talking about? She finally tears her gaze away from Lexa through the power of desperation, flicking frantically between the two Ambassadors. I don't even remember...

"I don't think it's my place to offer an opinion," she says, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels. "Floukru and Sangedakru know more about the, um... situation than I do."

To her surprise, Lexa offers an approving nod. "My thoughts exactly. Ambassadors, the details of your trade agreement are between your Clans. The two of you must iron them out for yourselves."

Clarke knows she should be listening, especially after her near miss, but as the two Ambassadors bow their heads in deference with murmurs of, "Sha, Heda," she is distracted all over. Once more, Lexa's legs are at fault—she has uncrossed them again, offering an even more enticing view than earlier. She leans forward in her chair, perched closer to the edge than usual instead of lounging back, and Clarke swallows thickly. She's spreading her knees. Why? Breathing room?

Her theory is confirmed moments later. She doubts anyone else in the room notices the slight swell at the front of Lexa's pants, probably because they aren't staring at it like a starved animal the way she is, but it is more than obvious to her. She's suddenly reminded that it's been half a day since Lexa was last inside her—twelve whole hours since she's felt the hard snap of Lexa's hips rutting into hers and the sharp, burning, wonderful stretch of Lexa's shaft splitting her open.

The memories have her so dazed that she only hears the tail-end of Lexa's next sentence. "...dismissed. We will continue our meeting pas sanch."

Dimly, Clarke realizes that the other Ambassadors are rising, preparing to leave their seats, but she makes no move to join them. In all honesty, she isn't certain her legs will hold her. She takes a deep breath instead, forcing herself to look back at Lexa's face, hoping it will be safer territory. It is a mistake. Lexa's eyes have lost their teasing glint. Instead, there is a whirling darkness in them, one she knows all too well.

She knows Lexa will ask her to stay behind before the words are actually said, but when she hears, "Klark, kamp raun," her heart still speeds up. It has been a big adjustment, going from wanting to kill Lexa to swooning at the mere suggestion of spending time alone with her, but circumstances have changed. In Lexa's company, she has changed.

While the other Ambassadors file out, a few with sour, jealous looks and others with knowing smirks, Titus bends his head once again. Lexa turns toward him, and Clarke makes the most of the opportunity. She admires as much of Lexa as she can, drinking the sight in greedily—clinging leather and straps and small bits of skin and the ever-more-obvious bulge. She can't hear what Titus is saying, but it doesn't matter. In another moment, Lexa will send him away as well.

She's soon proven right. "Titus, gon yu we. Clarke and I have something to discuss."

Titus frowns, looking as though he wants to protest, but Lexa's eyes harden, and he backs down. "Of course, Commander. As you wish."

Clarke doesn't bother watching him go. Instead, she rises from her chair, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies. Lexa's intentions are obvious, but some part of her still isn't accustomed to this, to being in a safe place with a person she trusts instead of fighting for her life and the lives of her friends. She keeps expecting something to go wrong—for Lexa to reject her, or find a new way to break her heart. But so far, the Commander has been nothing but considerate, and the sex... that part is almost enough to make her forget the months she spent cursing Lexa's name.

When the door closes, she steels herself. Okay, Griffin. Time to make her stare for a change. She turns toward Lexa's throne, putting a deliberate sway in her hips. "You said you had something to discuss with me, Heda?"

Lexa's face softens. Somehow, it's even more beautiful when she's smiling than when she's using the cold, icy stare her position so often requires. There is a slight glow at the points of her cheeks, and Clarke can tell that her breathing is a little fast. "You don't have to call me that when we're alone, you know. I sent Titus away for a reason."

Clarke smiles back. The clipped, overly-enunciated quality to Lexa's speech has vanished, and although she more than appreciates the commanding tone, she loves the gentle warmth that creeps into Lexa's voice when her lover's attention is focused solely on her. But what she likes even better, what she craves, is the throaty moans Lexa always makes at the height of pleasure. She continues toward the throne with a new sense of purpose, willing Lexa to remain where she is.

"Come on. Don't lie and tell me you don't like it."

Lexa's eyes narrow slightly, and Clarke is thrilled to catch more than a hint of desire in them. "I have never lied to you, Clarke. And I have to admit that my title can sound... especially nice... when you say it."

Nice? Clarke shifts her weight to one hip, folding her arms across her chest. Not quite what I was going for. "Is that why you spent most of that meeting with an erection, or is my hair just looking really good today?"

"You already know how I feel about your appearance, Clarke," Lexa says with a snort, but she also spreads her knees a little wider, scooting closer to the edge of her chair and putting the swell at the front of her pants on even more prominent display. She doesn't go quite so far as to adjust herself, but she doesn't need to. Clarke can see a surprising amount of detail through her clothes—more than enough to send another pulse of heat straight to the bud of her clit.

"Yeah," she says, continuing to stare as she closes the last few steps between them. "I guess it's pretty obvious..." Lexa begins to rise from the throne, probably to wrap an arm around her waist and whisper an invitation in her ear while leading her to the bedroom, but Clarke steals one of her lover's favorite gestures and holds up her hand. "Wait. I think I like you right where you are."

Lexa's brows lift in surprise, but she doesn't get up. She sinks back a little into her seat instead, waiting expectantly while Clarke struggles to hide her grin. Lexa never ceases to fascinate her, whether she's playing the dominant, impressive role of Commander or defying expectations with her gentleness, tenderness, and obedience. If I'm lucky, maybe I can get a taste of both before lunch is over.

"So, I know you wanted to have a discussion..." Clarke braces both palms on the polished armrests where Lexa's hands were resting mere moments before, taking them over and leaning into her space. "But I had a better idea for something to do with my mouth. Are you interested?"

Lexa's slight inhale makes it clear that she's very interested, but as Clarke expected, her lips form only protests. "Here? In the throne room? I thought you wanted to keep our relationship discreet."

She does, for Lexa's sake as much as hers, but at the moment, she doesn't much care. Most of the Ambassadors already suspect, there's no doubt that Titus knows, and her relationship with her own people is already strained enough. One more sin on her part can't possibly make things much worse. She lets herself focus back on the details of Lexa's face, on the sweet bow of her mouth, the gorgeous hollows of her cheeks, the slight line of sweat trickling down from her temple. "I can be discreet if you can be quiet. Besides, this is your throne room. Heda should be able to do whatever she wants on her own throne, right?"

To her delight, the use of the title causes Lexa to shudder. "You mean whatever Wanheda wants."

Clarke moves her hands inward, removing them from the armrests and letting them press the tops of Lexa's leather-clad thighs instead. She doesn't go up to the bulge straining above them, not yet, but she sees Lexa's reaction to her touch. There's a subtle twitch beneath the fabric, and it makes her inner walls clench in sympathy. "Oh, I think you want it too," she murmurs, smirking with pride. "Remember, I can see the evidence."

Lexa sighs, as if she's being indulgent, but Clarke knows better by how quickly she reaches down to unfasten her fly. Watching Lexa untuck herself is an enjoyable sight, but not quite the one she has in mind. Clarke bats her hands away, dropping to her knees and taking over the job herself. "Here, let me..."

After only a little fumbling on her part, the shaft of Lexa's cock springs free from the tight fabric. Clarke can fold her fingers around it—barely—but it's still swelling in her fist, throbbing against her palm. The blunt head points proudly toward the ceiling, and wetness shines at its end, threatening to run over. She squeezes a little tighter, and the pearly droplet wells up, rolling over the fluted tip and sliding down to hit the edge of her knuckles. The warmth only encourages her. She begins stroking, eager to see what other responses she can pull from Lexa's body.

A few more lazy pumps of her wrist, and Lexa is drizzling thin, clear strands of precome all over her hand, making each motion slippery and smooth. Clarke can't help staring at them, but once in a while, her eyes dart past the proud shaft of Lexa's cock to the flexing abdominal muscles behind it. The motion is visible even through the fabric of Lexa's shirt, and Clarke finds herself wishing she had asked for its removal first. There's something appealing about jerking Lexa off this way—mostly clothed, a reminder that they're pressed for time—but she still wishes she could see them.

"How long do you think we have?" she whispers, looking up into Lexa's face. To anyone else, the Commander would seem as stoic as ever, but Clarke knows her well enough to notice the tension at the corners of her lips, the way she sips her breaths to keep that tightly-wound control.

Instead of answering, Lexa responds with a question of her own. "What happened to you using your mouth?"

Clarke decides to take the sign of impatience as a victory. She dips forward once more, breathing over the tip of Lexa's cock once without letting her tongue peek out to touch it. That earns her a gasp, and so she does it again, relishing the way Lexa's length jumps in her hand. The base is pounding and heavy, and the head is still leaking—leaking enough to tempt Clarke into abandoning her tease. She indulges herself, brushing her lips ever so gently across the gleaming slit in the middle.

Lexa tastes delicious. She always tastes delicious, but nevertheless, Clarke finds herself surprised every time she samples the flavor. She never quite remembers how good it is until it's rolling over her tongue. Soon, she's burrowing into the divot in search of more, lapping up the silky fluid as fast as Lexa's spilling it out. When that isn't enough, she forms a seal around the head, trapping it between her lips and sucking. Lexa stiffens, and for a moment, Clarke hopes she'll break her deliberate silence with a groan, or perhaps even a rare whimper. But it isn't quite enough. Lexa's fingers merely return to the armrests, curling there a little more firmly than usual.

It only makes Clarke more determined. I know she's biting her cheek, trying not to shout, she thinks, half-annoyed and half-impressed. Impulsively, she runs her hands up along Lexa's lean legs for a better grip on her hips. She's just being stubborn, pretending to indulge me, pretending she isn't as turned on as I am. On second thought, she goes lower, grasping the cheeks of Lexa's ass as she takes several more inches of the Commander's cock. That gets her an ever-so-subtle rock of Lexa's hips, but nothing more. Even a slow swipe along the underside of Lexa's shaft barely earns a heavy breath.

Lexa's stillness is infuriating. Clarke can sense her desire, can taste it in the soft pulses of salt hitting her tongue, but knowing it's there isn't enough. She still needs verbal evidence, the scream she's been working so hard for. Despite her earlier comment to the contrary, the last thing she wants is for Lexa to stay quiet. She increases her efforts, beginning to bob over the shaft, letting over half of Lexa's length slip past her lips before withdrawing. When it slides back out of her mouth, its surface is spit-slick and shimmering, and tellingly, a vein along one side is practically popping out.

She smiles. Presses a kiss to the sensitive tip. Blows gently across it, making sure Lexa feels the stream of cool air. Through it all, Lexa doesn't make a sound. Despite the tension in her stomach, despite the tight cords her thighs have become, despite the obvious fullness in her shaft and the wetness dripping down it, Lexa is in complete control—or, at least, she is pretending to be.

Clarke knows better. She's learned a lot in the past few months, especially about how to make Lexa come undone. "Breik yu au, Heda," she whispers, smearing short, wet kisses over the puffy head. "Ai get in chit yu gaf..."

Speaking to Lexa in her own language does it. She's been practicing, and apparently, the lessons are well worth it. One of Lexa's hands shoots off the armrest, tangling through her hair, but before it can even tug, Clarke parts her lips and descends all the way, taking Lexa's cock in until the head nudges the back of her mouth. Lexa's hips twitch, just once, but it's more than enough warning for Clarke to breathe through her nose and open her throat. She's familiar with what's coming, and she's fully aware of the fact that there won't be many opportunities to take in air.

"Jok! Klark..."

The first shouted word would have been enough to satisfy Clarke of her success, but the sound of her name falling from Lexa's trembling lips as well makes the rush of come that follows taste all the better. It's sweet, with a bitter edge that makes her drool and ache for more. And more she gets, constant streams of warmth, jet after jet of hot, thick honey. She does her best to swallow it down, but there's so much, and a little escapes from the corners of her mouth to run over her chin. Lexa is pumping a flood into her, and isn't showing any signs of stopping.

Clarke does her best to extend Lexa's peak for as long as possible. When the harsh spurts taper off, she draws back up to the tip, painting slow circles around the slit until it starts spilling again. She digs her nails into Lexa's ass, hoping she can feel a dull impression of the edges even through her pants, and the hand in her hair flexes in answer. It has stopped pulling, and instead, Lexa is stroking her hair, muttering endearments as she empties the last of her release. Clarke can't catch them all, but a few words do stick out.

"Ahh, Klark... yu sou ste gafen... ai fig raun yu don frag ai op."

It's enough to make her release Lexa's cock with a wet popping sound and let out a slightly undignified snort. "First, you didn't want to talk," she rasps, watching the last few droplets of come run down Lexa's shaft. It's still hard, still ready for her, and she has no doubt that with a little more teasing, she can convince Lexa to go for another round before work intrudes again. "Now, you won't shut up."

Lexa gives her a sheepish grin. "I make no excuses," she says, in Gonasleng once more. "You know how to draw more than one thing out of me."

"Oh, I'm not even close to finished with you," Clarke declares. She rises to her feet, ignoring the buckling of her legs as she hurries to unfasten her own pants. It takes some doing, since she has to pull them all the way off, but soon, she's naked from the waist down, boots kicked off to the side and soaked underwear finally peeled away from her burning flesh.

When Lexa's gaze fixes between her legs, heated and hungry, the pause is worth it. Her face flushes, and she can practically feel Lexa's eyes trailing up along her stained thighs. For a moment, Lexa's hands twitch, as if she wants to reach out and trace the same wet paths with the tips of her fingers. But then they relax, and Lexa leans back ever so slightly, adopting an air of indulgent expectation once more. "Go ahead, Clarke. I know you've been... impatient."

We'll see who's impatient, Clarke thinks as she strides forward, swinging one leg over Lexa's lap and using the armrests to steady herself. I'm not going to let you keep pretending this is all for me. She takes Lexa's cock back in her hand, giving it a nice, slow stroke from bottom to top before lining it up with her entrance. She waits for Lexa to brace herself, waits until she sees her Commander's nostrils flare in preparation, and then tilts her hips just so, letting the tip glide between her lips instead of sinking into her.

For once, Lexa isn't able to conceal her reaction fast enough. Her eyes widen, and then her brow knits in disappointment when her shaft doesn't push inside. Although her hips stay still, Clarke can see the slight shiver of her stomach muscles, and she knows Lexa has barely stopped herself from thrusting upward. She takes advantage of the moment of weakness, rolling her hips in a slow, steady grind, making sure to cover every inch of Lexa's cock with slippery warmth. She wants it to throb, to ache until Lexa can't help but grasp her hips and guide her thrusts.

Unfortunately, she has underestimated her own desire. Watching Lexa all morning, and having Lexa watch her now, is reminding her of the emptiness between her legs, the hollowness, the desperate need to be filled that had so distracted her earlier. Each time she slides over the tip of Lexa's shaft and lets it rest against her entrance, teasing at penetration, she's tempted to take it in—so, so tempted to let her body swallow the thick length and clench her muscles around it. She craves the stretch, the fullness, and most of all, the pulsing heat of Lexa's come shooting inside her. Nothing else will satisfy, and she's determined to have it.

But Lexa has to break first. She's determined to have her way, to have the Commander clawing at her like an animal instead of cherishing her like a treasure. She does love being cherished, but not today. Not now.

"Do it, Leksa," she purrs, letting her lips skim the shell of Lexa's ear, a centimeter away from the lobe. "I know you want t—"

That's it. The only warning she gets before Lexa's hands grasp the cheeks of her ass and Lexa's shaft slams inside of her is a low, dangerous growl. "Ain, Klark. Yu laik ain."

Before she can even adjust to the abrupt fullness, she's being lifted off the throne, yelping as Lexa's cock shifts inside of her. It's a jagged, jolting motion, but wonderful as well, and it sends colors flashing behind her eyes. Somehow, by sheer luck, Lexa is carrying her at an angle that puts pressure right against her front wall. She has no idea how someone so deceptively slender can lift her so easily, but it's enough to undo her, to make her squirm in Lexa's arms, to coax her hands into roaming over every inch of Lexa's smooth back. Her fingers clutch at Lexa's shirt, then tangle in the braided mane of her hair, desperate for a hold. She knows she's going to need one.

Under other circumstances, being thrown down onto a hard stone floor beneath the full force of Lexa's weight would have had her protesting, but she doesn't have it in her to complain. All she can do is shout her pleasure to the ceiling, all thoughts of being discreet long forgotten. Lexa has started moving inside of her, deliberately this time, and each time their hips collide, she sees stars. Lexa's cock is so big, so thick, so good inside her, and when she lifts her legs and wraps them around Lexa's waist to take it deeper, the base starts rubbing against her clit at the best possible angle, with the perfect amount of pressure.

This is how she loves it most. Raw power rolling on top of her, pounding into her. It isn't easy to snap Lexa's tight threads of control. Sometimes it takes hours, or even several days of teasing to wear down Lexa's seemingly infinite patience, but when she succeeds, it's always, always worth it. She loves the flash of fire in Lexa's eyes, the low rumble in Lexa's chest, the rush as Lexa pins her flat on her back—and she loves it even more for how rare it is. When Lexa yanks her arms above her head and keeps them there, she doesn't fight the hold. If her hands are given free rein, they'll both end up with scratch-marks.

The strokes inside of her are hard enough to steal Clarke's breath. Lexa's teeth leave bruises everywhere, but the pain is exactly what she wants. The sheer strength behind each thrust is overwhelming, and the grip on her thighs is steel. Tears leak from her eyes, but her face hurts from smiling. In moments like this, when Lexa is completely unhinged, too much is just enough.

"Klark..."

Hot breath hits her neck, and Lexa's hands seize her hips, directing every motion. She loves it when Lexa's selfish, when she's so far gone that nothing matters but getting deeper. It makes her feel so deliciously used, and it's such a contrast to how Lexa normally is as a lover. She adores the soft kisses and whispered words of love, but this... it makes her feel alive and chaotic.

Clarke can feel the familiar tension on top of her; the clenching of Lexa's abdominal muscles, the short, uneven thrusts of preparation. It's much too soon to stop, but at the same time, she's never wanted anything more. Lexa's cock is throbbing inside her, and she can't help fluttering around it. Her inner walls clutch and strain, so close to rippling in release, but she can't quite get there even though she's been hovering on the edge for what feels like ages. She's risen too high too fast, and if she falls, she isn't sure she'll be able to put the shattered pieces back together again.

But Lexa knows. Lexa has her. Lexa is there, kissing and murmuring gently against her neck in gentle contrast to the hard rhythm of her hips. "Chil au, Klark. Ai gada yu in."

And somehow, that tenderness and consideration, combined with the knowledge that Lexa is using her up and fucking her and taking selfish pleasure in each greedy, luxurious thrust, is enough. She stiffens, shivering all over, spiraling into a tailspin as her orgasm hits at last. She squeezes tight around Lexa's cock, forcing a flood out past the wide base with each pulse of her inner walls, soaking their thighs and a good portion of the floor beneath them.

Instead of tapering off, her first peak spikes again, blending into a second round of shudders and sighs. Everything starts blurring together, and her thoughts splinter apart. She can't remember how to speak—even breathing seems too much to ask of her writhing, arching, heaving body—but she's coming and coming, grasping at Lexa's cock, pouring out rivers all over Lexa's legs and stomach. It's too much, and it isn't enough, and a few tears well in her eyes as she realizes that Lexa still hasn't come inside her. She can feel it just out of reach, pounding within Lexa's shaft, and she sobs with want.

Lexa. Lexa, please...

And then, just when Clarke is afraid her thundering heart will actually explode and cause her to pass out, Lexa goes rigid above her. A roar rips from her throat, and with one more jerk of her hips and several sharp twitches of her cock, all the pressure inside bursts free. Clarke screams as well, a wordless cry of bliss, trying and failing to shape her lips into something resembling Lexa's name. She's completely overwhelmed by Lexa's pleasure, by the powerful jets of come pumping inside of her, and all she can do is wrap her legs tighter around Lexa's waist and take every one.

With Lexa filling her up at last, Clarke is quickly reduced to whimpering, trembling mess. Her face is dripping with tears and rivulets of sweat—some of it probably Lexa's—and her mouth is damp from a hungry string of kisses and the fading evidence of Lexa's first release. But despite the exhaustion creeping into her body and a growing awareness of her bruises, she keeps rolling her hips, urging the Commander to finish using her. Unless Lexa is thoroughly and completely satisfied, she won't be satisfied, either—it's the same mantra Lexa seems to live by every other time they make love, without this wildness.

Eventually, Lexa begins to slow down. Her long thrusts become a short, pleasant grinding motion, and she empties herself with a few more weak spurts. She slumps over, unwilling or unable to support herself any longer, and begins gulping in air like a swimmer breaching the surface. When Lexa's lashes flutter, Clarke feels an intense surge of affection swell within her. She begins stroking Lexa's hair as she comes down from her own high, offering nonverbal comfort since her words haven't yet returned.

Lexa, however, has regained the powers of speech. "You win, Wanheda," she sighs, punctuating the sentence with a soft kiss over one of the many bite-marks she has left. "I should know by now that you're the true power behind that throne. I have no idea how you get me to do... that... but you've succeeded once again."

"S'okay..." Clarke says. Her tongue still feels thick in her mouth, but she doesn't care if her words are slurring. "Just... just looking at you drives me crazy, and I need to..." She starts laughing, and Lexa laughs with her, and eventually, they find themselves in another kiss.

When it breaks apart, Lexa is staring down dreamily into her eyes, smiling from ear to ear. "Since you've taken what you want from me, will you indulge me later tonight? Please?"

Clarke can't help it. Her muscles clench one final time around Lexa's softening cock, and a soft groan slips from her before she can stifle it. She knows what 'indulge me' means when Lexa says it. It means she's going to spend nearly an hour with her thighs clamped around Lexa's ears and Lexa's tongue thrusting in and out of her and countless repetitions of, 'Ai hod yu in'. Heda Leksa might be a servant of her people, but at night, when business is done for the day, Lexa is the devoted servant of Clarke Griffin, and no one else.

"Fine," she says, not even bothering to heave a fake sigh at the request. "I guess I owe you..." Her voice trails off, and she suddenly realizes that the two of them are lying the middle of a lake. "But we've got bigger problems. Titus and the others are going to be back here soon." Lexa's eyes snap open in panic. She starts to pull back, but Clarke tightens her embrace, keeping her a few seconds longer. "Hey, not yet. We can take a minute."

"But the floor—"

"Floors can be cleaned, and if the two of us smell like sex for a while, I guarantee no one's going to complain to you about it." She casts a knowing look over Lexa's shoulder, at the balcony behind the throne, and her lover snorts at the implication.

"I am not kicking someone off my balcony simply for making a comment about the way I smell."

"Then you're just going to have to deal with it, I guess. I'm not ready to give you up."

With a sigh of resignation, Lexa relaxes again, melting back on top of her. Clarke smiles and continues stroking her head, her shoulders, her back, smoothing her palms over the tattoos she has memorized through careful study. She has learned Lexa well, and she allows herself to bask in the afterglow of her success, satisfied that she has put her newfound knowledge to the best possible use.

Sha, Heda = Yes, Commander.
Pas sanch = After lunch.
Klark, kamp raun = Klark, stay here.
Gon yu we = Go away.
Breik yu au, Heda = Let go, Commander.
Ai get in chit yu gaf = I know you want to.
Yu sou ste gafen = you're so thirsty (col. horny)
Ai fig raun yu don frag ai op = I think you're gonna kill me.
Ain, Klark. Yu laik ain = Mine, Clarke. You're mine.
Chil au, Klark. Ai gada yu in = Relax, Clarke. I've got you.
Ai hod yu in = I love you.