Anya took in a deep steadying breath as the radio clicked off. The quiet of the storeroom she was in was too stifling for her, too claustrophobic, yet she remained quiet, she remained still as she listened.

She wasn't entirely worried about being caught, in part because Maya had given her enough information to let her find the more quiet areas of Mount Weather, and in part because she had already come up with what she thought was a somewhat plausible explanation for why she would be messing around in an abandoned storeroom with a radio. But she'd rather not test the limits of her ability to lie if it could be helped.

Anya waited a little longer just to make sure, and in that time she wondered what these Trikru people must truly be like. The things Lexa had told her briefly over the radio were one thing, the things Maya had told her in their quick hushed radio transmissions were another. And then there was what Mount Weather had said of reapers, of how the radiation had completely changed the survivors above ground for the worse.

And yet Anya didn't even think she'd believe it if she hadn't known the truth. It seemed so farfetched, so implausible. But perhaps believing what you wanted to believe was easier than facing the truth of whatever situation you had let grow beyond your control.

She sighed, the minutes she had spent quietly listening for the approach of footsteps enough to tell her no one was near. Anya cast one quick glance at where she had hidden the radio amongst a pile of other old equipment destined for salvage and then she slipped out of the storeroom, hands in her pocket and her pace lazy and off-kilter as she began to meander away from the storeroom.

Anya began to whistle to herself quietly, the tune loud enough that she knew she'd be heard if anyone approached. It was all part of the plan though, she would need a reason for why she was sneaking around the quieter areas of Mount Weather at such a late hour, and if it seemed like she wasn't trying to hide she thought it easier to explain away her presence. But still, she wouldn't try too hard to be found, not if she could help it.

And so Anya came to a stop in front of an emergency exit that led to a stairwell. On the wall beside the door was a large printed map of Mount Weather's interior, each level labelled, even an arrow pointing to where she was located on the map. She took note of the upper levels, to corridors that seemed to lead upwards to the surface. She took note of deeper levels of Mount Weather that she assumed connected to the reaper tunnels Maya had told her about, and she even took the time to take in the areas that were restricted, that she assumed were used for the medical experiments to turn the captured grounders into reapers, and to drain the blood of the captured nightbloods.

It all seemed so insidious to her, how things weren't even really kept a secret amongst those of Mount Weather. Maybe she'd respect them a little more if they at least tried to hide away the supposed locations of medical torture from the innocent, the young children who had nothing to do with it. And yet, as she looked at the map, she couldn't help but to think it all a little too out in the open, too readily accepted and glossed over that the fate of innocent grounders were referred to as simply restricted - medical access.

"Can't sleep?" Carl Emerson's voice sounded out behind her and Anya didn't try to hide the slight jump of surprise as she turned to find him standing a few paces behind her. "Sorry," he said with a warm smile as he held up his hand, his way of apologising for startling her.

"No," Anya said with a shrug, "Haven't been able to sleep well since coming down," she said, and it was a half truth.

She remained quiet for a moment longer as she turned back to the map upon the wall and continued to look at it, as she continued to study the drawings, markings, words that etched themselves across its surface.

"It's so strange," she said eventually as she turned to face Carl. "The map," she said with a shrug. "Everything's so similar to what it was like on the Ark," she pointed to an area of note. "Combat Information Centre," she said with a sigh. "We had one of them on the Ark, though we never needed it. Air scrubbers," she continued as she pointed to another area, "Mess hall, Medical," she laughed quietly. "Even restricted access."

Carl smiled, the expression warm, though Anya made note of the way it didn't quite touch his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "It makes sense," and he came to stand next to her, hands on his hip as he looked at the map, studied it, seemed to take the time to organise his thoughts. "I guess Mount Weather and the Ark were built around the same time," he said. "Makes sense they'd share a lot of similar designs, right?"

"I guess it does," Anya said and she yawned, groaned a little as her body protested the slight exertion she felt in her limbs as she tried to cover her mouth.

"What's it like?" Carl asked eventually. "In space?" and he gestured upwards.

Anya paused then, perhaps to take the time to consider what she'd say, how she'd answer. Or maybe simply to remember.

"Not much different to here," she said eventually. "Long hallways," and she pointed down the hall as if to emphasise her point. "Emergency lighting everywhere," she pointed above them. "Constant whirring of machines keeping our home alive, always trying to fix something before it became a problem," but she paused as she considered the Reapers, the grounders who lived on the surface. "But we didn't have the ability to go outside, to feel the sun on our faces," she began to think a little more carefully lest she say something she shouldn't. "But at least the only thing trying to kill us was mother nature."

Carl smiled, the expression somewhere between sad and understanding, perhaps a little cold.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I guess the ground has its ups and downs, then," he laughed, the sound quiet, bitter. Perhaps not so full of humour as he had intended.

Anya thought it best to steer the conversation towards something less dark, less full of unsaid horrors she assumed were best kept secret for the moment.

"At least our people are together now," and she actually meant it. In part because she thought there'd be a chance that they could all get out of whatever was coming without mass death. Though the chances of that happening she thought slim. "Things will get easier once we start building up settlements, using what we can of the Ark, turning it into something a little more permanent."

"Yeah," Carl said with another shrug. "I guess so," he nodded at her as he began to turn and head down the hall way. "Make sure you don't try accessing any of the restricted areas," he said over his shoulder. "You'll trip an alarm and cause issues for everyone."

Anya nodded and she watched as he turned a corner and disappeared. Despite the ease in conversation they had shared she thought present within his words the barest hints of a warning, something not meant to be too obvious, but apparent enough that someone would understand whatever implicit threat lingered under the surface.

And maybe that was what had made her be so willing to believe Lexa, to believe the things she had been told and was yet to see with her own eyes. Despite the welcome Mount Weather had given them, despite the things that they had done to help her people since coming to the ground, there was something under the surface, something unsaid, something she could tell was unspoken that wanted to be kept secret until it was too late to separate their peoples from each other.

Or maybe she was simply paranoid.

Whatever the explanation, she hoped to find the answers to her questions sooner rather than later, for the good of her people.

Lexa, transfixed and unable to look away, stared at Clarke who stood before her, the nightgown pooled at her feet, the candlelight setting her pale grey skin awash in an amber glow. Clarke remained so still, so poised where she stood that Lexa thought the woman a statue of marble, daring in presence, beckoning in place.

She didn't know what to do in that moment, much like every moment she had shared with Clarke. It took her far too long to realise her eyes had wandered, that she looked upon Clarke with less decorum than she should, it took her far too long to realise her mouth had gone dry and that her heart had begun to beat so ferociously in her chest that she could hear it screaming in her ears.

And yet she couldn't look away — nay, didn't want to look away.

And then there was a chuckle, something so quiet that it seemed mouselike, taunting, beckoning her from the darkest places of her mind.

"Is this not what you wanted?" Clarke's voice was quiet, low, it lilted in husk and tambour.

Clarke moved so slowly it seemed imperceptible to Lexa, but eventually she realised Clarke had stepped free from the gown pooled at her feet, she realised Clarke had closed the distance between them and she realised she could almost feel the heat of Clarke's body as it threatened to swallow her whole.

Lexa found herself staring at the scar etched into Clarke's chest, the wound deep, beautiful in the destruction wrought upon alabaster flesh. Her gaze followed the curve of Clarke's breast, she tried not to linger too long, too heavily before she forced herself to look up, to meet Clarke's gaze, to challenge the challenge she knew she'd see.

And yet, Clarke approached, even still. Each motion of hers elegant as the muscle of her thigh flexed with every passing step. And to Lexa, Clarke seemed as poised as ever undressed before her, the muscles of her body, the curve of her waist, far more dangerous than they had any right to be as she continued to approached, her motions coiled, serpentine and cruel.

A flush of heat was curling within Lexa, she felt the very tips of her ears aflame and she knew her face must have been reddened, from embarrassment, from alarm, fear, excitement, she didn't know. But Clarke did. She knew for Lexa could see the barest hints of a smirk on the woman's lips, in the way the corners of her eyes crinkled ever so slightly as victory took hold in her ice blue gaze.

And then Lexa gasped as she realised somehow, someway that Clarke had backed her against a table, one that put pressure just above the back of her thighs, that made her lean back ever so slightly, that made her reach back to steady herself against it's weathered, wooden, edge lest she fall splayed upon the table, defenceless and exposed.

She swallowed then, unsure of what would happen next, unsure of what she should do, unsure of what Clarke would do. Unsure of what she wanted Clarke to do.

"Do you want me to continue?" it was so quiet Lexa didn't hear it at first, so quiet that she thought it simply the beating of her heart and the traitorous thoughts of her wandering mind. But Clarke hummed a quiet sound and she felt a pressure resting against her hip.

Do you want me to continue?

It echoed against the shell of her ear again, and as she realised it had been Clarke's voice she heard, so too did she realise that that pressure against her hip was Clarke's hand, its presence warm, inviting, an offer of more to come and a door for her to close should she want it.

And then she realised Clarke had pressed forward, her naked chest pressed against her own, the coat she wore too restrictive, too hot, too safe.

And so Lexa nodded slowly, perhaps because her mind had gone blank, had ceased to function properly. But no, she knew why she nodded. She'd be lying if she said it for any other reason than the one she felt in the very of her body.

"I want to hear you say it," Clarke whispered, and there was challenge in her tone, a commanding shiver that sent a tingle down Lexa's spine.

"I want you—" Lexa gasped as she felt Clarke's teeth bite into the shell of her ear. "I want you to continue," it came out far more breathless than Lexa had intend—

She tried to stifle the moan that threatened to escape her lips as Clarkes teeth sunk into the delicate skin beneath her jaw, the other woman's actions possessive, purposeful, threatening.

"Is this why you bathed before seeing me?" Clarke asked her ever so quietly.

But Lexa thought Clarke not really seeking an answer, in part because she could hear the jest in Clarke's tone. Or maybe Clarke wasn't joking, not in the way she thought.

"The lavender soap to entice me so?" Clarke said, the hand once on her hip now slowly moving to large buttons that held the coat closed. "You thought it would be appreciated?" Clarke hummed something non-committal as she slowly began to undo one of the buttons, her fingers deft and slow.

"No," Lexa whispered, "I—" she hissed as she felt Clarke's hand delve into the opening she had made in her coat, her fingers splaying across her bare stomach, the small sleep clothes Lexa had underneath and their lack of coverage a forgotten fact until that very moment.

A ministration, soft, gentle, a little possessive as fingers slowly began to brush against a rib, the curve of her waist made Lexa's side twitch, jump beneath Clarke's touch.

Lexa screwed her eyes shut, perhaps to force herself to wake from a dream she couldn't believe happening, perhaps to give herself time to actually understand what was happening, perhaps simply to clear her thoughts in some way, in some primal fashion.

But as her eyes opened she found herself still looking up at the roof of Clarke's room, to tapestries and fabrics and furs that hung from the wall, from the ceiling, from wood beams that were oh so very charming.

Clarke

Lexa didn't know if she moaned it, if she thought it, if she breathed the name out without thought.

But it was heard, in some way, for Clarke hummed something soft and gentle then as the scrape of teeth against her throat was replaced by the softest of kisses, some so feather light that it tingled her soul.

The towel wrapped around her hair, long since forgotten, found itself discarded upon the table somewhere behind Lexa, her hair, still just barely damp, clung to her forehead, clung to her shoulders, and she realised the coat had slowly been drawn open, had been unravelled as Clarke continued to kiss along her neck so slowly, each press of lips against heated flesh timed to the beat of a raging heart.

It Lexa had been herself in that moment, if she had control of all her faculties, if she were capable of thinking further ahead than the next few moments she'd probably consider what it would mean to sleep with the Commander, she'd consider the dangers, the commitments she was sure to be making for herself and for her people.

And yet none of those far too boring thoughts dared to cross her mind, none of those thoughts dared to interrupt her thoughts when Clarke's ton—

Lexa didn't remember when Clarke had somehow removed the coat from her body, she didn't remember when she had somehow been pushed back onto the table, she didn't remember when—

Pain seared into her mind as she felt Clarke's teeth sink into the curve of her breast, and as she looked down her body she found Clarke smirking at her, eyes gleaming wickedly in the candle light as she gentled away the pain with a kiss against the bruising bite she had left just below her collar bone.

"Do not look away," Clarke said quietly.

And Lexa didn't, eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly. And perhaps for a moment she tried to remember when and how Clarke had removed the loose shirt she had been wearing.

But that didn't matter— couldn't matter.

Heat coiled within her, and it was intense, eager, far too wanting to be ignored any longer, far too full of yearning to be cast aside.

Fuck

Lexa gasped as she realise she had been laid just as bare to Clarke as Clarke was to her. She whimpered as she felt Clarke's body press against hers, she tried not to make too much noise lest someone outside hear as Clarke slowly descended down her body, the pain of teeth and the calm of lips the only thing to break through the haze that were her thoughts in that very moment.

She couldn't pull her gaze away from Clarke's, not when Clarke continued to descend down her body, not when she was pinned with a gaze so precise, so wicked that it made her want to scream into the dark. One of Clarke's hands had found purchase atop the beating of her heart, its presence so possessive, so commanding, so full of promise for things to come. The other had somehow found its place holding her hip down lest Lexa try to wriggle free, lest she somehow break the connection Clarke had made between them both as she began kiss against the heat Lexa could feel pooling in her core.

Lexa's head was thrown back, perhaps in an attempt to break the tension she could feel building, perhaps because she couldn't bare to look Clarke in the eyes, not when she knelt where she knelt, not when Lexa's legs trembled as they clamped around Clarke's head, not when she could hardly breath, hardly think, hardly—

Look at me

Lexa didn't know if she thought it or if she heard it, but Clarke's voice echoed throughout her mind, it forced her to open her eyes, to look down her body. Her own stomach was taunt, sweat had begun to pool across her flesh and Clarke's eyes where the only thing she could see. The hand Clarke had kept gripping her hip was now pressed against her lower stomach, fingers splayed out as they dug into her skin, nails eager to leave reddened marks where they please, the other hand, once resting atop her heart had joined Clarke's mouth in their shared attempt to bring Lexa's building pleasure further and further and further than the seconds before.

And Lexa wouldn't complain, couldn't complain, she could barely think in that moment. She hadn't realised she had reached down, had fisted Clarke's hair in her hand, whether in an attempt to pull her close or to guide her movements or to simply maintain a connection, she didn't know. She hadn't realised her hips had slowly begun to roll, begun to dance in the same rhythm that Clarke brought upon her with so much passion.

Lexa was close.

So close.

She could feel it building with each swipe of Clarke's tongue, with each press of her finger, of her lips against her. She began to writhe beneath Clarke, her breathing became more and more erratic, her jaw clenched, her back arched and then she felt it, and it was too sudden, too short, too long, more intense than it had any right to be given the circumstances.

Lexa's orgasm rolled through her with such intensity that it left her trembling, chest heaving and her thoughts scrambled more than they had ever been.

Her face felt flushed, skin clammy and far too sensitive as Clarke slowly brought her down. Lexa was sure she had said far too many things in her sex fuelled haze that she couldn't bare to keep looking at Clarke in the eyes and so she through her arm over her face, perhaps in an attempt to give herself some privacy as the slow realisation of what had happened came over her. Or maybe it was simply because she didn't know if she wanted Clarke, the Commander of what was left of the human, to know what she looked like post orgasm.

But she felt Clarke tut from where her head still remained between her legs, she felt and sensed more than saw the reproach in the woman's gaze and Lexa peered under her arm and down her body to find one of Clarke's eyebrows arched and raised a fraction as she looked at her.

"Remove your arm," Clarke said, and though her voice was quiet there was a commanding tone that had just moments before sent jolts of pleasure into the fibres of Lexa's body.

"Why?" she didn't mean to sound so childish, especially given the circumstances, but she did.

"Because I wish to see your face," Clarke said before punctuating her words with the slightest press of teeth against the crook where her leg met her sex.

Lexa bit her lip, in part to stop herself from making a sound far too unbecoming of her, and in part because she felt another flush of embarrassment colour her face as she lowered her arm.

She felt a tingle as Clarke removed her hand— and fingers, from where they had been resting within her before she slowly eased the pressure of her other hand that had remained anchored atop her lower stomach.

There was a smirk on Clarke's lips as Lexa's legs fell open enough that Clarke could sit up a little more comfortably and Lexa tried not to blush even more as Clarke wiped the back of her hand against her mouth before she placed an oddly tender kiss against the inside of her thigh.

"Is this what you wanted?" Clarke asked quietly, and for some strange reason Lexa thought there less a game in her words in that moment.

Lexa pushed herself up into a seated position, her legs slipped off from where they had been thrown over Clarke's shoulders and she found herself looking down at Clarke now, and this time there was a difference in the connection they shared as Clarke remained kneeling between her legs, a hand resting atop her knee, the other oddly charming as it found its place against her waist.

Lexa smiled a bashful smile, perhaps because she was still coming down from a high she hadn't quite anticipated, perhaps because for the first time ever she found herself looking at Clarke in a slightly different light than she had before. But she thought the fact they'd just had sex might have coloured that image for the moment for she was sure it would take quite some time to replace the image of Clarke's face between her legs with the one of the fearsome Commander.

"Yeah," Lexa said eventually as she looked Clarke in the eyes. "I guess it is."

Clarke smirked a little more boldly, and though there was still that slight air of something that she always had, Lexa thought it just slightly more tamed, just slightly warmer than it had been before.

Clarke slowly rose to her feet then, and this time Lexa didn't bother to avert her eyes as Clarke's body slowly came into full view, and perhaps for the first time Lexa thought the image she saw as more beautiful in ways she hadn't thought of before. Yes, Clarke's skin was grey, perhaps almost grotesque in ways simply because it seemed so foreign, but as Lexa continued to look at her, as she continued to study the woman who now stood between her legs, whose breath she breathed, whose beating heart she felt, she thought the woman more statue of alabaster, of blinding marble then greyed corpse of fevered nightmares.

Or maybe Lexa was simply still experiencing an endorphin rush due to Clarke going down on her.

"What now?" Lexa asked, as she looked up to meet Clarke's gaze.

"Perhaps we should clean up," Clarke said simply, and as if to emphasise her point Lexa shivered as Clarke ran a still slightly wet finger against her, the touch electrifying and suggestive compared to the finality of her words.

And Lexa could see the challenge in her eyes, she could see the offer, and perhaps for the very first time, she thought she could read Clarke as much as Clarke had been able to read her.

"Who said I was finished with you?" Lexa said, and it was far more forward than Lexa had ever been with someone else before. But, given the circumstances, she thought it fitting.

And so Lexa shivered ever so slightly as that warm calm that had settled over Clarke slowly turned into something deeper, full of heat. Her eyes turned darker, the smirk upon her lips twitched into that predatory line that had taken hold in the before.

And Lexa found herself thinking she wouldn't mind wherever the rest of her night would lead.

And then Clarke's voice was cold, so quiet, so loud as it echoed within her mind that it made Lexa want to bow down and worship her and never dare to do anything else for as long as she was commanded.

"Kneel."