Leksa would have been lying, bold-faced and shameless, if she claimed she hadn’t been dreaming of -Maker, planning!- just how her first truly romantic encounter with Clarke would go. For Heaven’s sake, she and Kostia had discussed it more than once in private and passionate moments, and while they’d not gone so far as to bring Ontari or Caris into those same conversations, she knew from certain celebrations that Ontari certainly was thinking about such thing as well.
She’d imagined it being a slow and romantic thing, most often of all. A leisurely seduction, full of candlelit dinners, quiet conversation, and then a slow, sensual stripping of clothes interspersed with soft, sweet kisses. She’d imagined herself taking the lead, being the one to set the pace and ease Clarke through the experience of what would, after all, be her first time having sex with a partner that was an equal in every meaningful sense. Because, for all that Clarke would be her domina, for all that Clarke would be her Queen, the relationship that Leksa shared with her would be different from the one that either of them would share with anyone else in the world.
This…wasn’t anything like any of that.
This was raw, this was hungry, this was something that had been building between the two of them since the moment they had met, and now that they had started she didn’t think they’d ever be able to stop. She didn’t want them to stop. They were, in this moment, a wildfire burning out of control, and she gasped into Clarke’s mouth as the robe -easily procured without anyone noticing, the rest of their burgeoning family included, to help make her interest in Clarke clear- fell to the floor, leaving her body bare to her lover’s eyes for the first time that was for her eyes alone, not an incidental glance during a celebration.
She was beautiful, she knew that, and she’d seen the way that Clarke’s eyes had drank her in at every private moment, even in public when the situation made it even remotely appropriate. She’d seen the arousal, the desire, the blatant and undisguised interest that had suffused the other girl’s expression so very often, especially in the bathhouse or other times of intimacy. She knew, beyond any doubt, that Clarke wanted her. But the way the blonde was looking at her in between kisses went well beyond something so simple, so tame, as mere want.
It was reverence and hunger and a kind of…awed disbelief that left Leksa feeling rather weaker at the knees than she’d expected to be. Like, despite everything, Clarke couldn’t believe that this was happening. That, in spite of all of the flirting between them, the veiled promises and the blatant conversations -Maker, in spite of everything that the other girl had seen and done since she’d come back to Earth!-, she had still doubted that things would end up like this. And why would such a thing leave Leksa weak at the knees? Because it showed, to her, that Clarke hadn’t and didn’t take her for granted.
Of course, Leksa was no less enamored with Clarke. Large, full breasts -larger than Leksa’s own by a measurable amount- and a body that was a rare and intriguing mix of soft and strong, with a handful of scars accenting increasingly-muscular flesh. Never mind those same powerful emotional impacts, and Clarke gasped, soft and deep, as Leksa threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair and cupped her dripping sex with the other.
“Maker, Clarke...” she breathed against the blonde’s lips, her own breath catching as she felt the heat and slickness gathered at Clarke’s core. “You’re already so wet for me...”
“Have been since I decided to come see you, since I started imagining how it might go.” Clarke admitted, her voice rough and frayed at the edges, her hips rocking forward almost involuntarily against Leksa’s palm. “Especially since I saw you wearing that damn robe.”
“Good.” Leksa allowed herself a slow, satisfied smile, the kind that would bring to mind a particularly pleased cat, at that confession. It had been the point of the effort, after all, and what sort of woman would be in a circumstance such as this and not be pleased by the knowledge that her partner was so strongly aroused by them as Clarke appeared to be?
Not that her own sex was any drier, of course, and it was her turn to gasp softly as Clarke shifted -spreading herself a bit wider for Leksa’s hand- enough to send one thigh grinding against the front of her own sex. More directly on her clit than anything else, and she was glad for the mutual grip that she and her partner had on one another as they kept one another standing.
“Bed…!” Clarke moaned as Leksa’s fingers flexed in half-deliberate response to her pleasure, shifting from simply cupping her to a pressing-stroke.
“Bed.” Leksa agreed, voice already gone husky in a way that she knew for a fact sent lightning up and down the spines of those she loved, and she didn’t release her grip on Clarke as she began walking backwards towards the massive, fur-piled construction that dominated the far wall of her chamber. The blonde followed, of course, because how could she do anything else when their bodies and their desires were tangled together as they were? Lips found lips again, hungry and seeking and frankly desperate, and Leksa nipped at Clarke’s lower lip before sucking it soothingly between her own. Something that, judging by the sounds she made in response, Clarke very much didn’t take issue with.
Then they were falling into the bed, tumbling really, and Leksa squealed softly as Clarke’s thigh landed rather firmly between her legs, the impact and the subsequent grind setting of sparks behind her eyes. Clarke was no better, the abrupt motions driving questing fingers knuckle deep into her warmth, and for a moment each girl tried to catch their breath.
Then Clarke laughed. Soft, breathless, and so unbearably warm that Leksa felt her heart clench in her chest as she opened her eyes to look up at the woman above her. Blonde hair tumbled around them like a curtain of gold, catching the candlelight, framing a face that was flushed with arousal and bright with something Leksa had never quite seen on Clarke before. Joy, she realized. Unguarded, uncomplicated, and unbridled joy. Later, when the passion of the moment was gone and she could think again, she’d realize just how different this joy was from the -in hindsight, obviously restrained- happiness had been…and she would promise herself that it was something she wanted to see as often as possible.
“What?” she breathed, smiling helplessly in return despite the haze of need that still clouded her thoughts. “What’s so funny?”
“You mean beside the fact that we were trying to be sexy, fell over, and I kneed you in the pussy while you almost fisted me?” Clarke responded wryly, grinning with bright eyes, and Leksa gave a sudden snort of laughter at the bluntness of the way it had all been said.
“When you put it like that, it does sound rather absurd, doesn’t it?” she admitted, her own laughter bubbling up to join Clarke’s, low and warm and unrestrained in a way she rarely allowed herself in front of anyone but Kostia. The sound of it seemed to delight Clarke, whose grin widened further, and Leksa found herself wondering how she had ever managed to be patient enough to wait for this. How she had managed months of looking and not touching, of dreaming and not having, when this -this giddy, breathless, ridiculous joy- had been waiting for them all along. Even with Kostia, and at times Ontari, to help her take the edge off…Maker, she’d seen Clarke cum so many times, how had she held back from being the one to make it happen personally?
“For what it’s worth, you’re still one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and I’m not remotely interested in stopping now if you’re not.”
“Stopping is the very last thing on my mind, skaiprisa.” Leksa replied, her voice full of renewed promise as she raised her free hand to trace the line of Clarke’s jaw, mirroring the gesture she had made earlier when they’d still been clothed and standing and pretending at composure. “Though I think, perhaps, we might benefit from being just a little less...frantic. We have all night. We have many nights, Maker willing, for the rest of our lives. There is no need to rush now.”
“No need to rush.” Clarke repeated, as though testing the words on her tongue, and the look that stole over her face and filled her eyes was…almost indescribable. Then she nodded, leaning down to press her lips to Leksa’s own once again for a brief but fierce kiss. “You’re right. We have the rest of our lives together, so we should save getting creative for another night, huh?”
“Mmm, exactly.” Leksa agreed, even as her hips rolled slowly, deliberately, against the thigh still pressed against her, drawing a soft hiss of pleasure from both of them at the renewed contact. “Tonight, I want to learn you, Clarke. Every inch. Every sound. Every place that makes you gasp, every place that makes you sigh. Watching you with Niylah only brushed the surface. I want to learn it for myself.”
“Then learn me.” Clarke whispered, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way she said it, something that made Leksa’s chest ache even as certain parts of her body throbbed. Then she was smirking, looking a bit more like the woman that had been growing increasingly talented at dominating the bodies, hearts, and minds of the women around her. “But I get to learn you too, Lexa. I’m kind of looking forward seeing what sex feels like with an equal.”
Leksa inhaled sharply at the emotion Clarke put into that last word, and at the confirmation that Clarke saw her as an equal. At the way it had been unambiguously and honestly put into words, right to her face and without any real prompting or hesitation. And while Leksa…didn’t think she could see Clarke ever truly submitting to her, not like Kostia did, while she knew -and was excited- by the idea of submitting to Clarke, the idea that she and Clarke would be able to just…make love to one another had her heart pounding in her chest.
“An equal.” she echoed, and her voice was thicker than it had been a moment before, weighted with something that she didn’t quite care to put names on. “Klark, do you have any idea what those words mean to me?”
Clarke paused, the playful smirk softening into something gentler as she searched Leksa’s eyes, and Leksa let her see it all. The way that being Heda meant standing apart from everyone, even those she loved most dearly. The way that Kostia, beloved Kostia, had always doubted her worth and insisted on positioning herself a half-step below and behind despite having been there since before the beginning. The way that her mother and sister, by choice if not blood, only rarely showed her personal and private affection. The way that intimacy had become separated from sex, her every sensual moment as on display as any submissive in the streets.
“Whatever happens when we…get creative, Lexa, you are my equal. I’m not going to love Niylah, or Kostia, or Ontari any less than I will love you, but you will be my wife. Whatever comes next for humanity, whatever we build together, you’ll be standing right beside me. Not behind, not below. Beside.” she promised, before palming one of Leksa’s breasts and squeezing firmly. “Now why don’t you show me just how much you love me?”
Leksa needed no further invitation, and she wasn’t about to ignore one given so directly besides. With a low sound that was half growl and half laugh, she used the leverage of the hand she still had tangled in golden hair and the strength of her thighs to flip them, rolling Clarke onto her back amongst the furs with a practiced ease that came from years of experience in both battle and bed. Clarke gave a startled, delighted sound at the maneuver, her hair fanning out across the dark bedding beneath her in a way that made Leksa pause for just a moment to admire her.
Maker, but she was beautiful. A work of art, more beautiful than anyone else she’d ever met -even Kostia, she had to admit it now-, and she realized that Clarke was more beautiful that she had ever been before. More beautiful than she’d been when she’d left with Kassandra, and she wondered briefly at it before being thoroughly distracted by Clarke reaching between her legs and spreading the soaking folds of her pussy open in invitation.
“Maker preserve me.” Leksa breathed, the words coming out half-strangled with want as her green eyes locked onto the sight that Clarke was so brazenly displaying for her. Pink and glistening, swollen with arousal, and Maker the scent of her was rich and thick enough that she felt her head swim from it. She’d been around Clarke’s arousal before, of course she had, in the bathhouse and at celebrations and in the quiet moments where Niylah had been called to service her domina in semi-private spaces, but having it offered to her like this -only for her- was an entirely different experience. “You are going to be the death of me, Klark.”
“God, I hope not. Especially not tonight.” Clarke replied with a breathless laugh, her fingers staying where they were, holding herself open in a display that was as much a challenge as it was an inpvitation. “Tonight I’d rather have you alive and very, very busy.”
“Busy. Yes. I can do busy.” Leksa murmured, and then she was moving, crawling up between Clarke’s legs and laying her head on one thigh as she drank in the sight and the scent of her lover at point-blank range, mesmerized by that virtually-untouched tunnel. While she didn’t doubt Clarke had been penetrated before -in fact, she knew for a fact that Clarke routinely had something filling her, thanks to the two-sided false-cock that she so often used on Niylah- she knew that this situation was altogether different from those previous moments.
Tonight, she would be filling Clarke. Tonight, she would be the one to coax those breathy moans from Clarke’s lips, the one to feel the blonde clench around her fingers, the one to taste her and feel her legs squeeze shoulders and head. And there would be no audience either, no Niylah or Kostia kneeling attentively at the foot of the bed, no Ontari or Caris watching hungrily from across the room, no dignitaries or citizens glancing over from their own celebrations. Just the two of them, in Leksa’s chambers, with all the time in the world.
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of Clarke’s thigh, slow and deliberate, and let it linger before starting to slowly make her way up the length of silk-skinned leg. Each kiss was a promise, each brush of her mouth against soft, sensitive skin a declaration of her intent to take her time, that she would savor this, that she would give Clarke everything she had to give and more besides. Above her, Clarke’s breath hitched audibly, the hand that had been holding herself open trembling slightly with the effort of staying still while Leksa explored at her own pace.
“Lexa...” Clarke’s voice was barely more than a whisper, a soft plea wrapped in what might have been a threat, what might still be a threat, if she were to delay too much longer in giving the other girl what she was looking for. Not that Leksa would be so easily swayed from her plans, and so she continued slowly working her way along the length of Clarke’s leg until finally, finally, her lips were hovering only a bare pair of inches from her objective, admiring those spread, weeping folds for a long, long moment. With a grin that could only be described as wicked, she blew softly and directly on Clarke’s pussy.
The reaction was immediate and entirely satisfying. Clarke’s hips bucked upward with a sharp, startled cry, her free hand flying down to tangle in Leksa’s loose hair as the cool sensation against fever-hot, sensitive flesh sent a visible shudder rolling through her entire body. The fingers that had been holding her open trembled and very nearly slipped, and Leksa hummed softly in pleased amusement against the inside of Clarke’s thigh.
“Lexa, if you don’t-” Clarke’s voice cracked, breaking off into a strangled sound that was half-laugh and half-growl of frustration as Leksa took the opportunity to press another, very deliberate kiss to the crease where thigh met hip, just shy of where Clarke so obviously wanted her.
“If I don’t what, skaiprisa? Tell me. Use your words.” Leksa teased softly, lightly, lovingly.
“Lexa.” It was a warning now, low and rough and edged with the kind of need that made Leksa’s own thighs press together in sympathy, made the heat already pooling in her own sex pulse and throb with renewed urgency. The fingers in her hair tightened, not quite tugging but certainly making their preference known, and Leksa felt her smile widen against Clarke’s skin.
“That’s not using your words, Klark.” she chided, the words shaped against soft skin in a way that she knew sent the slimmest of vibrations directly where Clarke wanted them. “Tell me what you want. Say it plainly, and I’ll give it to you.”
“You. Your mouth. On me. Now.” Each word was bitten off, sharp with need, and the hand in Leksa’s hair gave a single, demanding tug that sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. “Please, Lexa. I need…”
Whatever Clarke had been about to confess to needing -not that there was much doubt- was lost in a sharp, ragged gasp as Leksa, mercy finally found amongst wickedness, finally pressed a kiss directly to her desperate sex.
She kept it gentle, at first. Just the soft press of her lips against the slick, swollen folds -a benediction more than a kiss, really- and she let Clarke feel her there, let her feel the warmth and the sensual promise of what was going to come next. Above her, Clarke made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a curse, her hips jerking upward and her thighs trembling on either side of Leksa’s head, the hand in her hair tightening to the point of just-shy-of-pleasurably-painful.
And then Leksa let her tongue come into play, parting those folds with a slow, deliberate stroke from the entrance of Clarke’s tunnel up to her swollen, throbbing clit, and the sound that Clarke made in response was nothing short of glorious. A long, low, stuttering moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest, and her hips bucked upward so sharply that Leksa had to wrap one arm around her thigh to keep her in place.
“God—!“ Clarke gasped, her voice broken and breathless and absolutely beautiful in Leksa’s ears. “Lexa, oh fuck, Lexa...”
Hearing her name fall from Clarke’s lips like that, hearing it gasped out like a prayer and a curse all at once, only spurred Leksa on, and she made a low, hungry sound against Clarke’s sex before settling in earnest to her work. Her tongue traced slow, deliberate patterns through the slickness she found there, learning every fold and curve and ridge with the patient thoroughness of someone who intended to memorize every single detail of what she was discovering. She circled the entrance of Clarke’s tunnel with the tip of her tongue, dipping just barely inside before drawing back to flatten her tongue and drag it upward in another long, slow stroke that ended with a teasing flick against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex.
Over and over and over again, she ran the sequence, tracing the same path and collecting more of the sweet, intoxicating taste that coated her tongue and throat with every lick, every kiss, every swallow, as Clarke’s trembling and sighing and whispers grew more passionate, more thready, more unrestrained…and then her lover came apart with a scream of her name. Fluid flooded out of Clarke, staining her lips and chin and filling her mouth, and even as she kept going, even as she coaxed Clarke through the aftershocks and wrung a bit more pleasure out of every moment, Leksa only felt a hunger for more, and an excitement for what would come next.
As Clarke finally came down from her high, Leksa crawled her way up the blonde’s body, pressing their breasts together and settling her own desperately-aroused folds onto Clarke’s thigh once again. She started to grind against it, light and rhythmic, as she peppered Clarke’s face with kisses, kisses that were soon returned before, quite quickly, Clarke was instead diligently collecting all of the cum that now stained Leksa’s skin for herself. It was only when she was finally satisfied that there wasn’t any left that she moved, rolling Leksa beneath herself with a smile.
“Now it’s your turn, baby.” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Leksa’s throat and starting to work her way down the Heda of the Coalition’s scar-littered skin. As she felt that clever, loving, talented tongue -when had she practiced, and with whom? In private, with Niylah, perhaps?- start to work on her own sex, Leksa couldn’t help but palm one of her breasts and think of how enjoyable it would be to introduce Clarke to her playroom…and to the pleasure that came from dominating a submissive together.
First, though, would come her submission. Her service. Her oath and her love. Because right now, right here, it was about the two of them and no one else.
##############################################################################
Morning came slowly, gently, the very same way that it had almost every day since Niylah had first become hers.But this time, it wasn’t Niylah that was the soft, strong body curled against her side. It wasn’t Niylah’s breath that was slow and even where it ghosted across her shoulder and the upper swell of her breast. It wasn’t Niylah whose legs were tangled with her own, and it wasn’t Niylah’s scent that filled her lungs with every inhale.
It was Lexa. Beautiful, fierce, strong and smart Lexa.
Clarke didn’t open her eyes right away. She didn’t want to, not even to drink in the sight of her new lover, her love, just as much as her Sunshine was. Not because she didn’t want to see Lexa, sleeping peacefully against her, but because it would somehow break this perfect, peaceful moment. Instead, she let herself drift in the warmth of it for a long, indulgent moment, simply existing in the space where her body and Lexa’s were tangled together amongst furs that had long since been kicked into disarray. She could feel the faint stickiness of dried sweat on her skin, the tackier residue of cum smeared across her thighs and stomach -hers and Lexa’s both, a thought that sent a fresh, lazy curl of heat through her belly- and the dull, satisfied, body-wide ache that came with a night full of passion. Her lips felt swollen, her jaw a bit sore, and there was a particular tender spot at the join of her neck and shoulder that throbbed in time with her pulse, almost certainly the souvenir of a particularly enthusiastic bite from Lexa during one of the more memorable points of the previous night.
She wouldn’t trade a single one of those marks for anything in the world.
It hadn’t been fucking. That was a thought that kept circling back, lazy and warm and impossible to dismiss even if she had wanted to, settling and sitting somewhere comfortable deep inside of. As much as she had thoroughly enjoyed every passionate, sweat-slick, breathless moment with Niylah -and God knew she did, she adored Niylah and she loved the things that her submissive lover had been teaching her-, what they had done together had been so very different from what she shared with Niylah. With her fellow blonde, it was passion and dominance and the wonderful sort of wild hunger that came from a mistress claiming her pet. With Lexa, it had been something else entirely. Something that she had really only managed to fully grasp sometime around the third or fourth time their bodies had come undone against each other.
They had made love.
It seemed like such a simple distinction, when she finally put words to it in the quiet of her own thoughts. She’d always thought that they were all interchangeable -fucked, had sex, tumbled, intercourse, mating, hooking up, shagging, and yes, making love, amongst plenty of others- and indistinguishable, and she’d always thought that she was ‘making love’ to Niylah. Why wouldn’t she? She loved Niylah, she would happily kill to protect her precious Sunshine, and valued her as a person and an advisor more than she could put into words.
But what she shared with Niylah was — and she meant this with all of the love and respect that her Sunshine deserved — sex. Magnificent, soul-shaking, frequently filthy sex, the kind that left both of them aching and grinning and reaching for one another again before they’d even fully caught their breath. But sex all the same. A dance of dominance and submission, of claiming and being claimed, of two women who adored each other expressing that adoration through the language of bodies and bonds.
What she had shared with Lexa, though...
That had truly been the act, the art, of making love. There was no other phrase for it, no other combination of words that could possibly do justice to what they had shared together. As passionate as it had been, it had been breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly intimate in a way that she hadn’t known was possible. For God’s sake, they’d spent an entire hour doing nothing but lying in one another’s arms kissing gently! No tongue, no nips or bites or bruising force, just soft and sweet pecks of the lips!
And it had been one of the most erotic, the most arousing, the most deeply satisfying hours of her entire life.
There had been moments — so many moments — where she had simply stopped, where they both had simply stopped, and just looked at each other. Where green eyes had met blue and held, and held, and held, and the world had narrowed to the space between two heartbeats and the slow, shared rise and fall of chests. There had been moments where she had felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes for no reason she could articulate, and where Lexa had brushed them away with reverent fingertips and a soft, wondering smile. There had been moments where Lexa had, against all appearances, simply wanted to be what could only be called comforted. Just embraced, her face tucked into Clarke’s neck as they cuddled.
And there had been moments, so very many of them, where words had failed entirely and yet nothing had needed to be said, because everything that mattered had already been communicated through the press of a palm against a hip, the slow drag of fingertips along a spine, the way a thigh had slid between thighs to press just so against an aching, weeping core without doing anything more than being there.
It hadn’t been about getting off, not really, even though they had. Many, many times, quite spectacularly. It had been about the simple, profound act of being together. Of being known and knowing in return. Of two people that had been circling each other for months finally, finally, having the courage and the chance to come together.
Clarke let out a deep, satisfied breath, one hand slowly skating down her body to give her throbbing sex a gentle, encouraging rub. Mmh, maybe she’d wake up Lexa with a bit of morning stroking. She rather liked the idea of pre-breakfast sex, and she liked the idea of seeing a sweat-and-cum soaked Lexa basking in the morning sunlight as well…
Her fingers brushed lower, intent on slipping between her folds and gathering up some of the lingering wetness there to make her self-attentions a little easier -and, better still, her ‘wake up call’ for Lexa- before freezing.
Then very, very slowly, with a sense of growing surrealism that had her brain stuttering to a near-complete halt, she dragged her fingers back upward along...something. Something that was large, and warm, and firm, and most definitively not her clit, nor anything else that had been part of her body when she had fallen asleep last night. Something that twitched -twitched!- under her touch and sent a sharp, entirely familiarly-unfamiliar jolt of sensation racing up her spine to slam rather sharply into her brain.
Clarke’s eyes snapped open.
For a long, short eternity of a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t dare to move, really, because surely —surely!— she was misreading the situation. Surely her hand had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have, surely she was still half-asleep and her sense of her own body was just a little bit off from the haze of last night’s exertions and the soft warmth of Lexa curled against her side. Surely, surely, there was a perfectly rational explanation for what her fingers were currently wrapped around, and that explanation absolutely was not what her brain was screaming at her it had to be.
She…she’d just gotten her special false-cock from her suite sometime last night, right? Or had someone else bring it? And she’d just forgotten?
She looked down.
She immediately wished she hadn’t.
Or, perhaps, she immediately wished she had done so with rather more preparation and rather less expectation that she would see the same body she had always known. Because the body looking back up at her now was…well, it was still very much her body. Her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, all the same as they had always been -with the addition of a number of new love bites and bruises and stains courtesy of Lexa- and yet, between her legs where there had always, always been her own familiar, much-beloved sex, there was…
“What the fuck.” she breathed, the words barely audible, more a shape made with her lips than an actual sound, because there -nestled against her lower stomach- there was a cock.
A cock, attached to her, where a cock most assuredly had not been the last time that she had checked. Which had been all of, oh, a few hours ago and literally every other day of her life up until this exact moment. A rather large cock, at that, thick and heavy and unmistakeably hers, currently lying in a half-hard curve against her skin, her fingers wrapped loosely around it and pre-cum glistening on it’s tip.
And, beneath the cock, where there equally most assuredly had not been anything of the sort before, there was a pair of balls. Heavy, full-looking balls, that her fingers —when she very carefully released the shaft and let her hand drift lower in a kind of horrified, fascinated curiosity— quickly confirmed were just as real, just as attached, and just as undeniably hers as the rest of the new equipment that had apparently sprouted from her body sometime between falling asleep in Lexa’s arms and waking up in them.
For a long, long moment, Clarke simply lay there, staring down at herself with an expression that could only be described as utter, tumultous, horrified bewilderment, before she repeated herself at a much higher volume and pitch.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
#########################################################################
When Kassandra, summoned by a harried, wild-eyed messenger, arrived in Lexa’s suite in the palace, sweeping through the doors, it became promptly and unmistakeably obvious why the golden-haired future ruler of mankind had called for her so abruptly and so energetically.
A thoroughly naked, and well-fucked by all appearance and scent, Clarke was sitting on the edge of the massive, fur-strewn bed, hunched slightly forward with her hands resting on her thighs and her shoulders held in the rigid, brittle posture of someone who was actively trying to cling to some semblance of control. Behind her, an equally nude and well-fucked Lexa was wrapped around her like a particularly determined vine, arms looped around the blonde’s waist and shoulders, chin propped on her shoulder, expression a careful blend of concern, support, and what was very clearly an ongoing attempt not to make too big a deal of the rather impressive new addition currently resting against Clarke’s stomach.
An attempt that was, judging by the barely-suppressed fascination that was blended into that same expression, not entirely succeeding. Kassandra could understand that. She’d seen that expression on the faces of many people. Worn it herself, a time or two, for that matter.
She paused just inside the doorway, took in the tableau before her with a single, sweeping glance, and let her lips curl into a slow, dry smile as she folded her arms across her chest and leaned one shoulder against the frame. Languid, casual, calm. Exactly the things that Clarke needed right now. Clarke wasn’t exactly a kid, but she’d long ago learned that people usually could stay calm when the people around them were calm.
“Well…” she said, drawling out the word with deliberate near-flippancy. “I think I understand why I was sent for in such a hurry. And here I thought it might be something serious, like the Mountain Men launching an attack or your wolves eating someone important.”
“Kassandra.” Clarke’s voice was tight, strained, and carrying the controlled, iron edge of someoen that was fiercly, but barely, holding themself together. “I’m really not in a laughing mood right now. So why don’t you tell me, please, that you know what’s going on. Please tell me you have some idea why I woke up with—with—“ she gestured down at herself with a sharp, almost helpless motion, her hand sweeping in the general direction of her lap before she seemed to think better of drawing attention to it and let her hand fall back to her thigh with a small, frustrated sound. “—with this. Because you have to know. You’ve known everything else. You know more about the Isu than anyone else alive, and somehow I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this happened so soon after you and ALIE ‘awakened’ me.”
Kassandra’s lips quirked further, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a way that was somewhere between amused and sympathetic, and she pushed off the doorframe with a single, fluid motion that spoke of familiarity measured in millenia. She crossed the room without hurry, her boots near-silent on the stone floor, and came to a halt a few paces from the bed where she could regard the two young women without crowding them.
“No, it’s not a coincidence. Not in the slightest, actually.” she agreed, tilting her head slightly as her dark eyes swept over Clarke, still sympathetic, still amused.
She let her gaze drift, very deliberately, down to the offending appendage in question, and then back up to Clarke’s face, her expression making it perfectly clear that she was taking the situation seriously even if her tone wasn’t quite as somber as the blonde might prefer.
“Though I will say, that’s an impressive specimen you’ve grown there. Truly. If I were a betting woman -and I am, frequently and to my own detriment- I’d wager that more than a few of your future wives are going to be quite delighted by it once you’re past the initial shock. Certainly larger than average, thick, and that curve looks like…”
“Kassandra!” Clarke’s voice cracked, half-laugh, half-strangled-sound of pure, embaressed exasperation tearing its way out of her throat as she shot the ancient woman a look that could have curdled milk. Behind her, Lexa made a small sound that might have been an agreement to that assessment, or might have been a poorly-suppressed snort of laughter -it was quite probably both-, and Clarke twisted her head to shoot her a betrayed look that did absolutely nothing to discourage the faint, helpless smile tugging at her lover’s lips.
“Not. Helpful.” Clarke ground out through clenched teeth, before turning her glare back to Kassandra with renewed force. “I…this is not the time for commentary on how it looks! I want to know how I got it, and how to get my pussy back!”
“Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Mostly.” Kassandra raised both hands in a gesture of surrender that was about as sincere as her earlier somberness, the corners of her mouth still twitching with poorly-restrained amusement. She crossed the rest of the distance to the bed and sank down into a graceful crouch in front of Clarke, bringing herself to roughly eye-level with the younger woman so that she didn’t have to crane her neck upward to maintain eye contact. It was a small consideration, but a consideration all the same, and Clarke seemed to appreciate it judging by the way some of the tension bled out of her. “This isn’t a curse, Clarke, or an illness or something gone wrong with your body. And, before you ask, it isn’t something ALIE or I arranged either as part of some grand plan for you to breed your beautiful wives and give us an army of Griffon-babies, either. Though, please do, by all means.”
Clarke spluttered, her cheeks flaming an even deeper shade of scarlet, and behind her Lexa made another of those small, suspiciously laugh-shaped sounds that earned the brunette a sharp, betrayed elbow to the ribs. Not that it did much, given the way Lexa simply tightened her arms around Clarke’s waist and pressed her forehead against the blonde’s shoulder, her shoulders shaking ever-so-slightly with the effort of containing her amusement.
“I am going to murder both of you.” Clarke informed the room at large, her voice flat and dangerous in a way that would have been worrisome in other circumstances. Taking pity on her, if only for the moment, Kassandra continued.
“I promise I’ll let you go through the explanation before either of you suffer fatal repercussions for your wit.” She let her hands drop back to rest on her knees, settling into her crouch with the comfortable ease of someone who had spent significant portions of her very long life in similar postures, waiting out crises both personal and apocalyptic. “Tell me first, though. What was the last thing you were thinking before you fell asleep? Or, perhaps more accurately, what were you thinking about in that hazy in-between place where the body is heavy and the mind is drifting, but you’re not quite gone yet?”
Clarke blinked, taken aback, before her blush deepened and she looked down a bit.
“I…I was thinking about raising a family with my girls. With Lexa and Niylah and…and whoever else. I was thinking about how important it would be to have a legacy, if you’re right about me uniting humanity, to prevent some sort of civil war from destroying everything we built once I’m gone. And…” she looked like she was going to faint now, but her cock twitched strongly and visibly hardened a bit. “I…I was thinking about how beautiful Lexa would look pregnant.”
Behind her, Lexa made a small, choked sound that was half delight and half embarrassment, her face going an interesting shade of pink even as her arms tightened around Clarke’s waist in a way that suggested she was not, in fact, opposed to that particular line of thought. Clarke, for her part, looked like she rather wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
“There we go.” Kassandra’s smile softened, became something gentler, almost tender, though the dancing light of amusement never quite left her eyes. “That answers most of my questions right there, actually.”
“What does that mean?” Clarke demanded, though this time there wasn’t much heat to the words at all, only a wondering sort of curiosity.
Kassandra shifted her weight slightly, letting her hands fall to rest more comfortably on her knees as she met Clarke’s eyes with the steady, patient regard of someone who had explained impossible things to confused people more times than she could possibly count.
“It means, Clarke, that you did this. To yourself. Not consciously, mind you, and certainly not deliberately, but you did it nonetheless.” she said quietly, the amused edge gone from her voice now, replaced with something more measured, more careful, more intent. “Your body responded to your desires, your thoughts, your wants, and reshaped itself to make those things possible. You’re not human anymore, Clarke. You’re the closest thing this planet has seen to a living, pure-blooded Isu in thousands of years, and you’re the reincarnation of Odin on top of that. Where do you think all those stories of the ancient gods changing their sexes, or turning to animals came from? Or growing organs they had no business possessing? Where do you think the legends of Loki bearing children came from, hmm? Or Tiresias being turned man to woman and back again? Or Hermaphroditus? Half of them are garbled human memories of watching Isu reshape themselves on a whim, the other half are propaganda the Isu themselves spread to keep our ancestors properly cowed and worshipful.”
She let that sit for a moment, watching the way the words landed as emotions played across Clarke’s face. Disbelief warring with comprehension, comprehension warring with a kind of dawning, deeply unsettled awe.
“The Isu weren’t simply more advanced than us in the way that, say, we are more advanced than the people who first chipped flint into spearheads, or the people who lived before the invention of the wheel. They were so far beyond our ancestors that the comparison breaks down entirely. They had technology so sophisticated, so intimately woven into their very biology, that the line between what they were naturally and what their tools could do to change them simply...didn’t exist. Their bodies were as much their own creation as anything they ever built, shaped and reshaped according to need, desire, function, or simple aesthetic preference. You don’t have that level of control, not yet. You might never be able to go to the extremes that they did, at least not without using their flesh-shaping technology. But giving yourself what you need to replace a strap-on with something more real, to create a family filled with your bloodline? That’s well within your grasp.”
“…oh.”
The word was soft, vulnerable, stunned and dumb-founded. A riot of emotions brought on by an explanation that had clearly been beyond what she’d expected, or allowed herself to expect. Clarke’s hand drifted, almost of its own accord, back down to her lap, fingers ghosting over the unfamiliar shape there with the cautious, exploratory touch of a scientist examining something both fascinating and terrifying. The cock twitched again under her touch, and she snatched her hand back as if it had been burned, earning another barely-suppressed snort from Lexa and a much-more-open laugh from Kassandra.
“So…so I just…wanted it badly enough, and my body just…made it?” Clarke asked slowly, the words tasting strange and impossible on her tongue even as she said them. “In my sleep, while I was thinking about Lexa and babies and our future, my body just...rearranged itself to make that future possible?”
“More or less, yes.” Kassandra nodded, her tone gentling further as she watched Clarke try to process what was, by any reasonable measure, an utterly unreasonable thing to be told before breakfast…or at all, really. “Though I doubt very much that it’s a one-time, permanent change. Your body responded to a deep, fundamental desire, but it’s still your body, and you still have agency over it. More than almost any other human in history, I would wager. With time and practice, you’ll learn to call on this ability deliberately, to shape yourself as you need or want. It will take effort, meditation even, but I don’t doubt you’ll be able to shift as you please soon enough.”
Clarke let out a long, slow breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as some of the rigid tension finally began to bleed out of her frame. Behind her, Lexa pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to the curve of her shoulder, fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns against the skin of her stomach in a way that was both calming and -judging by the way the cock in question gave another interested twitch- not entirely calming at all.
“So I’m not...broken.” Clarke said finally, the words half-statement and half-question, her voice quieter now that the initial wave of panic had ebbed.
“Broken? Far from it. Enhanced, empowered, elevated. More than you were, everything you’re meant to be.” Kassandra denied strongly, unwaveringly, as if she was talking about some immutable law of science…but then again, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? Then she smirked, knowing that she was done with the serious things for now. Knowing that the girl needed to relax so that she could properly absorb what she’d been told and stay relaxed as a result. “Right now, today, though, you can probably make it go away if you focus. Or keep it, if you and Lexa would rather take it for a test drive before breakfast.”
“Kassandra!” Clarke and Lexa chorused, the latter no longer even attempting to hide her laughter as it bubbled out of her against Clarke’s shoulder, warm and bright and utterly delighted. Clarke twisted in her arms to glare at her, but the effect was rather ruined by the way Lexa simply leaned forward and pressed a soft, smiling kiss to the corner of her mouth, all the protest melting out of the blonde instantly. It was Lexa that continued when the kiss was broken. “I’ll happily help Clarke how to use it when we have the chance, but we promised to meet Raven and Octavia in the baths today. And you, Wanderer, will be joining us.”
“Well, far be it for me to miss the opportunity and the invitation to enjoy the royal baths with such entrancing company. It will be just like the old days of my homeland and Rome.” the ancient woman agreed immediately, rising fluidly back to her feet again. “Put on a nice little shift, princess, and try to will that cock of yours away while we walk. As much as I’d enjoy seeing your girls and the attendants react to it’s full-glory, we should ease the poor things into it. After all, you need to seduce them into your bed and get them used to Sappho’s techniques before you can get creative.”
“Somehow, I don’t think she’ll have to work very hard to seduce her sky-girls. I rather think they’d throw themselves into her bed eagerly, if given half a chance, and collar themselves besides.” Lexa remarked teasingly, getting a somewhat pitiful groan from her lover as they set about searching for some manner of garment to wear, and as they dressed and started to make their way across the palace, each of them felt buoyed by a new hope. A new desire. Different, perhaps, in the slightest of ways, but at it’s heart they all wanted the same thing.
A strong, happy, populous family, born of Clarke and the women that she did love and would come to love. A dynasty, to guide mankind in a new and ever-lasting Golden Age.