Redwrex

It's useless for Clarke to try and conceal her happiness, letting it spill out of her in an distinctly elegant snorting chuckle, because jesus fucking christ does she love this girl.

Quite literally wants to spend every waking moment with her.

(The sleeping ones too.)

“Are you going to that Alpha-Phi-whatever Halloween thing this weekend?” she asks, for no other reason than wanting to plan her entire life around the girl in her arms. “Rave said she wanted us to make an appearance, but I told her I wanted to see what you were doing before committing.”

“What kind of Halloween thing is it?”

“Costumes. Alcohol. General debauchery.”,

She lays her pout on thick the second Lexa sighs from her half of their shared pillow.

“I don't know, love. I don't know if it's really my thing,” Lexa says with a consoling stroke of Clarke's naked hip.

“It's a costume party, baby. It's everybody's thing.”

“I've never been to a costume party though.”

Clarke balks at that. “What? How is that possible?”

Lexa's shoulder lifts in a halfhearted shrug. “We never did Halloween at home growing up,” she says as if it's nothing, even her eyes drop to the dip of Clarke's chest and stay there. “My grandfather said it was a demonic holiday—”

“Oh my god, you have to be fucking kidding me,” Clarke scoffs. “So, wait,” she tries, softening herself and holding Lexa close through the sinking feeling in her stomach, “so you didn't… you never dressed up for Halloween? Ever?”

Lexa just shakes her head.

“No candy? No trick-or-treating?”

“No.”

“What about school stuff? Like, classroom Halloween parties.”

Lexa smiles and shrugs again, running the sole of her foot along Clarke's ankle as her nails trace tickling circles along the small of Clarke's back. “The teachers always found other things for me to do. Puzzles and worksheets and stuff. Sometimes they'd let me sit in the teacher's lounge and buy me a diet soda as long as I promised not to tell any of the other kids.”

Clarke chuckles weakly along with her girlfriend laugh, because Lexa relays the memory as if it really was some kind of indulgence to be treasured.

As if being a child left alone to entertain herself with shitty games and poorly disguised busy work was nothing. As if spending a carefree holiday sitting quietly in a windowless room reeking of three hour old coffee while her classmates laughed, ate pizza, and played games in their costumes wasn't noteworthy at all.

Despite having never met a single member of Lexa's family, Clarke feels that increasingly familiar urge to hunt them down and inflict physical violence on them all. It's an urge that arises every time Lexa tells her about anything from her childhood. These blips and blurbs of Lexa's past trickling into their conversations that always serve to break Clarke's heart and set her teeth on edge.

She just doesn't understand it. Can't fathom how none of them seemed to see what she sees as she looks at her beautiful girlfriend and feels her heart race. The kindness and strength in her eyes. The delicate grace of her cheeks, the adorable slope of her nose. Every spray of freckles and the little crinkle above her smile. Her sweetness. Her tenderness. Her determination, so unyielding in reaching every one of her goals.

This girl is fucking precious.

And Clarke? Clarke just… does not fucking get it.

Tipping her chin up, Clarke leans in and captures Lexa's mouth in a deep, searching kiss.

“Well,” she sighs when they come up for air, delighting in the hooded eyes staring back at her, “that simply will not do.”

“It's not a big deal—”

“Oh no. No,” she argues as she eases Lexa onto her back to straddle her and begins dripping open-mouthed kisses down the length of her body. “I'm not marrying someone who has never dressed up for Halloween, so we're fixing this shit. Posthaste.”

Lexa's laugh fades to gasp at a well timed nip of Clarke's teeth.

Clarke soothes the sting with a lap of her tongue and kisses down the plain of Lexa's belly. “We're gonna dress up, and drink until we're stupid,” she whispers against the suppleness of her girlfriend's skin. “And then I'm going bring you home, and fuck you in your costume until we get another noise complaint.”

“We're gonna get another noise complaint right now,” Lexa weakly sighs, even as she spreads her thighs wider.

Clarke settles on her belly, kissing the swollen lips of Lexa's slit before licking it with the flat of her tongue. “And I really don't care.”

At the sound of another sharp knock, Clarke's head pops up from between her girlfriend's legs as she glares at the wall.

The hands tangled in her hair guide her right back down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is perfect.

They look perfect.

Everything set and ready for Clarke's master plan.

Two sleepless nights and four goddamn cuts to her fingers, and Clarke wouldn't change a single thing.

It'd taken an hour and a particularly filthy make-out to convince her girlfriend to put her half of Clarke's creation on, her lips and tongue fielding every one of Lexa's arguments about it “looking ridiculous" and “being too revealing” and the dreaded “Clarke, I'm going to be cold.”

All her points of contention hadn't stood a chance in the face of Clarke's unbeatable logic: “But, baby, you look so hot.”

And thus, there they were walking hand-in-hand up to the (surely) disease ridden frat house, each decked out in their custom made costumes—designed, stitched, and hot glued by Clarke's very own hands.

Clarke leads them up the steps of the frat house, guiding her girlfriend by the hand past the few passed out bodies littering the walkway of party-goers who had undoubtedly pre-gamed too hard.

Amateurs.

“Hello, ladies,” an upperclassman sat straddling an already tapped keg greets them at the door. His eyes rove the length of them, first Lexa and then Clarke, gaze stuttering to a stop at the accessory of her costume bulging between her legs. “Er—”

“Sick, right?” Clarke says in her best neanderthal voice as she adjusts her loincloth, with a bro style chin tip for good measure.

“Yyyyeah,” the guy slowly agrees before shaking his head as though to rid himself of every thought from this moment. “Anyway, uh, twenty-one?”

“Yep.”

“No.”

Lexa has the decency to look guilty when Clarke sends her a look.

“Thought so,” he says, whipping a stamp out of nowhere and marking their hands without missing a single beat.

Clarke holds up the hand now emblazoned with a bold, black thumbs down as she gives the guy a very different finger.

He tosses up his hands in the universal sign of, ‘sorry, not my problem.’ “Have fun tonight, ladies. Remember, keep things age appropriate.” He reaches over to the pingpong table beside him already groaning under the weight of prefilled solo cups. “Whatever you do, don't drink those,” he says as he hands them each a stale looking beer. “And if you're looking for anything stronger, absolutely do not go into the kitchen where the vodka, rum, and jungle juice are.”

Lifting her beer in cheers, Clarke grabs Lexa's hand and slips them into the chaos of the house.

“What the hell was that?” Lexa yells over the thump and thrum of the music blasting from the room off to their left.

Clarke holds her beer high above her head as she threads them through the crowd. “Just covering the frat's ass,” Clarke yells back. “If some idiot freshman gives themselves alcohol poisoning, they can say they must've stolen or something because they were marked to not be served.”

Lexa's answering snort is all but drowned out by the sudden shout of, “Yo, sluts!”

Like Pavlov's dog to a bell, Clarke's eyes snap to the call of her people, giving a slight tug to the hand still in hers and changing directions toward the idiot on the stairs.

“Stop calling us sluts,” Clarke half yells as Raven finishes descending the stairs from doing whatever ungodly thing she'd been up to on the second floor of the frat house.

Raven shoves past a startled Donkey Kong and winks at his Ghostface friend on her way down. “It's affectionate.”

“It's really not,” Lexa sighs as her arm finds its home around Clarke's waist. Clarke watches in amusement as she takes a strong pull from her beer and grimaces, while pointing at Raven from over the rim. “You look nice though.”

“Aw, thanks.” Raven beams, plucking at the fringe of her torn fishnets before pretending to zhuzh one of the pigtails on her blonde, turquoise, and pink wig. “I'm hot, but really I just wanted an excuse to carry a bat while surrounded by—”

She cuts off with a general wave toward the sea of people around them.

“Fair,” Clarke concedes. She loops an arm around Lexa's shoulders and spreads them as wide as she can given the crowd. “What do you think of our costumes?”

Raven takes her sweet, sweet time to survey Clarke and then Lexa, her face a blank slate as she stares at their hair, down to their feet, and loops her gaze back up.

“What the hell are you even supposed to be?”

“Oh come on!” Clarke yells.

“Bitch, what do you want me to say? I mean I know you're,” Raven says as she points to Lexa and pauses, “uh, assimilated Jane of the Jungle?”

Clarke scoffs before Lexa can answer. “As if my baby would ever be something so basic.”

Lexa gives Clarke a prim smile when she looks over and returns the affectionate kiss to her lips.

“I'm just ‘Lexa of the Jungle’ apparently,” Lexa clarifies.

Raven frowns. “Thought process?”

“That I'd look hot,” Lexa shrugs. “It was Clarke's creation.”

“Oh I'm sure it was,” Raven says, eyeing the questionably tight bra draped in ripped netting and tattered rags painted with shades of brown and forest green. Her gaze drops to the long, long line of Lexa's legs below an artfully crafted wrap that covers just enough of Lexa's hips to be public appropriate.

Clarke gets it.

It'd taken her a solid fifteen minutes just to stop ogling the bare expanse of Lexa's midriff long enough that they could actually leave her dorm room.

“And um, what about this little getup?” Raven asks, turning to Clarke after her thorough inspection of Lexa's costume. “Dumb blonde meets caveman?”

“One, go fuck yourself,” Clarke says and blows a kiss in Raven's direction. “Two, I feel like it's pretty obvious that I'm George of the Jungle.”

Granted, she hadn't put quite as much effort into her own costume as she had her lover's. But between the borrowed chest binder struggling to smooth down her tits (Clarke makes a mental note to buy her neighbor from two doors down a coffee on Monday when she returns it), the twigs and leaves meticulously weaved in the mussed tendrils of her hair, the eyebrow-pencil-drawn beard accentuating her jawline, and the big, fat monster—

“Dude,” Raven coughs with an incredulous laugh as she stares between Clarke's legs, “are you wearing a dick?”

Clarke glances down proudly at the bulge under her loincloth. “Yeah. Duh.”

“That is, like? The most wrong move I have ever seen for a costume party possible,” Raven says, face drawn up in a look of revulsion. “You're in a house full of horny frat bros and later we're going—”

“And?” Clarke argues with a pointed wave of her hand to shut Raven up. “I'm George of The Jungle to my hot Jungle Lexa, alright, it makes sense. Besides, you're not going to tell me that he wasn't working with an epic python down there. This costume is Biblically accurate when you think about it.”

Raven's face slackens into a look of dubious disbelief. “What, and I can't stress this enough, in the actual fuck are you talking about, you lunatic?”

Clarke opens her mouth to explain the finer points of her reasoning, when the arm around her waist pulls her closer.

“How about we go dance,” Lexa says with an adorable scrunch of her freckled nose.

Clarke exhales out her lingering frustration and nods because, despite the massive amounts of Clarke's pride, this girl has her wrapped around her finger.

She lets her very hot and half-naked girlfriend tug her to the frat house's common-room-turned-dancefloor, but not without a backward scowl to let Raven know this conversation isn't over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So wearing a dick was, in fact, absolutely the wrong move.

The worst, mostly delicious, most rewarding wrong move. So ill-advised Clarke can barely keep herself standing upright as her girlfriend grinds the cleft of her ass against the bulge of Clarke's cock to the rhythm of the latest song.

Four beers and two shots had served to loosen them both up to the point that Lexa's hips moved to the beat like warm, syrupy liquid. Clarke swallows against the dryness of her throat at the way Lexa's body rolls beneath hands.

She’d promised herself to keep her wits about her tonight… but every deal she'd made with her own bearded reflection in the mirror before they'd left had flown right out of the window the second Lexa had pressed her ass tight against Clarke's hips.

It doesn't matter that people are staring. Honestly, Clarke kind of loves the thought of it in this moment; the idea that every one of these frat bros and sorority girls see just how much Lexa owns her.

They dance for hours through the heat and haze of warm bodies emboldened with booze. It feels like a dream she never wants to wake up from set to the backdrop of cheap strobe lights, watching the bohemian angel in her arms light up in flashes of pink, purple, and blue.

The way Lexa's spine arches in such a graceful bow as she lulls her head back onto Clarke's shoulder when the beat is so heavy she can practically feel it in her bones. Kissing lines up Lexa's neck to match the swivel of her hips. Moving time to the music, lacing her fingers between Clarke's as they slide across her belly to make sure she can't move away.

The night is fucking magical, Clarke thinks. From the buzz to the base to the beautiful girl in her arms.

Which is exactly how Clarke nearly forgets the second part of her plans.

In her defense, when it comes to keeping her focus in the face of Lexa's body mingled with the heady scent of her sweat… she really can't be trusted with shit.

But reality comes crashing back in when the music scratches to a sudden halt and the room explodes into a chorus of boos.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up!” an upperclassmen yells into a bullhorn from the bannister of the staircase as he waves his arms for silence. Once the crowd has quieted their complaints to a dull(er) roar, he continues, “Is everybody having a good time?!”

The room erupts into a round of cheers, the sounds of drunken debauchery filling the air as Clarke squeezes her arms tighter around Lexa's waist and buries her nose in sweat-frizzed hair. “I know I am.”

Lexa turns her head and gives Clarke an adorable glassy-eyed smile along with a kiss.

When the house quiets again, the bullhorn booms back into life, “Y'all wanna keep this party going?!”

The room yells back, “Hell yeah!”

“You know what time it is?!” he bellows so loudly it makes Clarke's eardrums vibrate, only to be met with another round of cheers. “It's midnight, mothafuckers! And that mean it's—”

He cuts off and holds the bullhorn out toward the crowd, who take their cue to scream back, “Trick-or-treating hour!”

Clarke nearly breaks from her well-practiced look of innocence when Lexa frowns as half their fellow party-goers start to swarm toward the exit.

“Love, what did you do?” she asks as Clarke takes her hand and starts guiding them out of the house as well.

“Me? Nothing.”

“Clarke—”

“I don't know, baby, I'm just following the fun,” Clarke insists as she continues tugging them along, covertly waving away Dipshit-Derek-from-Alpha-Phi's attempt at a fist bump for getting his part done.

Fuckin’ idiot.

Pausing only long enough to grab two of the canvas bags stacked by the porch's front pillar, Clarke takes off running to stay even with the main surge of the group, making sure to keep Lexa's hand clasped firmly in her own. She smiles at the delighted sound of her girlfriend's laugh as they bound across the manicured lawn, just to pull up outside of the neighboring house.

Panting and out of breath, Clarke feels high in the fresh night air as Lexa's body collides with her own at the sudden stop.

“Clarke, seriously, what did you do?” Lexa asks in breathless chuckle as they stumble into the chaos of people lining up in front of the student housing duplex where two people are currently sat handing out fistfuls of candy.

Clarke just shrugs in answer to her girlfriend's question and elbows their way forward, grateful when the crowd splits as soon as they notice who it is. She only releases Lexa's hand when they're at the front of the queue, discreetly nudging Lexa forward until she's front and center.

“Go on. Hold your bag out, baby,” Clarke urges when Lexa just stands there, her face and ears an adorably brilliant shade of red even under such shitty orange porch light.

Lexa rolls her eyes and opens her bag and… continues to just stand there.

“You gotta say it, dipshit!” Raven's voice yells from somewhere in the crowd behind them. Clarke raises her middle finger in the voice's general direction as the crowd joins in with a chant of, “Say it. Say it. Say it! Say it!” that grows with each round.

Clarke's heart swells and bursts as Lexa laughs and covers her face with her hands, feeling so light she might just float away. She's a lost cause and she knows it. No hope for redemption from her devotion; so in love with this girl who doesn't know how to believe she deserves good things that it physically makes Clarke's chest ache.

That love only doubles—maybe triples, she'll decide on that later—when Lexa shakes her head and motions for everyone to be quiet, before holding out her bag.

“Trick or treat.”

The drunken gaggle of college kids let out a whoop and holler of celebration. Clarke joins in, smiling just to choke back the ridiculous sting of tears as Lexa rolls her eyes with a good natured sigh and accepts her very first piece of Halloween candy.

Clarke doesn't waste any time in retaking Lexa's hand the second she steps aside to let the next in line get their own fun-sized chocolate treasure. They take off like a rocket, running and laughing from one student-house to the next, collecting mountains of candy until the wee hours of the morning alongside a crowd of their classmates.

In all her calculations for the evening, the only thing Clarke never accounted for is the debilitating cuteness factor of watching her girlfriend actually get into the festivities. She hadn't entirely foreseen this feeling that she might burst with affection every time Lexa splinters off with the occasional familiar face from some study group or another, just to circle back around and melt into Clarke's side again. It's the happiness in watching Lexa just let go and let friends yank her along in their shared excitement, all zigzagging between walkways and yards on their hunt for sugary delights, each participating in the time-honored ritual of bartering various pieces for the superior candy haul, just for negotiations to devolve into heated arguments regarding the equitable exchange rate that is Snickers versus Butterfingers.

Having to pull Lexa away before she decks a Mario-clad upperclassman for a rather disparaging remark regarding the merits of red starburst alone lets Clarke know all of her efforts have been worth it.

Her buzz long since gone but still feeling drunk on such dumbass fun, Clarke moves to dash across the street to another house, when the hand in hers tugs them to a stop.

Willing to follow Lexa anywhere she may ever wish to go, Clarke playfully stumbles back into her beautiful girlfriend's body, slinging her arm around Lexa's waist to keep her close as they sway under the dwindling streetlights.

“What's up, baby?” Clarke says in a breathless laugh.

She's only met with silence.

Her smile slowly fades as she realizes her carefree joy isn't being mirrored back.

“Baby,” Clarke whispers, confused by the unreadable expression on her girlfriend's face.

Lexa looks so serious, so focused on nothing but Clarke, it makes her heart skip a beat. She stays quiet when Lexa just slowly shakes her head and continues to stare at her with eyes brimming with a sheen of tears. Clarke wants to say something, do something, anything to console this beautiful girl she adores more than anyone in the world.

She loses it when that full bottom lip starts to tremble.

“Oh, baby, don't—”

“I love you,” Lexa cuts in, her voice thick and strained and raw. The hands on Clarke's shoulders slip up to her jaw, cradling her face tenderly in Lexa's palms.

Clarke covers Lexa's hands with her own and smiles, trying so hard to put her at ease. “I know, baby, I know.”

Lexa shakes her head again, more forceful this time, her eyes shining brighter with the intensity of her conviction.

“No. No you don't understand. I love you, Clarke,” she says in rushed, shuddering breath. “I—”

Lexa's words trail off as she seems to lose whatever battle that had been waging so viciously inside of her. Clarke doesn't mind it in the slightest, only makes herself more malleable when Lexa wraps Clarke up in a hug.

The way Lexa holds her so tight takes Clarke by surprise.

All Clarke can do is return the affection as best she can, running her palms along the length of Lexa's back while trying to soothe away whatever was causing such a reaction.

“Shhh, Lex. It's okay,” she says again, sighing, making herself softer when the arms around her hug tighter. “I'm right here, baby. Talk to me.”

Lexa pulls back from the embrace only for enough to rest her forehead against Clarke's, every warm puff of her shuddered breaths a testament to how hard she's trying to keep control of herself.

In this moment, Clarke knows she'll prove to Lexa that her heart is safe. That she can be as vulnerable as she needs to be. She will prove it to her. However long it takes.

Clarke keeps up the soothing passes of her hands as Lexa struggles to swallow through the swell of her emotions. She holds her girlfriend just like that until Lexa is ready to speak.

Eyes still closed but chest now falling in more even rises and falls, Lexa whispers, “I've never had anyone love me like you do.”

Clarke's heart shatters all over again.

“Oh, Lex—”

“I just need you to know that nothing is ever going to stop me from loving you. And I'm going to do everything I can to deserve you, okay? I promise.”

Every break in Lexa's voice sends another ache through Clarke's heart; a marrow deep sort of pain reminiscent of prodding at a bruise. Because Clarke understands that Lexa doesn't always know what to do with herself when feeling so overwhelmed with emotion. A person so good at showing kindness, always caring and thoughtful in big and small ways… but receiving the same? Accepting love without caveats?

Fighting these demons will always be an uphill battle for her love, Clarke knows.

She's looking forward to being by her side through all of it.

Clarke sighs and lifts away enough to look into the big, teary eyes of her ridiculously pretty girlfriend.

“Lexa,” she says as gently as she can while still flattening her lips into a thin line that reads ‘all business'. “There is no ‘deserving’ someone loving you.”

It nearly breaks Clarke to see the way Lexa's eyes flicker down; the way her jaw ticks as though she's biting back a well thought out argument to that fact.

Clarke cuts off whatever those thoughts are with a quiet, “Hey,” as she takes Lexa’s hand from her waist and presses it to the flat of her chest. “This?” she says, forcing Lexa to feel the steady thump of her heartbeat. “This is for you. This will always be for you. And the only thing you have to do to earn it or deserve it or—or whatever it is you think… is to just be here. Just existing is good enough for me.”

Bringing her arms up to hang over the mostly-bare expanse of Lexa's shoulders, Clarke leans down just enough to catch Lexa's eyes.

“Well, that and grilled cheeses,” Clarke adds, biting her lip with a sultry flutter of her lashes at the reminder of that particular memory.

Lexa agrees with a shaky smile even as her ears flush an adorable shade of red. “Can't forget those. As many as you want.”

Unable (and unwilling) to stop herself, Clarke tips forward and presses a sweet kiss to Lexa's lips. “You and me and grilled cheeses forever, baby.”

Those big doe-eyes stare at Clarke like she holds every last secret of the universe.

“I promise not to be this dramatic when we take our kids trick-or-treating for the first time,” Lexa says with a wet laugh.

And oh good Christ in Hell, this girl has no idea what she does to Clarke. A natural born heartbreaker, Clarke thinks, swooning at the way Lexa says it so casually. So mindlessly. As though it's already a foregone conclusion for her, too.

Needing to see this pretty girl in her arms smile before the entire world collapses in on itself from the weight of her sad, puppy eyes, Clarke snorts lazily, “Don't worry, I will.”

“What?”

“Cry. Oh I'm gonna cry like an absolute idiot the first time we take our kids trick-or-treating,” Clarke says, feeling her skin warm pleasantly at just saying the words herself. “Seriously. Like I'm going to embarrass them. Probably you as well. It'll be a scene.”

Lexa shakes her head with another soggy sounding laugh. "Clarke—”

“No, I'm telling you it's going to be gross, baby. Makeup running. Definitely snot. A lot of it. You're going to really regret all your life choices in that moment.”

Visibly pulling herself together, Lexa swipes away the tear tracks that line her cheek and shoots Clarke a knowing look. “I won't, but just to clarify, are you planning on bribing all of our neighbors to give our children candy too, or…?”

Clarke gives a completely convincing exaggerated scoff. And waves her hand in dismissal. And looks steadfastly forward, right over Lexa's shoulder.

“What? I don't even—I don't know what you're even talking about? I've never seen any of these people before in my life,” she says in a way that would undoubtedly be convincing to someone who is very, very stupid.

Unfortunately for Clarke in this particular moment, her girlfriend is not.

Without waiting for a reply, Clarke shouts a resounding, “Candy time!” as she grabs Lexa's hand and takes off across the street in search of more sweets… ignoring the bounce of the cock between her legs every step of the way.

Never again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whether it's the sugar rush at play or simply the effects of the costume, Clarke really can't be sure. But what she does know with every ounce of her soul is that… they're definitely getting another noise complaint.

Probably a fine, too.

And not one single part of Clarke can make herself care.

Not when Lexa had practically tackled her the moment the door to her room had shut behind them, candy bags ripped away and spilled across the floor to be replaced with eager hands and lips. Lips that had kissed Clarke backward until they'd both tumbled onto the bed, and hands that pawed at her bound chest until a joint effort was made to free her.

The struggle had been worth it, Clarke reckons with a grin, if Lexa's glassy-eyed focus on every bounce of Clarke's tits is anything to go by.

Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa's thighs straddling her. She squeezes with every forward rock, spurring on the punishing rhythm as Lexa fucks herself in short, hard snaps of her hips.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” Clarke sighs, bowing her back just to bring her chest closer to her girlfriend's mouth.

The call and response feels pavlovian when Lexa dips her head down to wrap her lips around the stiff peak of Clarke's nipple, the vibrations of her moans traveling through Clarke's body like a shockwave. She clenches hard around nothing. Jealously picturing how filled Lexa must feel right now as she lifts the tattered ends of her girlfriend's loincloth to see how good she looks wrapped so tight around the toy strapped to Clarke's hips.

“You're so soft, baby. So soft and wet. I love being inside you,” she breathes.

Lexa moans out another filthy sound and plants her hands on Clarke's ribs, using the leverage to fuck even harder while grinding the reddened tip of her clit against the harness. Her panting builds with every thump of the headboard against the wall, her eyes never straying from the effects of her rhythm playing in the sway of Clarke's tits.

Three booming knocks from next door only seem to egg Lexa on more.