#trashverse

anya comes to visit. clarke sees her while she’s working in the healer’s wing, anya riding in through the window. she thinks it might be some kind of reward, being assigned to make poultices and prep herbs and sterilize instruments. anya looks up, leading her horse, and clarke drops her eyes to avoid meeting anya’s gaze.

lexa comes to collect her only ten minutes later, pausing to speak to the lead healer before snapping her fingers in clarke’s direction. clarke trots at her heels, lexa’s stride faster than usual as they make their way back to the heda’s quarters. clarke thinks something might be wrong--her mind pricks, vaguely. a new threat? something her people have done to make anya leave her post to come to lexa?

but then lexa closes the door behind them and strips her sword away and sighs, shaking out the tension in her shoulders, and anya is lounging in a chair, full dressed and eating an apple, and lexa smiles--as much as lexa ever really smiles--and clarke thinks it’s something else. lexa cuts her eyes to clarke and raises an eyebrow and clarke shuffles over to her pile of furs in the corner, sitting cross-legged. 

“so well trained,” anya says, a little mocking, and clarke flushes. 

“a long ride?” lexa asks, bending to unlace her boots and strip away her socks. 

“a good one.” anya tosses the apple core into the fire. “raivu likes to stretch her legs.” she pauses. “mine not as much.”

“a peril of growing old.”

anya arches an eyebrow. “old?”

lexa pads to her, barefoot. “and frail.” she kneels at anya’s feet.

“frail,” anya repeats, almost amused. lexa takes her boots off, her socks, undoes the ties holding the ends of her pants cinched to her ankle. 

“sha, fos.” lexa stands, tugging anya’s jacket free, undoing the vest and the strips of fur lining her sleeves, dropping her gloves onto the table. she dips her fingers into anya’s belt and looks up, almost hesitant. 

anya knocks her hand away, gentle, and undoes her pants herself, her hand gentle around lexa’s throat as she turns her and nudges her towards the bed. “kom hir, seken.”

clarke can’t help but look--and they’re not paying attention to her, anyway--lexa gone pliant, anya arranging her face down into the pillow and fucking her almost gently relentless, while lexa squirms and whimpers and anya smears her warpaint down lexa’s spine.

it’s not until after that it feels like intruding, when they’re lying above the furs naked in the candlelight and anya strokes gently along the tattoo on lexa’s right bicep, the one that matches anyas. clarke feels something drop pitch in her, oily and almost angry.

++

anya stays for three days. it’s almost a vacation for clarke, left to her own devices, lexa having a handmaiden  bring clarke her meals and leaving clarke to manage her own schedule. on the third night, the last night, anya pulls lexa’s hair and fucks her from behind with her hands around lexa’s throat and after, kisses her forehead and tucks her under the furs. 

++

two days after anya leaves, clarke doesn’t get up on time. she wakes up at the right time, and at first she thinks she’ll just forego washing her face and braiding her hair, to catch a few extra seconds of being warm--she’s back in lexa’s bed, now that anya has gone, and lexa left early early that morning, cursing a wayward gona that has caused trouble within her band of most effective scouts. 

and then clarke just doesn’t get up. she doesn’t sleep, either, but she lies there quiet and awake and watching the fire burn down.

++

lexa drags her out of bed by the hair, depositing her on the ground in a heap. lexa’s brow is furrowed. she feels clarke’s forehead. “i do not understand why you do this,” she says, sounding more disappointed than furious. “i thought you had moved passed this.”

clarke doesn’t say anything and lexa sighs. she manhandles clarke up on her knees, presses her face into the floor while her other hand yanks clarke’s pants down. she’s spanked clinically, calculated, bare handed while she squirms and flushes bright red and hates lexa and herself and everything.

lexa goes until clarke stops flinching from the strikes, gone limp and willing to take whatever lexa doles out, lifting her hips up after every hit to take her punishment. after, lexa dips a teasing finger between her folds and hums when she finds clarke wet. she pulls clarke to her feet and fixes her pants, braids her hair back so roughly clarke winces. lexa licks her finger and rubs the dirt from clarke’s cheek like an errant child. “go to the kitchens and don’t come back until i get you.”

++

lexa leaves her working for two straight days. clarke is almost swaying when a hand closes around the back of her neck and shakes her gently. “come.”

she’d led back to lexa’s tent and kneels at lexa’s chair automatically, falling hard and blinking rapid and confused when she’s tugged back up towards the bed. lexa arranges her lying between her legs, cradled with her back against lexa’s chest, lexa propped up against the headboard. “my lead fisa says you are almost invaluable, and I am wasting you on peeling potatoes.” her fingers hook in clarke’s jaw, idly, tugging it open and rubbing clarke’s tongue, the tips of her teeth, tickling the back of her throat to make her gag. 

her other hand trails down clarke’s front, undoing her shirt and leaving it gaping open, pinching and tugging. she slips her long fingers into clarke’s underwear and plays with her, casually. “so it’s just me you’re upset with, not my people or your life here.”

a messenger pokes his head in and blinks rapidly to see them, clarke’s head back on lexa’s shoulder, panting and drooling around her fingers, eyes rolled back into her head, her chest bare and her hips lifting up against lexa’s slow moving fingers in her pants. lexa tells him to leave his map on the table and he scurries out, shutting the door behind him.

++