Chapter Text
Sometimes, Lexa hates her job.
Sure, she’s climbed the corporate ladder, high enough that she can delegate most of the trivial stuff to her employees. But still, some days the hours seem to drag on, and she just wants to go home.
Today is one of those days. Her suit feels just a bit too tight, her bra just a little too restrictive. She sends Clarke a message, complaining about her cruel fate.
Why don’t you just take it off? – Clarke
Because I’ll get nipple chafe. This shirt is stiff as hell. – Lexa
Oh, poor baby. Why don’t you come home, let me get rid of the evil clothes? – Clarke
Hah – I wish I could! Enjoying your day off? - Lexa
Lexa’s mood lifts at the thought of her lover, at home, probably still in bed and not wearing anything – pretty much the same state she left her in this morning. Clarke is a hard worker, but definitely not the kind of person who’d want to work in an office. She’s an artist, a creator. Her works line the walls of the local museum, and Lexa sometimes feels like she might burst with pride.
I am, but I suppose I miss you. Little bit. – Clarke
Only a little? What are you up to? – Lexa
They talk like this often. Idle chit chat, just enough to keep Lexa sane while she works the numbers. Looks like a good year, everything adds up. Just a small discrepancy in payroll. She calls Finn, tells him to run off some reports. Maybe today will be over soon, and she can finally change into something comfier. She slackens off her top button, grunts loudly, but then grins as her phone alert rings out.
Wouldn’t you like to know? ;-) – Clarke
Lexa laughs, and finds herself softly shaking her head as she replies.
Are you misbehaving? – Lexa
Without you here? I would never. - Clarke
There’s still work to be done, so Lexa tries to ignore the images flashing through her mind. Clarke could be touching herself, right now. This very second. Or perhaps rummaging through their special drawer, looking for a plaything.
She bites her lip, tries to clear her suddenly-foggy head.
Behave yourself, some of us have work to do. - Lexa
Where’s the fun in that? – Clarke
You know, I’m pretty soaked. Just from thinking about you. – Clarke
“Fuck.” Lexa curses out loud. Lucky that she has a private office, so nobody can see the colour quickly rise to her cheeks.
Are you going to save some for me? – Lexa
If her clothes were feeling uncomfortable before, it’s nothing compared to now. And when she opens the next message, seeing a picture of Clarke’s clearly defined abdomen, a hand sliding down past thin, blonde curls, she decides she has to go out, get some air. “God damn it,” she curses, pulling her blazer off, grabbing a small carton from the inner pocket, and heading out to her private balcony.
She slackens off another button, pulls a lighter from her back pocket, and lights up a cigarette. Maybe she can leave early today. She’s the boss, after all. It’s not really her style, though; she didn’t get where she is today, overlooking the entire cityscape from the top floor, by slacking off.
But the thought of what Clarke’s hands are doing right now…
She takes a long drag on her cigarette. Then another. It doesn’t help. The image of Clarke’s body is blazing in her mind, she can almost taste her, and the ache between her legs is getting out of control. She sits at her desk, breathes a long sigh, and picks up the phone again.
You’re a fucking tease – Lexa
There’s a long pause before Clarke replies, and although Lexa somehow manages to get through her last few emails for the day, her mind is constantly mindful of the things that her lover could be doing, and of the things she could be doing to her.
Don’t pretend you don’t like it. – Clarke
She’s thinking of some kind of witty retort when another picture message arrives, and she takes a deep breath before opening it up. Then she promptly stands from her desk, clumsily packs her briefcase, and prepares to leaves the office.
I’ll be there in ten. Wait for me. – Lexa
Yes ma’am – Clarke
“Done for the day?” Abby asks cheerfully, looking up from her computer screen. Lexa did have reservations about employing Clarke’s mother as her secretary, but it turns out she’s fantastic at the job, and the two of them get along perfectly.
“Just one more report to check, but I’ll do that at home,” Lexa says, hoping that her ulterior motives aren’t as obvious as she thinks they are.
“Well, say hello to my little girl,” Abby says with a friendly wink. There’s a twinge of guilt as Lexa grins and says of course she will. Guilt that her so-called ‘little girl’ is about to be devoured, head to toe. Guilt that she’s heading home precisely because she needs to fuck Clarke’s brains out.
Her mouth goes dry as she takes the elevator down to the underground carpark. Dryer still when she takes another look at the picture of Clarke. It takes all of her remaining willpower to not unbutton her trousers and relieve herself from the hot ache pressing against her zipper.
But then, why slide her own fingers against her clit, when she can have Clarke’s tongue there instead? A growl catches in her throat, hidden by the dull roar of the engine as she turns the key in the ignition.