Ok so that IG story from ADC was 🥵. Homegirl definitely knew what she was doing.
So, hypothetically, if that WAS GSTYM Lexa (who I would assume has been much more liberal about posting on SM since her and Clarke got together), and she posted it right after her workout while Clarke was at the grocery store sitting in line, scrolling her feed… would Clarke like go full blue screen before racing to beat Lexa home to jump her sweat bones or would she like, go little angry red monster because those tits are HERS and for her eyes only thank you very much.
Lol, definitely the former.
But afterwards, when they’re laying spent and sweaty (or sweatier, in Lexa’s case) and catching their breath, Lexa asks, “Hey, did you get a chance to swing by the grocery store today?”
And suddenly Clarke remembers that in her mad rush to get home, she ditched the trolley at the supermarket without a second thought. Just abandoned it at the queue for the checkout and raced to her car like a loony. The whole drive back is a bit of a blur, now she thinks about it.
(Oh god, she might’ve run a red light.)
Lexa looks over, a smile playing around her lips as she starts to put the pieces together. The timing of it. How Clarke tore through the apartment like a hurricane, tackling Lexa into bed. Told her to keep the sports bra on. Hands everywhere, grabby and possessive as they travelled all over Lexa’s chest and the length of her torso before sliding between her legs.
One brow ticks upward. “Something came up, huh?”
Lexa shifts onto her side, propped on her elbow, and for a moment Clarke is entirely distracted by the inch of cleavage that the snug, low-cut Lycra top lends. She idles over the expanse of glistening, golden skin on display, still flushed from their exertions. Eyes drawn like magnets to the perspiration that coats sharp collarbones, to the pool of sweat that’s collected at the hollow of Lexa’s throat that Clarke has the urge to dip her tongue into. And it makes her burn. Irked, because post-workout Lexa far too closely resembles post-orgasm Lexa and, irrational as it might be, it bothers Clarke that several million Instagram followers were treated to even a small glimpse of that—what’s hers alone.
Clarke grouses at Lexa’s boobs, “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
When she peels her gaze away at last, she immediately spies the little secretive smile tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth. Green eyes sparkle and dance with amusement before she attempts to straighten her face.
“Know what?” All faux innocence.
Lexa only offers a blank look in return.
“Really? You’re really going to make me say it?”
An indignant huff escapes and then Clarke is in motion. She shoves at Lexa’s shoulder and swings a leg over her hips, forcing her onto her back. Worth it for the surprise that flashes over her features.
“Insta. The little thirst trap you posted on your stories. Ring any bells?”
“Oh.” Lexa’s mouth twists to one side. “That.”
She doesn’t put up any resistance when Clarke pins her arms above her head by the wrists. “Yes. That.”
Their stomachs and breasts are flush now, Clarke’s weight pressing down on Lexa, and the graze of hard nipples through the thin material of the sports bra, the slickness Lexa feels on Clarke’s inner thighs where they bracket her bare hips makes her breath catch.
But she keeps the charade going.
“I was just showing off my new gear, Clarke.” She shrugs as best she can in this position. “I have to rep my sponsors.”
“Mm,” Clarke says, unconvinced. “And is there a clause in the Nike contract that requires you to flash your tits to all and sundry on social media?”
“Not sure. I’ll have Indra check the small print.”
That earns Lexa a quick, sharp, reproachful squeeze of her wrists and she has to bite down on a grin. Because Clarke doesn’t even have to say “smartarse”, Lexa hears it very distinctly in her head. The accent and tone. And it delights her no end. It’s ridiculous how much she loves this woman and her grumpy Brit tendencies.
“What I do know,” Lexa goes on, tilting her hips up with purpose and relishing the tiny gasp that Clarke sucks in. “Is that, as my fiancée, you’re entitled to a sneak preview of the other pieces they sent me.”
A smirk tugs at Lexa’s lips as she watches the play of emotions over Clarke’s face at the prospect of a ‘Lexa Woods x Nike’ private fashion show, knowing Clarke is absolutely going to lose her mind over the range of new tennis dresses. Won’t be able to last five minutes before getting her hands under Lexa’s skirt.
She sees Clarke’s eyes darken, blown pupils pushed almost to the edges, swallowing up the blue, and Lexa’s smirk grows bigger and more devious.
“Shall we start with the swimwear line or…?”
