Of course Octavia’s right. You know she’s right. And of course Octavia knows or at least has a pretty damn clear idea of why you’d choose to stay in Polis in the first place.
She’s not an idiot. Octavia knows better than to really believe a kill order as a means of enforcing a blockade is harsh. A peaceful until forced to be otherwise blockade in exchange for 300 senseless deaths? She knows. All those little comments – why am I not surprised you’re still defending her; no wonder you wanted to stay – were nothing more than well-placed jabs in an effort to get you to admit something. Something you’re not even really sure you’re ready to admit.
This becomes pretty clear the second time Octavia confronts you, as you stare out onto the city. She doesn’t bother with nuance this time.
“You have an hour to say your goodbyes.” To Lexa. “If you’re not there?” She continues, back turned to you, “You’re not the person I thought you were.”
And it’s not even a challenge. You both know you’ll choose your people. Every time. Every circumstance. Lately, choosing your people has been easy because it’s also meant staying in Polis and not having to face them, and what you’ve done for them. You could live an entirely different life here, face completely different problems, often even just be a passenger to them as many of those problems fell on Lexa to solve, and all the while still be doing right by your people.
That time is over. You and Octavia both knew maybe I can do more by just staying here was a lie as soon as it came out of your mouth.
So you take a deep breath, and make your way over to Lexa’s bedroom, closing the door behind you this time. Why? You’re not sure, exactly. You actively avoid thinking about it, and then there she is, Lexa, not Heda, reminiscent of a night not so long ago when she came to your bedroom to thank you, hair pulled to one side, clear care put into her appearance. You smile inwardly at the thought, because Lexa is many things, but subtle she is not. All of this runs through your mind and you have to blink yourself out of it because you’ve just noticed the expression on her face as she’s stepping forward.
She already knows. Lexa already knows because she knows you. The thought settles in your chest, both warm and incredibly heavy.
“When do you leave?” She asks, brows solemn, accepting.
“Now.” You say, after a breath.
She nods at this, blinking rapidly. You’ve always been good at reading people, even someone as constantly guarded as Lexa, but you specifically remember reading about body language and facial cues on the Ark and how usually the more someone blinks, the more conflicting emotions are running through their mind. As Heda, Lexa often has a stony, unblinking, borderline unnerving gaze. But you’ve seen things most people haven’t and you know that more often than not this is a façade, meant to intimidate as a leader. You wonder if she even blinks around anyone else as you step towards her.
“Don’t be.” She says immediately. “You have to go back; they’re your people.” You shift your eyes downward because you both know this and all of it almost doesn’t even need to be said, but then – “That’s why I –“
You snap your eyes back up to hers. – love you. And there it is. She had stopped herself before she said it, maybe thinking better of it, but it still hangs in the air. And suddenly, this just got so much harder because everything unspoken for weeks, no months, just came out without even actually coming out.
“–that’s why you’re you.” She diverts with an unsteady voice and a hard swallow.
You nod. You’re not sure if she’s backtracking in order to make this easier for you both, or if she really doesn’t know where you stand now, and she’s being respectful of your boundaries.
Although you suppose you still don’t know where you stand either.
Either way, you lie to her. “Maybe someday, you and I will owe nothing more to our people.”
She knows it’s a lie. Her smile trembles as she half-whispers, “I hope so.”
The implication is weighty: you both know Lexa, and honestly probably you, would be dead before that could ever be the case. So, she reaches her arm towards you in the customary Trikru gesture of farewell, which you take, lips pursed in a guarded smile.
But then she says, “May we meet again,” and suddenly you’re reliving the words on The Mountain from what seems like years ago, only this time, you’re not Clarke, you’re Lexa, doing right by your people but throwing away your love in the process. (love?) You’re Lexa, turning away with tears in your eyes, sacrificing your chance at happiness in order to save lives. You’re Lexa, not knowing if you’ll ever see her after this goodbye, spending months hating that you belong to your people first. And you’re also Clarke, realizing that life on this particular Earth is too damn short to not make sure that this stunning girl in front of you, eyes glistening, knows how you feel before you have to leave her.
So you make a choice, step forward, and press your lips against Lexa’s, your hand curling at the nape of her neck.
You feel her trembling, hand barely grazing your hair, as if she’s not even sure she’s allowed to touch you, before you pull away, entirely unprepared for what you see when you open your eyes again. The sight of a single tear streak and a quivering lip as her pleading eyes shift between yours hits you like a brick.
She never knew. Or at she least never let herself believe it.
Something ignites in you, and suddenly all you need, everything you need, is to make her believe it, so you immediately lean back into her lips, intent of a single goodbye kiss damned. And she must start to get it, because now she’s pulling you in and leading you, left hand cradling your neck, unsteady yet firm, right hand snaking around your waist to press your body closer to hers.
Before you really even have time to register what you’re doing, you’re untying the top of her shirt and pulling it down to expose the expanse of her neck and collarbones, which you do as quickly as you do because yes, you’ve noticed the way that shirt exposes her bare shoulders and yes, this particular scenario has gone through your mind several times since you’ve seen her wear it so you know exactly how to do it.
That ignited flame settles lower as you feel her trembling mouth opening against yours, tongue grazing your lips, gasps between kisses almost breathy sobs while she grasps desperately at you, as if she’s afraid that if she lets you go or stops to think, you’ll vanish. In an effort to slow her down, because you’re not going anywhere, you grip her wrists and turn her so that the backs of her knees hit the bed and she falls to sit on the furs. Wide, red-rimmed eyes stare up at you, still hardly believing this is real, and you search each others’ eyes, hers asking, are you sure?, and yours saying yes., despite the fact that you’re the one that pushed her onto the bed.
And then she’s pulling you down with her, hand around your neck and body arching into yours as she scoots both of you further up the bed. You move your lips from hers to trail down her jaw and over her neck, stopping to suck gently on her earlobe, which elicits a gasp that sends a shock through your whole body, before moving down finally after weeks of thinking about it to leave wet, pink marks on those collarbones. Lexa’s breathing is labored again, though no longer because of her tears. Her hands still tremble slightly, but mostly they’re roaming everywhere, even if only lingering on that strip of bare skin between your shirt and jeans for a moment, as if she’s still not sure you want this.
You inwardly roll your eyes, amused and endeared, and give her one more searing open-mouthed kiss before sitting up, straddling her, and looking her dead in her darkened eyes as you pull your shirt over your head. Yes, Lexa. You think, taking her hands and running them up the bare skin of your stomach and around your ribs until one of them is at your bra clasp. I’m really, really sure.
The effect is immediate, and staggering. Lexa unclasps your bra with one hand, like a damn pro, sliding it off your arms with the other, sits up, and recaptures your mouth in one fluid motion that leaves you breathless. Moments later she’s already grasping and swiping her thumbs over your breasts, and it’s as soon as you gasp into her mouth that you realize her shirt needs to go. Now.
“Off.” You growl against her lips, and she immediately lifts her arms so you can grab at the hem and start to yank it over her head but apparently you’re a little too eager because your knuckles accidentally make hard contact with the underside of Lexa’s jaw along the way with a loud click of her teeth.
“Oh my god!” You gasp, pulling the shirt over her head more gently now, and instantly cradling her jaw and kissing it softly once it’s off, “I’m so sorry.”
And then you hear something you’ve never really heard before, and want to hear a million times over again because goddamn it if that isn’t one of the most wonderful sounds you’ve ever heard. Lexa is laughing. You pull away to see this incredible, toothy smile, nose crinkled fucking adorably and she’s laughing, and her eyes are lit up like you’ve never seen them, and they’re looking right at you. You’re sure you’ve never seen someone look so beautiful.
Your next thought almost bubbles past your smiling lips and scares the hell out of you: I love you.
You tense. Lexa senses the change and you know she knows exactly what thought just hit you like a train because fuck she knows you, and she instantly softens, but her eyes are still bright, searching your face, her hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your eyes.
You both knew she loved you but now you both know you love her back, and you’re still smiling softly at her, but angry tears start forming in the corners of your eyes because you wasted so much damn time trying to hate her, and now this one hour is all you have, and maybe all you’ll ever have.
“Clarke.” Lexa soothes, tongue clicking at the end like it always does, as she runs lithe fingers down your spine and presses her forehead to yours.
“Lexa.” You chuckle wetly back.
And you wish you had more time, because you want to live and breathe this moment for so much longer than you have. But you don’t, so you recapture her lips and undo her own already disheveled bra, kissing her deeply as you pull it off her shoulders. You almost shudder into her mouth as you feel her pressed bare against your chest and her fingers tracing down your back, and that fire within you roars and then suddenly you’re tearing off each others’ clothes as quickly as possible until you’re both left in nothing but your black briefs, kneeling on the bed, facing one another, tracing lines of underwear.
At this, she slows you down and pulls her lips back with a wet smack.
“Clarke,” She breathes shakily, “Are you sure this is what you want?” Her eyes shift between yours one last time to check your face for any doubt, and your heart fills and you wonder how you got so lucky to be loved by someone who respects you so much.
You nod before pressing a tender kiss to her lips, fingertips trailing down her abdomen before you whisper against her mouth, “I want this.” And before she can even do anything, you’ve already slid a hand into her underwear, trailing a teasing finger through her already wet sex. You pull back from her just enough to watch her eyes flutter shut as a silent moan drops her jaw open, lightly brushing her parted lips against yours. The image leaves you dizzy.
“I want you.” You continue, voice low, withdrawing your hand only to slide Lexa’s black underwear down her thighs and gently coax her onto her back.
This is about her. This is about showing her that yes, she does mean that much to you, that you’d forgiven her long ago, even though you wouldn’t admit it, that you regret not doing this sooner. That you’re sorry you have to leave.
You show her this with careful, deliberate motions. You kiss her slowly, deeply, tracing your tongue along hers, along the edges of her lips, sucking them into your mouth. You trace your fingertips along her side as you nudge her cheek to the right with your nose so you can suck on her pulse point, fingernails dragging just enough that she arches up into you with a sigh. She bites her lip slightly and locks hooded eyes with yours before you start to leave wet kisses down her collarbones, down her chest, stopping to roll a firm nipple around your tongue and drawing a gasp from Lexa, down her tensing abdomen, dragging your teeth along the inside of her pelvis, down to where you know she’s aching for you to be.
“C-larke,” her voice cracks, “You don’t have to –“
You silence her with a single slow, broad stroke of your tongue along the length of her heat. She moans audibly for the first time, high-pitched and desperate, and it sends a shock of arousal through you.
“Lexa.” Your voice is low, and you feel her shudder as your lips brush against her as you speak, “Trust me when I say,” You wetly drag your lower lip up, “I really want to.”
“Jok,” She gasps, gripping you by your hair and rolling her hips up into you as your arms curl up and around her thighs, before whispering, like a prayer, “niron, yu na frag ai op –“
You smirk as your tongue moves, because you’re not sure if she knows that you can understand her: fuck … lover, you’re going to kill me.
She can hardly catch her breath. “Clarke –“ You dig your fingers into her hips, “Clarke, wait –“
That, along with her hands gently pulling your head up, stops you. Panic washes over you for a moment, because you’ve been so caught up in making sure she knows you want this that you never really checked to make sure she did. She’s practically heaving before she continues,
“Up here.” She breathes, “Come here.”
You obey immediately, still in panic mode, moving back up so you’re face-to-face, half on top of her, and then she’s kissing you again, this time ferociously, carelessly, clashing teeth and almost growling at the taste on your tongue. Okay, she wants it, if nails dragging down your shoulders and labored breathing against your mouth are any indication, so maybe her telling you to stop was just her not being totally comfortable with you down there. Which you understand, it’s intimate, and some people find it scary, but part of you is disappointed because damn do you love tasting her.
You pull away slightly to be sure, before you do anything else. “Tell me what you’re comfortable with.”
She furrows her brows, confusion etching her flushed features, then a look of amused realization crosses her face as she chuckles softly, “Oh, Clarke, I didn’t mean…” She playfully rolls her eyes, taking about half a second to bite a smirking lip at your puzzled expression before suddenly flipping you over so she’s the one straddling you.
“Let me be clear, Clarke.” She husks, flipping her chestnut hair over one shoulder and leaning down to tease her open mouth against yours. “You are more than welcome,” She grasps your left hand in hers, trailing it down until it’s between her legs, “To strik op gon ai,” She breathes, hot against your lips as your eyes close involuntarily – make me come, “With your mouth,” And then her fingers are dragging yours in an upward motion right where she wants them. She bites your lip playfully before panting, “any time that you would like.”
“Fuck,” you murmur against her lips as her words jolt through you like electricity.
“I just –“ She stops herself. You open your eyes to the abrupt change in her tone to her own eyes piercing yours, her expression suddenly nervous. She takes a breath, searching your expression before continuing, “If today is all that fate will allow me with you,” She runs her fingertips along your temple, cupping your cheek, gaze roaming your face, “I would like to spend it looking into your eyes.”
You stare back at her, utterly speechless, and from anyone else those words would sound ridiculous and cliché, except it’s Lexa, who doesn’t have an insincere bone in her body, and your entire being floods with overwhelming affection. With love.
Lexa interprets your stunned silence negatively and ducks her head so you can no longer see her face, pressing tentative kisses to your neck.
“Unless – I don’t want to overwhelm – “
“Lexa.” You cut her off firmly. “Look at me.”
She brings her head back up, uncertain, and the moment she locks her eyes back with yours, you begin sliding your fingers in slow strokes, up and down.
“Clarke.” She gasps with fluttering eyes. You pull her down with your free hand just enough to brush open mouths, gaze never leaving hers. It’s almost too intense, looking into her eyes in the midst of such an intimate moment, but you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away if you tried. She has always had that magnetic effect on you regardless of the situation. A hitch in Lexa’s breathing snaps you from your thoughts.
“Who would have guessed,” You don a roguish grin, “that our Mighty Heda,” Lexa begins to match your rhythm, grinding down onto your fingers in circular motions, “would be so,” She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, panting, before pulling back to lock eyes with you again, “damn romantic?”
She giggles, yes, giggles, against your lips, the sound undercut by a high-pitched and breathy whine. It’s absolutely your new favorite sound. You relish the fact that Heda Leksa, who commands so much respect and whose powerful voice booms through the room when she wants it to, becomes this complete and utter falsetto mess under your fingertips.
“You make it easy, oh – “ She moans, dropping her head down, chest heaving as she drags her mouth, slack-jawed, against your collarbone before struggling to meet your eyes again.
“Jok, Clarke.” She all but cries, beginning to tremor above you as you move your fingers in tighter circles, knowing she’s close. And you get to watch it play all over her face, those trembling brows drawn together with desperation, bindi long fallen off, pupils blown so wide her eyes are almost black, mouth parted and making the most ungodly sounds you’ve ever heard, and then suddenly she’s clawing at your shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut, a strangled cry escaping her mouth as it falls agape, squeezing her hips around you and riding it out, hard, and then she collapses.
You trail your fingertips gently across Lexa’s back as she starts to catch her breath, hot on your neck, before rolling off of you to lie by your side. You prop yourself up on an elbow to watch her, and your heart skips a beat when you notice the wet trail from a tear that leads from the corner of her eye into her disheveled hair. She sniffles quietly, but with the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. Her shaking hand fumbles to find yours as her breasts rise and fall, basking in the afterglow.
God, you love her, you think, heart aching as you watch a new tear slide into her hair, which she quickly wipes away. Lexa's eyes finally open, meeting yours for only a second before she tries to turn her face away from you, bashful.
"Hey." You say softly in protest, shuffling closer as you remove your hand from hers so you can tilt her head back to face yours, but her eyes are closed again. "Lexa."
It takes some time before she can meet your eyes again, lifting her long, wet lashes so that green, so green, eyes are staring back at you. A myriad of emotions swim in them: fear, disbelief, sadness, but also relief, joy, love, all unblinking, unwavering. Not an ounce of conflicted emotion in her gaze. This is the most intimate moment you think you've ever experienced with another person, and part of you is terrified, but another part has never felt so safe and so trusted. You've grown up watching galaxies, witnessed the cosmos in all its glory, seen stars live and breathe and die, but you think, as you look at the woman in front of you, that you've never seen the universe as you see it right now, in one moment, in one pair of young eyes.
Lexa's stare only falters when she brings her hand to the one you have running soothing fingers along her hairline, moving your palm to her trembling lips to press a firm kiss there, eyes closing, releasing two fresh tears. She then interlocks your fingers once more, draping your intertwined hands over her stomach before shifting to her side and pulling you closer so your front is pressed against her back. She sighs deeply, contentedly, her breathing finally steady and calm. A warm, amused affection fills you as you think about the fact that the Commander of the Twelve Clans prefers to be the little spoon.
You lower your head to leave a tender kiss at the soft skin of her shoulder, and she hums lightly as she tilts her head back, temple resting against your forehead.
“You are so beautiful.” You whisper, reverent. A shy smile spreads further across her face, letting out a watery chuckle, and she lifts your hand to her lips again, pressing a long kiss to your knuckles.
“I could say the same to you, lover.”
You know your time with Clarke is precious, but you are going to allow yourself this moment of solace with her, basking in the feeling of her fingertips tracing your skin. Selfishly, and maybe foolishly, you allow yourself to hope that maybe she’s changed her mind and decided to stay, but then she breaks the silence and mentions Octavia waiting for her, to which you respond with a playful shhhhhhhh. She moves on to comment on your Ascension marks. Your heart drops thinking of the natblidas whose lives you had to take in order to be chosen by the Commander Spirit. It is not a thought you prefer to dwell on, even if you got your marks out of respect and commemoration for them. You turn back to face Clarke.
“Can we talk about something else?” You plead, not because you feel uncomfortable sharing yourself with Clarke, because if the last half hour indicates anything it's that you're ready to share everything with her, but because you don’t want to waste any more time with her discussing troubling matters from your past. Your life and responsibilities are consumed with troubling matters enough as it is.
Clarke reads your face, understanding, and then a devilish smile begins to spread across her lips.
“We don’t have to talk at all.” Her smile spreads further, a brow raising with implication.
A grin appears on your own lips and you readily take Clarke’s invitation, leaning over her to press smiling kisses to her lips, low hums of approval vibrating against yours, and she wastes no time taking your hand and directing it under the sheets, her very immediate need re-igniting your own.
Clarke’s hand takes you there within seconds of sliding the remaining undergarment off her legs, readily running your fingers through her sex, which is dripping, by the way. You almost feel badly about this because that means she’s been torturously waiting for her release since you got your own.
“Oh my god, Lexa.” Clarke croons underneath you as you begin to slide your fingers through her.
You’re more than happy to make it up to her.
“Tell me what you want, lover.” You husk into her ear, taking a moment to nibble at her earlobe.
Her response is first grabbing your face and kissing you with abandon, licking into your mouth and biting at your lips – you can already feel your own arousal begin to quickly pool again just from this act – and then she pulls back to look at you with dark eyes and swollen lips.
You moan at this, completely involuntarily, as you lean back down, sliding tongues together, breathing hot into each other’s mouths. You move to straddle her from the other side in one deft motion, knowing that as capable as you are, your weaker hand will not give Clarke the satisfaction she more than deserves.
Clarke trembles with anticipation, chasing the lips you pulled away as you begin to tease her entrance with a single finger, dipping in just slightly before sliding back up to circle around her sensitive bud, before going back down, just barely deeper, coming back up, and you repeat this until Clarke is literally squirming underneath you, panting against your mouth.
“You’re such a tease.” Clarke huffs, trying to glare up at you and failing, only managing to look achingly, desperately aroused.
You take pity on her.
Clarke’s mouth falls open and she moans loudly, huskily, as you slide two fingers into her and curl them just right, while your thumb continues to slowly circle her clit. In the back of your mind you worry for a fraction of a moment about someone hearing, but then you realize you don’t care at all. You watch Clarke’s brows raise and furrow, open mouth twitching as you slowly slide in and out, more than confident you’re hitting that spot each time based on Clarke’s very much vocal reactions. You suck on her pulse point, fully intending to leave a mark, thank you, as you adjust to use your thigh as leverage, and thrust your hips in to reach deeper, harder.
“F-fuck.” She pants, fumbling to grasp something solid, her eyes squeezed shut like her very life depends on it, and you’re worried that if Clarke bites down any harder on her lip she’ll draw blood. You bend back down to kiss her as a distraction, and also to muffle her cries, as her hips meet yours, forming a steady rhythm. Clarke’s nails dig in to your shoulder roughly, leaving purple crescent moon marks in their wake.
You pull away to watch Clarke again, and she grips your headboard with one hand and the hair at the nape of your neck with the other, fluttering her eyes open to watch you under hooded lids before almost immediately squeezing them shut again, neck arching back into the pillow, panting desperate and loud.
“Lexa.” She all but growls, and you press your thumb harder, circling faster, pushing your hips in deeper, “I’m – oh my –“
With little warning, Clarke’s walls contract and tense around your fingers, hips raising and spasming, neck twisting back as her mouth falls open in what is essentially a scream, and you’re positive based on the sheer volume that you’ll be dealing with the remnants of today for weeks from whispering guards and gossiping handmaidens. It’s all worth it as you watch her face, anguished with pleasure, and think that the image of Clarke coming undone underneath you will for the rest of your days be seared into your mind as one of the most wildly beautiful things you have ever had the privilege to witness.
“Oh my god,” Clarke pants, coming down, eyebrows raised in absolute shock. “Lexa.” She says, almost accusing, as she tilts her chin back down to lock wide eyes with yours.
“Yes, lover?” You smirk with a pretend innocence, maintaining eye contact as you slide your fingers from her, which makes Clarke’s lids flutter, and slowly, deliberately wrap your lips around them, humming lightly at the taste, tantalizing them from your mouth with a pop. “Did you not say something earlier about getting behind that blockade?”
Clarke stares at you wide-eyed for longer than necessary, face possibly even more flushed than the moments after coming undone, before narrowing her eyes dangerously at you. Two seconds pass and suddenly Clarke has pushed you flat onto your back, swinging a leg over you to settle on your hips.
“I see what you’re doing.” Clarke raises a provocative brow. “And you’re very,” She leans down for a teasing kiss, “Very,” Fingers interlock with yours as she drags her lips down your body, “Frustratingly,” She kisses your inner thigh, settling herself between your legs. “Persuasive.”
You shudder, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you watch her curl her arms around your thighs, splaying her fingers across your stomach. “I try, lover.”
“Well,” Clarke nips her teeth at the opposite thigh, never breaking eye contact. “I suppose Octavia can wait a couple more minutes.” She drags her mouth closer.
You raise a brow, breasts already rising and falling rapidly. “So self-assured with your skills, Clarke. You will need more than a couple minutes, you may as well just stay here–jok, Clarke.”
Your neck is arched back and eyes closed but you don’t need to see Clarke to know exactly what self-satisfied smirk is gracing those lips.