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cascowriteswords · 5 months ago

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Little sneak peek/short chapter for a part 2 to Hot Mess... nsfw

“Your parents will be here in less than twenty-four hours. If you don’t fuck me in the next minute? I’m going to die. Okay? I’m not being dramatic, I’m being honest. That’s it, I’ll die. Or I’ll start losing my mind. Gnawing at my own leg or something.”

It’s the first thing Clarke has said to Lexa all day, and it’s thrown at her the minute she walks through the door. Granted they have been quite busy today taking the last of their finals, but still. Clarke is lounging in her bed, splayed out with an arm above her head, like she’s one of those tragic Greek goddesses wasting away. The fact that she’s only wearing panties with an oversized t-shirt, her go-to comfy clothes the moment she’s back in the dorm, only supports the vibe.

Lexa says nothing, at first. Just stares at Clarke as she drops her backpack to the floor and then walks toward her, slow even when Clarke perks up, blue eyes widening as she hurriedly swivels around to sit on the edge of her bed. “You,” Lexa begins, face serious as she begins to undo the buttons on her own shirt. Clarke is entirely unbothered by Lexa’s tone, gaze zeroed in on nimble fingers working the buttons. “Are the biggest,” Lexa shrugs off her unbuttoned shirt, letting it float to the ground. She pulls her tank top overhead, running a hand through her wild mane of hair; Clarke hungrily watches her every move, eyes dark, blown pupils eating away the ring of blue, "drama queen I have ever met.” Lexa unbuttons her pants, slides the zipper down at an excruciatingly slow pace— so slow Clarke’s eyes narrow and snap up to her face. She’s pushing off the bed a second later but Lexa only extends her arm, stopping her with a palm to her chest. Clarke’s lips twist in a pouty frown, and Lexa just smiles. Pushes so Clarke stumbles back to the bed and sits with a scowl. The scowl slips away a second later as Lexa finishes unzipping and then begins to push her jeans down her hips.

Clarke gapes, making to stand again and stopping when Lexa shakes her head. “You’re not wearing any underwear! That’s cheating.”

“No, cheating is you sending me a video of you touching yourself while I was in Senior Sem. Knowing I couldn’t do anything about it considering I had to present in five minutes.”

“Oh, but it’s fine for you to send me a nude during my sculpting final?” Clarke demands, her frown belied by the way she’s appraising Lexa, licking her lips as Lexa’s jeans are pushed down her long legs. “I started groping my sculpture’s tits without even thinking about it. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until Lincoln asked me what the hell I was doing. You know he’s going to tell Octavia and she’s never going to let me live it down.”

“Good.” Lexa kicks the crumpled jeans away. “I had to put my phone on airplane mode in case you sent me more, and the whole class got a show.”

“They’d be so lucky.”

“I don’t think my professor would agree.”

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but she falls silent when Lexa reaches behind to undo her own bra. Blue eyes glaze over as the bra falls, straps slipping off Lexa’s arms. Lexa nudges it aside with a foot and steps forward, Clarke automatically spreading her legs to let Lexa stand between them. She’s good, though, and doesn’t lift a hand to touch. She flattens her palms to the mattress instead, and just looks at her. Lexa remains still, entirely naked, and allows Clarke to drink her in. Clarke’s eyes are at half-mast, her breathing fast, and Lexa knows she’s itching to reach out. To touch.

“Do you want me to apologize?” Clarke finally breaks the silence, her voice raspy. She lifts entirely unrepentant eyes to meet Lexa’s. There’s the ghost of a smile curling her lips. “Because I’m not sorry. I don’t think you are, either.”

“I was wet through my entire presentation,” Lexa tells her; Clarke’s breath hitches, and her dark eyes flit down to the apex of Lexa’s legs, as if to see the proof. “I stumbled over my words twice. I can’t even remember the conversation I had with my professor afterward. I was too busy thinking about what I’d do when I came back here.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, her cool composure somewhat betrayed by her shallow breathing and the way she’s fisted the mattress sheets in her hand. “And? What ideas did you come up with?”

Clarke’s lashes flutter as Lexa slips a hand into her hair. She brushes through it before shifting to the back of her skull and fisting her hair tightly. Lexa pulls her head back and leans down to taste Clarke’s sharp intake of breath.

“I bought you a graduation gift,” Lexa says as she releases Clarke, who falls back on the bed slightly, breathless and flushed. She blinks like it takes a moment for Lexa’s words to register. “Well, it’s really a gift for both of us.”

Anticipation spreads over Clarke’s pretty face in an instant. She watches curiously as Lexa walks over to the drawers built into the wall, and pulls open her underwear drawer.

Lexa doesn’t have to turn and look to know Clarke is smiling. Lexa learned from the best here. She rummages through her underwear, and it only takes a second to find what she wants.

When she turns around, she barely manages to withhold her laughter when Clarke’s jaw drops, desire momentarily giving way to incredulity.

“Whoa.” Laughter bubbles up Clarke’s throat. “Oh my God, Lex. That thing is huge!”

Lexa’s lips curl in a smirk as she slaps the toy into her other palm, like it’s a small baseball bat.

“It’s called the Gambler,” Lexa says casually. “Unique, custom-made. One hundred percent platinum silicone.”

“Naturally,” Clarke nods. It’s not their first buy from Vixen Creations, after all.

“Ten and a half inches of insertable length,” Lexa holds it vertically in front of her torso. Clarke’s eyes follow the movement, as Lexa glides her hand up the length of it, before wrapping slim fingers around it. “Just shy of three inches in width.” Clarke’s eyes widen. It’s definitely bigger than all their other toys.

“Jesus Christ.” Clarke stands up now, her oversized shirt swinging around her thighs; Lexa gaze lingers on the stiff nipples visible through the thin fabric, before she looks up to watch Clarke’s face as she approaches. Dark blue eyes are zeroed in on the way Lexa’s hand wraps around the toy; there’s almost space, between her fingers and thumb. “How much was it?”

“Nearly three hundred.” Clarke’s jaw drops; Lexa laughs as she goggles at her. “I know. But one, it’s a gift. Two…I used the cash my mom sent me for a graduation dress.”

Clarke bursts into laughter, and Lexa grins in response. “Oh, okay, no, that’s perfect. I love that your mom bought this.” She laughs harder when Lexa’s expression changes, nose wrinkling in disgust. “She’d lose her mind if she knew.”

“Actually, let’s not mention her at all right now.”

“Just one more thing,” Clarke’s laughter trails off, as she trails a fingertip up the toy, and along Lexa’s fingers still wrapped around it. “She’s going to be here in t minus twenty-four hours. And then we’re stuck with your parents for the whole weekend. So before we’re forced to play hetero, I would like to be very, very gay.” Her voice lowers the closer her face gets to Lexa’s, lips brushing her neck as she talks. She nips at her jaw before lifting her head, nose grazing soft skin before she ghosts her lips over Lexa’s. “If the video I sent you didn’t already let you know that.”

“It definitely did.”

“Good,” Clarke whispers. “I didn’t finish. I waited for you.”

“Good,” Lexa breathes back. She scrapes her teeth across Clarke’s bottom lip; licks at it before she leans forward so their hips meet, the dildo trapped between their stomachs. “What do you think of the gift? Do you think you can handle it?”

Clarke scoffs, and Lexa feels two hands curling around hers, squeezing black silicone. “Are you kidding?”

“It’s not too much?”

Clarke licks into her mouth. “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

Lexa swallows, her throat dry. Clarke’s only touching the toy with one hand now; the other is moving, gliding soft and warm over her skin, from the curve of her bare hip up to the swell of a breast. “Let me grab the lube.”

“Not yet.” Clarke bites at her lip, cupping the back of Lexa’s neck to pull her close. She indulges in several hot, filthy kisses, before drawing back just enough to breathe, “Make me come first. I want your mouth on me so bad, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

Lexa throws the dildo at the bed; it hits the wall with a loud thunk that makes them both snort, before Lexa grasps the bottom of Clarke’s t-shirt and pulls it overhead. She shoves Clarke’s panties down her legs, and Clarke kicks them off, stumbling as she manages to continue kissing Lexa throughout.

It never gets old, kissing Clarke. They’ve been together going on two years now, and they also happen to live together, so there’s certainly no shortage of time spent kissing, but even still— Lexa can never get enough of it. It’s what makes it all the harder during the moments where she has to give this up.

Fortunately, those moments are few and far in between— and soon, they won’t exist at all.

The reminder sends a strange little mix of anxiety and excitement rolling through her, enough to make her falter as she kisses Clarke, which gives Clarke the opportunity to break away for air and then shift her kisses down the curve of Lexa’s neck instead. It’s hard not to feel that way, though. Soon, Lexa’s parents would be visiting for her college graduation, and Lexa would be taking them out to a nice dinner, where she’d inform them she’d broken up with her fictional boyfriend of almost two years— Chaz— and had fallen in love with her roommate, instead. Her female roommate.

Her parents were likely to disown her. But Lexa was done with school and no longer needed their money to pay her way through it, so if they did, well…she could manage.

And she would. She’d do more than manage, she’d thrive. How could she do anything else? She has an amazing girlfriend, great friends, and she’ll have a degree that will get her a decent job. They’re going to get a dog one day, and live happily ever after.

Lexa hums, as Clarke presses burning open-mouthed kisses along her sternum. Her hands flex where they’re tangled in golden hair. They’ve gravitated back to the bed, now, Lexa half-reclined back on the pillows, their thighs slipped between one another. Hot, wet heat is pressed just above Lexa’s knee, and when she lifts her leg to press against it more firmly, her girlfriend’s moan reverberates just over Lexa’s heart.

Fuck, life doesn’t get any better than this. Well, scratch that— Lexa silently amends the statement a few minutes later, when she’s finally got Clarke flat on her back, legs spread, a veritable feast before her, a succulent delicacy that pulses against Lexa’s tongue as she licks through her. Clarke’s hands tug at Lexa’s hair, rich brown curls scattered over her hips, and Clarke’s breathy gasps echo through a room that’s otherwise silent save for the sounds of Lexa exploring her.

Lexa grinds against the mattress, desperate for some friction to ease the need burning within her. Clarke tastes divine, and eating her out feels like an act of worship. Lexa swears she could live on her knees for her. She groans in pleasure as she swallows and presses her tongue as deep as it can go, before she lifts her head and suctions her mouth to the top of Clarke’s vulva, rolling her tongue and sucking and losing herself in the sheer ecstasy of this. Her heart bursts with love; this is all she wants to do for the rest of her life. This is all she needs, all she could ever ask for.

“Fuck, baby, I’m—” Clarke’s moan hitches into a gasp, her hips juddering and thighs quaking violently as her back begins to bow. More wet heat seems to pour into Lexa’s mouth; her own moan is muffled in Clarke as she doubles down, flicking her tongue as she withdraws one of the arms curled around Clarke’s thigh and tucks it close to her chest, bringing a fingertip to tease at Clarke’s entrance and draw more swears from her. She’s already clenching around her fingers. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

RAP RAP RAP.

“Alexandria! Guess who!”

Clarke squeals; Lexa gasps so suddenly she inhales what her face is currently buried in, and then she’s rolling as she chokes, and falls right off the bed. Pain lances through her as she falls on her wrist.

“No,” Clarke moans quietly; Lexa pops her head up in time, eyes watering as she coughs, to see Clarke twitching in bed, thighs jumping as she snaps them together. “Who the hell—”

Lexa doesn’t need to ask the same question. She knows exactly who that voice belongs to; it lives in her nightmares.

Her mother.

“Alexandria? Hello?” Another loud rapping of knuckles on the door. “She’s not answering.”

“The RA said she was here,” comes her father’s deep, exasperated voice. “Maybe she has headphones on.”

“I can’t hear anything through the door. Go get the RA to unlock it.”

Eyes streaming as she finally recovers from nearly asphyxiating, Lexa pushes up to her feet. “My parents,” she gasps, hurtling toward her closet. “They’re early!”

“What the fuck?” Clarke whispers harshly, scrambling to put her clothes on, her hands shaking nearly as badly as her legs. “What the fuck!”

“I know,” Lexa pants, as she struggles to clasp her bra. She can see Clarke doesn’t even bother with one, tugging a hoodie over her head instead. “I’m sorry,” Lexa says fretfully, hurrying across the room to throw the pillows and a spare blanket from Clarke’s bed onto her own, which always sits empty. “I don’t know why they’re here, they told me they were coming tomorrow.”

“I was so close,” Clarke laments. Her face is flushed, her hair wild; Lexa can’t help but pause to look at her helplessly. This sucks.

“I’m so sorry.” Lexa moves in quickly, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s lips. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You smell like sex,” Clarke hisses, dragging her sleeve over the bottom half of Lexa’s face. “Oh my God, there’s no way they won’t smell that on you.” Lexa squirms to get away, but Clarke holds her with an iron grip, reaching over to grab a makeup wipe from its pouch atop the dresser. Lexa gags at the texture as Clarke scrubs it over her face. “I know, I’m sorry! But you smell like—”

Like the best smell in the world. Ruined.

This is literally her nightmare.

Clarke cleans her fingers next, before bunching the wipe inside another and tossing it into the small trash can.

“I need to let them in, the RA won’t do it. I don’t even know how the hell they got into the dorm in the first place,” Lexa says distractedly, glancing at her reflection and hurriedly running her hands over her hair to tame it as best she can. “Does FERPA mean nothing to these people?”

“I don’t even know who the RAs are, babe, but—”

“Alexandria!” her mother bellows. Lexa winces. She’s going to draw the attention of the whole damn dorm. “It’s your mother! And your father! Surprise! Open up!”

Lexa buries her face in her hands. Clarke rubs her back bracingly before disappearing; she returns a second later from the small bathroom they shared with the room next door, and offers Lexa a bottle of mouthwash. Lexa bites back her groan before she takes it and swishes it around her mouth, hurrying to spit it out into the sink before she puts a hand on the doorknob and glances back at Clarke, who scrambles into her bed. The dildo flies across the room when she yanks the blankets up; Clarke gasps a curse as she lunges to grab it and shoves it beneath her pillow before curling up under her sheets, and it’s all Lexa can do to bite back laughter before forcing herself to sober up.

Lexa takes a deep breath, crumples her face as if the light hurts to look at, and then pulls the door open.

“Mother?” she asks in her best impression of a voice croaky from having just risen from slumber. “Father?” She’s pretty sure her attempt at a smile comes off the same as that slow motion sloth in Zootopia, but she’s too deep in it now. And her mother does pull her into a hug, unexpectedly, so. Lexa will take it as a win.

“We’ve been knocking for five minutes!” her mother says disapprovingly, stretching her long, thin neck to look over Lexa’s shoulder, peeking into the dark room. “What were you doing?”

“Uh, I was asleep,” Lexa gestures at the pajamas she wears. Her mother tuts her tongue; both parents give Lexa a cross look. “It’s finals week, everyone is napping. Can’t you hear how quiet the dorm is?”

She flushes, as their brief pause allows her parents to hear the distant laughs and shouts of other residents in their rooms; Lexa’s pretty sure there are multiple football guys playing a raucous game of pool in the lounge. She gives her parents a wooden smile. “See? That’s really quiet, for college.”

Her mother hums before she walks forward, forcing Lexa to drop her arm.

“Clarke is napping too,” Lexa says hastily, following her inside. Her father trails behind.

“She didn’t hear us either?” her mother says shrewdly.

“She sleeps like a log.” It’s not a lie. Lexa’s lips twitch as she looks fondly at the lump on the bed. Clarke even gives a helpful little snore.

Unsurprisingly, Lexa’s parents waste no time in shifting their focus to the admittedly not so great state of the room— a bit messy, with clothes strewn on the floor, Lexa’s books piled haphazardly on the desk, and all of Clarke’s art supplies scattered, well, everywhere. When they remark that it smells a little strange, Lexa has to drop her gaze. Clarke’s next snore sounds more like a snort, and Lexa resists the urge to throw a pillow at her.

Despite Lexa speaking in whispers, her mother doesn’t follow her lead. She speaks loudly enough that eventually, Clarke must realize it’s no longer feasible to pretend to be sleeping. After Lexa defends the state of the room to her parents (“It’s finals week, we’re too busy studying to tidy up”), Clarke makes a show out of slowly waking and mumbling greetings before slipping away to dress in the bathroom.

“How is Clarke doing?” her mother asks in a hushed voice, the moment the door snaps shut behind Clarke. Her concern would be endearing, if it weren’t for the fact that she was simply insufferably nosy, and a terrible gossip.

“Um, she’s doing okay.” Lexa’s going to hell for this. “About as well as can be expected.”

Her parents nod somberly, and Lexa looks away, if only to resist the bizarre urge to laugh. It’s really not funny. At the time, it had been. But now, months later, it just makes her feel like shit.

They’d kept up the lie that Clarke was dating a boy named Chad— twin brother to Lexa’s fictional boyfriend Chaz. Of course, that didn’t last long when her mother’s friend from the country club, Diana, scandalously revealed to Lexa’s mother that she’d seen Clarke kissing some girl in the drive-through of a Dairy Queen at nine pm. Fortunately, she hadn’t managed to recognize Lexa’s silhouette.

Lexa’s mother had called her as soon as Diana told her the news, which was only a couple days later. Bad timing all together, really. Lexa had been with Clarke at a small gathering at their friend Lincoln’s house. They’d all been tipsy. When her mother had demanded to know why Clarke cheated on Chad, her hard-working American soldier putting his life on the line for his country (an earlier lie, to explain his constant absence to her mother’s earlier inquiries) and with a woman, Lexa couldn’t help but defend her, insisting Clarke wasn’t a cheater, and that Clarke and Chad weren’t together anymore.

And apparently, Jasper’s drunk ass couldn’t help but yell out that Chad died.

One thing led to another, and Lexa’s parents were now under the impression that Chad had died in action, and left Clarke a grieving widow. Well, an unmarried widow, but still.

“Finals are keeping her busy,” Lexa adds.

“Has she not met anyone else yet?” her mother asks; Lexa thinks she can detect a smidgen of pity there, buried under the incessant need for gossip.

“No,” Lexa says curtly. She doesn’t add anything more. She doesn’t want the conversation to gravitate the way it usually goes, where her mother begins scheming up potential meetings between Clarke and the sons of men she knew—whether they were coworkers of her father’s, or fellow golfers and country club members. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as irksome if her mother at least had genuinely good intentions, but Lexa knows the underlying motivation is her disapproval over Clarke’s “poor choices in coping”; AKA, Clarke sharing a late night kiss with a girl in a Dairy Queen drive-through.

“So, what are you guys doing here?” Lexa asks before her mother could continue. Her mother shoots her a wounded look at once; Lexa bites back a sigh. “I mean, it’s a— a great surprise. I just thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow because of the tournament.”

The tournament being the unofficial golfing tournament her father took place in every year. It wasn’t a real competition by any means; it was held between him and his friends at the Polis Valley Country Club. They treated it like it was the goddamn Olympics, though.

“Well,” her mother begins, beaming. She clasps her hands on her knee, one leg crossed over the other, and squirms slightly as though she has news she can hardly contain. She shoots Lexa’s father a furtive glance. “Our early arrival is only part of the surprise.”

“We’ll tell you the rest over dinner,” Lexa’s father grunts.

“Ooh, dinner.” Clarke reenters the room, appearing significantly more awake and cheerful. “Where are you going? The usual?”

Lexa’s hopeful she can weasel Clarke into accompanying them, somehow. The immediate pity on her mother’s face is certainly promising.

“Yes, Polaris, as always,” Lexa’s father rumbles. “We have reservations.”

“The last time I went there, it was with…” Clarke cuts herself off, looking down as though to hide her tears. Lexa has to look down too, to bite her lip to hide a smirk.

Her mother clicks her tongue. “Oh, sweetheart, do you want to come with us? Maybe making some new memories there will help.”

Clarke sniffles, looking up from beneath her lashes. Lexa has to look away again, though this time it’s because she’s not confident in her ability to not look at Clarke like she’d lasso the moon down for her if she asked for it.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to impose, Mrs. Woods.”

“Nonsense,” Lexa’s mother says firmly. “And please, call me Karen.”

While her mother turns to look at her husband to ask him to update the reservation, Lexa and Clarke exchange crooked smiles, eyes twinkling.

#a balm to my chapped soul #A+ escapism material #And just A+ material in general #As usual #Clexa fic #Hot mess express

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cascowriteswords · 6 months ago

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Chapter 7 | Part 2

Thanks for sticking with me, kids. A snippet for your patience x

Lexa, refusing to be cowed within her own private chambers, continues on her path away from the door. Only years of training and instinct keep her steady in her slow methodical movements to pull the three throwing blades from where they buried into the head and neck of the dummy. Shards of wood flutter slowly past Lexa’s hand as she works the honed blades from the soft wood, landing across the dull black leather of her well worn training boots. Lexa can practically feel Clarke burning a hole in the side of her head, arms crossed angrily in front of her body as she taps her food impatiently on the worn wooden floors. She hasn’t moved more than a foot into the room, clearly unsure about being in this space despite her angry entrance.

Polis feels a million miles away in this small space, a buttery stream of sunlight pouring through an upper window to fan out in a dreamy pattern on the far wall. The entire structure of the converted stable is wood, the mere memory of two horse stalls standing against the far right side, now filled with practice dummies, spare training weapons, and a jug of water that a young Natblida is tasked to refresh daily. A small tin bowl sits on the rickety table beside the stall entrance, a few apples and a small linen bag of jerky tucked carefully inside. This had been Anya’s addition to the space when Costia had died and Lexa hadn’t left the stables for a week, the silent plea the closest Lexa had ever seen Anya come to a concession.

The silence seems to grow teeth as the two women look at each other- one with barely muted scorn, the other with trained neutrality. Far away, the river’s melodic trickle is the only reprieve from this moment that seems to drag out into infinity.

Lexa flips her dagger slowly as she crosses from the spot by the training dummy to perch onto an stable door, leaning into the wood that had been worn smooth with centuries of use. This had been Heda’s private stable for many lives before Lexa’s, the war drums a constant and unending companion to many previous Commander’s reigns. Lexa was the first to lead a life that didn’t fall asleep and rise in the morning with a constant refrain of war just beyond her doorstep.

This was a life that was mean to be dotted with peace, and propserity for her people. Lexa had fought and bled and strategized and lost to make it so.

Lexa remembers with a pang how little Madi who worked in the kitchens had run in the week previously, breathless with joy over the return of the robins to the nearby meadow, where young children took their outdoor lessons. Lexa, who had yet to be broken of her habit of sneaking into the kitchen to sneak a few pieces of cheese and the end of the daily loaf of bread- much to Anya’s continued chagrin– had nearly swallowed her tongue in surprise when the door flew open to reveal the breathless, beaming youth.

The birds had avoided Polis for Lexa’s lifetime thus far and her parent’s before her. Not that she blamed them- the clatter of the hammers in the smiths as they foraged swords from glowing hearths and the pounding of horse’s hoof beats had been the constant in the sunrise years of Lexa’s young life.

Now, birdsong would sometimes float through the morning markets, the entire city seeming to hold its collective breath as the quavering notes filled the honey-sweet summer air.

Madi’s little brother–Roni– had died in the attack by Nia. A pang hits Lexa deeper in the heart as she remembers the little boy’s tawny eyes and deep dimple in his cheek that would appear when Lexa snuck the little boy the scraps of her morning meal, studiously avoiding Lyra’s eyes as she tutted silently from the far end of the dining room.

Lexa refuses to turn her back to Clarke as she storms farther into Heda’s sanctum. This is her space. She will not be cowed by some sacred blonde girl, sent down from the skies as if destined for her personally.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

“I must speak with Aden regarding his inability to keep Heda’s location confidential.” Lexa hears herself saying as she runs a finger down the tightly wrapped leather handle of her weapon, feeling the worn material give slightly as she rubs the pad of her thumb into the spot just below the throat of the blade.

Lexa practically watches Clarke catch fire in front of her as the blonde swells with the force of her anger, blue eyes sparking with barely withhead fury as she bears down onto the Commander with all the wrath of a summer storm.

“It’s been days, Lexa! I had to practically emotionally black mail a twelve year old to tell me where you were! Because you, a fucking LEADER OF A COUNTRY decided that instead of comforting your people in a time of uncertainty and strife, you were going to hide in your quasi-man cave, SULKING!I”

Lexa blinks under the assault of Clarke’s spat accusations, Clarke’s pulse thrumming at the speed of light as the light shines passionately in her gaze. A moment passes as Lexa continues to turn her knife over and over in her hand, clearly finding some small comfort in the repetitive movement.

“A man- cave…?”

“Not the point, Heda,” Clarke practically snarls.

For the first time in Lexa’s short reign as a leader, she dislikes the sound of her title. Coming from Clarke, it sounds like a curse.

Clarke’s so close now she can almost count the freckles that spray across Lexa’s nose like sand stuck to a wet canvas. Even gaunt and clearly sleep-deprived, whether from an unknown outside threat or her own doing, the Commander was beautiful. Grey-green eyes held steadfast to Clarke’s own, the deep calm within them unruffled despite the rapidly tightening corners of Lexa’s mouth, muscles growing taught as Clarke bears down on her.

Clarke is suddenly reminded of a fox she had come across in the forest, trapped into a corner by a slightly larger, heavily mutated bobcat. The fox had grown stiller and quieter until it had exploded with fury at its attacker, snarling as blood sprayed from the ferocity of its attack. Still growling a challenge, the creature had bounded into the dense of the trees, scarlet tail flashing in the dying light of day.

The way Lexa holds herself as Clarke closes in reminds her of the fox- and yet, she can’t find it within herself to stem the tide of her tirade as she moves even closer to the grounder.

“I even came by your room, there was never candles lit inside and regardless of the hour, the guard would lie for you and say that you weren’t there–”

Lexa can’t stop the way her eyes linger on Clarke’s cupid bow as she talks, despite the absolute vitriol that coats her tone as she spits words at Lexa like arrows loosed from a bow.

Has she always had that freckle?

All of a sudden Lexa’s skin feels too tight, sweat still dripping down the small of her back. The handle in her hand is the only thing anchoring her to this moment and her tenuous threads of sanity, keeping her from falling into orbit with that dammed freckle–

She wavers.

“It’s because I wasn’t there, Clarke.”

The trudge back to Polis in the weak light of a dying day is not a pleasant one. Clarke, seemingly able to keep herself quiet only through some herculean force of will, glares daggers at Lexa throughout the entire, muddy walk through the rolling hills outside of Polis. And through the streets of the city, dodging sellers and shoppers alike as she silently follows a hooded, semi-disguised Lexa back towards the heart of the city, the tower.

Moments prior, a silent brow had arched as Lexa sheathed her throwing daggers quickly and draped a light black shawl around her shoulders, carefully tucking her hair beneath and arranging it so most of her features were thrown into sharp shadow.

Catching Clarke’s questioning gaze in the cracked mirror piece that had been hung at the door, Lexa shrugged as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear.

“Keeps me from being spotted as Heda. Helps me move unnoticed through the city.”

She leaves through the door within another word, leaving Clarke to ponder what occasions the leader of an adoring public would want to move through the city without the mantle of Heda.

Now, back at the tower, Lexa lets the shawl fall back, the guards moving in a practice wave to let her in as she strides towards the rickety elevator. She quirks an eyebrow as Clarke hesitates.

Gathering the remnants of her patience and courage, she follows Lexa into the hated rusty box and into the heart of the tower.

///

#please sir can i have some more #seriously i am frothing at the mouth for this #happy monday #clexa fic recs

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