AN: Warning for explicit sexual content. Fix-it fic after the disaster that was 3.07. No character death. This was a collaborative effort with N1ghtWr1ter (ohhedamyheda). Follow her on tumblr, please.

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In The Darkest Night Hour (your heart is glowing)

by: Rae D. Magdon (raedmagdon) and N1ghtWr1ter (ohhedamyheda)

. . .

Although she screams and rages at Titus and tells him to get out of her room, she knows that he's right. She hates it and she hates the world that makes him right, but hating doesn't make it not true. Tomorrow she will ride to the blockade zone with her army and Clarke will slip across the battle lines she's drawn, and they will both be trying to stop a war, but they will do so alone. Lexa will not be there to help her; she will only be able to watch from a distance and hope. She has never felt so utterly helpless in her life.

She takes a moment to breathe out a quiet sob, but then she is calm. She remembers who she is, and what she must do. But she has never hated it more bitterly than she does in this moment, because she has never wanted anything more than to be with Clarke, and to be at peace.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she paces into her washroom and begins unbraiding her hair. She knows it must look a mess, and redoing its intricate patterns into their tight form will help focus her mind. She's just finished brushing it out when she hears the knock on the door.

When she doesn't say Come in, yet she hears the door open and close anyway, she knows there's only one person it could be. And when she sees the way Clarke is looking at her as she rounds the corner of her bed, she knows Clarke has made her choice. May we meet again. The words echo in her mind, their bittersweetness resounding like mourning bells. It would be beyond foolish to hold out hope that she might not have to say them one day, but she's beginning more and more to think that she might just be a fool.

"When do you leave?" She's proud; her voice is quiet but steady.

"Now."

Lexa nods as though that's something that makes sense, as though it makes sense that Clarke—who has only just started to look at her that way, to let her name fall softly from her lips like a dropped feather, to smile at her when she catches Lexa watching her draw—is going away. Possibly, probably, for good. Even though Clarke's mission will be one of peace, she remains the girl from the Sky, and Lexa is earthbound.

She steps closer, and Lexa advances too, once she can move her leaden feet. "I'm sorry," Clarke says, emotion beginning to creep into her voice and choke it.

"Don't be," Lexa replies. "You have to go back; they're your people. That's why I—" ...love you. No, no, she can't say that, she can't, it's too much and too fast and her heart is beating so hard that it might just leap out of her mouth and say it for her, but she just can't. But Clarke's waiting for an answer, even if her eyes tell Lexa she already knows what wasn't said. "That's why you're you," she says, and she smiles so that she doesn't cry. Clarke nods like those words made sense too, like they weren't also skrish of the worst kind.

"Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people," Clarke says, and Lexa can't help but smile. That will never happen as long as she's Heda, and she will be Heda until she dies. But it's a good thought, and one she's happy to lose herself in for a little while, if it will bring Clarke some comfort.

"I hope so."

A moment passes as they look at each other, eyes filled with everything they can't bear to say. And then Lexa holds out her arm for Clarke to grasp, a silent promise that if she can return to Clarke, she will. A moment later, Clarke takes it, her palm warm against the fabric of Lexa's shirt. "May we meet again," Lexa says, and her voice just barely shakes.

But the words don't have her intended effect; something breaks in Clarke's eyes and they begin to fill, and Lexa's terrified because she had meant this to be a gesture of parting, one that did not acknowledge what was between them. But then Clarke's stepping closer and pulling Lexa to her at the same time, her eyes darting between Lexa's eyes and her lips, and for just a moment she's sure that she's dreaming. Until, that is, Clarke's lips meet hers, and they are warm, and soft, and real.

The first meeting of their mouths is hesitant. It is gentle and bittersweet, lingering for several heartbeats, and Lexa has no idea what to do with her hands. One of them flutters beside Clarke's face, starting to caress her hair, but she doesn't thread her fingers through it the way she wants to. She isn't sure if she has permission. Clarke has rejected her before in a moment just like this, right after she has finally lowered the walls around her heart.

But Clarke isn't pulling away. Clarke is still kissing her. There is a certainty and purpose in the slow glide of her lips, and gradually, Lexa begins to realize that she isn't going to stop.

The thought that Clarke wants this—wants her, wants them—is too much. When they do break apart for a few quiet, hesitant breaths, Lexa realizes that she is crying after all. The tears spill in hot tracks down her cheeks, and she makes no effort to stop them. Despite what Titus has said, despite her duty to her people, even Heda cannot run away from this. Her gaze moves from Clarke's glistening eyes back down to her parted lips, but before she can make the decision to lean back in, Clarke makes it for her. Their noses brush, and they sink into each other again.

Their next kiss is deeper than the first. It tastes of her tears, but also of hunger and longing, and a shudder races through Lexa's body at the realization that Clarke not only cares for her, but desires her. While Clarke's tongue sweeps along her bottom lip, she searches for a better hold, cupping the side of the Sky girl's face in her hand. Clarke isn't crying, not yet, but her skin is flushed and hot to the touch, and Lexa can feel that she's trembling. Maybe she's afraid, too. Maybe she feels the same fear, the same hope...

If Clarke is afraid, her fear does not make her indecisive. The Sky girl's slender arms drape around her shoulders, and soft fingers weave through her hair, taking the liberty Lexa wasn't quite brave enough to seize for herself earlier. The hold unlocks something within her, and the last of her doubts dissolve into nothing. She kisses back with everything she has—with all of the love and passion that she cannot allow herself to shower on Clarke with words. It isn't always graceful. Occasionally the aim of her mouth is a little off, and Lexa's hands are trapped awkwardly between their bodies, but somehow, the moment is perfect anyway. It is perfect because she is sharing it with Clarke, and she knows that even when they part, it will always be with her.

It takes her a moment to realize that Clarke has managed to undo the ties at the back of her shirt, but as soon as she does she's moving. She hurries a few paces toward the bed, hands clutching tight to Clarke's own, hoping that they don't shake and betray her desperation. She sinks down when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, still holding both of Clarke's hands tight in hers, and what she sees steals every bit of breath from her lungs. The light streaming in through the window has caught Clarke's golden hair, surrounding her head with a soft glow that reminds her of sunrise. Her blue eyes are endless, swimming at the surface, and Lexa feels as though she is floating.

Clarke's mouth moves for a moment, as if she is about to speak, but she smiles instead and leans in, and Lexa is suddenly lost again in her lips. She falls backwards, folding her hands over Clarke's shoulders, all too happy to accept Clarke's weight on top of her.

At first, feeling Clarke's body pressed against hers is enough. It is more than she has ever believed she might have, even though she has imagined it countless times in the past several months. But soon, as Clarke's kisses grow hungrier and eager hands begin to run along her sides, searching for a way to remove her clothes, it is no longer enough. She wants Clarke's skin, wants to learn how it tastes and how it feels, wants to discover which spots on Clarke's body respond most readily to her touch. But first she has to be sure, just one more time, that this is what Clarke wants as well.

She lets her hands come to rest on the Sky girl's hips, just under the place where her shirt rides up and reveals a strip of skin that she has spent far too long aching to touch. When she feels Lexa pause beneath her, Clarke stops too, her eager hands slowing their exploration of Lexa's body and coming to rest beneath her ribs. They both pull back, draw a mutual breath, and then Lexa says "Can I—?" just as Clarke says "Are you—?"

They both have to stop and laugh shakily for a moment. And then Clarke smiles, and in Lexa's mind, it outshines the afternoon sun pouring through the windows and setting Clarke's hair alight. She sits up in Lexa's lap and then, in one fluid movement, draws her shirt over her head. Lexa is momentarily stunned by the play of muscles under soft, tawny skin, but when Clarke arches an eyebrow at her she sits up swiftly, preparing to do away with her own shirt. Clarke stops her. "Let me," she murmurs, and Lexa nods breathlessly, resting her weight on her hands.

Clarke doesn't just peel off her shirt, of course; she takes her time doing it, and Lexa is hard pressed not to pant embarrassingly. Her movements brush her knuckles across Lexa's abdomen and ribs, light enough that they could be mistaken for accidents, but she knows Clarke, and she knows that they're not. To her own surprise, a low growl escapes her chest. Both of their eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?" Clarke says, no small amount of amusement in her voice.

"Are you going to take that off, or just tease me all day?" Lexa says, and is gratified to see Clarke jerk, just a little, at the low roughness in her tone.

Clarke finally does take off the shirt, though not without a few more teasing brushes that make Lexa struggle not to quake. She can feel wetness pooling between her legs and is certain that she must be embarrassingly damp already, but she can tell by the way the Sky girl is shifting in her lap that she's not the only one with that problem. As soon as her arms are free of the shirt, she sits up, noting with no small satisfaction that Clarke's hands have flown to the well-defined muscles in her abdomen, and are eagerly tracing them as they flex. She places her hands on Clarke's hips again to steady her, pressing their lips together once more.

The kiss is hard and fierce this time as she finally lets Clarke feel all of the desire and need that has coursed through her veins during the short days they've been together, the longing that she's battled during the long months they've been apart. She slides her hands around Clarke's waist and, as she's been desperate to do for longer than she'd care to admit, allows them to take hold of her ass and squeeze. As she does, she lets out a groan against Clarke's lips. It's fucking perfect, better than she'd ever dreamed, and the Spirit knows that she's spent more than her fair share of time dreaming about it.

She's embarrassed and prepared to be teased, but to her surprise, Clarke moans too, rocking her hips involuntarily. The sensation reminds Lexa of her purpose, and also that as much as she might love Clarke's ass, there's far more of her to touch and taste and learn. Including, she thinks as she breaks away to look into the Sky girl's eyes, darkened with blown pupils, the delicious soft orbs she knows are just about at eye level, concealed only by a strange garment.

She snakes her hand around Clarke's back, searching for a knot or some other kind of closure, trying to be sneaky, but soon she's growling in frustration against the skin of the Sky girl's neck and feeling her chest shake with poorly stifled giggles. Just when she's about lost her patience and is prepared to rip the thing apart with her bare hands, she finds it—a tiny metal clasp—and undoes it with a swift flick. Looking up again, she grins into Clarke's astonished face as she slides the garment's straps down her shoulders. To her own astonishment (and subsequent delight), she's rewarded with a light shove. "Stop looking so smug." She just grins harder.

Her grin drops away, however, when her eyes lower to the prize she's just revealed, and her breath catches in her chest. Clarke's breasts are the perfect mix of firm and soft, and, she finds, perfectly fitted to her hands. The moment her rough palms make contact, Clarke lets out a gasp; when she kneads them, gently at first but with increasing force, she's rewarded with a low sigh.

Soon she's pinching and rolling the nipple of one between her fingers while continuing to massage the other, memorizing its shape and weight. But while she thinks she could be content to do that forever, time is pressing down on her, reminding her that forever is precisely what they don't have. She dips her head a bit and takes a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around its stiff point. Clarke gasps, arching into her with clear approval, and she feels a warm surge of satisfaction at the sound. It clenches around her heart for a moment, then travels lower, coiling through her abdomen before coming to rest between her legs.

Lexa is suddenly very aware of the fact that she and Clarke are both still wearing their pants. It is completely unacceptable—she has waited what feels like so long for this, and she wants to tear away any scrap of fabric that prevents Clarke's skin from meeting hers—but she can't quite convince herself to stop what she's doing. The beautiful noises spilling from Clarke's mouth and the shaking hands squeezing the tops of her shoulders urge her to keep going, and the hard, slick point of Clarke's nipple fits perfectly between her lips. She goes from painting circles to soft flicks, and when Clarke's hips jolt, she calls the experiment a success. They push into her hands, shifting restlessly toward her stomach, clearly seeking contact.

Contact she is only too willing to give. She kisses her way across Clarke's chest, lingering briefly at the valley between her breasts before drawing in the other swollen tip. Her hands become restless, roaming across Clarke's bare sides, wrapping around to explore the taut muscles of her back, drinking in as much flesh as possible. It's a little hard to focus on two things at once, but Clarke seems happy to help, stroking her hair and urging her to keep sucking. It makes her wonder if Clarke will be as insistent when they are finally naked, when she moves her mouth lower...

Just imagining what it will be like to bury her face between Clarke's thighs is enough to distract her. She releases the slick tip of her new lover's breast with a soft pop, nearly whimpering at the thought, and the sound startles Clarke into staring at her. At first, she seems concerned. Her brow furrows, and the haze in her blue eyes clears. But when she realizes nothing is wrong, a grin spreads across her face. It makes Lexa's heart pound even harder inside the cage of her ribs. She rarely sees Clarke's smiles, and now she gets to have her fill of them. Clarke has been smiling almost nonstop for the past several minutes, despite the weight of their parting hanging over their heads.

No. Lexa shoves the thought down, where it won't be able to disturb her. Now is not the time. I want to enjoy her, enjoy us, just in case...

She refuses to allow herself to consider 'just in case.' Clarke is half-naked above her, gazing down at her with obvious desire, and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in this while she has the chance. She brings her hands back down to Clarke's hips, this time trying to figure out how to unfasten her pants. Fortunately, they don't prove to be very complicated. There is a button, and a small tab to pull down, and then her fingers have ample room to slide inside.

"Wait."

Lexa stops immediately. She gazes up at Clarke, blinking in confusion and a little hurt, but to her relief, the Sky girl doesn't seem upset. A flush has crept onto her skin, and the points of both nipples are still puckered against the open air, shiny and straining. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean stop. Just let me get these..." Instead of continuing to talk, Clarke dismounts from her lap, rolling sideways onto the bed and struggling to pull off her pants.

The legs are tight, so isn't a graceful process, but Lexa is entranced anyway. She finds herself enthralled by the way Clarke's stomach muscles flex as she curls and lifts her hips, and soon, there is so much bare skin on display that she isn't sure where to look first. The shallow dip of Clarke's navel, the flare of her hips, and the gorgeous lines of her thighs all demand attention, but eventually, Lexa's gaze fixes somewhere else—to the white cloth undergarment she still hasn't removed. Clarke's legs are spread enough for her to see a darker stain at the front, and she swallows thickly, torn between removing the rest of her own clothes and leaning in for a closer look.

Eventually, deliberation wins out over urgency. She pulls down her her pants, although she continues to stare at Clarke as she lies back on the bed. Her pose is relaxed, but her body remains visibly tense with an excited sort of urgency. "Why are you still wearing those?" she asks as she finishes stripping, all too aware that Clarke's eyes are drinking her in.

The corners of Clarke's lips twitch up into a smirk. "I had to leave something for you to take off."

It's too much. Her fingers twitch at the clear invitation, and she hurries to reverse their positions, kneeling above Clarke just as the Sky girl knelt above her when they first fell onto the bed. Their lips meet, melting into a string of open-mouthed kisses, and this time, she lets her hands run up along Clarke's legs, amazed at the smoothness beneath her palms. Her entire body shudders as she feels Clarke's hands begin to explore also, lavishing attention on the muscles of her legs before rounding the curve of her ass and squeezing. She feels Clarke grin against her mouth and nips sharply at her lower lip to focus her.

Her hands begin to roam with more purpose, mapping the terrain of Clarke's body almost methodically as though it's a new region she's set on conquering. She's rewarded with moans and hisses and sighs, and, on occasion, a gasp that tapers into a whine as Clarke writhes underneath her. Of course, the Sky girl's hands aren't idle either—in fact, they seem to be everywhere. Nails alternately rake and smooth along the muscles of her back; fingers slip into her hair to tug and brush it away from her face; warm palms cup her breasts and tease her nipples into hard peaks. Clarke also seems to take special delight in her stomach muscles, because her hands stray there most often in between their explorations, memorizing every inch of skin.

At some point, her leg slips in between Clarke's, and when she bends over to nip at the soft skin of the Sky girl's earlobe, it brushes against so, so much wetness, almost enough that she doesn't feel the fabric. Clarke jumps a bit, making Lexa freeze, but a moment later she feels Clarke's hand slide into her hair, cupping the back of her neck gently and pulling her closer. "Yes," she hears, the heat of the word unfurling against her skin. It seems to travel, igniting a fire in her belly, and so she presses her thigh more firmly upward and begins a slow, steady rocking motion.

The reaction is instantaneous and, she thinks (with what little of her brain is left that can think), perfect: Clarke lets out a loud cry and arches against her, grinding down on Lexa's thigh and pressing their bodies nearly flush. She rolls her hips down against Clarke's and begins a slow trail of kisses and licks and nips along her neck, lingering on a spot just underneath her jaw that elicits a chorus of truly needy whines. She could draw these sounds from Clarke forever, she thinks, but—

"Lexa," Clarke gasps, and the way she says her name—urgently, like a supplication, like it's something holy—makes her pause and suck in a breath. But the hand in her hair is pulling her up, gently but firmly, to look once more into Clarke's eyes. The all-encompassing desire she sees there nearly makes her drown, but she manages to hold back. "Lexa," she says again, "I need—"

"I know," Lexa says, and leans down to kiss Clarke's lips one more time before resuming her path down.

This time, she is far more purposeful. While she would like nothing more than to spend the rest of the afternoon, and likely all night as well, learning every inch of Clarke's body and what makes her scream, she knows that they both need this. She can't let Clarke leave to an uncertain fate, most likely death—it somehow always seems to be death—without knowing how she feels with her thighs trembling around Lexa's head, shaking and crying out and clenching around her fingers as she comes.

Pushing back her reluctance, she forces herself to leave the stiff, quivering peaks of Clarke's nipples, kissing a trail down her collarbone and along the smooth line of her stomach. Clarke's breath hitches, a realization of what is about to happen, but a moment later she scoots backward on the bed, making room for Lexa to settle between her thighs. Lexa's fingers rest at the waistband of Clarke's underwear, but then she pauses, looking up just one more time. She has to make sure—

"Lexa," Clarke says, her eyes dark and wide and her chest heaving. She slides a hand into Lexa's hair and then moves it down to cup her cheek, and Lexa leans into the touch, feeling more at peace than she ever has in the world. "I want this. I want you."

Something in her breaks then, some piece of her that will never again belong solely to her, only to Clarke. She will no longer be complete, she thinks, without Clarke by her side, or at least without knowing that wherever she's gone, whatever journey she has to undertake, when it's done she'll be hurrying back home to Lexa. She feels terrifyingly cracked open, but at the same time she's never felt more whole.

"Clarke, I..." There are three words that will make sense of it all, that will let Clarke understand exactly how she feels. Her entire body seems to hum with them, so powerfully she's half surprised the tower doesn't shake. And yet they stick in her throat, not because she does not feel them, but because of what she's learned: Love is weakness. To present that love to Clarke is tantamount to challenging an invading army and then dropping her swords and pulling off her armor.

In the end, she doesn't say anything at all. She cannot give Clarke the words she so badly wishes to, and no others will do. Instead, she finally allows the tips of her fingers to hook through the waistband of Clarke's underwear and eases them down past her hips.

The sight that greets her is just as magnificent as she has imagined—and she has imagined it, far more than she would willingly admit. Clarke's smooth belly leads down to a beautiful patch of short blonde curls, only a shade darker than the hair on her head. The soft pink lips beneath are parted and glistening, and Lexa stares in awe. Clarke is dripping—for her—and the tight red bud of her clit is already peeking out past its thin hood. Lexa swallows, ignoring the slick heat blossoming between her own legs. It amazes her that she has caused this reaction in Clarke's body, and though it isn't everything she wants, it is an excellent start.

Carefully, she parts Clarke's thighs further, running her palms from the Sky girl's knees all the way up to a comfortable hold beneath her shifting hips. She dips forward, eyes flicking up briefly to steal one last glimpse of Clarke's beautiful face, but insistent fingers thread through her loose hair, urging her back down. "Please..." That please is her undoing. She no longer has the power to deny Clarke anything. She slides Clarke's calves over her shoulders and leans in the rest of the way.

The first swipe of her tongue is cautious—a test, an attempt to discover just how sensitive her new lover is. Clarke's soft sighs and rapidly tightening grip on her head are encouraging, but she craves more. She wants to make sure Clarke never forgets her. Never forgets this, if it's all fate will allow them to have together. She increases her efforts, searching out the point of Clarke's clit, and is rewarded with a much louder moan and a fresh flood of heat against her chin. When she folds her lips around it and begins to suck, Clarke stiffens beneath her. The fingers in her hair tug harder, and Clarke's pelvis begins to rock in an attempt to establish a rhythm.

"Lexa..." At first, Lexa begins to pull back. She worries that she has gone too far, that she has misread the signals of Clarke's body, but then she hears her name again, and again, until Clarke is chanting it, weaving it through a string of other nonsense words. "... yes, Lexa—Lexa, more—Lexa pleasedon'tstop..." She returns to her task with even more enthusiasm, desperate for more of Clarke's sweet voice to echo in her ears, hungry for more of Clarke's flavor to spread across her tongue.

She gets her wish. Soon, Clarke is the only thing she can hear, the only thing she can taste, the only thing she can see and smell and feel. All of her senses are filled with Clarke, and when she brings one of her hands down to join her mouth, she only earns more. Her fingers find the tight ring of Clarke's entrance easily, and Clarke's hips push down to take them in, until she is wrapped in clinging heat and even more wetness is pouring into her palm.

It doesn't take her long to find the stroke that Clarke likes best. A few experimental thrusts, a searching curl, and she unlocks a new stream of whimpers. Hooking forward makes them louder, and so she does it again and again, until Clarke is clutching hard around her fingers and her chin and wrist are coated in slippery warmth. The salt in her mouth grows stronger, but it is tinged with sweetness as well, and something in her aches for more.

She knows Clarke hasn't come yet—she hasn't quite earned the scream and the sharp series of shivers she hopes she will be able to draw out—but she can tell it won't be long. Clarke is already pulsing around her, trying to draw her deeper, and the swollen bud trapped in her mouth has started to throb with its own heartbeat. She swirls her tongue around it, teasing the head, letting the edges of her teeth just barely nudge the root.

"Lexa!"

This time, Clarke doesn't just mutter her name. She shouts it, spine arching, face tilted to the ceiling. Lexa can't make out everything from her position, and part of her mourns the fact that she can't quite see the details of Clarke's face, but the deep ripple of Clarke's smooth inner walls makes up for it. Clarke jerks one last time against her mouth, clit twitching, muscles fluttering, and falls apart with just the kind of scream she has been hoping for.

The wetness spilling into her mouth and down her chin is perfect, and she can't catch enough of it. In some way it's proof, proof that she's been here, proof that Clarke wants this just as much as she does. When she replaces her fingers with her tongue in search of more, Clarke's hips jump.

"Lexa, oh my God!"

She continues thrusting her tongue inside of the Sky girl, relishing every small pulse she can pull from her. But then the hand in her hair draws her upward, and she's treated to the sight of Clarke, looking utterly dazed and wrecked and glorious, staring at her with wonder in her eyes. When Clarke gives her another small tug, she doesn't resist. She moves over the Sky girl's body and settles herself along it before leaning down to devour Clarke's lips.

Clarke sighs as Lexa's weight settles over her, and a hand comes up to gently scrape her nails along the muscles of her back. The movement is soft, slow, tender, but it makes Lexa arch her spine and groan into Clarke's mouth. She's abruptly brought to the realization that she's not done. She's not going to be content with bringing Clarke release only once; if this is all the time that they have, she wants to send the Sky girl soaring over the edge as many times as possible.

With one hand, she reaches up to cup Clarke's cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin there before sliding into her hair. The other, which had been rubbing gentle circles on the skin of Clarke's thigh, slips between her legs again, and she feels Clarke gasp against her lips. Taking the opportunity, Lexa slides her tongue into Clarke's mouth, deepening their kiss.

Even though it's the last thing she feels like doing, she takes her time. She knows Clarke must still be feeling sensitive, so she gently explores her folds, marveling at just how wet she is and grinning when just a little more spills across her fingers. At first Clarke's hesitant, pulling back from Lexa's mouth to say, "But what about y—" Lexa swallows her objections in another kiss.

It's not long before the Clarke's hips are canting up into her hand in search of more pressure, and sighs are cascading from her mouth. Her fingers begin to trace lazy circles around Clarke's clit, skating over it gently and pinching and rubbing—just enough sensation to turn Clarke's sighs into moans, but not enough to give her what she wants. She receives a sharp nip to her bottom lip, but doesn't let it dissuade her. Something hard and bright within her needs to see Clarke desperate, teetering on the edge of a towering precipice, before she pushes her over the edge.

Abandoning Clarke's increasingly hungry mouth, Lexa returns to the soft skin of her neck, nipping hard and then soothing the bite with generous swirls of her tongue. There were a couple of spots—just up under her jawline, and at the join of her shoulder and collarbone—that she had noticed on her way down as being particularly sensitive, and she's eager to see if she's right. She is—it doesn't take much before Clarke's hips are bucking upward, and she cries out, "Lexa, please!"

The keen edge of desperation in her voice nearly breaks the Commander, but she manages to rasp out, "Please what, Clarke?"

"Please fuck me!"

With a loud groan, she plunges two fingers back into Clarke's clinging warmth. It welcomes her eagerly, clutching down around her fingers as she curls them, seeking the swollen ridge she'd felt earlier. She gives Clarke a moment to get used to the sensation again, but she doesn't need it. Her hips snap down to take Lexa's fingers as deeply as possible, and Lexa stifles a moan against her neck. And then she's driving into Clarke, pumping deeper and harder as the Sky girl rolls her hips to meet her thrusts, and she before either of them know it she's climbing to the heights of bliss once more.

At some point, Clarke's leg slips between Lexa's and she lets out a gasp of shock and pleasure as it brushes against her own dripping center. Before she realizes it, she's moved to the optimum angle and is grinding shamelessly against Clarke's thigh. Her own pleasure is mounting embarrassingly fast, her breath coming in harsh pants and moans against Clarke's skin, and she realizes that if she doesn't take care she'll come before she can bring Clarke with her.

So she redoubles her efforts, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to ignore her pleasure, to concentrate on the feeling of Clarke's body writhing beneath hers, the sounds that she's making, the sensation of her inner walls tightening against Lexa's fingers. But try as she might, she's set alight with the feeling of her clit rubbing against the slick skin below her, and the sight of Clarke coming apart beneath her. Lexa's wanted this for so long—forever, almost—and she can't imagine wanting anything else every day for however much time they have left.

She'd meant to have Clarke desperate, but her own desperation matches the Sky girl's as she brings them both careening closer and closer to their release. In a final effort to make certain that Clarke experiences this with her, she adds another finger, feeling Clarke gasp at the stretch. The hands gently grasping at her back and shoulder become nails raking streaks of fire across her tightened muscles, but it just adds to the fire coursing through her body.

And then Clarke comes, every muscle in her body drawn taut as a bowstring. Her inner walls pulse, sending her release cascading into Lexa's hand and along her wrist. Lexa lasts just long enough to see the look of pure rapture on Clarke's face before she follows her over the edge, throwing her head back and shouting her bliss to the ceiling. Pleasure overtakes her, and she shivers in its grip, unable to do anything but surrender to the powerful ripples.

When Lexa comes down from her high, gasping into the sweetness of Clarke's mouth, still rocking softly with an echo of the rhythm she had lost herself to, she is slightly horrified with what she's done. A deep blush crawls across her cheeks, and her face burns with embarrassment. The slickness all over her hand and wrist and the damp spot on the sheets beneath are proof that she has done what she set out to do, but she is ashamed of her own lack of control. Chit yu don dula op , Leksa? She barely touched you, wasn't even trying to give you release, and...

She stares down at Clarke, at the happy glow radiating from the Sky girl's face, at the dancing light of pride that is swiftly growing in her bright blue eyes. It doesn't offer her much comfort, but she is happy to see Clarke happy. That has been a rare sight over the past few weeks. "Do you maybe want to try that again?" Clarke murmurs, letting her thigh ride just a bit higher and putting pressure in exactly the wrong—or perhaps the right—spot. "And this time, can I help?"

Lexa rolls off to the side, although she lets one of her arms remain draped over Clarke's abdomen, unwilling to sever their skin-bond completely. "You did help," she protests, still stammering and hesitant, unsure of what to say. She is shaken by the intensity of what has just happened—not only because of the force behind her release, but because of how tightly Clarke has fastened to her heart. It reminds her of everything she has lost, and everything she has yet to lose. She trembles, but it is already too late. There can be no taking this back, and she wouldn't choose to even if she could.

"But I want to help more."

Clarke shifts closer, easing on top of her, and despite her reservations, Lexa welcomes the warmth and weight of her body. She wants this, wants Clarke far more than she fears the pain she knows will come—the pain that always comes after moments like this. "Ait," she breathes, trying to stop shuddering in the vain hope that Clarke might not notice. "If that is what you wish..."

"I do wish," Clarke mutters, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on her glazed lips before moving down to suck a vulnerable patch of skin beneath her jaw. Lexa is unprepared for the heat of her mouth. Her hips jerk, and her breath hitches as the swollen bud of her clit skates over Clarke's firm stomach. Her own wetness is more than enough to make the movement smooth, and it takes a great deal of restraint to keep from doing it again. The lower Clarke kisses—down her throat, along her collarbone, across the sloping plane of her left breast to draw in the tight point of her nipple—the more her resolve wavers. She is afraid that if she comes again, if she shatters a second time, she will not be able to gather the pieces back up once Clarke is gone.

But then Clarke slips lower, lower, skimming past her sternum and travelling along her belly, and she can no longer pretend that she is in control. Her legs fall open, and the cracks in her heart deepen, and her shivering worsens until Clarke's teeth nip a tender place just beside the dip of her navel. She jerks, cries out, and her inner walls pulse in preparation even though Clarke hasn't reached the juncture of her thighs yet.

She starts to speak, tries to summon the words to ask for more time, but Clarke takes the noise as encouragement. Suddenly, her calves are being lifted, and Lexa can only moan in approval as Clarke's warm, silky tongue slides over her at last. Her head spins, there is barely time to adjust, she doesn't even remember how to take in air, but it doesn't matter. Clarke's mouth is on her, and Clarke's lips are sealing around her clit, and Clarke is sucking her in, and she has forgotten her fears, her embarrassment and reservations, everything but the single syllable of Clarke's name.

"Clarke!"

Her voice is raw and her throat aches, but she barely even notices. Between her legs, Clarke is not simply attempting to please her. Clarke is devouring her. The press and swirl of her tongue and the greedy pull of her lips are hungry, and Lexa feels herself cramp with need. After just a few seconds, she is already so close, straddling the thin line between pleasure and pain, and she has no idea whether she is about to come with the next scrape of Clarke's tongue, or whether she has already missed her chance and the stimulation is merely too much.

She spends the next few minutes trapped in some hazy dreamworld, wrapped up in ecstasy but unable to surrender to it. It is too much, too quickly, and yet it strings on forever with no end in sight, and she has nothing to grasp but the loose strands of Clarke's golden hair. She doesn't even realize what she has done until one of Clarke's low moans vibrates against her clit, a nonverbal response to the tug of her fingers. She tries to loosen her hands, but ends up holding tighter, not just unwilling but completely unable to let go.

Clarke is endlessly innovative, continually coming up with something new as soon as whatever she's trying loses its efficacy. She runs long, broad strokes with the flat of her tongue nearly all the way up Lexa's slit. She flutters feather-light against the head of Lexa's clit, making her gasp and jerk. She thrusts her tongue boldly as deep inside Lexa as she can reach, making her shake and clutch at the furs beneath her with the hand that's not in Clarke's hair. She seems tireless, but Lexa knows that can't be so. Clarke's had a hard day and barely any rest in the last few weeks, same as her; they always seem to be moving from crisis to crisis, with barely a moment to pause together and simply be.

As Lexa's release continues to remain just out of her reach, nagging thoughts creep in: There must be something wrong with you. She'll grow tired of this soon, but she'll be kind enough to continue; it's selfish of you not to tell her to leave off, to say that you're fine. She pictures the hurt look that's sure to crease Clarke's beautiful features if she does so, and it's nearly enough to make her reconsider, but then it morphs into one of subtle relief in her mind's eye. With that she is determined. She fists her hand in Clarke's hair and gives a gentle tug.

Clarke replaces her mouth with fingers that gently tease and roll Lexa's clit between them before raising her head, and the Commander's words die in her mouth. Clarke is looking up at her from between her thighs, her entire body seeming to glow golden in the afternoon light that suffuses her bedroom. But what truly steals the breath from her lungs is the way Clarke looks at her, eyes bright, bottom half of her face shining with wetness. There is happiness in those eyes, and desire, and patience, and something that makes her terribly afraid and utterly at peace in the same moment. She would not dare to call it love, and yet—

"Sha, ai Heda?" Clarke murmurs, her fingers continuing their torturous ministrations. "Chit yu gaf?"

At the sound of her title falling from Clarke's lips, Lexa's entire body jerks involuntarily. Her face heats up in a deep blush and she can hardly stand to look at Clarke, certain she's going to be teased mercilessly, but there's only interest and desire glinting in her new lover's eyes. Clarke's fingers continue their work, sending pulses of pleasure traveling like sparks along Lexa's body, and all of a sudden, she realizes she's close.

"Onai," she forces out, inner walls fluttering at the mere thought. Wetness spills from her entrance and into Clarke's palm as her fingers slide from her clit to her entrance. Then they're pressing into her, filling her deepest places and making her gasp and quake. Clarke dips her head again, and the next warm swipe of her tongue makes Lexa throw her head back and let out a sharp cry.

It isn't long before Clarke's wicked tongue has her right at the brink, but when the clever fingers inside her curl upwards in search of the swollen place where all of her need is centered, Lexa is gone. She cries out and clenches around Clarke, her release spilling into the Sky girl's hand, her entire body drawn into a taut line with Clarke as its endpoint. She rides on seemingly endless waves of bliss as Clarke's fingers continue to press inside of her, drawing out more and more.

When the final shudders of her release have faded, she drops into a limp, boneless heap, her entire body warm and heavy. A moment later Clarke crawls up from between her legs, grinning smugly, but she can't find it in herself to be at all irritated. She feels too good, and the warm press of Clarke's body alongside hers, and the brilliance in her smile, outweigh any annoyance she might feel. She stares into Clarke's eyes for a moment, almost unable to believe that this much happiness and affection can all be for her. But the proof is there, in the slow lazy trails of Clarke's fingertips as they trace the lines of the tattoo on her arm: She is here with me. She wanted this as much as I did. I am not alone.

But the warmth and affection in Clarke's face is not the only thing shining in her eyes; the late afternoon sunlight is blinding. She turns, blinking back the tears that have started welling up, and after a moment, Clarke settle against her. She can't help the smile that rises to her lips then, broader than she's allowed herself in so, so long. For this moment, their moment, all is well.

. . .

That beautiful, brilliant, golden afternoon carried Lexa through the dark days to come. After helping Clarke slip through the streets of Polis and meet Octavia at the gate, only to turn away as they departed and return to her tower with leaden steps, she felt as though her heart were riding away on that horse. The words she had been unable to say stuck bitterly in her throat, and she cursed herself for her silence. But when she returned to her bedroom and saw the tangle of sheets still aglow with fading sunlight, she remembered what she had seen in her Sky girl's eyes, and she smiled.

She rode for Arkadia at the head of her army the next day at dawn, and worked to set up a cordon around the little settlement. Although she was there in her capacity as the Commander of the Twelve Clans' armies, she knew that her true mission would be to keep the tense peace among her nations, and give Clarke time to show the Sky People reason—or remove the voice of discord from their midst.

The days crept on, tense with fear and the constant the threat of war, and eventually, she grew to accept it. She remembered the moment they had shared, and took comfort in the fact that Clarke knew. Although she had not said the words aloud, and Clarke had not returned them, she had spoken them plainly through her actions, and she had seen a clear answer in the depths of Clarke's soft blue eyes. Even if Clarke failed, even if she did, even if one or both of them gave their lives for what they believed in, Lexa would make her passage to the next shore knowing that her love had been heard and returned.

The blockade lasted for a week and a half. Lexa barely slept or ate, consumed as she was with worry and work: convincing her generals not to attack, to give the Skaikru the chance to prove their loyalty to the Coalition, and to trust in Wanheda as she did. The days were marked by tense standoffs, and one bitter skirmish at the treeline, but the nights were worse: they were filled only with silence, and the ever-burning lights of Arkadia. Lexa kept watch from a hill that looked over the valley and waited for a sign that Clarke had accomplished her mission, or that she had been captured or worse. She had resolved to herself that if that were the case, she would bring the might of the Twelve Clans down on the Arkadians and wreak fire and death such as had not been seen since the end of the old world.

The last night of the blockade, the lights went out. Fighting broke out in the settlement minutes later, the stillness shattered by the crack of bullets and the shouts and screams of the Skaikru. Lexa strained her eyes, but she could see nothing beyond the brief flickers of gunfire, like deadly fireflies. The battle petered out shortly before dawn, and by then she could stand it no longer. She broke the cordon, riding down the hill towards Arkadia with a band of warriors. As they approached, the gates creaked open, revealing Kane, Abby Griffin, the Blake siblings…and Clarke. When she asked after Chancellor Pike, all Clarke would say was that her people had chosen a new leader.

With Pike and his staunchest supporters no longer a threat, the Skaikru were more than willing to rejoin the Coalition. She dismissed her armies and summoned the Clans' ambassadors to Polis, returning with hope blooming fresh in her heart. She waited eagerly for the day that Clarke would return to Polis—to her. On that day, she promised herself, she would put aside her duty to her people long enough to give her heart a voice. She had once believed that love was weakness, but in its warmth, she had found only strength. Love had opened her eyes, had given her the power to keep the Twelve Clans from laying waste to Arkadia, and had instilled in her a sense of purpose:

Jus drein nou jus daun. Oso na teik trei-de kom ogonzaun.

Blood must not have blood. We will walk the path of peace.

It was not an easy concept for her Coalition to understand. Many still wished for vengeance, and it took all of her skill and her strength to silence their howls. But silence them she did, with the iron of her will and the softness of her heart until everyone who defied her bent or broke. When Clarke finally arrived at the gates of Polis weeks later, sitting astride a tall white horse with a band of loyal supporters at her back, she made certain they were welcomed as the heroes they were. And when they were alone, her first words were, at long last, "I love you."

After that night, they owed nothing more to their people. After that night, they were not parted again.

Time passed. Weeks became months became years. Thanks to their efforts, Skaikru flourished as the thirteenth Clan. The Commander of Death put aside her gun, for it was no longer needed. War became a memory instead of a tradition. In its absence, the Commander of Peace guided the world into a future filled with the same hope that had blossomed within her, and Klark kom Skaikru was ever by her side.

When the time came for Leksa kom Trikru to set sail for the next shore, the next Commander took up her mantle. And the next. And the next. They were told from birth the story of Ogonzaunheda, the visionary who had proven time and time again that war was not inevitable. They were told of her love for Wanheda, and how it had grown beyond two mere people to become a way of life. Other enemies arose, other battles were fought, but with new knowledge: peace is possible. It is within reach. It is always worth striving for.

And from one Commander to the next, all the way down the line, the message was passed for generations: Jus drein nou jus daun. Oso na teik trei-de kom ogonzaun.

Through love, the world was shaped anew, and all was well.

Trigedasleng:

Skrish: shit

Chit yu don dula op: What did you do?

Ait: Alright

Sha, ai Heda. Chit yu gaf? Yes, my Commander. What do you need?

*Onai: Inside me (from ona = inside + ai = I/me)

*Ogonzaunheda: the Commander of Peace

Jus drein nou jus daun: Blood must not have blood.

Oso na teik trei-de kom ogonzaun: We will take the path of peace.