Clarke hissed when the Commander's shortened nails dug in her back and slid down her back, left marks, a trail of her blood as well as Clarke's in their wake. She couldn't care less, she realized. This is what she wanted. The blonde had waited so long to feel Lexa this way, and now that she could have her, she wanted to feel all of her, in the most intense and deep way as possible. She forgot that she had to be on her way to Arkadia already. It could wait for a little while, to feel.
She didn't know what to do with her hands, whether to touch or to stroke, grab or scratch, at every part of Lexa she could reach in this position. Clarke's lips tingled with the intensity of their kiss, and every now and then they missed the other's mouth, in their struggle to tug off the rest of their own and the other's clothes... but it didn't really matter right now, as long as they could just touch, could feel. They were too eager to touch what they could to take a step back and have the patience needed for more to be revealed.
The Commander's weight as all the leverage she needed, Lexa rolled them over and landed on top of Clarke, her legs on each side of the other woman's thighs as she straddled her and bent down to capture Clarke's mouth again and kiss those lips, with her already swollen ones, feeling Clarke's hands on her skin the way she had longed to feel for so long. As she tangled her left hand in Clarke's blonde curls, an ache in her as she knew she was giving up on fully experiencing this for the sake of what she had just done, she extended her right towards the headboard of the double bed and let the stained knife slide in-between the wood and the mattress, inaudibly enough. She clamped her damp hand into the quilt to stop the bleeding of the small yet deep enough cut that she had created in the palm of her right hand, as well as hide it from Clarke. If this ended badly, she would have done all that she could to save Clarke. If that was the last she ever did, it was an action that brought her the kind of peace Clarke had stood for. She didn't need to know now.
As Clarke's mouth left hers and moved onto her exposed neck, the Wanheda called to Lexa's soul in a way that no one had before - not even Costia. Guilt stabbed her then as she thought this, of the younger woman whose love for her had cost her her life, whose head had laid by the side of her bed, delivered by Nia's men. It was the knowledge that she had done the last, most honorable, that she could do for Clarke if the worst happened that brought a kind of peace to her heart. Her people didn't see her the way she did, didn't see how special she really was.
Someone had tried to kill her earlier that day. There was a very real possibility that with the stakes on her head, every day could be her last. The Ambassadors were against her decision to let the Sky People become the Thirteen Clan, as part of the coalition - even more against her decision that revenge was a lesser good than peace. Her subjects doubted her decisions. It seemed to be that she was the only Grounder who didn't. She felt all right to rely on Clarke to do right. Clarke had breathed a new life in her mind and soul, as well as her heart.
Maybe she had become too human now. Maybe Clarke spoke to her in a way that made her weaker than grief ever could. It was when long, pale fingers slipped across small, rounded breasts and she threw her head back in delight that she realized she didn't care if Clarke made her weak. Maybe, just maybe, it was necessary for a good Commander to be wavered off of the old paths, to see the new possibilities for their people. What hope was there for a world better than this one if revenge, if anger, continued to play this role in the vicious cycle that was their ways, with no willingness to accept change?
As Clarke used strength the Commander had never even known she had to roll them over again and the blonde finally pulled the last of the clothes that had separated them off of her body, Lexa leant her head back in the pillow and let go, the sting of the cut in her hand palm and the flash of a very dark trail of blood on Clarke's back enabling her to do so. If things ended badly for her from now on, and the Commander's spirit was forced to chose the next, her successor, this way Clarke would have a chance; her blood would speak for her in the case Titus or another doubted.
A small cry escaped Lexa's mouth as Clarke used hers to please her in a way that she had never imagined, and as the waves of what was pleasure and reassurance washed over her then, she was, however temporarily, relieved of her duty, and just Lexa, not the Commander of the Twelve Clans anymore.
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