Clarke dragged charcoal over the white page, shading hills and trees, the sunlight shining through them. She looked up every so often at the green and wildflowers rushing by the window. It was beautiful, Clarke attempting to capture every detail to paper.
She didn't see her father in the driver's seat, tapping the steering wheel in time with the radio. She didn't see her mother combing loving fingers through his hair from the passenger side. Nor did she see Raven roll her eyes, her adoptive sister slouching next to her, her combat boots hanging out the open window.
She only saw the sky and the colours of summer, the deep forests of Maryland coming to life in her sketches; every leaf and blade of grass. They breathed a life of their own accord. It was one of the only things Clarke could do without any thought, letting her fingers curve out their own story.
It was simple. Like breathing.
Clarke rested her head against the glass. She stilled on the page, her fingertips stained grey. It had been five years since her family had gone on a real vacation, away from New York and the responsibilities of being the Chief of Surgery and a lead engineer. And it had been five years since Raven had come to live with them.
Her mother, Abby, had always been kind and just. And when Raven had arrived in her ER, it had been no different. If she were ever asked, Abby would say that there was something about her. Something in the way she held herself, even after the life she'd had to endure; the abuse marked clear on her skin. She still held a smile. A humour. She was strong. And Abby had refused to see her go into the system.
Clarke had been more than a little wide-eyed the day Raven had come home to their townhouse. Her dark hair and even darker eyes had Clarke catching her breath, even at 13. And by the time her parents had signed the adoption papers a year later, her feelings were evident, even to Raven. But over time, coupled with Raven's inherent interest in the opposite sex, they evolved into something much more. They were best friends. Practically inseparable.
And Clarke couldn't imagine a life without her.
She heard Raven sigh for the twelfth time since they'd left New York. Clarke merely laughed at her, nudging Raven playfully with her knee. She earned a reluctant smirk, Clarke's fingers going back to her sketchbook as signs for Camp Jaha stood by the roadside, the traffic thinning as her dad turned down the long drive toward the Mountain House.
The owner, Thelonious Jaha, was a patient of Clarke's mother. And ever since she'd saved his life a number of years ago, he'd been asking for her to take her family to his Mountain House for a summer, as thanks. It bordered onto a lake, surrounded by dense forest just north of Washington DC. Green lawns stretched down toward tennis and basketball courts, touching the sand of the lake and up toward the main hall that towered over the rest of the Mountain House, sitting atop the hill at the end of the long drive.
Dirt bikes tore around a forest path to Clarke's left as her dad pulled the family's Range Rover into the valet. It was already teaming with people, sunbaking and swimming, the sun reflecting brightly off the still surface of the water. Speedboats and jet skis flew past over the other side of the lake, guests lounging by the cocktail bar and sprawled over the lawns, playing pick up games of football and what appeared to be a Tai Chi class taking up a corner.
Clarke could already feel the disdain coming off Raven in waves. "I'm officially dead inside," she huffed, her Ray Bans sitting firmly on her nose. Raven hopped out of the car and down onto the hot bitumen, glancing at her cell phone. "Great. Zero service."
"It's not like you get to keep it anyways," Clarke reminded lightly.
"Shut it, Princess," she retorted, her tone playful. Raven was reluctant and more than a little stubborn, despising the no technology policy at Camp Jaha. And she despised her adoptive parents even more for subjecting her to it. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, Clarke imagining World War III when she would be forced to give it over to the resort's staff.
"This is not a tragedy, sweetheart," Clarke's dad enthused, leaning his elbows on the bonnet. "A tragedy is seven people dying in a NASA space launch, or a tsunami devastating the Philippines."
"Or the sequel to Mean Girls," Clarke provided dryly.
"No, Jake." Raven punctuated his name, ignoring her friend. "A tragedy is not knowing the Yankee box scores for a whole three weeks."
"Shit." Jake's face dropped from his usual smile. "You're right, kiddo."
Clarke shared a look with her mother, Abby just laughing with her as they shook their heads at the pair. Clarke retrieved her sketchbook from the backseat, rounding the side of the car just as a tall clean-cut man strode over to them, followed closely by a boy with a shaved head and kind eyes.
"Doc!" the man exclaimed, his white smile wide and welcoming.
"Thelonious," Abby greeted, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Jake." He shook her father's hand once Abby had stepped back. "After all these years I've finally got you up on my mountain."
Abby smiled. "How's the heart?"
The man nodded. "Still ticking thanks to you. I want you girls to know if it wasn't for this woman, I wouldn't be standing here."
"You and me both, Jaha," Raven muttered, sarcastic. Jake nudged her, catching her ribs. "I mean, happy to be here. Thrilled."
Jaha laughed in good nature, before clicking his fingers and pointing to the car, "Lincoln, get the bags."
"Of course. Right away, sir."
"I kept the best cabin for you and your family," Jaha exclaimed, as Clarke moved to help Lincoln. "It's just down the hill."
Clarke grabbed a suitcase, placing it on a trolley that was parked next to the car. "Hey, thanks," Lincoln grinned at her, it touching his eyes.
"No problem." She extended her hand, "Clarke. But Raven calls me Princess, she thinks it's cute." Clarke added just enough dry sarcasm to let him know she didn't agree.
He gave a breath of a laugh, taking her hand in his, "Sisters?"
"Only on paper."
"Fair enough, Clarke," he articulated, letting her know he didn't intend on using the nickname. "I'm Lincoln." He shook her hand, before letting go. She just smiled, grabbing her satchel from the trunk and wandering back over to her family, Lincoln pushing the trolley down a garden path just off the main drive.
"There's a dance class about to start down by the lake," Jaha suggested. He had his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his smile still in place. "Amazing teacher."
"Oh?" His words piqued Clarke's interest. "What kind?"
"Latin, if I recall."
"Come on, it's her first real vacation in five years, Thelonious," Jake edged, his arm around his wife. "Might want to start slow."
"Three weeks here, it'll feel like a year."
"You have no idea," Raven bemoaned, grabbing her backpack and walking off in the direction of Lincoln.
"Don't mind her. She's just upset. She thinks three weeks without news of the outside world is a type of cruel and unusual punishment," Abby informed him.
"Oh, I'm sure she'll find something to occupy herself," Jaha assured, gesturing for the three of them to follow.
"Or someone," Clarke muttered.
Clarke was only half paying attention. To the counting and the turns and steps. It wasn't overly hard to keep time, and it wasn't the first time Clarke had taken lessons either. But she found herself staring. It was the way the instructor's hips moved, and the way her hands were getting lost in dark waves of hair, Clarke finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the Latin rhythm or the soft instructions the dancer was giving them.
She'd split them into two separate groups, girls on one side of the gazebo and the guys on the other, the instructor taking up the space between. "C'mon, ladies. God wouldn't have given you assets if she didn't want you shake them."
Her smile was soft, her green eyes bright with a teasing glint. She couldn't have been much older than her or Raven, her long brown hair falling messily over her shoulders, with one side pulled back into a tight braid. She was gorgeous, her black dress split all the way up her thigh, showing perfectly tan skin.
The girl had her back to them, her hips moving effortlessly to the rhythm of the music. "Eyes on the road, Princess."
Clarke glanced over at Raven, who was perched on a nearby railing. Her back was resting against one of the wooden supports of the gazebo, her eyes watching her friend.
Clarke broke away from the class, "At least I'm participating."
"Oh, is that what you were doing?" she teased, before adding, "Plus, I don't like dancing. Or at least the kind that involves counting and high heels." Clarke rolled her eyes, leaning back against the railing.
"And you think I do?"
Raven and Clarke both looked up to see the instructor eyeing them suggestively, only a few feet away. She smirked at them before circling back to the front of the class.
"Oh my God," Raven breathed, nudging Clarke. The instructor's voice was dark, with a slight husk, making her words sound undeniably sexy.
"Okay, ladies," she called, joining their side of the dance floor. "When I say stop you're gonna find the man of your dreams." Her eyes drifted back over to Clarke, "Or girl."
Clarke's jaw dropped.
"Stop!"
She sauntered forward, grabbing Jake out of the line of men, his goofy grin making Raven and Clarke both cringe. "Now remember he's the boss on the dance floor, if nowhere else."
"Looks like I know what you'll be doing for the next three weeks."
Clarke turned to see Raven smirking at her. Clarke just stared back a moment, only to shove her off the railing without warning. Raven yelped, trying to gain traction before hitting the sand below with a dull thud.
"Rude!"
It was getting late, an orange haze blanketing the green lawns and touching the lake. Some guests were still out by the cocktail bars, or lounging by the pool, but the main grounds had turned quiet as the sky began to darken. It was beautiful after dusk, the light sound of cicadas dusting the air.
Tossing her hairbrush on her bed, Clarke pulled on a white top, checking herself in the full-length mirror. Her family were each getting ready for the evening, Clarke giving herself a once over. She straightened her light blue shorts, leaving the room she shared with Raven and wandering into her parents' bedroom up the hall.
Clarke poked her head around the corner, "Mum. Dad. I'm just going up to the main house to look around."
Abby paused midway through her make up, her dad walking out of the en suite with a towel around his waist. "Okay. See you at dinner, kiddo."
She walked back into the living room, tightening the clasp on her watch. Raven was already dressed as well, sitting on the couch with a small screwdriver caught between her lips and her hands busying over a radio that sat on the coffee table. Clarke didn't bother questioning the sight, leaning against the armrest. "Wanna come with?"
Raven looked up at her as she switched it on. "Nah, I'm good," she mumbled. "Gonna see if I can get some decent stations out of this thing."
"This is Jasper and Monty for Camp Jaha Radio, coming to you live from a cabin near you-"
"Raven," Abby called from the bedroom, her voice carrying down the hall. "You will do no such thing. I'm not footing the bill if you break it."
"I think the word you're looking for is improving it," she remarked. "I don't break things. Seriously, anything's better than these two idiots."
Clarke just laughed, getting to her feet. "Have fun."
"You too." It was said absently, her fingers already popping the back casing off the small radio.
Their cabin was the closest to the main hall, overlooking the entire Mountain House. It was truly amazing, with its thick forests and private alcoves along the lake. Clarke could imagine climbing to the roof and loosing an afternoon in smooth lines and shading. Her fingers itched to capture every detail.
She headed up the garden path that led to the long driveway, taking the steps to the balcony that bordered the dining room. She looked down over the grounds, seeing the small flames of burning torches lining the lake and down to the cocktail bar by the water's edge. She could hear distant screams of laughter coming from the jetty closer to the tree line, the sounds singing into the warm night.
A small part of her was hoping to see their instructor again. It was a small and careless hope, but it was there nonetheless. After the lesson had finished, Clarke had stayed behind with Raven. They'd leant against the railing, overlooking the lake and the sand, the young dancer packing up her stereo and turning to leave. She'd quirked her lips at the girls as she passed, walking up the hill behind the main hall and out of sight.
"You are so whipped by a pretty face, Princess."
Raven had nudged Clarke, teasing her further as they made their way back to the cabin. "Shut up," Clarke had mumbled, pulling her in by the waist. "You're one to talk." Raven had shrugged off the comment, slinging her arm around her shoulder.
"You are trying my patience here, gentlemen."
Clarke was nearing an open glass door that led to the dining room. She could hear raised voices, edging closer to see Jaha in front of a group of at least a dozen waiters, all dressed in white collared shirts and slate blue pants.
"There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are all college guys, and I went to Princeton and Brown to hire you. And why did I do that?" He had his hands clasped together in front of him, looking at his staff expectantly. "I shouldn't have to remind you, this is a family place. That means you keep your fingers out of the food, and you show the families a good time. Class, gentlemen."
"You think you can handle that?"
Clarke heard the voice before the girl strode into view. She was followed by a handful of guys all in staff t-shirts, Lincoln among them. And Clarke had to catch her breath. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a tight pale blue V-neck, her dark hair pulled back in intricate braids that fell down her back. She was beautiful, something about her pulling Clarke closer to the open door.
"Hey, hold it. Hold it!" Jaha raised his voice, the girl turning on her heel mid-step. "Well if it isn't the entertainment staff." She stood unaffected, her full lips set in a hard line as the man approached her, addressing the whole group. "Listen carefully. You can dance with the daughters. Teach them anything they pay for, but that's it. That's where it ends. No funny business, no conversations, and you keep your hands off. Are we clear?"
Thelonious didn't wait for a response, heading in the direction of the kitchen. A young man with dark messy hair let out a breath, turning to the girl. "It's the same in all these places. Some ass in the woods maybe, but no conversation."
The other dancers chuckled, Jaha turning back, "Watch it, Blake.
Their boss's words seemed to quiet them, the group moving off and out the front doors. But the girl was pulled up by a nearby waiter, her back stiffening.
"You think you can keep that straight, Lexa. What you can and can't lay your hands on?"
Clarke watched on as the waiter eyed the girl, before continuing to set the dining table in front of him. He had long slicked back hair that was tucked casually behind his ears, his smirk arrogant.
Lexa paused at his remark, her expression still unaffected. After a silent moment she walked over to him, the boy standing straighter. She leant in close, her lips parted, and her eyes burning over his skin. He stood nearly half a foot taller, but the ghost of a smirk appeared on the girl's lips when his own dropped from his strong features.
"Just remember to put the fork on the left, Collins. And leave the hard stuff to me." It was said low, with a teasing that sucked the air right out of the room.
The fork in the waiter's hand slipped from his fingertips and clattered to the floor, narrowly missing a stack of dinner plates. The sound echoed through the dining room, the other waiters stifling their laughter as Lexa raised her eyebrows, before walking away in the direction of the other dancers.
Clarke was lost in thoughts of dark hair, and that teasing smirk. It was all her mind could think of as Raven sidled up next to her, nudging her out of her reverie. "Managed to get another station," she beamed, not missing a beat. "It's some hillbilly nonsense, but it's better nothing."
Abby scolded her again, joining them on the balcony. But there was never any weight behind her discouraging words. And Raven knew it. Ever since Clarke had known her, Raven had always shown an interest in mechanics, pulling things apart and seeing how they worked. The girl had managed to ace every test she was ever given, getting a full ride to MIT for the fall semester.
She'd even helped Jake restore an old Chevy last summer, the pair disappearing into their garage for hours at a time, only emerging with grease staining their skin.
"Might even be able to get WFAN if I use one of the coat hangers from our closet-"
"Raven!"
"Kidding, Abby," she grinned, before lowering her voicing for Clarke's benefit. "I'm totally not."
It was well and truly dark by the time they entered the main hall, the four of them content to enjoy the view and the deep orange of sunset that lit the trees in the distance. Jaha ushered them to a table in the centre of the dining room, Clarke taking a seat next to Raven.
It was spacious; the dark walls a rustic brick, with low hanging pendant lights and polished dark wood floors. The table settings were all covered in fresh white linen and silverware, accented with a glass vase of branches that broke and curled in on themselves, Clarke having the urge to sketch the intricate angles and sharp thorns of the piece.
"Thank you, Thelonious," Abby smiled, pulling her chair further into the table.
"Doc, Jake, Clarke, Raven." He addressed each of them before indicating to the boy Clarke remembered from early with Lexa. "This is your waiter, Finn Collins. Studies at Brown University, Political Science."
Clarke watched Raven eye him with a quirk of her lips. Clarke knew that look, rolling her eyes and kicking her under the table. Raven flinched, rubbing her leg. "What?" she hissed, not above a whisper. "He's cute."
"Finn, these people are my special guests. Get them anything they want." Jaha turned back to the Griffins, "Enjoy, my friends."
Jake had his elbows resting on the table after dinner, his eyes wide. "Look at all this leftover food. Are there still starving children in Africa?"
"Finn." Abby looked up at their waiter as he was topping up her wine. "My husband wants to send his leftover chicken to Africa. So anything we don't finish, you wrap up."
Finn laughed with the rest of the table, placing the bottle back in the ice bucket. His eyes strayed to Raven briefly before he tended to another table. Raven let out an audible breath, one that Clarke caught. "Looks like I found what you'll be doing," Clarke whispered in her ear. Raven just chuckled, her eyes scanning over the small dessert menu in her hands.
"I'll definitely be doing something, Princess."
"Eww, Raven," she exclaimed, her brow furrowing. Her tone was still hushed. "No."
"You're words."
"Doc, I want you to meet someone." Jaha had returned with a young man in a clean-cut suit, Clarke looking up at them. "This is my son, Wells. Goes to the Cornell School for Hotel Administration."
"Oh, Clarke is starting Columbia in the fall," Abby boasted. "She's gonna change the world this one, Thelonious." Abby touched her hand across the table, Clarke whining under her breath, her cheeks flushing. But Wells just smiled at her, Raven making a sound of distaste.
"And what are you gonna do, young lady?" Jaha asked, looking to Raven.
"Oh, I'll be fixing it when she screws it up," she jested, the remark earning her another kick under the table.
"So are you gonna major in medicine?" Wells asked, his tone conversational. They'd somehow wound up on the dance floor, a four-piece string section playing a nameless tune on stage. It was slow, but not slow enough for Wells to get any closer, his hand resting gently on the small of her back.
"Art actually," Clarke corrected. "But I am going with my mum when she leaves for Doctors Without Borders soon too, so." Clarke shrugged like it was no big deal. And it wasn't. She'd always had a natural instinct to help others. It had been ingrained in her from a young age, Clarke visiting her mother at the hospital ever since she could walk.
They grew silent, Wells guiding her around the dance floor. He had the practiced step of someone who had been taught. Clarke had been taught too, naturally, having attended more than her share of formal dinners and black-tie events with her parents. But she let him lead, Clarke doing her best to avoid catching his gaze, her eyes on the rest of the couples spread across the floor.
She spotted Raven near the stage, dancing with their waiter, Finn. She was smiling widely at him, his look hungry and his hands too close. Clarke resisted the urge to comment as the song tapered off, giving her an excuse to pull away from Wells. Clarke missed the disappointed look he gave, joining the other guests in applauding the small collection of musicians on stage.
From the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed the crowd parting. Two girls in revealing dresses paced to the centre of the dance floor, each in black, their long dark hair falling in braids over their shoulders.
Clarke's eyes widened.
It was Lexa and the instructor from earlier that afternoon. Disregarding Wells's offer to dance again, Clarke watched them closely, another song starting. It was smooth, the lyrics in Spanish, playing over the sound system as the strings took their leave.
"Who are they?" Clarke nodded toward the two girls, trying to keep her keen interest from her tone. Her eyes were lost with the two dancers as she and Wells stood on the edge of the dance floor.
"Them?" he sighed. "Octavia and Lexa. They're the dance people." He shrugged, his hands resting on his hips. "They're here to keep the guests happy."
You don't say.
But Wells looked the farthest thing from happy, his lips set in a hard line. Clarke ignored him, her eyes trained on the two girls. All their movements were in sync, like mirror images. Their hips. Their hands. The way they moved into each other with not actually touching. They were like opposing magnets, their eyes not leaving each other. They looked amazing together. It gave Clarke a twinge of… something, half wondering whether they were more than just partners.
Lexa grazed Octavia's hand, drawing her into her chest. The whole room was fixated. It was like gravity. When Lexa dipped her, her hand running up bare thigh, it was like all the air in room had been sucked out.
"They shouldn't be showing off with each other." Wells's voice broke through her haze, Clarke forgetting he was even there. "That's not gonna sell lessons."
"They've sold me," Clarke muttered to herself. Wells was too caught up to catch her words, Clarke continuing to watch the pair. They had a complete and utter disregard for the other guests, using every inch of the dance floor. They looked lost in the music, their movements becoming filled with a tangible tension, their bodies getting closer and closer with each turn.
It wasn't until Jaha approached, signalling for them to cut it out that they even appeared to notice anyone else was in the room. Octavia smirked, Lexa features more stoic than her partner's as they paced the floor to invite the other hotel guests to join them.
Clarke was still standing with Wells when her parents waltzed over, their smiles wide. Clarke could tell the time away from New York was doing her mother good, not having seen her this happy in years. "Having fun, you two?"
"Not as much as Raven," Clarke muttered with a humourless laugh. Abby nodded with a knowing look, her eyes drifting to her other daughter.
"Actually I've gotta excuse myself," Wells said begrudgingly. "My dad needs me backstage." He turned to Clarke, his eyes apologetic. "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, I was just about to get some air anyways," Clarke dismissed, more than a little relieved at his departure. Wells nodded, taking off in the direction of the stage.
"He seems nice," Abby remarked once Wells was out of earshot. She tried to keep her tone innocent. "You two should-"
"Oh my god, I'm leaving," Clarke interjected, her face already flushing. She gave them both a forced smile. "You two enjoy."
Clarke left the dance floor and pushed through the front doors of the main hall, the cool night breeze touching her skin. It was a relief, to be away from her parents and from Wells.
And Lexa.
Before they'd left New York, and before she'd even started packing, Clarke had thought she was going to spend the summer sketching, getting lost in blank pages and the beauty of Camp Jaha. But seeing Lexa and Octavia dance, the way their bodies moved, and the way Lexa's few words managed to still echo in her ears, it had Clarke wanting to sketch more than just the trees. She wanted to draw hands and jawlines, and the curve of lips.
Stupid. So so stupid.
She shook her head gently and wandered down the pathway outside the main house. It was quiet, the cloudless sky shining on the lake, and turning the lawn and the surrounding cabins a dull blue. She could still hear the faint sounds of murmuring and music from inside, but it was becoming fainter as she walked further up the path.
It was lined with purple wild flowers, the scent of them tasting the air. Clarke ran her fingers through them as she started up the hill. It was a steep incline, one way leading to the lake and to the jetty near the tree line, the other leading up behind the main house and to cabins that climbed up the mountain side, partially hidden by the dense forest.
A staff only sign was nailed to the fence post leading to the cabins higher up. Clarke touched the sign, "Yeah, that's not likely."
She let her feet carry her, hearing music coming from a cabin further up the hill. As she got closer, a small white bridge came into view, Lincoln walking across it, his arms laden with three cases of beer.
"Hey," she greeted, jogging over to him.
"Hi." Lincoln was smiling. "How did you get here?"
"I was just taking a walk."
"You can't be here, Clarke."
Lincoln was struggling with the cases of beer, repositioning them higher on his chest. "Yeah, I saw the sign. Let me help." Clarke reached out, taking the top case from his arms. "What's up there?"
"No guests, house rules," he said, apologetic. "I saw you dancing with Wells down there." Lincoln started humming and moving his hips, taunting her. Clarke didn't bother being gentle, shoving the case back on the stack, and moved to keep walking up the hill. Lincoln stumbled back, the air leaving his lungs with the strain.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Keep a secret?" He looked at her earnestly before she could get too far. Clarke just stared back at him, taking the case of beer again with a little effort. "You're parents would kill you. And then Jaha'd kill me."
"What they don't know won't hurt them." Clarke inclined her head toward the music with a smile, "Lead the way."
They continued up the hill, Clarke following Lincoln to the front doors of the large cabin. The music had grown louder. Clarke could feel the song in the ground beneath her feet, the bass vibrating the walls. He nudged the doors open with his back, keeping a firm grip on the two boxes in his arms.
And Clarke's jaw dropped.
More than a dozen couples were dancing in the open space – if you could call it dancing – close and sweaty, grinding against each other. The cabin was darkly lit with black lights turning everyone's skin a shade of purple.
"It smells like sex in here."
Lincoln just laughed. "Wanna try it?" He was moving his hips in small circles, looking at her with a teasing glint.
"With you?" Clarke asked. "I mean you're cute, but."
Lincoln laughed again with a shake his head. "Come on, Clarke."
They weaved through the crowd, Clarke brushing up against people as she pushed through to the DJ booth in the back. No one seemed to pay her a second glance; everyone in their own sexually charged bubble. They set down the beer, Lincoln cracking open a case and tossing a can to Clarke. She took it gladly, piercing the top and taking a sip.
She leant her back against the table, looking out over the makeshift dance floor. "Could you imagine dancing like this on the main floor?" Lincoln edged, his elbows resting on the stack of beer. "Jaha would have another heart attack."
"Who's your friend?" A scrawny boy with dark messy hair poked his head over the DJ booth, removing a pair of snowboarding goggles from his eyes.
"Oh, Clarke," Lincoln spaced, turning to introduce them. "These are my boys, Jasper and Monty." He pointed to them individually, Monty nodding at her from behind the booth, a large pair of headphones secured to one ear. "They run the on site radio station."
Monty had a boyish face, and a kind smile. Clarke extended her hand to them, "My sister's not too pleased about that." Clarke took Jasper's hand, both of the boys grinning down at her.
"Sister, huh?"
"Don't even think about it, Jasper," Lincoln remarked. Jasper had a look of mock horror on his face. "You wouldn't stand two minutes with this one."
"Two minutes is all it takes, my friend."
Clarke laughed, letting Lincoln and Jasper continue their friendly banter.
Elated cheers started echoing above the music. Clarke piqued, her eyes drifting to the front doors. But the girl faltered when she saw the source of the excitement.
Lexa and Octavia were standing on the edge of the dance floor. Lexa was out of her dress, wearing skin-tight jeans and a black singlet, Octavia's denim shorts showing off just as much skin as her dress had. They looked like they owned the room, and everyone in it – and they probably did.
They pushed through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor, Lexa not wasting anytime pulling Octavia in. Every part of her was touching the other girl, starting a slow rhythm that Octavia matched. It was provocative and sexy and it made that something from earlier plant itself further in the bit of Clarke's stomach.
"That's Lexa. We grew up together," Lincoln mentioned offhand, taking a sip of his beer. "She got me the job here."
Clarke nodded absently. Lexa had Octavia's back pressed tightly against her, the other girl's fingertips getting lost in her braids. She brushed her hands over Octavia's shorts and lower, gripping bare thighs, her hips grinding into her.
"They look…" Clarke trailed off, her words lost somewhere between the two girls and the press of their bodies.
"Yeah." Lincoln just grinned, his attention on the pair as well. "You'd almost think they were a couple."
"They aren't?" Clarke's tone did nothing to hide her surprise.
The man shook his head, "Octavia doesn't play for her team."
Could've fooled me.
"Someone should tell Lexa that."
"Nah, that's just Lexa. She can be…intense."
"That's a word for it."
Clarke kept her eyes on them, Octavia biting her bottom lip and turning in Lexa's arms. The softest of smiles graced Lexa's features, her hands pulling gently at Octavia's hips. That small quirk of her lips had Clarke taking a breath and averting her gaze, feeling like she stumbled upon on something she shouldn't have been privy to.
Clarke looked to Lincoln instead, his hands playing absently with his beer can. His sight was lost on the pair. Or more so, one in particular. "Does she know?"
"Know what?" He looked over at Clarke innocently, her remark pulling him out of the moment.
"That you're in love with her," Clarke stated simply. "Octavia."
"I'm not." Lincoln shook his head. Clarke just looked at him. After a moment he shrugged, his eyes shy. "We grew up together."
"So?" Clarke countered. She slapped him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand, "Man up."
"What's she doing here?"
The smile dropped from Clarke's face. Lexa was standing in front of them, not two feet away. She didn't look at Clarke, her eyes on Lincoln as she spoke.
"She came with me," Lincoln said, tapping the cases he was still resting on. "She helped me with the beer."
Clarke kept her mouth shut.
Lexa met her gaze. Those light green eyes were piercing, appearing almost white in the black light. They held her there, unapologetically roaming over her bare skin. And then Lexa walked away without so much as another word, pushing back through the crowded dance floor to find Octavia again.
Clarke allowed herself to take a controlled breath, understanding what Lincoln meant earlier. He chuckled at her expression. "Intense, I know."
"Again, that's a word for it."
Clarke took another breath, a deep flush creeping up her neck. She gripped the edge of the table near her hips, her eyes again unable to look away from them. They were magnetic, Lexa's hands touching Octavia in a way that frankly blurred the lines. She could see a light sheen of sweat coating their skin, the heat of bodies causing a haze to settle over the dance floor.
Lexa's lips were tracing Octavia's shoulder when her eyes flicked up, training on Clarke across the room, her hips continuing to move against the other girl in time with the heavy beat. Her stare was unwavering, Clarke faltering under it.
That should not be legal.
"I think she likes you."
Lincoln was grinning at her, reminding Clarke of the look Raven always got when she was caught staring. "What about you?" she countered, trying to move the focus off her, and trying not to think too much on his words. "Just ask her to dance."
"I don't dance." Lincoln shook his head, his eyes shy again. "And her brother would kill me." He pointed to a couple over by the window. Clarke recognised him from the dining room earlier that afternoon. The boy's shaggy hair was caught in his eyes as he danced with a tall girl with dark blonde hair, their bodies close.
"And he's okay with that?" Clarke pointed to Lexa, her hands just as close, dragging over Octavia's bare skin.
"He's know Lexa most of his life," Lincoln shrugged. "He knows it's not anything sexual. Plus Lexa keeps her out of trouble for the most part."
The pair were quiet for a moment, before Lincoln nodded in the direction of the dance floor. She looked back to see Lexa walking over, Clarke's breath catching.
Her expression was guarded. But those eyes. They held something that Clarke had never seen before. Like the girl had the ability to make her feel completely bare and like the only person in the room at the same time. It sent Clarke's skin alight.
Lexa was only inches away when she reached out and wordlessly took Clarke's hand, her thoughts turning to white noise. Her hand was warm, the girl coaxing her gently to the dance floor. Clarke glanced briefly at Lincoln. The man shrugged with a smile, "Have fun."
Lexa took hold of Clarke's hips when they'd reached the middle of the floor and carefully turned her so her back was flush against her. "Here," Lexa whispered in her ear as Clarke felt fingertips ghost down one of her arms, moving her hand to rest on the back of her neck.
Clarke couldn't breathe. Monty seemed to choose that exact moment to change the song. It was much slower than the previous, Clarke mentally cursing him, and let herself be led.
She could feel Lexa's breath whisper past her ear, making her head swim. She instinctively let her head slip back on Lexa's shoulder as those hands took back their spot on her hips. Clarke was thankful to have her back turned, and not have to look into those eyes. It was a small mercy. With the way her hands gripped her, and they way her hips were moving to the beat of the music, and the softness of her hair under Clarke's fingertips, she didn't think she could handle that stare.
The small amount of alcohol in her system did little to numb her either. Her whole body was hyperaware. Every small touch, and whispered breath, every move her hips made. Clarke had never met anyone so bold before. Clarke herself was outspoken and had little regard for rules, but Lexa seemed so sure of herself; going past anything confidence would give.
It didn't take long for Clarke to be lost. Lost in Lexa, lost in the intoxicating scent of her skin, in the subtle way she was instructing Clarke on where to put her hands, and the way to move against her. In the music.
It was…intense.
Building a shred of confidence, Clarke turned in her arms, Lexa's hands dragging over her hips and letting her. Lexa's eyes were completely dilated, black eclipsing green, her lips parted.
Gripping her singlet with her fingertips, Clarke pulled their bodies closer, her confidence growing, daring her to go further. Their lips were so close, those eyes flicking down hungrily. But all too soon the song was ending. Lexa's swallowed hard. Clarke could feel the bluntness of her nails dragging over the bare skin at her hips just above the waistband of her shorts. It sent an ache lower. And then she was gone.
Clarke had let her eyes close, the tips of her fingers no longer touching cotton or the back of a neck. And when she opened her eyes, all she could see was a sea of bodies and the haze that hung low over the cabin where those eyes and those lips had been.