"With Lexa it's soft," Clarke whispers to her. Her fingers dig into the soft soil of the ground and color steadily rises high in her cheeks. The shade of the towering tree they lay under provides relief from the blistering heat that's settled. Clarke clears her throat and continues, her head knocking backward against the trees enormous trunk. "And unbelievably gentle." Her flush spreads throughout her face, up to paint the tips of her ears. "She cries sometimes," she adds softly. "And I think she thinks that something awful is going to happen. She clings to me so desperately she leaves bruises sometimes."
Raven wonders vaguely when the last time they truly talked to each other was. She not sure if fighting about Finn really ever counted. This is more intimate, they've snuck away to confide in each other and to take a break from everything Arkadia promises. They both have responsibilities they should be tending to but neither of them care. For once they're going to act their age and talk about simple things like love and sex and crushes like the teenagers they are. Raven's head lifts slightly from Clarke's lap and she tries fruitlessly to catch her eyes. Clarke doesn't allow it. Instead, she deflects and asks a question that Raven has to consider. "What's it like with her?"
Her.
Raven appreciates Clarke's subtly.
If being with Lexa is soft, Octavia is anything but. Raven tries to find the words to tell Clarke this. About Octavia. About the sex. About the fiery way they've come to love each other. But she finds it difficult to summon those words and her confession sticks awkwardly in her throat.
But being with Octavia really is unlike anybody she's ever been with before. Raven's had soft before, that was Finn. He made her gifts and kissed her slowly. He was always so gentle and careful and giving when they were together. It was fine, she was content. Raven was okay with it if Finn was. Back then Finn was enough with her and she felt whole but that was before the ground.
With Wick, she even had the bruises Clarke talks about. Wick was patient and understanding until he got sick of waiting and left bruises on Raven's skin before Bellamy burst in and nearly killed him. And even with Bellamy it was fleeting and spurred on for all the wrong reasons. There wasn't much to talk about, it only happened once and it didn't fix anything.
But Octavia isn't Finn, she isn't Wick, and she definitely isn't her brother. Octavia is something entirely different in all the right ways.
She expected gentle kisses from Octavia, that's how she kissed Lincoln. (Look how that ended. Two broken hearts that didn't understand each other anymore.) When their relationship started she expected softness. She expected their fingers to coax each other to sweet, gentle orgasms that were pleasing and fine. Raven was used to fine. She expected tender words to be shared between them, she expected it to be like when she pleases herself. The one thing she didn't anticipate is liking it as much as she does.
Being with her is hot, it's sweaty, it's intoxicating. It's blindly clawing at each other's backs and leaving inflamed nail trails behind, it's lapping into the blood that steadily spills from her lower lip, it's the fire low in her stomach that burns so fiercely it almost hurts. Octavia helps her relieve it, she always does.
Sometimes it's with her hands. They claim purchase on her throat, tightening teasingly so that Raven sees stars like she's on the Ark again. And it's Octavia's fingers. They catch in her hair and anchor themselves to her hips. They stretch and spread her wide open, plunging so deep inside and curling that Raven knows she's never felt anything so good and nothing quite this warm. Because with Octavia, she wasn't just fine. She didn't waste her time with a love story that didn't belong to either of them. She didn't pretend that Raven was Lincoln and that being with her could distract her from all her problems. Octavia acts like Raven is the answer.
How's she supposed to tell Clarke that Octavia's mouth makes her ache? She secretly treasures the hickeys Octavia sucks harshly into her skin, between her thighs, and along her stomach. She doesn't have words to explain that mere strokes of Octavia's tongue reduces headstrong Raven Reyes into a whimpering mess that begs for release. She can't find the words to tell her that it's wet, especially when Octavia's fingers are in her mouth, and that it's dirty, particularly when Octavia rides her face and whispers obscenities in two languages instead of one. It's the opposite of what Lexa is to Clarke, but the same because she knows that Octavia loves her, she tells her when it's over and Raven tells her right back.
She wants to ask Clarke if Lexa makes her ache afterward like Octavia does. Can she still feel her long after she's gone? It's lustful love left behind in the form of soreness and a gentle ache between her things. It's the same love that leaves causes her body to ache to be ruined all over again.
Clarke nudges her softly, an expectant look on her face. What's being with Octavia like, she reminds herself. It seems impossible to sum it up in just a couple words. But Clarke told her about Lexa and it's only fair she returns the favor. "Raven?" Clarke whispers.
"Being with her is hot," she whispers back. "And consuming. She's nothing I've ever felt before and all I ever want to feel again."
To her surprise, Clarke nods. Does she understand? Has Raven gotten love wrong the whole time? Is this actually what it is? Raw, confusing, intoxicating, warm?
"Yeah," Clarke says, like she knew exactly what Raven was thinking.
"Yeah?"
Clarke nods again firmly and starts to toy with the end of Raven's ponytail, a longing, far away look taking residence on her features. She looks up and finds that Clarke is smiling absently and for the first time in a while she thinks that her and Clarke are on the same page.