One kiss.

You could say they had only ever shared one kiss, but it had been more than that, less physical, but deeper. They had shared faith in themselves and their people and each other; a faith that Lexa had betrayed and that had broken Clarke's heart in a way that she never even knew could happen. In Lexa, she had seen a reflection of herself despite clear and obvious differences as well, and it hurt more than she could put into words that maybe Lexa was not quite like her at all and there was no one who understood the position that coincidence and time had put her in. Perhaps it was the fact that they were more alike than she ever could have thought that pulled more at her heartstrings: after all, had she not put her people before everything as well?

One kiss and she still felt the taste of Lexa on her tongue, sweet and begging for more despite the bitterness she felt towards her and despite the fact that she knew there never would or could be more.

One kiss and she had wanted Lexa to forget everything that was happening around her and actually managed for as long as the kiss lasted and wanted Lexa to kiss her like that everywhere.

One kiss and things had fallen into place for Clarke Griffin and she had understood why kissing men had never felt as good as she had grown up expecting and why kissing Lexa had felt so fucking right.

As Niylah left open-mouthed kisses on her collarbone, her hands stroking her thighs, coaxing her to open them for her, the disguised blonde was acutely aware of the fact that these were not Lexa's lips, Lexa's kisses, even though Lexa had never kissed her there, touched her there. Maybe she was not into women but just into Lexa, it crossed her mind.

Maybe she was into feeling the person she mirrored herself to so close.

Forcing her eyes closed tighter, she used the small shred of sanity that she had left in her after being on her own for so long, after what she had had to do to save her people while Lexa did what she had to do to save hers, into believing that it was Lexa lying on top of her. Her dirty hands gripped the sheets tight, refraining herself from running through the hair that wasn't Lexa's, running across the bare back that was not the Commander whose weight she desired to feel upon her.

She needed to fool herself into believing Lexa hadn't betrayed her. She needed to fool herself into believing this could be the two of them together – a connection that she needed to hold onto for her sanity.

She was never prepared for how she would feel when waking up next to the bare woman that was not Lexa, to the way her throat constricted when confronted with her own need and with who she had become.