A/N: Yes, you asked for it, it is there. Although it was not planned, it kind of happened. And am I glad it did. I don't usually write in third person but I think I might do it more often because Jesus, it felt good. Enjoy the SinQuel, my gay thirsty babies. Enjoy it. I might add more chapters, who knows? If you have prompts or headcanons, please do share at ifwearestrangers on tumblr.
If just for tonight, darling, (let's get lost).
Things have been good, and peaceful. They have been for a while. Clarke can only be grateful for that, the hard days of the war a fresh memory that starts to fade gently. It's not a healed wound yet, but not nearly as painful as it once was, and the injury is slowly becoming a scar, resting unforgotten besides so many others.
She doesn't care too much for them, she doesn't wish for them to go away. Some she wished would have never existed, but what has been done cannot be erased and she'll gladly accept them as the foundations of the life they have built here. It was worth the fight, and when she looks up at the stars, a former home that have seen her grow, she feels like she can let herself be. Sometimes, she even surprise herself by thinking of the word happy, and, if she's being honest, she doesn't feel guilty as often as she once did when allowing it in her mind.
She doesn't dare speak it aloud yet, but, she lives in the hope that maybe one day, she will.
Peace was their goal, their duty, their fate. Hapiness can be their salvation, and it's on the tip of their fingers.
Clarke has taken full residence in Polis, she is no longer just a guest here, no longer just the Ambassador of the Skaikru. She's Wanheda. She's Heda's partner. People have come to respect that. It has been a trial, it has. It has been tiring, but after a few months, citizens of the capitol and members of the coalition were forced to see the benefits of her presence. How her leadership completed the Commander's, never overshadowing it, simply influencing in the right ways.
Lexa is glad for the change. She revels in the possibilities that comes with having someone you can lean on. With having support, and when eyes are not prying, guidance. She forgets sometimes how much she still needs that. And, in the quiet of the night, she often wishes Anya hadn't gone too soon. She allows herself again to mourn and grieve losses that will forever haunts her choices.
Her ongoing relationship with a certain blonde fiery has soothed some of that bitterness, the one nobody but her gets to see. She feels it in her soul, that this girl is the light on her path. The closeness, affection, and domesticness they have achieved over the course of the last year amazes her still. Never would she have imagined her life to feel so; serene.
There are moments of doubts. Living in a world like theirs is challenging, and there is still much to change. There are fights, and reminiscing of past mistakes, slipping accidentally from one's mouth, to prove an unnecessary point. There are moments of silence that hurt more than words. But those are lost in the sea of understanding, shared decisions, and supportive looks.
The physical connection is not something she expected, though. Lexa had been with Costia, yes. She had loved on her many times in secret meetings, hidden in her room. It had been good, and she cherishes those memories like a treasure, but there is no comparising. What she feels for Clarke is entirely new, and unique.
She burns constantly with a raging passion for the girl, deep desire. She feels an unfamiliar hunger for her body, the need to love on her, being loved by her, relentless. The eargerness to connect. And, in their moments of slow discovery, of frenzied touches, she feels like the intimacy they share is far beyond physical.
Clarke goes to visit Arkadia sometimes. Never long, when Lexa can't tag along. But this time, Abby had been missing her, and so she indulges and spends a few days away. They turn into a week. Lexa is going mad, and when alone at night, mind reeling and exhausted from all the Heda duty, she has nothing more to do than to plan how she is going to greet the blonde when she gets back.
And, when faced with loneliless and silence, she gets the luxury to imagine. And boy, does she have imagination. She thinks of all the things Clarke likes and what she wants to try, and do to her.
And Wanheda is gone for a long time. So the list goes on. And on. Lexa wonders if there'll ever be an end to it.
When the day comes, Clarke is shivering with anticipation, this is the first time they had been away from each other's that long. And Lexa had left her with a few dirty words in her ear, because she's sneaky like that. And Clarke's impatient. She marches the streets of Polis, feeling rested and excited. Soon, she'll get to be with Lexa again.
When she enters the bedroom, the low light of the descending sun is casting much like the day they loved on each others for the first time. However, once the door is closed, she founds herself alone, and wonders if the brunette's here at all. She doesn't see her right away, rather she feels her, behind her, she feels the air shift, and breath on her.
She feels the atmosphere tense, and she's torn between just waiting for whatever is to come and throwing herself at Lexa because she missed her. She settles for a compromise, and whispers "I'm glad I'm home."
And she is, Polis is home. Lexa, is home.
And the Commander, breath ragged, uncontrolled, just takes her in, and says "Do you know how I missed you, Clarke?"
The blonde goes to answer, to say she does, to say she knows. Beg her already to show some loving, but Lexa's not done.
"Do you know how I thought about you every minute you were gone. How I thought about showing you just how I have been waiting for you."
There are no sounds apart from those of heavy breathing. Heart thumping. It allows for the words to sink in, to be absorbed, and appreciated. The jacket on her shoulders is pulled off, falling at their feet, useless now. The returning Ambassador can only be grateful for the warming weather, and the loose tank top she chose to wear.
Next thing Clarke feels is Lexa's hands on her lower back, but she doesn't move. Somehow, she knows she can't. Physically her brain cannot order her, and she feels Lexa's authority even if she hasn't voiced it. She feels it in the tips of the fingers that trace patterns on her back, drawing promises of pleasure, fulfillment.
So she doesn't dare defy the unspoken command.
"Oh, I have tought about it," Lexa says, pressing closer but not nearly close enough. And Clarke loves the slow torture.
Hands are getting more consistant, they're touching now, more than brushing, and muscles clench under them.
The silence is loud, but Lexa's words however low, are louder. She's already a mess, she's already going mad with want-desperation, but the waiting is oh so good.
"I dreamt of all the ways I wanted to make your body crave for me."
Clarke wants to cry, tell her that her body already craves. There are hands that strokes her hips, her stomach, so slowly, so deliciously. She craves for more of that. They go up, stops just when they reach her upper ribs.
"Please," is the only word willing to pass her lips. She has no control, she can't think.
"Have you thought of this, Clarke?" The blonde can't breathe. Her legs are threatening to give out. She's shaking. "Have you thought about my hands on you when you were alone at night?"
Be strong, she tells herself. Don't crumble, she thinks. It'll be worth it.
"Did you pretend your hands were mine when you were alone and needy?"
Clarke nods at this, there is really no point in denying. There is no point in hiding her desires for the perfect girl that is shattering her soul, crashing down her walls to smithereens. She has a feeling that it'll only make things better, somehow. And she is not wrong. Because then, lips are on her neck, and hands roam bolder. Nails even claw the skin of her abs and she whimpers.
"Of course, Clarke, just like I did." And the button of the blonde's pants is opened, and teasing fingers slip inside, and her breath stop. The way Lexa says her name repeatedly should be forbidden, for it does things to her body she does not dare speak aloud.
For a second she thinks that this is it. Finally, finally, Heda will indulge her. Will touch her. And she feels like she's about to receive the Holy Grail, like the gods above, may they exist, will cast the sacred light on her. But the hand stops, and she might cry all over again.
"Wait for it, Clarke, you have to wait for it." And she does, oh she has been, she wants to say. She's frozen, unbreathing, ready. It's insane. "I've waited for you for so long, and do you know how good it felt when my patience was rewarded?"
Clarke knows it, she does. That's why she doesn't move, hands flexing at her sides, "I have been good, and patient, hopeless at times, but it did pay off."
Heart beats louder than words.
"And I have missed you, I have yearned for you. Tonight, I get to have you."
The husky, quiet voice in her ear echoes across every inch of her. The unmoving hand, hot against her skin, burning, lastly, moves and heat welcomes fingers.
Finally, Clarke can breathe again, seeing stars behind her closed eyes, her mind only able to think of the promises of pure bliss and love under the midnight hour.
But the night is not yet there, she has to focus on the now. The blissful sensation of Lexa's fingers indulging, but teasing all the same. This is not nearly enough, this is entirely too much. She's torn, torn between two feelings that are eating her whole, there is nothing she can do now, but throw her head back, exposing a willing neck to be kissed and bitten.
There is nothing she can do other than shake, cry out. There is a blubbering sound that escapes her, it vaguely resembles Lexa's name. Her arms trembles. She has to brace herself.
"Hold onto me," is said, but it doesn't just sound reassuring, it also sound.. inviting. Tempting. Devilish. "Hold onto me," she hears again.
When fingers enters her, slowly enough that she wants to just flex her knees to accelerate the process, she reaches behind her and grips Lexa's hips. "And when everything crumbles, I'll be your sacred ground."
The turmoil inside of her is grand, there is just too much pleasure, too much yearning altogether. The thrusts are slow, but tangible, teasing but fulfilling.
Lexa witnesses the scenery with rapt attention. She misses nothing, revels in everything. The way Clarke's neck throb with the pumping in her veins. The feeling of it inside her mouth, when she bits, sucks on it. The incessant grip of Clarke's hands on her hips, painful in all the right ways. The feeling of her stomach under her hand, clenching, tensing, clenching again. Clarke's moans, Clarke's breath, Clarke's insides. Clarke. Clarke.
She lusts after the blonde's lips, how she wants to kiss them, feel them. The knowledge that she has all night to do just that, and better yet, the rest of her life, is nearly enough to get her off. Or make her cry. Possibly both at once.
Behind the blonde's eyes a whole new world creates itself. Only Lexa exists there.
The abandon is both thrilling and alarming. Clarke has lost any form of control whatsoever, over her body, and her mind. She is lost, somewhere deep within herself and something so charateristically Lexa. Something is coming her way, familiar and unknown at the same time. She fears for what it is, but she wants to know. She tries to hold on to reality and prevent it from happening, she'll be lost forever if it does.
"Let yourself go, Clarke," she barely hears, though the words are right against her ear. The thrusting of fingers inside her becomes more forceful, more present. More substantial. They move faster. They are her only truth to this world. The only thing she can feel, experience, acknowledge.
Maybe, in the space of Lexa's arms, Lexa's safety, her free hand holding ever so gently her neck, her face, while the other, in contrast, starts to get relentless,maybe Clarke tells herself that she could let go. She thinks she has to. Or she will die from tension and ecstasy.
"I'll be there to catch you." And it's the last straw, really, because, with these words, the almighty Wanheda, fearless and fierce, killer of many, ruler of even more, is powerless. She's doomed to accept her fate, and for once, it's glorious and bright, and good. Something snaps, releases, and waves after waves of elation, and euphoria, wreck her body.
It's compelling, and she falls. Litterally and figuratively. Litterally, she falls to her knees because her body is drained. Figuratively, she falls down the abyss. She feels like flying. She's falling, and the name of the abyss is love. It's endless and she will fall in there for the remaining of her days.
Lexa watches her, fallen too, holding the goddess in her arms, the true beauty that just offered her the view of her life. She will never get over it. She doesn't believe she got to witness something like this. So she holds her, murmurs thank you's to her skin, brush her hands over her skin, trails love over her while she calms down.
It takes a while, because what happened here was like nothing they ever experienced. But Heda is patient. Heda knows to wait for good things to come.
"Is- Why- I just-" And, really nothing is willing to form coherently. "Fuck." And her voice is hoarse. Screaming was involved.
"Something along those lines."
Clarke finds enough strength to laugh. "Oh God." Disbelief, shock.
"My name is Lexa, but I guess God is fine, too." And the feeling of the smirk, small and tender on the blonde's neck, will be the death of her.
"What did you just do to me?" And there is many answers to this questions. Too many in fact.
"I was merely trying to get a point across."
"What exactly was it?"
"That I am consumed by my love for you."
"Point taken. Very much, very.. thoroughly taken."
The blonde's head is leaning on the Commander's shoulder, still facing away, however, they're embracing now.
"So, would you say it was as good for you as it was for me?"
And Clarke wants to laugh at that, because, she thinks Lexa must have blacked out at some point if she even considers asking the question. But she doesn't, she can't, because she senses the vulnerability, she senses the doubts.
It still rattles her that someone who just gave her this.. this.. surreal experience, being so in control of herself, so sure, can question the blatant evidence of her efficiency. So she just turns around, still weak, craddles Lexa's face in her hands. And it's the first time she looks at her. Sees her. God, isn't she beautiful.
Her face isn't pained, it's conflicted. She wants to hide the weakness. Still holding on to a little bit of pride. Face somewhat held high, but eyes asking and demanding. Clarke can do nothing but kiss her. Hard. It feels like heaven's gate have opened, like she has been granted a place there for eternity.
"You lived it, you already know." She says, confident, forceful, convinced. "I have never experienced something quite like this. Ever. Neither did you."
And Lexa nods. Once. In true Commander fashion, but Clarke can see past it, because she allows her to. And she kisses her again.
The kiss is a reminder of all the things that have yet to be done, all the feelings that are yet to be showned.
They make quick work of expressing all of them, drawing breaths and name's out of each other's lips.
When the night begins to take over and the light starts to fade, they realize: they never quite made it to the bed.
It's Lexa that gets up first, a bit cold and in desperate need for comfort.
"Where are you going? I'm not done loving you yet." Clarke says, laughing, getting up to run after her lover, who just throws a lopsided smirk over her shoulder. And both of them know. They tell themselves through light touches and kind kisses, that they never will be.