It was just after dusk. Clarke registered the mellow spectrum of color painted along the horizon. The remains of the sun's rays oozed and settled over the forest, drifting onto Polis like a layer of fine dust over wood.
A content hum settled in the back of her throat. She sat comfortably on the balcony outside the bedroom, her maternal gaze overlooking the sprawling city below her. It had been a slow day, a rare one that granted Clarke the leisure to soak up the remnants of the day in peace. The warm cushions protected her from the cold stone bench beneath her. An unfinished sketch lay idle in her lap as Clarke dropped her pencil from her tired grip.
She sighed, clenching and unclenching her fist like she has done countless times in the past few months. A cool wind settled over her and chilled her hands. Clarke stared at her right hand, as if willing it to register the cold, the wind, anything. It remained dull and muted.
No one knew that Clarke couldn't feel in her right hand, not even Lexa. The fact had never really bothered her before, and it had never impaired her when she scribed new treaties or familiarized herself with swords, bows, and knives. Clarke found it strange that her discomfort finally manifested itself now after all this time.
It all started years ago at Mt. Weather. It began with her panicked awakening in a stark white room, her frantic pleas for Monty, her desperate escape through a shattered window. Clarke had hardly registered the shard of glass slicing her forearm open, how deep the ragged edge had cut her. There was far too much going on, far too much at stake, for Clarke to have preoccupied herself with her own well-being.
But she did remembering struggling even then to maintain a strong grip, how she clenched and unclenched her fingers trying to get more blood supply to her numb fingers. It didn't help that, in a brilliant escape plan she had concocted with her brilliant mind, Clarke brutally ripped open her stitches a second time. She's quiet sure that move alone exacerbated her nerve damage beyond repair.
Loss of sensation wasn't without its perks, though. Clarke was grateful for her startlingly high pain tolerance during her first and last encounter with the Ice Queen. She had to bite back a smug smile when she dug the knifepoint harshly across her palm without a flinch. Intimidation was easy when you couldn't feel pain, literally.
Then, of course, there was the day Clarke ripped the still-smoking barrel of her gun away from a manic Titus. She remembered it (always with sickening dread) as if it had happened just a day ago. Clarke had desperately yanked the gun away just in time to deflect a shot carelessly aimed at Lexa. The moment of her lover's near demise burned into Clarke's memory more than the white-hot metal had burned her skin.
Clarke shuddered, though not from the cold. She stared at her hand again and gently probed for sensation. Clarke mechanically recalls the sensorial and mechanical functions of her ulnar, radial, and median nerve. After methodically examining each finger and the palmar and dorsal side, Clarke determined that there must be at least some damage in all her nerves (though she suspected her median nerve took the heaviest damage since she could hardly feel anything in her thumb, index, middle, and ring finger). Pain and temperature detection was obliterated, though general touch has been markedly dampened. She still registered sensation, but everything felt ghostly and less defined. Thankfully, her motor functions were more or less intact. Were that not the case, Clarke was certain Lexa would have noticed by now (for multiple reasons). Clarke smirked and blushed as memories of gloriously toned skin and a graceful arched neck above fur bedding flashed across her mind.
Oh, Clarke paused her fantasizing, an epiphany glazing over her as her eyes widened in realization. It's Lexa.
Clarke huffed, almost with laughter were it not for the throbbing ache in her chest. Of course it's about Lexa.
In the past, being able to feel had never really done Clarke much good. If anything, it had only given her pain and grief. She became comfortable with manipulation after she realize compassion was a double-edged sword. She had trained her heart for survival, and she never needed feelings for that. Much like her heart, having a numb hand had probably served Clarke much better than if she had a hand that could feel.
But now that she was with Lexa, now that she could touch her, caress her, consume her and be consumed by her, Clarke ached for the ability to feel her. She wanted to feel the softness of her skin, to touch every bump and divot on her body, to revel in her naked warmth. Clarke ached to love Lexa with every part of her body, to hold her slender and strong frame against her own and feel every surface of her skin melt into Lexa's. She yearned for the simplicity of holding Lexa's hand and relishing the constant contact. She wanted to brush her hand across Lexa's lips and feel her trembling breath on her fingertips. Clarke wanted Lexa, in every way possible, and suddenly being numb no longer felt as comforting as it had before.
So distracted was Clarke by her spiraling thoughts into that part of her mind that she didn't register the creaking of the large wooden door. It was only the rhythmic clicking of hard-heeled boots slowly approaching her that drew Clarke's attention. Before she even finished turning around, her face was plastered with a radiant smile. She was greeted with a slighter smile that was just as vibrant.
"Hei," Clarke greeted softly, her voice huskier after hours of silence.
"Hei," The Commander answered, a smile lacing the gentle melodic tone.
Lexa was leaning against a column at the balcony entrance, her expression content and eyes gazing lovingly at Clarke. She was wearing the fur coat Clarke had met her in, though it now hung unclasped and loose around her defined shoulders to reveal the simple black top beneath it. She was a picture of ease and casualness, so very different from the initial stoic and rigid Commander despite wearing nearly the exact same outfit. It had taken them a long time and many struggles to reach this point. But as Clarke met Lexa's adoring gaze with one of her own, she knew it had all been worth it for this moment.
Lexa's expression grew rueful as she glanced at the last daylight slipping away beyond the horizon. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Even when there is no war, someone somewhere will attempt to take a mundane issue and turn it into one." Clarke chuckled, lightly shaking her head.
"You know that of all people, I am not someone you need to apologize to for that." A wicked gleam flashed in Clarke's blue eyes as she raised a devious eyebrow. "Besides, seeing you go to war over slaughtered chickens would be worth it, if only to see you back in your warpaint." Lexa snickered. She knew just how much Clarke enjoyed her warpaint, especially when it painted the inside of her thighs.
"Well, if I should not be sorry for you, than I shall be sorry for myself for having lost precious time with you."
Clarke blushed, a toothy smile plastered on her face as her heart fluttered. "Charmer."
Lexa smirked in response, loving the way she could still fluster Clarke with a few choice words. Lexa pushed off of the stone column and walked around the bench to stand in front of Clarke, blue eyes never leaving her. She bent and pressed their lips together in a soft lingering kiss.
"Hello," Lexa grinned, her lips just barely grazing Clarke's.
"Hi," Clarke sighed dreamily, fully letting herself melt under that incredible mouth. She felt Lexa plop down beside her and let out the tiniest groan, her body sagging with relief after a long day. Clark reached out her right hand and began massaging the tight muscles at the back of Lexa's neck. Her groans grew louder as Clarke felt her body heat up at the sound.
Clarke continued to work on breaking the alarming number of knots along her spine, but slowly her fingers began to grow weaker. Every touch sent an uncomfortable tingle up her arm, like pins and needles only with more pressure. It just felt overwhelmingly wrong to Clarke, like her body knew this wasn't the right sensation she was meant to be feeling. She was suppose to be feeling the smooth warm skin of her lover beneath her, but there was nothing but fuzziness. Clarke sighed, gently slowing down her movements before dropping her hand into her lap. She gazed at her hand for just a fraction too long, her brows furrowed in silent frustration. She already felt green eyes gazing at her.
"Clarke, what's wrong?" Lexa asked, her hands gently cupping Clarke's face to meet her eyes. The tender and worried look on her face still made Clarke's heart stuttered. Clarke pressed into the hands lingering on her jaw, her eyes closing as if relishing the contact. "It's nothing," Clarke replied. "Just something silly that should not be bothering me."
"It is peacetime, Clarke. I just settled a noise complaint between two ambassadors for excessively celebrating the end of harvest season. It is a time for dwelling on silly and mundane problems."
"Mmm," Clarke acknowledged absentmindedly. It really is nothing, Clarke thought as she remembered agonizing over political negotiations and battle strategies. I've handled worse. "I'm fine Lexa, really," Clarke assured, offering a smile she hopes is genuine enough. "I'm just glad you're here, ai niron."
Lexa remained unconvinced, her eyebrows still furrowed over probing green eyes, but she can't help softening at the doting words that fell from Clarke's mouth. Even after all this time, Clarke's external affection still left her trembling and weak as the day they first made love, on the precipice of Clarke leaving her again and on the eve of an even darker moment at the end of a smoking pistol. She released Clarke's face in her hands only to press into her side. Her arm snaked behind Clarke, making sure to weave through soft blonde hair before settling gently on her shoulders. Her other hand snuck onto Clarke's lap and gave it a comforting squeeze. Clarke hummed at the feeling.
Lexa dipped her head and gently pressed a kiss at the soft patch of skin just behind Clarke's jaw angle beneath her ear. She replaced her lips with the tip of her nose, inhaling deeply before skimming down the column of Clarke's neck to her clavicle and back up. Clarke sucked a sharp intake of breath at the sensation, too eager and buzzed on the feeling of Lexa enveloping her. She felt her whole body come alive as Lexa continued her slow assault. Clarke leaned into Lexa, letting her head droop slightly to inhale the earthy scent that was uniquely Lexa.
Lexa had always loved with her whole body, and Clarke felt again the hollow ache deep in her chest at her disability. Clarke had always been more emotive on the surface, but she was never good at revealing her true colors even after her defenses had been stripped. Lexa was different. She was like a dam with impossibly high walls. It took an exceptional effort (or an exceptional woman) to crack that stoic facade. But once the walls were cracked, she hit you like a goddamn tidal wave, sworn fealties and all.
She had been relentless in showering Clarke with subtle actions that always spoke volumes in a way only Lexa could have pulled off. It had almost been too much, what with Clarke struggling to control her growing love while still holding a fierce grudge for what happened at Mt. Weather. But being the remarkably stubborn woman she was, Clarke knew that only a force of nature could have broken through to her. And that's what Lexa was, a force of nature, in everything she did. Even as she stroked Clarke's arm and continued to trail soft lips over the column of her neck, Clarke could feel the torrential energy that buzzed beneath gentle grazes.
Clarke was content to just sit there, lazily watching the night encroach as she and Lexa breathed each other in, when a sharp pain suddenly lanced down her right arm. Oh right, that was also a thing now. Phantom nerve pains. They were frequent but banal, just a small prick of a reminder of what her forearm and hand used to sense. Clarke had already trained herself to ignore it, but her hand still twitched at the initial sensation.
Lexa picked up on it almost immediately, her keen eyes picking up on the small movement and the quirk of a frown on Clarke's lips. She brushed her fingers across Clarke's arm and quirked her eyebrows, what was that?
Clarke hurried to cover up her unconscious tick. "Just the chill in the breeze, niron."
Lexa hummed and nodded slowly, her fingers still gliding back and forth on her clothed bicep. The next time her fingers drifted down, they kept going, trailing down past her elbow, down over the ugly scar on her forearm, and landed to grasp onto Clarke's hands folded neatly in her lap. Clarke's breath stuttered, apprehension nuzzling the back of her mind wondering if Lexa had somehow discovered her secret. She was so smart it would hardly surprise her. Clarke tried to ignore the ache lingering in her chest at her right hand only registering the faintest presence of Lexa's warm grip. Lexa shifted in her seat to face Clarke as she raised both of Clarke's hands in her strong grip.
"Your hands are cold," she mumbled, her voice laced with such care and gentle concern that it made Clarke's insides tremble. Taking Clarke's hand between her own, Lexa began to rub at a steady yet vigorous pace. She paused every once in a while to bring the hand close to her mouth and breathe warm air onto pale skin. Each time, Clarke felt the wisps of Lexa's breath linger and send shivers up her arm. Lexa repeats this several times, alternating between brisk rubs and long exhales that, Clarke thought, were way to sensual to be fair.
As Clarke's hand began to warm, quick rubs descended into soothing caresses and warm breathes evolved into feather-light kisses and lips grazing smooth skin. Clarke let out a quiet gasp, her muted senses nonetheless overwhelmed because this was Lexa, andClarke will always be overwhelmed with her.
Lexa flipped Clarke's hand and traced the pink scar that stretched all the way across. Clarke had told her, after everything with Nia had blown over, the reasoning behind the clandestine meeting. Lexa knew how far Clarke was willing to go to keep her safe. Clarke felt Lexa press a trail of kisses along the raised line, her fingers brushing along calloused knuckles.
"All warm?" Lexa mumbled into her hand, her lips and nose nuzzling the scarred palm. Clarke's heart nearly burst with love as her fingers gentle curled to caress Lexa's jaw. When Clarke gently pried her hand away and cupped Lexa's face, she swore she felt the warmth in those flushed cheeks.
"Yeah, it is," Clarke whispered, her eyes full and bright with overwhelming emotion. They are not the only ones that are shinning with unspoken devotion.
God, she loved this woman. She loved her so, so much.
Lexa must see it, because the next moment she was pressed against Clarke and smashing their lips together in a hungry embrace. Clarke gasped into her before diving deeper into the kiss, her hands already shifting unconsciously to grasp onto wavy brown locks. Her back fell onto the cushions beside her, and she moaned at the glorious sensation of Lexa bearing down on her. She could feel Lexa grin into the kiss and press herself even further into Clarke's supple body. Clarke wrapped her hands around the sharp edges of Lexa's shoulder blades and squeezed at the rolling muscles. For a moment, Clarke thought they would sprout angel wings.
Tongues pressed against each other as their lips moved in a passionate dance. Lexa can't seem to find a place for her hands to land. She brushed along golden hair, caressed a slender neck, and grasped at the hems of Clarke's shirt as if she couldn't get enough of the woman beneath her, arching into her. Their kiss grew hungrier, as if neither woman could ever get enough of the other. Clarke latched her teeth on a plump lower lip and sucked on it with a groan. Overwhelmed, Lexa broke the kiss.
"Clarke," she gasped, her breath coming short and fast against Clarke's flushed cheek. Lexa immediately began an assault on the edge of her jaw, leaving a trail of love bites down a neck she had so dearly worshiped just a few moments ago. Clarke hissed out in pleasure at the sharp possessive movements. She urged Lexa away from her neck and dragged her to her feet before pulling her lips back onto hers.
They stumbled towards the bed, grasping at clothes and hair and tugging each other along, never leaving each other longer than they needed to. The long fur coat was stripped and forgotten with Clarke's light jacket. They always came together with a sense of desperation. No matter the pace, fast or slow, rough or soft, there was always an undercurrent of yearning and longing, like they knew how easily they could have lost all of this. How easily they could still lose it.
Shirts were ripped off as knees hit the furs layered on the large bed. Hands and fingers are just a little frantic as they work to remove breast bands and unbutton trousers. Shoes were toed off without grace along with pants and underwear, leading Clarke to trip in the process and stumble on top of Lexa as they fell in a heap onto the bed. Giggles at their clumsiness became moans as bare skin pressed tightly, deliciously, against each other.
Clarke was still kissing Lexa, her passion running on endless fuel as her hands began to roam the familiar slopes of her beloved. She broke the kiss to leave a trail of sloppy kisses down Lexa's neck, only to stop and latch onto the pulse point just above the hallow of her collarbone. Clarke felt long fingers grasp tightly onto her hair, urging her as she sucked and licked. Clarke lived for the noises Lexa was making. Her right hand found its way to ample breasts and sensitive peaks. She doted on them with caresses and gropes before trailing down her sternum, her abdomen, and finally between parted legs.
They've done this so many times, and yet every time it's different. Every touch felt new and addicting as Clarke explored all the ways she could create the most wonderful sounds from Lexa's parted lips. She could feel how much Lexa wanted her. Even with her numb hand, she swore she could feel how hot and warm and deliciously ready she was, and it made her moan with wanton desire. A part of Clarke rationalized the improbability of what she was experiencing, but she could hardly summon the energy to care. Lexa was here, with her, underneath her, around her. She could feel every clench, every ragged breath by her ear, every press of sweat-slicked skin against her as Clarke worked her up and up. She felt Lexa arch up into her as if desperate to be one with her. It made Clarke come alive and her whole body sing in chaotic bliss. And when Lexa cried out as she crashed over the edge, Clarke's hand burned in the flames of her passion.
After, with Lexa pressed closely into her back, an arm slung over her waist and a leg tucked between her legs, Clarke once again eyed her right hand, opening and clenching it. It was still fuzzy, but maybe not quite the same as before. Clarke knew what she had felt, what she had touched in the throws of bringing her love ultimate pleasure. She can't stem her beaming smile at the thought that loving Lexa and being loved by Lexa had literally brought back sensation into her hand. What a poetic sap she had become. It didn't matter that she had most likely conjured such sensation in the moment. Clarke no longer felt the hollow ache that had unsettled her for so long. She no longer worried if the numbness in her hand and heart would not be enough. Lying here, in a toasty embrace basking in filtered moonlight, Clarke doesn't think she has ever felt more in her life than she does right now, with Lexa, in a time of peace.