A commission for melancholicsnow, who asked for some Clexa. Which I really needed since this hiatus came around.
A/N: This can be unrelated to the first chapter. It's meant to stand alone.
Disclaimer: I do not own The 100.
Midnight Sun
Sneaking out wasn't always easy.
Especially when they were both more or less the highest-ranking members of their respective parties.
They had their plates full in every sense but the literal one: chores to complete, people to train, weapons to inspect, and all for the measly reward of a half-cooked rabbit leg and a palm-full of muddy water.
They'd both grown accustomed to it all over the months, one more so than the other, judging by how much longer she'd been here, but Clarke was learning, too. She was learning new ways to fight, new things about new enemies, new things about old friends.
But more importantly than all of that, she was learning new ways to sneak out.
Another successful combination of twisted words and convincing smiles had allowed her to slip away from the camp in solitude. She didn't know what methods Lexa used to dismiss her guards and convince them to let her go off into the woods alone at such a late hour, but Clarke knew by now it was pointless to ask.
She can see her now, waiting, leaning against the trunk of a forked pine tree broken by time and wind. Her arms are crossed in that patiently impatient way of hers, her solid posture that of a highly-skilled Commander, and yet if you hadn't been looking for her, you'd have walked right past.
She shifts like a shadow in the velvet twilight, her eyes narrowing as she hears footsteps approaching. Only when she realizes it is who she'd been expecting does she finally seem to do what she so rarely did. She lets her guard down, and though the creeping darkness makes it difficult to tell, Clarke is willing to bet that her lips are curling up into that minuscule smirk she loves so much.
Clarke had trudged for nearly fifteen minutes to get here, and the voices of her camp were far, far behind her. So she is given a boost of motivation in hearing hers.
"You're late."
Clarke sighs, advancing over the crumpled leaves and stiff grasses with a twitch of a smile until she reaches her.
Immediately, she is drawn in by her presence, which would've seemed larger-than-life had she not been constantly reminded of the fact that she had almost an inch of height on Lexa.
"Sorry," she offers, reaching up to run nails through her own blonde locks. She watches the shift in Lexa's eyes, telling Clarke the Commander's hands are itching to do the very same.
"Sorry isn't good enough, Clarke. I was getting worried."
A step, and the Commander takes one of her hands, then the other, and squeezes.
It tells Clarke a lot of things – that even the mighty leader of the Grounders gets worried once in a blue moon, but only about the people she treasures and holds closest to her burdened heart.
Clarke understands. She feels the same.
She, too, steps in, covering the distance between them now, their noses just centimeters apart, hands squeezing back.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles again. "Can I ever make it up to you?"
Lexa's answer isn't a verbal one, but Clarke doesn't mind.
Lexa pulls her forward with a tug of the wrist, one Clarke recognizes as a display of slight discontent. She understands she's being punished for her tardiness in the best of ways.
Not wanting to upset the mighty Commander more than she already has, she easily complies, pushing her lips against hers.
It's been days since they've last done this, and the desire for it is as palpable as their heartbeats while they are pressed chest to chest.
Lexa does what she never does in any other situation. She relents, letting Clarke take control, letting the Sky Girl stifle her worries that had almost turned to anger.
Clarke is here now, and that's all that matters.
And Clarke makes the most of being here.
She's missed Lexa like a plant misses the sun.
Her energy, her drive, her reason for existence.
They are all Lexa.
With Lexa, she thrives. Without her, she withers.
And these secret rendezvous are always a time to blossom.
So she does just that, presses her lips like soft petals over her mouth, slips her arms like vines around the small of her back, nips like thorns at her lips.
She is desperate. She needs her sunlight.
And Lexa gives it. She always does. She gives her warmth and her strength and even her breath to Clarke.
She'd give anything. Because she needs her, too.
Clarke is more than a responsibility. She is Lexa's purpose, the justification for her own life.
She always tells herself that Clarke is nothing without her, and she knows she is nothing without Clarke.
The hours spent apart are worth it now as they come together, hands roaming backs, tracing sides, caressing cheeks, threading hair...
Clarke loses herself, unaware that Lexa is losing herself, too.
Lost in her. That's the direction these meetings always seem to go in.
Minutes pass, and the crickets are beginning to chirp. The sun has set, disappeared behind distant mountains and taking the yellow warmth with it.
Its absence almost makes Clarke more ravenous, more desperate for her own sun.
She doesn't want her to go.
But they both know she must.
It is when Lexa breaks the kiss that Clarke gives a grunt of disapproval, not aimed towards the Commander, but towards herself, regretting her own tardy arrival. Had she come on time, she would've gotten to make those kisses last longer.
But she knows it is inevitable, as dusk always is.
So with one last kiss, one last breath into her lungs, one last reminder of her presence, she steps back.
Lexa catches her breath quietly, trying to appear more reserved than she feels after Clarke stole it away so easily. Her eyes travel up and down the Sky Girl, but ultimately stay at her face, content to find she is also slightly breathless.
She makes a move to depart, and Clarke can't help but try to stop her, pleading.
"Lexa, please..."
But she knows it is fruitless. Wishful thinking. They both have to get back to their camps.
But Lexa is feeling merciful tonight. Though part of her would like to let Clarke suffer the repercussions for her failure to be punctual, another part wants to reward her for showing up unharmed and for showing up at all.
So she reaches up a hand and rests the crease of her gloved palm against Clarke's cheek.
Clarke covers it with her own, leaning into it, eyes closed. She wants one last kiss before they have to part.
And just as the sun always does, Lexa gives.
She pecks her lips against Clarke's, barely hard enough to satisfy her for now, and just soft enough to leave her pining for more.
But Clarke knows she'll have to wait.
Lexa steps away and whispers as she passes.
"Don't be late next time."
And she is gone, vanished into the night just like the sun.
But Clarke knows the night always ends, and the sun always returns tomorrow.
She will be back.
A/N: Ah, so this is actually my first time trying out this tense with my writing. It was a little odd for me, but fun! I hope it read well!
Please review!