5.5.16
Not to put this bad karma out there in the world, but I can't shake this sinking feeling that Root and/or Shaw are going to die in POI this season. I saw some rumblings in an interview somewhere, some speculations from the interviewer, and the showrunner said something about "treating the characters with absolute respect, no matter what happens", and every lesbian television viewer on the planet should be nervous after reading a statement like that.
God. Wtf is going on right now? Like, not just in TV. This is a post Trump-for-president world, y'all. Shit's crazy.
Anyway, going back in time a little bit with this chapter, giving you a window into Lexa's turbulent past. FYI, if you guys have any prompts or ideas for these characters, please don't hesitate to send them to me at aeschylusrex on tumblr.
Enjoy!
I was in a fog, I didn't notice everything
Was coming all apart inside of me
There wasn't anyway for anyone to settle in
You made a slow disaster out of me
There's a radiant darkness upon us
But I don't want you to worry
I was careful but nothing is harmless
Baby you better hurry
-The National
3.
7 Years Ago...
Lexa is 16 years old, three months shy of her 17th birthday, standing next to the dumpster outside a cocktail bar on Sandy Boulevard. The world is grey and more rain clouds are threatening on the horizon, but she doesn't care. She doesn't care about much lately. It's no use getting attached to things that change, and life is a revolving door of uninterested faces. She eyes the brackish pools cradled in the uneven dips of the old pavement, reflecting silver light from the sky, and waits.
In her hand, a cheap flip phone buzzes and Lexa whips it open to find a message from her cousin.
im fkn sick of beaver-tucky
srsly fck this place
these hillbillies flip out over a mf nosering. i dont care how cheap the rent is. im moving back to pdx
Lexa types a quick response.
new bling? send pic
Moments later, her phone buzzes again and Lexa opens the attachment, smirking down at a proud, defiant Anya, pointing to a silver ring through her left nostril.
sweet
thx
how'd aunt c take it?
havnt told them yet
good luck w that
lol fuck off
Shoes sliding over gravel and pavement catch Lexa's attention and she looks up to see Costia slinking into the alley, glancing furtively over her shoulder. Her dark brown hair is falling out of a French braid, bangs framing her pretty, classically mediterranean features, and her makeup is still perfect, winged eyeliner and bronze eye shadow blended to draw the flecks of gold out of her caramel brown eyes. Lexa swallows slowly, swallows down everything she feels about it. Costia is one of the few things she does care about, unfortunately, and she has enough street smarts for the both of them, but Costia is pretty conspicuous in her uniform skirt and peacoat, more so than Lexa. Adults are far more likely to notice a Catholic school girl in a sketchy back alley than another Grant brat wearing dark, ripped up clothes.
Lexa's brow twitches in annoyance. It's not like they can really afford the risk.
"I thought I told you to change."
Costia's head turns at the sound of her voice. She spots Lexa behind the dumpster and trudges over, arms folded across her chest, head down. The heels of her loafers skid as she pulls up, shifting her backpack on her shoulder nervously. She tucks a lock of hair over one ear and sniffs.
"It smells gross back here."
"We're in an alley," Lexa observes, irately. "Alleys usually smell gross. Didn't you have some track sweats or something you could wear?"
Costia rolls her eyes and looks over her shoulder. "No, I didn't have time. I was gonna miss the bus."
"You're gonna get us caught," Lexa grumbles, slouching further into her old sheepskin jacket.
"Look," Costia bites her lip, and hugs herself tighter. "I know I said 'yes' to this before, but I'm not so sure anymore."
"What'd you tell Martha?"
"I told Mom that I'm meeting you at the library to study."
Lexa shrugs, turning her gaze away. "Did she buy it?"
"I guess so, but seriously, Lex, I've got a bad feeling about this."
"You've got bad feelings about everything."
"Um, that's because most of your ideas are terrible."
Lexa scowls and kicks a rock into the back wall of the bar. "You asked me to do this, remember? And you didn't have to come along."
"You get puppy dog eyes when I don't. Besides, who's gonna keep you out of trouble?"
Lexa bristles. "I can take care of myself."
"Maybe," Costia smiles, shows all of her perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, and it makes Lexa's stomach twist, "but I'm better at it."
Which is true, much as Lexa hates to admit it. Then again, at 17, Costia is better at a lot of things, like grades and socializing and staying out of trouble. Costia gets awards at school while Lexa gets Cs. Costia runs track while Lexa runs from bullies. Costia has parents who will love her no matter what. Lexa has foster parents who will love her as long as she goes with the program. The deck is stacked against her. At this rate, she's just padding the statistics.
She's a bullet-pointed list of unsavory personality flaws, alphabetized and annotated with the notes of all her previous case workers. And yet, Costia still reached out to her when she arrived at the Papanicolaou house. And Costia still takes care of her when she has panic attacks. Costia keeps her secrets and Costia sneaks into her bed on the worst nights, cuddled up close, babbling to her about petty drama between the girls at St. Mary's until Lexa falls asleep.
It's because of Costia that Lexa feels more on the hook with this family. She's not perfect, but she makes an effort. Martha and Nicolai buy her clothes and ask about school. They show up to her parent teacher conferences. They schedule her doctors appointments and they buy her favorite cereal at the store. She feels like, maybe, they would miss her if she vanished. So, maybe she doesn't mind going along with this program so much. Maybe she feels a little guilty about sucking their perfect daughter into her gritty, grimey world, but Costia has this smile that makes her heart flutter, and Costia wants to be a part of it. It means a lot in the first place. It means even more that it's Costia, and Lexa, who once went three months without speaking, who once beat the shit out of a foster mother's lecherous nephew, who once told the narcotics detective who arrested her to 'eat a dick', can't say no to Costia.
Costia gets anything she asks for.
Lexa meets Costia's gaze and forgets herself for a moment, stalled by the earnest glimmer she finds there. She always has to shake herself awake. She always has to shake herself out of the dream.
"If you wanna go you need to leave now. It's almost 4:30."
Costia's frowns. "I'm not leaving you here by yourself."
"I can handle myself. Promise. I've done this before."
"It's fine. I'm staying." Costia smirks, a quick little twist of her plump lips. "Like you said, you're doing this for me, so I can't just leave you here."
Lexa shrugs and averts her eyes. "You could."
A warm hand reaches out and grips her arm. "Yeah, but I'm not going to."
Without warning, the back door of the cocktail lounge swings open with a loud screech, rusty hinges grinding past each other. Costia jumps and covers her mouth, but Lexa keeps herself composed, calm and collected. A tall, sour-faced waitress emerges from inside, dressed in a tight, black miniskirt and tank top. A duck-cloth coat, clearly stolen from some boyfriend, is thrown on over the skimpy ensemble, and the sheer amount of makeup ringed around her eyes looks a bit comical in the light of day. Her dirty-blonde hair catches the breeze and billows out a bit as she sizes them up. Her gaze is sharp and clinical, practiced at sussing out dubious situations. She releases the door and lets it slam behind her.
"Well, well, well." The waitress cocks her hip. "If it isn't the fosters."
Lexa nods. "Hey, Echo."
"You've got some nerve showing up here, Woods."
"I just need the weed," Lexa says. "I don't plan to hang around."
"That's good, because Eddie still wants you dead."
Costia shoots Lexa a loaded glance that Lexa studiously ignores, but Echo doesn't miss it. Echo doesn't miss very much.
Lexa keeps her face carefully neutral, fighting against her natural instinct to flinch. "Yeah, well, he can get in line."
"Don't tempt fate, Woods. There are worse things than death."
Costia tugs her sleeve. "Who's Eddie?"
"Not now, C."
Echo's sharp eyes narrow, and she smirks, folding her arms across her chest. "You didn't tell your new fam about Nia, huh?"
"Shut up, Echo."
"Oh, that's fucking rich."
"Shut up, Echo."
"Hey, whatever." Echo laughs and shrugs. "She's gonna find out at the worst possible time, you know. That's how these things always work."
Costia's fingers tighten on Lexa's sleeve. "Lexa, find out what? What's she talking about?"
"Later, C, okay?
"Lexa, let's go. I don't like this."
Lexa grits her teeth. "You're freaking her out, Echo, fucking drop it already."
"Hey," Echo spreads her hands in a placating motion, "I'm just here to sell you weed like you asked. You don't want it, you can call somebody else."
Lexa rips a crumpled fifty dollar bill from her pocket and shoves it at Echo. "Fine. Hurry up."
"Rude," Echo sneers, snatching the money. "Didn't your parents teach you any manners? Oh, wait."
"Echo, I swear to god-"
"-You'll what? Rat me out?"
"Go to hell."
"You know, you should be a lot nicer to me, considering all the hot college girls I've set you up with."
Lexa freezes, blood draining from her face. It's a wounding blow delivered with breathtaking precision. Echo smirks and pulls a bag of weed from her jacket's inner pocket, handing it over with a harsh laugh.
"We talked about this." Lexa levels a contemptuous glare at Echo, who seems to take in stride, hip still cocked, brow still arched. "I asked you to be discrete."
Costia's eyes widen, but Lexa avoids her gaze, pale and still, lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
"Right, whatever. I get it." Echo shrugs as Lexa mechanically takes the weeds and stuffs it away. "I should've guessed that if you hadn't told her about Nia, you probably hadn't told her about your weekend extracurriculars either."
"Echo."
"Look, I'm sorry, Woods." Echo sighs and crosses her arms again. "I didn't think it was a big a deal. It's the 21st century, you know. Who cares if you fuck girls?"
If possible, Lexa grows even paler, even stiller, and Costia's stunned silence is even more damning. Lexa know she's screwed up. Again.
"I wasn't ready to talk about it," she mumbles.
Echo shrugs. "Well, you looked pretty ready last week with what's-her-name. Ruby or whatever."
"Please stop."
"I'm just saying, you weren't acting like you were trying to keep it a secret."
"I was coked up!" Lexa splutters. "Of course I fucking wasn't!"
"Yeah? Whose fault is that?"
"Yours!"
Echo rolls her eyes."Oh my god. Fuck you, Lexa. That shit ain't cheap, okay? You're fucking welcome."
Lexa's hands ball into fists, seething, embarrassed, humiliated, and ready to do something stupid to recover what little of her dignity is left, but then Costia is murmuring something quietly in her ear and pulling her back.
"C'mon, Lex, let's get outta here."
"You were right," Lexa mutters, eyes burning. "This was a bad idea."
Echo watches them critically and laughs. "It's her, isn't it?"
"Echo! I swear to god-"
"-I won't, Lexa. Chill out." Echo checks the time on her phone and hunches her shoulders against the chill. "Party at Brian's next Saturday. You there?"
"Fuck no," Lexa spits.
"Suit yourself." Echo turns to head back inside with a curt wave over her shoulder. "Bye, fosters! Make good choices!"
The rusted door creaks and slams again, and immediately, Lexa turns and wrenches from Costia's grasp. Her heart is hammering in her chest, like it might explode if she doesn't move.
"Here."
She tosses the bag of weed on the ground behind her and storms off toward the street, pack bouncing against her back. Tears are stinging at the corners of her eyes, but she hasn't cried since the trial and she doesn't plan to start again now. She wipes her nose on her sleeve and presses on around the corner, ignoring Costia's calls, her quick steps scraping against the crumbling pavement in hot pursuit. Lexa doesn't care. She knows how to lose a tail if she needs to, and there are plenty of places to hide in this part of town.
Sandy Boulevard is busy with rush hour traffic and slick from lingering rain, turbid water splashed out of potholes, pouring out of spouts, streaming out of gutters. The clouds are threatening again, wet and swollen, swooping lower, growing darker with the setting sun, and it's perfect, Lexa thinks. The darkness is perfect, is beautiful. Enveloping, erasing. There is no sin black enough that the coming night can't obscure. Every shadow fades when the sun goes down, even hers.
"Lexa!"
Except- Right. Except Costia won't. She'll still be real. Warm flesh and blood. She'll chase Lexa into the dark even if it hurts them both. She's reckless that way, faultless that way.
"Lexa, wait! Stop!"
Lexa burns to to keep moving, but she stops.
A hand settles on her arm, fingers curling around and squeezing tight like it'll anchor her there, like it'll keep Lexa from vanishing, and who knows? Maybe it will.
"I know you've been in trouble before-"
"-No-"
Costia barrels on. "-I know, okay? The social worker told us you had a rough time at your last couple homes."
"Costia-"
"-It's okay."
"It's not okay!" Lexa whirls around, throwing Costia off balance. "Your parents love you no matter what! It's biology! But not me!"
"They do love you!"
"But it's conditional, okay? It's conditional! If I screw up, if they find out about all this shit from my past they won't hesitate to kick me out, and I can't handle that right now, okay?"
"I won't tell them."
Lexa shakes her head, shoves her away, starts to walk, but Costia follows. Costia pursues.
"Lexa, wait! I won't! I won't tell them."
A hand grips her wrist, pulling her back, and Lexa lets herself be pulled, lets Costia reel her emotions back in. She's shaking lightly, in spite of herself. Adrenalin is pumping through her veins. She knows she's already given herself away. She doesn't react like this unless she cares, and she cares a lot.
"You promise?"
"I promise, okay? I promise. Please come home with me." Costia's voice quiets and softens, more earnest than Lexa's ever heard it. "It's your home, too."
Lexa licks her lips, swallows, feels the pieces in her chest clicking into place, and knows that she won't be going anywhere else tonight. Costia's fingers lace together with hers and squeeze. It's the more comforting thing she's ever felt.
"You didn't tell me you were gay."
Lexa toes at the sidewalk. "I'm not."
"It's okay if you are."
"I'm not."
Costia eyes her dubiously. "Okay."
"Just," Lexa huffs and blinks back her tears, glancing around helplessly at the busy street, "just take me home okay."
Costia squeezes her hands once more and releases it, threading her arm through Lexa's like always. "Okay. Let's go."
/ / /
Present Day...
Clarke is successful in ways that Lexa can't imagine, and it has nothing to with money and everything to do with fully realized self-expression. Clarke's art is inspiring because it is so, uncompromisingly Clarke. A sketch of Lexa's profile, drawn on a napkin with a pilfered ballpoint pen from the breakfast place, is stuck to Lexa's fridge. She'll have it framed someday, coffee stain and all, because it's beautiful. She's seen 10 foot canvases in museums less beautiful than Clarke's stained diner sketches. It makes her cry one morning on her way out the door, coat clutched in one hand, heart in the other, overwhelmed by the small mercies, the little gifts, the flashes of kindness that Clarke Griffin has shown her all along. Clarke has always glowed with a light that even Lexa, in her cloud of radiant darkness, couldn't miss.
Of course, the obvious downside to Clarke's burgeoning success is the travel. She's called away to install a series of sculptures in some library at the University of Washington just days after their dramatic snow-day-make-up-sex, and Lexa is left to her own devices for nearly a week. The anxiety wouldn't even be half as bad if she could drink, smoke, and fuck it out, but times have changed, Clarke is gone, and Anya makes a habit of swinging by the apartment everyday, or, at the very least, sending Gustus by when she can't make it. Lexa is stuck doing productive, heart healthy things with her energy.
"Run until you're tired," her therapist says blithely. "Go hit a punching bag. Go for a hike."
Lexa nods quickly, but her knees are bouncing up and down, and she's having trouble keeping eye contact with him. She feels like she could sprint a mile. She feels like her chest could explode all over the nondescript IKEA coffee table. Her teeth are shivering in her skull. Everything rattles when she tries to sit still.
"I'm anxious," is all she says. "I can't stop. I've tried all the usual stuff."
Dr. Kendall nods and makes a note on his pad. He's balding, almost completely bald now, actually, and he wears little round glasses with thin wire frames that remind Lexa of a college professor. Gary, as he prefers to be called, is slender and fit, a waif of a man that spends his free time reading thick books and biking around town. He's so healthy, so put together. Lexa's not really sure how she got stuck with him, but he's been pretty determined to stick. No one else has tried so hard to earn her respect.
"Here?" He points to his head. "Or here?" He points to his chest.
"I don't know. I don't know." Lexa wrings her hands. "It's like- fuck, it's like I'm just- My heart won't stop racing and I can't stop shaking. Or thinking. Shaking and thinking."
"Have you tried the beta-blocker?"
"I ran out months ago."
Gary almost rolls his eyes, managing to stop himself at the very last second by clearing his throat and pretending to scribble something on his pad. "You should have told me sooner. I could've fixed that."
"I honestly just forgot." Lexa gives him a jerky shrug. "I'm sorry, okay?"
She'd been doing so well before Clarke. It had been ages since she'd had any need for the drugs. She intimately understands now what it means to be lulled into a false sense of security.
"Let's get that sorted out first," he says.
Does he sound disappointed? Lexa squints. He does, doesn't he? His eyes are narrowed as he makes a note and reaches for his phone, firing off a message to her psychiatrist. He looks like he's trying not to feel one way or the other about it. Like he's trying to keep his expression neutral, but she's never sure if she's making it up. Gary always says that patients project onto their therapists, and it makes her feel juvenile, like she's a child, just vomiting her emotions onto everyone around her. Out of control with no perspective whatsoever. It makes her feel 17 again, watching Costia's pale face disappear behind the doors of an ambulance.
"Lexa?"
She looks up, checks her wristwatch. Five minutes have passed.
"Sorry," she murmurs.
"Are you sleeping?"
"No." She hugs herself. "Well, maybe- maybe a little bit. More than last week."
"What about work?"
"I had to quit before I was fired."
Gary's mouth twitches. "How are you paying the bills?"
Lexa digs her nails into her biceps. "I still have the freelancing gigs. Anya hooked me up with a band that needs a spread for their tour. I'm trying to network with them."
"So, you're keeping odd hours, then."
"Yeah."
Gary's phone buzzes and he checks the screen. "Dr. Nguyen is calling in your prescription. It should be ready in a couple hours."
Lexa nods sharply and picks at the hole in her jeans. Her fingers slip under the edge of the denim and slide along the softened edge. It's only there because she picks at it in the first place. Over time, a single loose string has grown into a gaping split across the knee. She keeps telling herself to stop, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't really want to stop anyway. The way she sees it, this is nature at work. Nothing gold can stay.
"Make sure you go pick it up today. It'll stop the shaking."
Lexa clears her throat. "Thanks."
"Sure." Gary offers a fleeting smile. "Let's talk about your new girlfriend."
Lexa's heart leaps, almost painfully, and she nearly gasps.
His words feel like a steel-toed kick to the chest.
His words raise the dead.
"Please don't call her that," Lexa pleads, fleeting gaze fixing on his with alarming clarity.
Gary frowns, noting her panic with concern, pen slipping from his fingers onto the notebook in his lap. "Why not?"
"Because, once something starts it has to end." Lexa pushes her hair out of her face, pulls it back, tugs until it hurts, lets it fall forward again. "Everything does. Everything has a beginning and an end."
"True." Gary nods.
"A therapist agreeing with me?" Lexa snorts sadly. "I must be high."
"I can't dispute the truth," he concedes, spreading his lean arms in a show of characteristic diplomacy. "You're right. Nothing lasts forever."
Lexa blinks back the familiar sting of moisture. His confirmation hurts. She feels desperately hopeless all of a sudden. It seems there is no end to the tears she can cry for Clarke.
"But why," Gary asks, lightly, rhetorically, "do you have to be the one to end it?"
"Me? What?" Lexa blinks angrily. "I'm not ending anything."
"You are. Before it can even begin."
"I love her," Lexa grits.
Dr. Kendall leans forward in his leather chair, reclaiming his hard-earned, PhD-gilded authority with squared shoulders and a stern gaze. "But you don't let her love you back."
"Yes, I do!" Lexa argues, but already she can see the corner she has painted herself into. His logic is winning out. "I do."
"If she wants to be yours, let her be yours."
"How do you even know she wants to be mine?"
"Who wouldn't want to be yours, Lexa?" Gary smiles sadly. "You're a wonderful person."
"But I'm a disaster," Lexa insists, tears threatening to fall. "I'm a fuck up. I can't hold a fucking job and I've got a mountain of baggage. What could Clarke possibly see in me?"
"Probably the same things I see you in," Gary assures, leaning back again, "but you need to ask Clarke that question."
"I can't."
"You need to trust her enough to let her answer. If you can't do that then this is already over before it's even started. Love is a choice, Lexa. Let Clarke choose you."
"What if she doesn't, though? What if she doesn't choose me?"
"That's the risk we all take," Gary smiles, "but, for what it's worth, I have a good feeling about this one."
/ / /
Two Months Ago…
Clarke shows up to their first date dressed like frat boy covered in paint. She's wearing black skinny jeans, and an oxford grey crewneck sweatshirt that says 'SUPREME' across the front in blocky, maroon letters. Her long blonde hair is straightened, and it cascades like twin waterfalls of gold from a black, ribbed beanie, spilling over her shoulders onto her chest and down her back. Her high tops, which were possibly white once, now look as though they've been dipped in paint and subjected to the Jackson Pollock treatment, smeared and splattered with every imaginable color. Her black pants are less covered, but the effect is similar, as if she's been splashing in puddles of paint instead of rainwater on the sidewalk. Even her sweatshirt, mostly clean at first glance, is stained with errant, uneven brushstrokes of purple and orange. In fact, Lexa realizes, giving Clarke a slow, appreciative once over, the only part of her that hasn't apparently been touched by paint is her beanie.
Lexa arches a brow, even though it's all for show. She doesn't really care one way or the other. To her, Clarke would be gorgeous in a burlap sack. Of course, Clarke doesn't need to know that right away.
"Ready to go dumpster diving?" Lexa asks, straight-faced.
Clarke pants, bent over with hands on her knees, apparently catching her breath. "You said...casual."
Lexa snorts and glances down at her own jeans, flannel, and combat boots ensemble, an outfit that Anya had affectionately called "the gayest thing I've ever fucking seen" as she was leaving the apartment.
"Yeah I guess I did." She smirks. "I didn't realize it was a competition, though."
Clarke shoves her with a surprising amount of force, and laughs, still swallowing down lungfuls of air. "I basically had to..run all the way from my...studio...er, my car." She straightens up and pins Lexa with a brilliant smile. "Sorry. I really...lose track of time in there."
She tugs off her beanie, and musses her hair, fluffing it, puffing it, dragging it over one shoulder, running her fingers through it as she lifts it off her neck. Lexa doesn't realize she's staring until Clarke ducks a bit to catch her gaze, and by then it's too late to pretend that she's still unaffected, mouth hanging ajar, heat rushing into her cheeks. Lexa has to drop her eyes and clear her throat once, twice, three times, before she can face Clarke again.
The expression she finds waiting for her is pure filth.
"I don't do hookups on the first date," Clarke says, "but you're making me reconsider my policy."
Clarke winks, her voice even huskier from her sprint, hot like molasses and sandpaper and the distinct, throaty rasp girls get after a straight shot of whiskey. As if Lexa needed anything else to rile her up. It's a spark to a can of gasoline. The effect is instantaneous, uncontainable. Lexa's nerves hum under her skin like an electric generator, and she can't find the off switch.
"Let's walk." She takes Clarke by the arm and leads her along the sidewalk, eyes fixed forward with steely determination.
"I thought we were going to get drinks?" Clarke teases.
"It's a nice day, though, isn't? I could stand to burn off a little adrenalin. Couldn't you?"
"Fair."
"Let's get to know each other."
"Okay. Should I start?"
"Please."
"Alright." Clarke clears her throat dramatically. "So, I once spent 72 straight hours in my studio before my senior show, and my friend, Raven, had to come and practically drag me out. I fell asleep in her car and she couldn't wake me up, so she just left me there and went to work her shift at the garage. I woke up six hours later parked outside her work."
"Okay. You win."
Clarke laughs. "I thought this wasn't a competition?"
"I was wrong. You deserve a medal."
"For my weird overshare?"
"For leading with that story. I mean, where are we supposed to go from here? Bold choice."
"I just thought I should explain that I frequently lose track of time when I'm working on my art. This outfit has less to do with my idea of appropriate first date attire and more to do with the fact that my watch is apparently an hour slow."
"Those battery powered mechanisms are a pain."
"A real menace."
"Well, I look like a lumberjack's super gay cousin, you look like you raided a Zumiez and fell into a bucket of paint, and together there's no way we're going to eat at the swanky little cocktail bar I had in mind, even in Portland, so how about some pho instead? I know a place in the Pearl."
"I love that place."
"You don't even know which one I'm talking about."
"I do, though. Lead the way."
"Alright," Lexa slides her fingers down Clarke's arm and takes her hand, "off we go."
"Smooth."
"I exfoliate."
Clarke snorts. "Oh, really? Tell me more."
"Shall I give you a rundown of my shower routine, or…?"
"About yourself, obviously. Unless you're going to describe where you put your hands when you-"
"-Did I mention I'm a photographer?"
"You…did not. Interesting. What's your subject?"
"Anything that pays. I prefer to shoot people, though. More dynamic."
"Did you bring your camera?"
"Always." Lexa pats her leather shoulder bag.
"Perfect. Let's take a detour through the park after lunch. I've got poses I wanna stick you in."
"Okay…"
'Um, for science."
"You got it, doctor."
Clarke squeezes her hand and pulls her closer until their hips are bumping as they walk. "I think I'm gonna like you a lot more than the last guy."
Lexa glances over at Clarke's smiling face. "I think the feeling is mutual."
/ / /
Present Day...
Clarke drives back into town on Thursday afternoon and texts Lexa a grinning emoji next to a heart and a pair of red lips. Attached to the message is a picture of Clarke sprawled across her own bed, eyes closed, mouth quirked, wavy blonde hair fanning out around her head on rumpled white sheets. Lexa's breath catches in her throat. Even exhausted, Clarke is stunning.
Later that evening, Lexa feeds Clarke mini pizza bagels for dinner.
"Are these locally sourced and gmo free?" Clarke asks. She suppresses a smile as she turns one over her in hand, making a show of examining it carefully.
"Shut up." Lexa bumps her shoulder. "I'm too tired to make you healthy food tonight."
"I'm not convinced you can actually cook," Clarke says wryly. "In fact, I'm pretty much convinced you live on a diet of pizza bagels."
"I love them." Lexa stuffs one in her mouth.
"Of course you do, junk food junkie."
Lexa stuffs in a second. "Ish sho good."
Clarke laughs and wrinkles her nose. "Gross, Lex."
Lexa chews and swallows. "You love them, too. Don't lie."
"They're just so bad for you. They're full of partially hydrogenated oils and msg and artificial colors-"
"-I didn't hear you complaining when I pulled them out of the freezer."
"Well," Clarke smiles and bites into a pizza bagel, "they taste pretty good with this pinot noir you picked out at the gas station."
Lexa smiles back, and they huddle up closer under an old quilt stolen off Lexa's bed. Their heads fall together as they chew. The break in conversation is comfortable, as are so many things with Clarke. Lexa stares out the living room window and watches the rain come down, falling thicker and faster as the last light of the sun wanes. Now that Clarke is home, the tremors have quieted, and the adrenalin has stopped emptying into her system by the vat. Lexa's body is heavy like lead, sinking through the ocean towards darker, murkier depths, but there are things here worth staying awake for, things worth doing for Clarke. She can tread water for a little while longer.
Clarke sips from their shared camping mug of wine and leans in to press a quick kiss to the hinge of Lexa's jaw. Her soft lips leave a damp smudge on Lexa's skin and it's all Lexa can do to hide her blush. The heat rushes everywhere, her face, her neck, her fingers, her toes. She squirms and runs her hand through her hair. She shifts her limbs and tries to readjust herself on the couch, and Clarke just grins because Clarke knows. Sometimes Lexa's convinced that Clarke knows everything, and it's terrifying enough that she's stayed this long. There are still so many hidden depths left to plumb. There's still so much time for everything to fall apart.
"I missed you," Lexa blurts. Her voice cracks on the last syllable. She sounds entirely too desperate.
"You're fucking cute," Clarke says, grinning, nuzzling into Lexa's side. "I missed you, too."
She looks amazing in borrowed clothes, and not just because her breasts are free and straining against the front of Lexa's old gym shirt. There's a sense of ownership here. A claim that has been staked. Clarke is cuddled up on Lexa's old couch, in Lexa's messy apartment, wearing Lexa's threadbare clothes, and she's doing all of it with a soft grin and shimmering blue eyes. It makes Lexa's heart beat a whole lot faster. It makes her whole body throb.
"I...uh...um." Lexa nervously rubs the back of her neck.
"God, you kill me." Clarke throws back the rest of the wine and sets their plates aside. "Why do we even put on clothes?"
Lexa's mouth goes dry and all the heat in her body rushes between her legs, throbbing like a war drum. With Clarke around, Lexa's libido is always on a warpath. The absolute refractory period is getting shorter all the time. Clarke's hands thread into her hair, tugging at her roots, hot mouth sliding along the column of muscle straining in her neck, and Lexa whimpers.
"Don't make noises like that if you value your pants."
"Shall we burn them, or-" Clarke's teeth close around Lexa's earlobe and she gasps, hips jumping, "o-or fire them out of a cannon?"
Clarke's answering laugh is husky. "Whatever's faster."
"Okay..." A tongue slips behind Lexa's earlobe and teases along the cartilage. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Clarke..."
"I know, babe. Tell me about it."
Lexa's head lolls back and then Clarke is throwing off the blanket and shucking off her pants, muttering something nearly incomprehensible about waterloo or sex or… It's all a blur. Lexa's ears are pounding with blood anyway. Her whole body is pounding.
With Lexa's help, Clarke has them naked in a matter of seconds, and she wastes no time after that, dragging Lexa down with her on the couch until their bodies are smeared together, legs tangling, hands grasping. It's difficult to tell where Lexa ends and Clarke begins. It's best that way. Being separate people is so hard. Lexa never wants to stop. Nothing sounds worse. She'll face the demons forever if she has Clarke here to hold. She has swaddled her nerves in a cloak of electrifying infatuation, and Lexa feels ironclad.
"It's my turn," she mutters between kisses, before she's digging into Clarke's thighs and pulling.
It's a directive. It's a plea. She's not happy until Clarke's thighs are closing in around her ears, until she can lean up just barely, just a matter of inches, and slip her tongue between hot, messy folds, until Clarke groans and lurches, and Lexa has to grip Clarke's hips tight just to keep her body in position over her face. Lexa's strokes are slow, steady, and deliberate, circling top to bottom, whirling figure eights that have the blonde's chest heaving, breath stuttering. Clarke's thighs begin to tremble just as Lexa's lips trip over Clarke's clit, sucking the little swollen bundle into her mouth.
"Shit!" Clarke rocks violently, head thrown back, blissed out and agonized and incoherent.
Her hands find Lexa's hair and twist their way in, rooting themselves there, delving deeper.
Lexa grins into Clarke's cunt and twists her arm, awkwardly, until she's impaled Clarke on a long, slender finger.
"Fu- Lexa! Guh!" Clarke slides off her face, panting. "Fuck me."
Lexa sucks her finger into her mouth, savoring it, wetting it. "Mmmm. I thought that's what I was doing."
Clarke surges forward, roughly kisses her sticky mouth, and pulls away. "Three fingers," Clarke gasps, straddling Lexa's hips. "Fuck my shit up."
"Call me the pussy wrecker," Lexa replies huskily, and Clarke laughs between ragged breaths, propping one hand against her ribs to brace herself.
"Okay, pussy wrecker," Clarke teases, blue eyes flashing against mussed gold hair and pink cheeks, "wreck my fucking pussy, already."
Lexa laughs, airy and carefree and light. She feels like she's made of clouds. She could spend a whole lifetime telling bad jokes just to make Clarke's eyes sparkle like that, but demands have been made. She sucks her own fingers into her mouth again, delighting in the reaction it provokes from Clarke, whose dilated pupils watch with hawk-like intensity. The blonde traps bottom lip between her teeth and groans, hips jerking unconsciously, sliding forward, spreading a wet trail along Lexa's abdomen.
Lexa pushes herself upright on her forearms until Clarke is sitting in her lap and their faces are mere inches apart, eyes tracking, meeting, flitting between objects of desire and frustration. Clarke's legs wrap around her hips and tighten, and the pressure feels absolutely right. Absolutely good. Clarke is absolutely good. Lexa fits their mouths together again and contorts her arm between their bodies, maneuvering between Clarke's legs, entering her deftly with three fingers, pushing as deep as Clarke's shuddering muscles will allow.
A languid moan unfurls in her mouth, searing lips nearly breaking away as Clarke adjusts. Her nails rake hot, stinging trails down Lexa's back. Her hips pump down hard on Lexa's hand, and stars explode behind Lexa's eyes. She's not sure who's closer to breaking. It's a contact high. It's a primeval surge of energy pulsing between them. Through their lashing tongues. Through every bit of slick skin mashed together. Lexa braces her hand on her own thighs and thrusts into Clarke with everything she has. Each undulation is rougher, faster. Clarke only grows wetter. Her muscles only squeeze tighter. She moans raggedly, until she cannot sustain their kiss any longer, and her lips slide down to Lexa's straining neck. Teeth sink into Lexa's skin and she hisses as Clarke's hands climb her body, fingers scrabbling for holds. Their movements begin to lose all semblance of rhythm
And then Clarke comes with a aching wail, and Lexa nearly tumbles over with her.
/ / /
Lately, it's been really dark in Lexa's bedroom at night. The streetlight on the corner has been out for a month and no one seems particularly bothered to fix it. Nobody seems particularly bothered about her neighborhood in general, and she's surprised that Clarke felt brave enough to park her car on the street.
They'll see in the morning whether that bravery was foolish.
"Are you in love with me?" Lexa asks.
She's tracing the curve of Clarke's back with her index finger, brushing the fine, soft hairs that grow along her spine. The tabby cat, Juniper, is asleep against her calf, and she can feel his small, quick breaths rising and falling, how much they compare to the sudden tremors that run through Clarke's body.
"I'm almost afraid to answer," Clarke whispers, turning her head, black jewel eyes roving over Lexa's face in the dark.
"I was afraid to ask."
A brief silence falls between them, and it's not quite tense, not quite uncomfortable.
"...Yes," Clarke murmurs honestly, reluctantly, voice wavering, like she's an oyster that's been cracked open in the sun, pearls exposed. "But I wasn't planning to tell you until later. It's kind of soon, right?"
Lexa's fingers still. "I knew as soon as you opened the door to the camera shop." Her hand settles softly on the small of Clarke's back, rising and falling with Clarke's breath. "So, I guess I win."
Clarke chuckles softly. "I wasn't aware this was a competition."
"The first person who falls loses."
"You're a little morbid sometimes."
"Yeah, but you love me."
The sheets rustle, and then Clarke is kissing her lips.
"I do."
A/N: Tell me what you liked!
Got prompt ideas? Send them to me aeschylusrex on tumblr
