Hey folks, I'm back! Merry Christmas to you all, I decided I would do my best to deliver my update today, as a Christmas gift to you all! Enjoy!
With three days remaining before the trip to Polis, Lexa neither sleeps nor dreams. Thoughts of performance and adrenaline swarm past her mental barriers like water through a breach, and the more they gain control, the more they begin eliciting memories of Clarke and their last encounter.
She shouldn't be as shaken as she is.
Keep telling yourself that, a voice blurts in her mind, and she shuts it down immediately because it scares her, that voice, it scares her to death and makes her realise weird things about herself like her inability to think about anything other than hockey and Clarke. But that's not the point, right?
(Except it is.)
On Monday evening, she gathers all her old hockey training equipment and practices all kinds of stuff in an attempt to distract herself (from Clarke).
She makes sure to arrange the synthetic ice tiles in a rectangle pattern instead of a square one, because it would remind her of the setup her dad used to put together on their training sessions.
There are many objects she didn't expect to find again for she thought someone had thrown them away – attack triangles, shooting tarps, stick weights, passers, danglers and assorted dryland pucks. She remembers how her father always obsessed over each knew technology that came out, and how the other kids used to envy her expensive gear.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you do this again", a voice resonates from behind her as Lexa receives the puck from a passer and shoots it over the plastic goalie's shoulder.
"Times change", she replies, then turns around to discover Anya leaning on a treadmill.
Then she adds with a shrug, "besides, it's really nice equipment."
"Oh, remember what dad used to say about-" Anya begins, but she gets cut off by a slightly annoyed Lexa.
"Champs need champ stuff, yeah." She slides a puck under the attack triangle in one swift movement of the stick, then takes a wrist shot to the net - she doesn't miss.
"Damn, sometimes I forget how great you are at this", Anya mutters absent-mindedly, seeing the surgical precision of the shot coupled with the flawless technique displayed by Lexa.
"I know, I'm a champ", Lexa jokes and the quick smile she offers is enough to reassure Anya about certain things.
Let's say Lexa has been distant for the past days.
She seems to make sure her schedule always revolves only about hockey, whether it be practice, training or games. It doesn't upset Anya, yet she's grown concerned over time about the hockey player's wellbeing. She is very much aware of her sister's tendency to drown herself in training in order to distract herself from personal issues.
"When's the game again?" Anya asks, suddenly thoughtful.
Lexa's head jerks up almost by reflex. She's been stressed out for the past few days, thinking about how big of a deal that game is to the whole team.
"The Classic?"
Winter Classic, that is. And Lexa couldn't be more excited considering she'll be playing her previous team once again, only with bigger odds. The organisation unveiled the jersey two weeks ago – it has a darker blue and gold color, with the 80s version of the logo. Polis changed their equipment as well, opted for the old forest green with black lines on the hem. But style aside, the rivalry between the two teams will make the walls of the stadium tremble.
"We leave tomorrow afternoon", Lexa assures with a nod. Then, seeing Anya's expression go from comfort to uneasiness, she adds, "don't worry, I already packed my things."
She frowns at her sister's evident skepticism, demonstrated by her arched brow and pleated lips. "I swear, I packed!" She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air in building frustration.
"Oh please, Lexa, you put two sets of underwear and a deodorant stick in there and you're convinced you're good to go."
Lexa stops in her tracks and turns around, pointing a finger at her sister. "Okay, for the record I put two deodorant sticks! Now if that's not irreproachable hygiene, it's goddamn close!"
"And yet you don't bring your own soap!" Anya deplores with a sigh.
A confused expression unfolds on Lexa's features. "Why would I do that? There's always some at the hotel."
"It's sticky, is what it is!" the older sister asserts with various exasperated hand gestures.
"Well of course it's sticky, it's soap!"
"No, no, soap is not sticky, Lexa, god, do you ever take showers? Is that something you do? Do you… Do you visit body-hygiene related places?"
"Oh stop that, I am super clean, I'm like next level clean, in fact-"
"Then bring your own soap, for heaven's sake!"
"Fine! So it'll be soap, deodorant and underwear! I got it, now, don't you worry!"
She reaches for her cellphone, looks at its screen and notices that a member of the team texted her about Reeve rescheduling pre-game skate. She sighs, suddenly thinking of the game in itself again, and Clarke's vibrant blue eyes. Yeah, she thinks, it'll be a long week.
Polis has gotten excited about the Classic - Lexa can tell with the way the players almost rugby tackle her to the ground in their hurry to ask for an autograph.
She arrives to Polis on Saturday morning, excitement roaming through her veins like a caffeine aftereffect as she settles in one of the city's nicest hotel, with a couple of fans posted on the sidewalk just below her window.
She tries to resist the urge to use the jacuzzi. She's stressed, alright? Geez…
Reeve calls them in the morning for open workouts in the gym, then summons a buffet over for them – mainly serving chicken and pasta with funky names.
She tries to analyse the mood between her and Clarke all morning, but it seems the goalie is occupied with her goaltending coach until the afternoon optional skate.
Lexa keeps telling herself, in the comfort of her room, that she isn't the type of player to go to optional skates before important games, yet some unknown force of nature makes her get up and leave for the rink.
Somehow.
She knows it's because of Griffin. She knows, and she grimaces because of it, and she hates it, hates herself, hates her tape when it doesn't stick on the blade, hates her skates when they aren't sharpened correctly, why the fuck aren't they sharpened correctly?
And why is she almost tripping over herself when she catches Clarke's eyes from across the ice? Get a grip, Woods. Get a fucking grip.
There's some sort of fire in her lungs that makes her get through the drills twice as fast as usual, and that means fast. And then she looks towards the goal, and Clarke isn't paying attention – then she thinks, why the fuck would she be paying attention when she has a job to do?
She hears a cannonball of a shot, then sees Clarke make a windmill save. She, on the other hand, was paying attention. Lexa scoffs at the thought.
Some new accessories are distributed amongst the player - all winter classic related, whether it be caps or knitted hats or scarfs with matching gloves. Lexa cannot help but laugh when she sees Clarke put her knitted hat directly over her mask. She finds the courage (the courage?) to go over later in the practice, right when Clarke is about to reach for a puck pyramid on the board.
"I'll get that for you", Lexa clumsily offers out of good will, yet she reads Clarke's suspicious glance as the amused annoyance of the lady who rejects a hotshot gentleman's offer to dance.
"And what would that be for?" The blonde goaltender carefully asks.
"Just being nice", Lexa recovers with false confidence, giving a quick hit at the bottom of the pyramid with the heel of her stick.
Clarke watches the pucks topple over and cascade down to the ice, some of them gliding silently towards her feet. "I'm not disabled, Lexa, I can push pucks over without dying."
"That was my attempt at being helpful, Griffin, you just messed it all up!"
"Oh, was that the hockey version of holding the door?" Clarke obliges, growing more entertained with each passing second.
"I… Maybe! I don't know, I don't think about these things!" Lexa frowns, suddenly confused.
"This is getting adorable", Clarke remarks, knowing she'll get reaction.
And she does. Lexa almost recoils defensively – and that means skating backwards, when one is on the ice. "Adorable?! I'm not adorable, Griffin, smooth, is what I am!"
Clarke skulls forward with an arched brow – Lexa swallows difficultly. "I like that 'deer in the headlight' kind of smooth, it suits you."
"Alright, then, next time you'll get your pucks all by yourself!" Lexa objects with the will of a little child.
"Oh my god, are you sure I won't just pass out with the effort? I don't have your insane arm strength! I can't, look-"
She exemplifies by re-enacting the motion of pushing invisible pucks off the board, with exaggerated grunts of fatigue. "I'm already tired and that's only half the move! How, but how do you make it look so easy?"
Lexa is almost butt-hurt, yet she tries to preserve her dignity and decides to play along. "Well, it needs an awful lot of practice. Big range of motion, also."
Clarke's wink almost makes Lexa weak in the knees as the two come forward almost at the same time. "Oh, believe me, you showed me plenty of that range of motion."
It seems Lexa finds her ground again as soon as the situation gets flirty – she gives her signature smirk and leans forward to whisper near Clarke's neck. "I can show you more of it."
Clarke closes her eyes and takes a deep breath – and Lexa is content with the effect she evidently has on this woman whose smile alone makes her lose her balance. There's an instant filled with wonder and tension, of vaporing breaths mingling together, then Lexa's gaze jerks up to meet Clarke's, and the hockey center then knows that she's got little to no control over herself – Goddamnit, this woman, she thinks, as she gets suddenly scared of this feral lust, twisting and turning in the pit of her guts like a caged lion, for she hasn't yet found out its limits and the amount of control it exerts on her being.
"Lexa." Clarke says her name like a warning – with an urgency, a sense of alarm.
"What?" the center asks like she doesn't know, except she does know. She knows very well.
"Back off."
The edge of these words would've hurt her if she didn't see the pleading in Clarke's eyes, which lets her guess that she's affected just as much, wants just as much.
"Alright, alright", she lets out as she immediately skates backwards, and holds Clarke's shaken, disrupted gaze.
"Don't do that again", the goalie orders firmly.
"Why not?" She chuckles, not yet gauging the seriousness of the situation.
"Oh my god, were you just hit with a brick?"
"I don't think so. No."
"Well then control yourself! Jesus Christ, Lexa, don't you see there are seven people going about over there?"
Lexa ponders the issue, eyes fixed on the remaining teammates currently roaming the ice. "I suppose there could be some rules."
Clarke just scoffs indignantly – and Lexa will remember thinking that she was outrageously beautiful right then. "Rules? Lexa, we had some sort of encounter… And that's all! Right?"
"Right", Lexa repeats, forcing herself not to feel the sudden pang in her chest.
Clarke continues in a decided manner. "And that means, we act normally around each other…"
"Yeah", Lexa cuts her off almost purposefully.
"And you keep your little comments for yourself, and you stop acting like we're married."
"I don't act like we're ma-" Lexa starts, irritated.
"You push pucks off a board for me!"
"I'm not sure married people do that for each other often!"
"That is a poor excuse, Lexa, you can do better!" Clarke counters, crossing her arms.
"I'm aware!"
"I'm waiting for the upgrade!" Clarke starts again after a short silence.
"My brain never does well under pressure!"
"Not my fault!"
They both jerk their arms in the air at the same time. "My repartee is uncharacteristically bad today!" Lexa offers as a last resort.
"Oh, you're lucky I feel generous enough to let you get away with that!" Clarke darts a finger at her and edges away smoothly.
"You won't get a thank you, though!" Lexa yells as Clarke is already far away, close to her net.
"Fine, I'm getting used to it anyway!"
And that's how Lexa realizes that she:
1. Has an extremely important game to play.
2. Is emotionally unprepared for said game.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is six forty-five PM here in Rendon's Alliance Arena - we are fifteen minutes away from tonight's big show! The game opposing the Arkadia Strikers and the Polis Scorpions will be presented to you by Polis' Capitol bank and the GLN, Grounder Local News, that is! We are proud to sponsor such an exciting event!
Clarke stands up near the entrance as soon as she hears the announcer's voice before the arrival of the players. She concentrates on each of his words as a strategy to calm herself. The odds are that this game will dictate the immediate future of the Polis/Arkadia rivalry.
(…) Starting with the scorpions! The number 46, Lori Hamilton! The number 23, Gwen Lerman! The number 8, Eleanor Lavrov!
Clarke isolates the build up in the announcer's tone from the applauds of the crowd. When he calls out Eriksen, she realizes again that this will most likely be a goalie battle.
And your number 34, Rrrrobin… Eriksen!
She panics a bit at the thought of the ascending goalie star, and the fact that she's a crowd favorite. It's very different from the welcome she gets as soon as she steps in the Arkadia's Chancellor Stadium. She finds Octavia's reassuring smile and takes a deep breath.
Their opponents! Starting with the number 16, Lucy Marks! Followed by the number 27, Jaime Hurd!
She sees Lexa shuffle towards the entrance in preparation. The black paint she's wearing under the eyes gives her some sort of a warrior appearance – she looks like the leader of an army. (…) The number 12, Alexandria Woods!
Just hearing the crowd's cheer is enough to guess that Lexa is one of the favorites as well. Clarke is next in line, and she sees Lexa wave at the spectators as she hears her name being called.
And the number 36, Clarke Griffin!
The flashing lights and the louder than ever cheers of the crowd welcome her as she steps on the ice and immediately skates towards her net.
Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise!
She gets a glimpse of Lexa's athletic frame, hunched over to take the first face off – which she wins, unsurprisingly.
Face off won by Arkadia, they bring it back to their defensive unit which is composed of Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake at the moment. Blake, makes the pass, midfield for Lucy Marks who gets past Eleanor Lavrov. Marks, battling for the puck, loses it to Lori Hamilton who gives it over to Mia Compton. Compton, she's in the middle, gets rid of that puck just in time because it seems Reyes was waiting for her. The disc, gliding towards the net and Griffin is getting ready because here goes Hamilton, everyone forgot about her it seems!
Clarke's gaze settles calmly on the intended target, with robot-like concentration. She tries to look for clues about Hamilton's direction, then glides left as soon as she sees the little twitch of the stick. She won't get far enough – she thinks, fuck it, and drops her paddle.
Hamilton comes up full speed, dangles it right, cuts through the left and gets DENIED by Clarke Griffin! Oh my stars! How did that stay out?! Griffin is pulling off her magic tricks early tonight!
She feels the adrenaline burst, her heart drumming against her chest, and resists the urge to lay backwards and raise her fists to the sky. Instead, she just sits and takes a moment to regain her focus.
"Holly fucking fuck", she hears Octavia blurt from beside the net, and she senses the smile in her voice.
Look at Hamilton, she can't believe it! I'm pretty sure she'll have nightmares. But seriously, that's a feat of athleticism right there by Clarke Griffin – you can see her making the leap and she probably thought about it for a millisecond and decided 'hey, no need for that stick'!
She squirts water in her face during the commercial break and gets the good idea of putting her gloves on the heater until the next play. But when she sees the coach's knitted hat, she gets another good idea.
Both teams facing off beside Clarke Griffin – and would you look at that, she's put on a knitted hat! That's original!
Clarke feels the gaze of the crowd as she adjusts the hat over her mask. She hears a couple of whistles and cannot help but smile.
Arkadia wins the faceoff, brings it behind, Blake takes control of it, accelerates, leaves it behind for Woods and she covers the rest of the distance, oh, nice deke right there. Woods still has it, waits for the rest of the offensive unit, there goes Hurd to her side, she circles the net...
Clarke stands with all her height to try to get a sight of the play. She sees Lexa's calm, collected expression and a whirlwind of emotions – mainly admiration- swirls past her mental barriers. That little confident glance to the side, that little shout to get Jaime's attention, and the way her change of stance affects her role body – her shoulders widen, her hands tighten around the handle of the stick… She makes a pass, glides to the top and receives the puck again. Clarke only sees the whip of the stick, and she knows it's in.
Woods FIRES the one timer! SHE SCORES! A beauty of a shot!
Clarke smirks as she sees Lexa's little show unfold – the center points at Jaime Hurd, then they both jump on the board together and share a tight hug. Strikers fans can be seen dancing everywhere in the stands.
The period ends on Robin Eriksen making a beautiful stretched pad save on Charlie Langton, and the score is still 1-0. During the break, locker room talk mainly revolves around Christmas coming and Clarke's 'superman' save early in the game.
"Are you sure you're not Clarke Kent, though?" Langton asks from the back of the room, both hands covered with wool mitts in an effort to warm up before the next period.
"Uh, yeah, Charles, I'm pretty sure about my name actually." Clarke chuckles with a side grin.
The whole room bursts in laughter, and Clarke smiles again while searching for Lexa's reaction. She finds her sitting alone behind, looking as focused as ever, and decides it's time for Lexa to have fun during breaks.
"What ya doin' there stud?" She asks, way too conscious about the ridiculousness of her demeanor, and the phoney enthusiasm it holds.
Lexa seems to be reserving an entire ten seconds to situation assessment – first she furrows her brows, then arches one, then lifts them up in disbelief and bewilderment. For it is a known and now truer than ever – Lexa Woods can read any player's body language, perfectly interpreting the slightest cue, from a twitch to a turn, to a stop or a leap (and everything in between), yet she is incapable of reading Clarke Griffin.
This one girl, this one blue eyed goaltender who appears to act on her own set of exquisitely complex rules.
"I'm working, Clarke, I'm on a… Why, I'm just doing my job." Lexa declares, absolutely unable to showcase her usual coolness, or even counterfeiting it in that case.
Clarke, on her part, just observes her teammate for a moment – first opening her mouth, then closing it with an amused glint painted in the eyes. "You know, these past days it's like someone took your... Envelope, let's say, and then stuffed it with this foam-thing, and then… I mean, it's you, but the stuffed-animal version."
Seeing Lexa's inappreciative glance, Clarke tries to save herself the hustle. "I don't mean as in weak!"
"Yet it is heavily implied", Lexa snorts with this angry glare of hers, and for just an instant, Clarke remembers these glares from months ago - these glares that used to make her blood run cold, her breath catch, her knees tremble. And she thinks, this is different.
"I swear it's not!"
"Heavily implied."
"Not!"
"Clarke", the captain calmly calls out in some sort of soothing tone (soothing?), and Clarke stops in her tracks right away.
She wonders how it is that Lexa's voice alone can now make hers break or force the air out of her lungs.
"Yeah, what?"
"I know, Clarke."
"What do you mean by that?" She asks, left out of breath by the dramatic intonations.
"I know what you mean when you say all that stuff, I just… I get uncomfortable, I can't help it-"
"It's all right", Clarke brushes it off, except she later asks herself questions when she watches Lexa jump on the ice again for second period.
She wonders how it is that Lexa can go from soft, submitted puppy to this woman who she does not recognize - a battle-hardened warrior who provokes her opponents with arrogant smiles and crude taunts, and never backs away from a fight. She watches her shout something at an enemy player, all confidence and smug demeanor and proud posture, and seeing the contrast makes Clarke then realize how nervous and self-conscious Lexa is acting around her.
Second period starting now with the first face off, won by Polis. They give it back to Lavrov, she's got Lerman at her side, short pass to the side that reaches Lori Hamilton. Hamilton, get into enemy territory, great puck protection, circles the net and tries to surprise Griffin! But she doesn't bait and closes the door, manages to get a hold of that puck! It seems Hamilton almost pulled a trick on this Arkadia formation! Now, the defensive coverage wasn't excellent, look at the turnover that was given by Octavia Blake, it seems she couldn't match the speed. Fortunately, Griffin was keeping a close watch.
"Sorry for that", Octavia apologizes in between plays, with a little nudge on Clarke's head.
It seems the save was enough to fire up the troops, especially when a team is led by Alexandria Woods – Clarke can see the cold focus dripping from her hard stance and steely gaze, as the center wins the next faceoff and proves the stadium, once again, that she is a woman on a mission.
The puck goes to Raven Reyes, she's retreating to her territory for a second, finally gets rid of Lavrov's tight cover and makes the pass to Woods in the middle! She goes up the ice full speed! Joined by Jaime Hurd, and it's A TWO VERSUS ONE! Woods slows down, dekes Williams! OH! What a pass to Hurd in the enclave – SHE SCORES! Insane play, once again, by Lexa Woods! She serves Hurd, and they make it two-nothing!
And from then, the offense gets unleashed.
It starts with the second line's hard work, keeping the puck in enemy for a whole two minutes (at even strength!) after which Robin Eriksen frustrates Charlie Langton with an incredible glove save that almost makes Clarke jealous.
But Lexa is remorseless, and decides not to let Polis get its breath back just yet.
Compton lets it behind for Hamilton who gets pressured back into her zone by Woods! She is everywhere on the ice, tonight! Woods pursues her again, she is relentless and STEALS THE PUCK AWAY! GETS THE TURNOVER! ALONE IN FRONT OF ERIKSEN, DANGLES AND SCORES! Oh, that is a ridiculous move!
Clarke almost throws her stick away in excitement, and finds herself desperately eager to join Lexa in her celebration, who boy oh boy, is back to her terribly dangerous and terribly attractive superstar self.
"Way to fucking go, guys!" the center exclaims in the locker room during the second break, while fist bumping each and every one of her teammates.
"Who is this animal!?" Charlie yells, tackling Lexa into a brutal hug. "And who the fuck let it out into the civilization?!"
"Stud!" Calls a girl from the corner of the room, hands cupping her mouth.
"How about I try to get you one tonight, Langton?" Lexa announces, and Clarke rolls her eyes at the arrogance displayed.
"Is it Christmas yet?!" Charlie cheers joyfully with a pat on Lexa's back.
It sure does look like it, and third period surely doesn't break the streak. Despite Clarke letting two goals in, the offense is still on fire and saves the situation by putting in another goal – short-handed, this time.
From Compton to Lavrov, then to Lerman. Lerman fakes a shot, gives it back to Compton, she shoots! Stopped by Griffin! Rebound! Another shot blocked by Reyes! And here's Woods to clear it out but Langton is already going off at full speed and RECEIVES THE LONG PASS! Langton alone, she skates up, dangles it, now backhanded SHE SCORES! Charlie Langton, on a beautiful pass – Woods does it again!
The crowd erupts in cheers, Clarke is dowsed with relief as Arkadia takes the lead once again. Little does she know that the offense is not done at all.
Soon, a second wave of threat sweeps in, and both the first and third line are as menacing as ever – Lexa especially is unwavering, reckless and particularly distracting to Clarke, what with her cocky grins and sweaty face which she dries up with the hem of her jersey in a cool, unbothered move.
"Having fun, princess?" She hears Lexa call out from behind her net while the play is at a stop.
She doesn't answer, forces herself into silence because why would Lexa get away calling her this nickname she hates? But then she sees the captain's grin, and she cannot help but notice that there is no malice emanating from Lexa – only amusement and joy. The realization puzzles her.
The next ten minutes are completely one sided, as the blue and gold formation is taking liberties, forcing the enemy into submission which leads to electrifying plays – and another goal. The author of said goal?
We'll let you guess.
The play is closing up on the Polis Scorpions, with the puck now on Lucy Marks' stick blade, she sends it past Williams and it travels behind the net, where three players battle for it. Woods joins the hustle, passes it to Hurd. Hurd, trades positions with Reyes, that's probably an attempt at putting some movement and confusing the enemy players.
Clarke steals a glance at the clock – one minute forty-five seconds. She loosens the grip on her paddle a bit.
Hurd again, shoots! Misses the net, Blake recovers the puck smoothly, gives it back to Hurd who pivots, that's great puck protection. Jaime Hurd, still, skates up, passes it to Reyes. Reyes to Woods at the top! Woods takes a shot! No, that was a fake! She still has it, gets to the side, one handed! Lexa Woods, she dangles it to the front and falling down, SHE SCOOOOORES! UNBELIEVABLE EFFORT! LEXA WOODS, FOR THE HAT TRICK!
All the players join her in the middle of the ice and share a crushing hug, some of them jumping and patting her on the head. Clarke looks up at the crowd currently throwing caps and knitted hats on the ice, and she thinks this might be one of the moments she'll remember until the end of her career.
The game ends with the fans' singing and dancing in the stands, and immediately, Clarke finds Lexa who's still celebrating and raising her stick in the air to salute the crowd. The two share a glance – Clarke, admiring and happy and grateful, Lexa, not the commander anymore but Lexa, just Lexa, the woman who held her and kissed her not too long ago, Clarke remembers suddenly and shivers at the thought.
"Great game, champ", Lexa compliments her as she comes forward and nudges her on the helmet.
"Says who?" Clarke replies, then fears the admiring tone might've ignited Lexa fiery ego once again, but she is surprised to see Lexa grin at her without an once of arrogance.
And that makes Clarke hug her.
Anyone seeing it happen from a distance would've thought it a simple expression of joy and victorious contempt. Yet Clarke feels everything in that hug – the warmth, the ferocity of it, the sigh that escapes her lungs and, more intensely than ever, Lexa's strong, almost dizzying scent. She feels lost.
To some extent, she is.
Clarke almost goes to sleep that night – almost.
She barely makes it to her bed when she suddenly freezes, invaded with thoughts of Lexa's half grin and tattooed biceps and sharp cheek bones, Lexa who's literally mere meters away from her, probably half dressed, and very much capable of lifting her up like that last time, and maybe even kissing her, once you're at it. Kissing her, and touching her, and stop, stop, stop.
She feels every last piece of her resolve crumble as she finds herself into the hallway, already out of breath and conscious of her folly. This is dangerous, and she knows it.
She knows it, and doesn't care. All she thinks of is Lexa, all she sees is Lexa. Lexa and her adamant behavior, Lexa who listened to her and stopped flirting, stopped looking at her with these predatory eyes, stopped trying to gain her favors like she used to. And she understands that she's the one to blame in this situation, just like she knows she got caught in her own game, and found herself starved in the end, starved and very much in need of Lexa's attention. God, she can't even believe she's fallen this low.
She knocks just once at the door, the reasonable part of her hoping that Lexa won't hear her and she'll find the will to retreat back to her room like the good girl she is.
The hopeful breath she takes in as she feels the lock click in the door is almost embarrassing.
Then Lexa is just standing there, quizzical, wearing Captain America boxers and an oversized college hockey shirt that lets her tattooed forearms appear in all their splendor, to Clarke's dismay.
"Yeah?"
Clarke blinks, then realizes she was just spoken to. By Lexa. Right. Probably because she's knocked at her door and is now standing on her doorframe, in her pajamas, for no apparent reason.
"What?" She replies, still very much confused and infatuated with Lexa's night outfit, like she can't get over the fact that even Lexa's loose clothes make her look extremely attractive.
"Uh, that was only me asking what you're doing here in the middle of the night, Griffin, but hey, sorry for being rude, I guess."
Lexa grins at her – that half grin again, and Clarke experiences intense difficulties with the simple act of swallowing. "Yup, pretty rude of you."
"I'm the one being woken up at two A.M., so you could maybe acknowledge my efforts at being welcoming, or whatever."
Clarke doesn't think before she speaks, and instantly regrets the sentence that she blurts out dumbly. "I thought being welcoming meant inviting people in."
And that makes Lexa confused. Confused, and horny, and confused.
"Okay, I didn't say that."
"You didn't. I did."
"Right", Lexa confirms, scratching her neck in embarrassment.
There's a pause during which both women look at each other – study each other, in fact, except they pay close attention to their lips, so much so that the air gets warm, gets electric, gets dangerous.
"What are you doing?" Lexa asks weakly.
Noticing the absence of reaction, the captain continues. "So you tell me to back off, and then you come see me in the middle of the night, asking me to let you in? What is your deal, Griffin?"
She's getting angry, Clarke thinks, and panic – because an angry Lexa is also a hot, irresistible Lexa. Fuck.
"What's my deal? I don't know, Lexa, what my deal is, in fact what I don't know, is why you kept giving me these half grins all through the game, like you were showing off just for the sake of it, and boy did that come out great, I'm not complaining – hey, hat trick, that's nice, so-"
"Thanks", Lexa gratifies her, yet there are still question marks dancing in her eyes.
"Why the flirting, though? That's all I want to know."
"There was no flirting, Griffin, that was just my normal self, and my normal smiles, and my normal-"
Clarke takes two steps forward – with the first one she enters the room, and with the second one she enters Lexa's personal space. "Then stop… Just…" Clarke starts, then finds herself at a loss of words, and apparently at a loss of fucks given, for she wrinkles her nose in disdain. "Fuck you", she casually says, watching Lexa go from surprised, to irritated, to amused. Amused?
"Oh, is that right?" The captain asserts, eyes laughing. "And will that be all, miss?"
Clarke sees red – falsely, because she's just ninety percent mad, and she's not even mad at Lexa. She's mad at herself, and she suddenly thinks she's already gone inside this fucking room, she might as well enjoy her time.
There's a second of uncertainty, of Lexa being all predatory stance again, and very low resolve, and very high need, and then Clarke's taking matters into her own hands. First she gets up close - close enough for them to be able to breath each other's air. Then she looks up, grabs Lexa's neck and crashes their mouth together in what becomes another desperate and needy and helpless kiss, just like their first one, only even angrier (if that's even possible).
She's woken up Lexa, it seems, and that's a dangerous business, for the captain immediately returns the kiss with twice the passion and searing hunger, eating her alive like a parched animal. They tumble backwards together, hit the table of the kitchenette because let's not forget they're in a hotel room – in a hotel room, with very little space and very little patience. Lexa outright growls when she realizes they're too confined to do anything serious, or that's what Clarke thinks, until she's then being picked up and thrown on the table. Her equilibrium kicks in, and she keeps herself from falling on her back by throwing out a hand and only then does she find Lexa's green eyes staring hard at her like she's some kind of Sirloin steak that's being dangled in front of a lion.
"If you break that table, you pay", Clarke warns.
"Clarke."
"Yes."
"I have just fucking thrown you on a table, that is commonly known as a 10/10 in the sex world."
"Oh, then you don't wanna see what I can do to you."
And that's when Lexa seems to entirely realize that she's got Clarke Griffin spread out on a table, at two A.M., in her holiday pajamas. She didn't think a reindeer t-shirt could be that sexy.
"Almost scared me right there, Griffin, but I'm not the one on the table", Lexa taunts, advancing between Clarke's thighs who jerks up and meets her halfway for a wet, open-mouthed kiss that reaches into her guts and tears her open, panting and out of breath and sick with anticipation.
"Oh, just come here", Clarke replies, bumping their foreheads together in a move that could be way too personal and intimate were they not completely wild and dizzy with lust. Clarke doesn't think, just grabs a handful of Lexa's shirt fabric and pulls it up to get her fingers on her abs, trailing upwards and digging her fingers into the captain's skin. The latter huffs, just once, and understands that yes, this is where they are going, yes, they are doing something all too forbidden and all too sickeningly infatuating.
"Is that you rewarding me for my hat trick?" Lexa difficulty articulates, watching the embers of lust dancing in Clarke's eyes.
"Possibly", Clarke declares, and with one swift move takes her shirt off.
It appears Lexa's brain has stopped functioning – she stays there, panting, eyes wandering on the vast unexplored land of pleasures that is Clarke Griffin's toned body.
Clarke gets sick of it eventually – and don't get her wrong, she loves it when Lexa looks at her like that, but she also needs her touch. So bad.
"Is there a problem there, captain?" She teases, and watches Lexa arch a brow suspiciously, then, very slowly, lower herself until she's mere inches away from Clarke's chest.
The look she gives her is one of complete confidence in her capacities – heads cocked to the side, terribly charming grin, and that's it, Clarke feels warmth spread into her spine, then travel up until in reaches her nape.
"Calling me such names is a dangerous idea, you should know that by now", Lexa growls, her tone warning her of the upcoming threat.
Clarke gives her best challenging glare, very aware of the possible repercussions. "What? Were you hoping for Commander instead?"
And she loses track of time – she thinks it lasts ten seconds, ten seconds of Lexa eyeing her cautiously like she's wondering what she can and cannot do to this woman, what's permitted, what's unallowable. Then Lexa's sucking at her neck - a sucking that start by a deliberate, flat-tongue lick and grows into something feral and wicked, something that makes Clarke close her eyes and feel all the blood rushing to her head. She jerks her hand up and buries it in Lexa's hair, and she thinks she hears Lexa purr, mouth still on her neck, feeling the throbbing of her pulse with dazing clarity.
"Other things you'd like to hear?" Clarke breathes, light-headed but eager to obtain more of these reactions out of Lexa.
"Say it again, you might get lucky", the center enounces plainly, busying herself with Clarke's bra.
"Start by opening my fucking bra", the blonde mutters in false frustration.
Lexa closes her eyes and breathes in, clearly exasperated. "Clarke Griffin, I swear."
But she's already being beaten to this undressing game – with one 'click', Clarke is getting rid of her bra and throwing it further on the table. Lexa closes her mouth, afraid she might start to drool.
Clarke stands straight, reaching to pull off Lexa's shirt but the motion is suddenly at a halt when Lexa's hands get to her breasts, and she can't think anymore, just huffs loudly and takes hold of Lexa's forearms in an attempt to guide her actions.
"You know, I think I got this", the center grunts, and Clarke reacts by pulling the hem of her t-shirt over her head, trapping her effectively.
"Griffin! Jesus, do you even want to be fucked?"
Then Clarke is removing the shirt with one quick pull and she's devouring Lexa's lips again, adds tongue to the mix like the little wicked thing she is, and she knows just how to get Lexa out of control, it appears, for the center's hands are all over her again, climbing up her ass, nestling at the small of her back.
From now on, they don't utter as single word – just kiss, touch, bite, send each other burning in all the right places. Clarke has three orgasms, which come ridiculously early into the process (it's almost embarrassing). And as she bent over Lexa's back, panting and over the edge, she vividly remembers dreaming about this the first time she saw her, remembers thinking of Lexa's hands and arms and mouth on multiple occasions, and then she realizes just how bad this woman can dismantle her, leave her to pieces on the kitchen floor, leave her helpless and needy and weak. She's scared, then breathless, then scared. Their eyes meet again, and they take it for sex, only sex. The fools.
They travel to the bedroom after hours, sorry, Lexa carries Clarke to the bedroom, in fact. The blonde cannot help but wonder how it is that they do so much of carrying and throwing – throwing on beds, on tables, on walls, why not on carpets, while they're at it?
"I'll wake up, don't worry", Clarke assures in between breaths.
Lexa doesn't hear her (the thighs currently tightening around her head are not helping).
The clock strikes five A.M. when Clarke wakes up, deeply confused, and turns around only to discover Lexa still asleep beside her. She forces herself out of the bed, still light headed and unsure on her feet. Lexa looks quiet and god, so young. She looks like this pure, inoffensive child – it's hard to remember her in her brutal, conqueror glory. It's hard to remember that Lexa once acted cruel and selfish – callous, this warrior of a woman, this unscrupulous being that used people to her advantage, and looked down at the whole world like a greek Goddess on a pedestal.
Clarke backs away, torn and lost. She asks herself, how is it that she acts like a child around me, now? How is it that she's laughing freely, just for the sake of it? How is it that she's pushing pucks off a fucking board for her, how is it that she's trying, now? She reminds her of the little boys who brought her dandelions in elementary school during recess, these kids who were the very epithet of goodwill and clumsiness. Clarke leaves the room, almost in panic, and the truth hits her like a sack of bricks.
She has grown fond of Lexa.
Hope you liked it! Come say hi on Tumblr if you want to read the first episode of my special issue called Off the ice, in which you'll get to read a radio interview taking place before the Classic!
