Lexa's eyes widened as Clarke reached into her clothes and pulled out a long knife, its edge wicked and sharp in the dim light. Part of Lexa's mind told her to recoil. And yet some other part of her seemed rooted in place, unable to move from the flame that was the spark that connected all three women in such an embrace.
Lexa didn't know what to think in that moment as Clarke let her hand drop from where it had been laid atop Ontari's. She didn't entirely think Clarke was going to use the knife on her, but she knew whatever its purpose it had to be another of Clarke's games, another of her ploys to unsettle her in some way.
And yet Clarke let the silence settle around them, she let the glinting of the knife's blade catch the light as she pleased, and she let it dance its reflection against her face as if she searched for something in dark that had come to settle around them.
"It is time, Ontari," Clarke said quietly.
Lexa swallowed as she looked from Clarke to the other woman and she saw her eyes narrow just a fraction, the emotion unreadable as Ontari let go of her face.
And then Lexa's jaw dropped.
It happened quickly, the motions so smooth, so elegant that Lexa knew them to be rehearsed time after time. Clarke rolled up her sleeve, Ontari seemed to pull a vial out from thin air and hold it up to Clarke's arm and then Lexa gasped.
Clarke let the knife slice into her own skin, the action so smooth, so simple as the blade danced across her flesh. Black blood oozed out from the wound and Ontari caught all of it in the vial and then Lexa understood.
She had seen that same vial used by Emerson, she had seen him inject himself with blood and she realised Maya must have needed it, must have been close to whatever deadline hung over her head.
And then Ontari stood, vial tucked into her clothes as she bowed her head and slipped out of the room as if nothing had happened at all.
It was quiet. Somehow the air seemed cooler than it had moments ago. Lexa couldn't take her eyes off the wound as it stitched itself closed in front of her eyes. Clarke's pale grey flesh seemed to pulse, seemed to vibrate ever so slightly. Veins darkened under pale flesh and Lexa was sure she glimpsed the black of her blood flow more steadily towards the wound as if racing to patch the wound closed. She didn't know what to think, she didn't know how to make sense of what she saw.
Her mind tried to think of some kind of technology that could do what it did, she tried to think of a logical explanation for the things her eyes saw. Perhaps there was one — she was sure there was. But in that moment she didn't have the capacity to think too far, too hard on the topic. Not when Clarke's fingers slowly began to trace against her lips, not when she shivered as she realised Clarke's caress was cold, caring as it graced her flesh.
Lexa's eyes were wide as she looked into Clarke's own, as she stared into the pale ice that looked back. There was something in the woman's face that made Lexa want to look away, there was something that made her want to reach out and snare it for herself, to stake her claim on something so rare, so precious that no other should have it for themselves.
And then there was a metallic bite that seemed to wriggle itself into her senses, that confused her, stupefied and disturbed her mind. It took far too long for Lexa to realise that what she smelt, what she tasted upon her tongue was the metallic lick of blood that Clarke had smeared across her lips. Lexa tried to recoil then, perhaps in shock, perhaps in horror at what was happening. She didn't know what to make of Clarke's ministrations across her lips, she didn't know what to think of the fact that Clarke so happily tainted her flesh with her own blood and she didn't know what to think as Clarke smiled so very subtly as she began to lean in, as she began to bring their faces together ever so slowly.
Lexa realised Clarke had let go of any hold she had on her, she realised Clarke gave her the space to retreat, to pull away from whatever it was that was to happen. And yet Lexa felt herself frozen in time and space and moment as Clarke brought their faces closer and closer and closer.
Lexa swallowed, she didn't mean to lick her lip but she did, in part because she felt her mouth so very dry, in part because she thought she'd do something so very foolish if she didn't. And she didn't mean to lick the pad of Clarke's finger, she didn't mean to let tongue linger for a split second longer than it needed to linger.
And yet all those things happened, each and every single second made her reconsider, made her unsure, unsteady where she sat.
"You are beautiful," Clarke's voice was quiet, her breath cool against her face and Lexa felt herself flush as she looked into pale eyes and pale grey face. "So beautiful, so unsure of your place in a world you have stumbled upon," Clarke's words seemed to bite into her as if they were the embrace of a bitter friend, something that should have been comforting, something that should have been soothing and gentle. "Is this what you want?" Clarke whispered and Lexa felt her hand settle over the beating of her heart, she felt it press into her body as if it tried to hold the flesh of her heart in the palm of her hand.
It was a game, Lexa knew that much. But she couldn't figure out why Clarke did what she did, she couldn't piece together whatever was left of the moment, she couldn't discern trick from truth, lie from want.
"What's happening?" Lexa asked and she made sure her gaze didn't waver from Clarke's, she ignored the taste that had coated her tongue and she tried not to swallow, not to let herself consume what little of Clarke's blood she had been gifted upon her lips.
"I feel your heart beat," Clarke said just as quietly, her hand's presence against the aforementioned far too intimate than it had any right to be. "Do you feel mine?" Clarke's hand left her chest, closed around hers and pulled it to her own beating heart.
And Lexa could. She could feel Clarke's heart beat through the furs. She could feel its steady beat and she looked into Clarke's eyes as she let go of her hand. Lexa found herself keeping her hand rested atop Clarke's breast, atop the beating of her heart. She didn't know what else to do, she didn't know what to think. Flashes of the past screamed through her mind of their shared bath, of the intimacy that they had shared. She tried to shake those images from her mind, she blinked in the hopes that it would clear her head and yet whatever she tried, whatever she attempted did little to tame the beast that was raging through her body, through her veins, through every fibre of her bo—
"Taste me."
It was so quiet Lexa almost missed it, so subtle she almost thought she imagined it.
"Wha—"
Her voice was cut off by Clarke lifting her still black bloodied wrist to her lips, the motion a clear invitation for Lexa to do something.
"What?" Lexa needed to repeat her question for she didn't think she heard properly. How could she have?
"Taste me," Clarke said it more pointedly, an eyebrow raised in elegant command.
There were so many thoughts that crashed through Lexa's mind at that. Part of her was disgusted in some intangible way she couldn't describe, part of her wanted to recoil even further from whatever game it was that Clarke played.
"I will not ask again," this time there was iron in the quiet of Clarke's voice and in that split second that Lexa took to consider whether or not to do as she was being commanded she found herself looking not at a woman, not at someone playing a game, but a predator, something keen, sharp, hardened to the world with iron will and iron heart.
And so Lexa did what she was commanded.
Lexa kept her gaze locked onto Clarke's as she leant forward and brought her lips to the offered wrist. She tasted a metallic bite that coated her tongue, that set her heart ablaze and Lexa tried not to grimace, she tried not to savour what Clarke gifted her. Perhaps she had expected it to be different in some way. And yet it wasn't. The blood tasted just like any, it reminded her of a time when she had split her lip open on the Ark, or when she had cut herself on one too many a sharp screw or rivet as she poked and prodded around the Ark's systems.
For the briefest of moments Lexa ran her tongue against Clarke's wrist in an attempt to feel the wound she had seen her inflict on herself. And yet she felt nothing save for the beating pulse that pumped that very same black blood she tasted through Clarke's body.
And then Lexa gasped. She gasped and she winced and pulled away from Clarke's wrist, her face feeling moist, a single trail of saliva trailing from her lips to Clarke's flesh. But what had made her gasp, what had made her pull away was the stinging stab of something cutting into her finger.
It took Lexa a second to realise what had happened but as she pulled away she realised Clarke had taken her knife, had sliced open the pad of her finger without her even noticing. Lexa watched, she stared, eyes wide as Clarke smiled at her kindly, the woman's hand closing around her own as she pulled it to her lips and paused for just one single moment.
Lexa felt herself lost in the scene before her. Clarke's eyes were kinder than they had been moments ago. The smile upon her face ushered in the briefest of glimpses of darkened gums and her flesh seemed to glow an ethereal glimmer in the candle light. Lexa's finger continued to bleed, she watched as the red of her blood trickled down her finger, she watched as it etched itself into every wrinkle and fold of her palm, as it spiderwebbed its way across her skin. And then she watched as Clarke brought her wound to her lips and began to consume the blood with such gentleness that Lexa thought herself something delicate, brittle, easy to break and to bruise.
It sent a gentle shock down Lexa's spine, it made her skin tingle and she found her lips parting ever so slightly as Clarke caressed the pain she had inflicted with lip and tongue.
And then Clarke kissed her.
It wasn't kind, it wasn't gentle, soft, or caring. Clarke kissed her with such intensity that it stole her breath, forced her to give everything she had. Lexa tasted herself on Clarke's lips just as much as she knew Clarke tasted herself on hers. There was a war of muscle and flesh, and push and pull of emotions, hurts and angers in the connection they shared and Lexa found her own hand gripping Clarke's hip in an attempt to steady, to regain some kind of control in the moment.
But Clarke wouldn't budge, no matter how much Lexa fought for control. It didn't help that Lexa remained seated in her chair, Clarke ever sure, ever confident in her position looming over her. And yet, somehow, someway, Lexa realised her other hand had found a place atop Clarke's heart just as Clarke's had found purchase atop hers. She didn't realise it at first, she didn't intend to even notice. But notice she did. And with that connection of breath and heart Lexa found that theirs beat at the same time, it pumped blood through their bodies and forced them to settle into a rhythm she couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend, couldn't begin to fathom or unearth.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, just violently as it had begun, it broke, it shattered to pieces and Lexa was free.
Lexa's heart beat faster than it had beat for days. She fought for breath and she blinked back shock and surprise and uncertainty and unknowns. She looked down at her hand still held in Clarke's, she found the blood that had been spilt almost all but consumed by the other woman. Both women still let their other hands rest atop each other's hearts and she thought the connection they shared odd, unkind, not so friendly in that moment.
"You and I," Clarke trailed off quietly, her lips curving up into the slightest of smiles as she let her own breathing steady. "I am sorry I had to cut you, Lexa," she said and she placed a gentle kiss upon the cut she had inflicted. "We taste the same," Clarke said and she let her hand go. "We are the same. You have nothing to fear from me," and yet fear, in some way, in some form, she did.
Lexa remained quiet for a moment or two as she tried to figure out what to say. But words eluded her in the moment. She didn't think she could even begin to describe what had just transpired. The kiss wasn't intimate, it wasn't borne of any kind of care or love. And yet it had felt more intimate than even their bath, when they had both been bare to the world, when Clarke had pressed herself against her so forwardly that Lexa hadn't been able to get the memories out of the darkest corners of her mind.
And yet Lexa knew she needed to do something more.
And so, "what is this?" Lexa finally found her voice and she gestured awkwardly between them. "This thing between us?"
Clarke's head tilted to the side and Lexa once again felt herself as a prey being studied.
"Now that you have given your people the information they need," Clarke began simply. "We must trust each other if we are to work together to bring down the Mountain," it was said with such simplicity, such cold calculations that Lexa felt stunned at the sudden change in tone, in timbre, in emotions that existed now and had existed not seconds earlier.
"Is that it?" Lexa didn't know where exactly her courage had come from. But she thought given the circumstances she could be afforded some kind of leeway, any kind of latitude to question and seek answers to the things that had happened. "Is that all you're going to say?"
Clarke took a long moment to consider her words, she remained still and calm and Lexa couldn't shake the mental image of Clarke as a lifeless corpse, something frozen in place, unable to move, unable to speak or voice their thoughts to the world.
"You are a leader, Lexa," Clarke began eventually. "One that was chosen not because of name, not because of title or birthright. But through action alone," she paused and Lexa tried to see where Clarke was going, where she was taking them. "Your actions on the ground have ensured your people's survival until this very moment, you choose to believe the things I tell you in some measure. Perhaps not fully, perhaps you still need proof. In fact I know you still seek it and you are wise to do so," Clarke paused, she hummed and she ran a finger along Lexa's jaw, the motion more endearing than it ought to be. "I am not a monster, I am not something to be feared by you," Clarke said. "Though my blood is black, though it gives life to those who consume it," and she paused, perhaps a curiosity now colouring her gaze. "Does it not taste just the same as yours?"
She wasn't wrong. But Lexa wouldn't voice that.
"And does my heart beat just as strongly as yours?" Clarke continued. "The Mountain will tell your friends that my kind are evil, that we are monsters, that we kill any who are different to us, that we share not what the ground offers," and Clarke leant forward and kissed the tip of her nose in something so very odd that Lexa didn't know how to act. "And yet do I not offer you protection? Peace? Security and a hand of friendship in your people's time of uncertainty?"
"You do," Lexa said slowly, her mind still unsure of how to think of the situation.
"Who has lied to you since you came to the ground?" and Clarke tilted her head to the side again, the motion exposing a little more of her neck than had previously been visible. "I admit," Clarke continued. "That I have tried to entice you to view my people, my offer of friendship as something to be sought after, to be accepted, but I have not lied to you. Not like the one who saved you from the acid fog."
It was all true. The more Lexa thought about it the more she realised Clarke had been as honest as she said. Of course there was showmanship, spectacle, and an apparent need or want or desire to play and toy with her. And yet Lexa couldn't think of one thing Clarke had said that had been shown to be false in any kind of way. In fact Clarke had also been as open as she could be about the risks her people could be under should they side with the Mountain.
And Lexa didn't think the Mountain had been even a tenth as open to her people.
"Is this all that was, then?" Lexa asked. "Just a game, a way to get your message across? To tell me, to show me that you want to work with us?"
As Lexa let those words leave her mouth she found herself feeling just a tinge of hurt. She didn't fully understand why. Perhaps it was because despite the absurdity, she had genuinely thought Clarke had shown some kind of sick, twisted interest in her. Lexa had thought that maybe the fact that Clarke was treated as some kind of deity had warped her sense of right and wrong, or perhaps more so, want and need and desire, where she could take what she wanted with little care for the thoughts of othe—
"No," Clarke's voice cut into her rambling thoughts with a quiet chuckle. "Not just a game," and Lexa gasped quietly as Clarke stood and pulled her up out of the chair and onto her feet in one single motion.
"Then what?" Lexa asked and she swallowed as she realised they stood face to face, close enough that she could count the chairs upon Clarke's face if she stared hard enough.
Clarke paused quietly in thought as she stepped forward, as she invaded Lexa's space. She didn't mean to, but Lexa took her own step back, perhaps to put space between them, perhaps to orient herself in the room, to ground herself, to give her eyes somewhere else to look other than directly into Clarke's own.
"It is not just a game," Clarke said, her words quiet, gentle, soft. They lingered in the space between them both and Lexa couldn't quite tell why her eyes seemed to dart down to Clarke's lips for a moment. "Not just a game."
Lexa gasped quietly as she realised Clarke had forced her to retreat until her back hit the wall behind her. But there was a flash of something in Lexa when she saw the smirk on Clarke's face, as if the woman had assumed she had all the control in the situation. Perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it was just a little smugness that seemed to spring into Clarke's gaze, but Lexa found herself thinking it not fair in whatever way fair was being measured.
"Why me?" Lexa didn't know why she felt that question was the right one to ask. But she did.
"Why you?" Clarke asked quietly.
"Why—" Lexa swallowed hard as she took as much of a step forward off the wall as she could. "—Me."
Clarke paused then, and Lexa wondered if the pause was genuine, if the woman actually considered her question or if it was yet another game, something she did to confuse, sway the powder dynamic back into her favour.
"Not many dare to so pointedly ask me questions as you do," Clarke said eventually.
"Not many?" Lexa asked. "But some do?" she wondered if Ontari was someone who did.
"Not many that entice me so."
"I entice you?" Lexa didn't know if she should feel offended or not. She wasn't even sure if Clarke meant it in the way she had assumed.
"Yes," it was so simple, so blunt that it gave Lexa pause simply because she had expected something flowery, something a little more full of explanation.
"I'm not trying to be enticing," it could have sounded so stupid and yet Lexa said the words with as much confidence as she could muster, and she found her voice sounding stronger than it had moments ago.
"I know," Clarke said, her own voice full of quiet confidence that seemed so strange in the moment, as it both women knew the other was trying to get the upper hand, to get some kind of purchase on their foe lest they cede any and all power in the dance they found themselves fighting.
Well, Lexa thought and this time it was her turn to let the silence linger, to let it settle between them both. Perhaps she'll find this enticing.
And so, it was with that thought that Lexa threw all caution to the wind, consequences be damned. She pushed forward from the wall, invaded Clarke's space and gripped the side of her face in her hand. There was the briefest moment of surprise that flashed across the woman's face before Lexa gentled their lips together.
And, where once it had been unkind, it was soft.
Where once it had been violent, full of tumultuous glee and youthful bravado, it was gentle, it was a dance of breath shared between two people. In that very moment Lexa didn't care if what she was doing was silly, was borne from some kind of oddly obscene and twisted place or was a last ditch effort to save her people.
She did it simply because in that moment she felt it was right, it was warranted. Ever since they had met Clarke had been the one in power, the one in control. So Lexa wouldn't break first. She wouldn't. Not even if her lungs screamed out for air, not if she winced as Clarke's teeth bit into her lip, not when she felt Clarke push, try to gain control of the embrace, not when Clarke forced her to taste herself on Clarke's tongue. Not when—
—Clarke broke the kiss first, her eyes were dazed and Lexa found herself smiling something between smirk of victory and contentedness.
It wasn't love that connected them, perhaps not even affection. Truthfully Lexa would probably need days or weeks, maybe even months to figure out exactly what it was that they seemed to both be sharing in.
But in that moment Lexa was happy to forget about things for a little while. Especially when Clarke was something—
No.
Clarke was Someone. That much was clear. She was someone Lexa couldn't describe, couldn't explain, not yet.
And there it was. That ability to not explain, to not understand, to be in the dark without certainty. Perhaps the only take away, perhaps the only thing she could truthfully understand in everything that had happened, was that she needed to take a leap of faith, trust in herself, in her own judgement. She didn't have all the answers, Lexa thought she might never. But maybe she didn't need all of them, not right away.
So maybe she'd take one step at a time, just as she had already been doing, just as she had been doing her entire life. And perhaps, in that very moment, if that one little step that she needed to take was kissing Clarke? She'd take that step, and she'd take it again and again and again.
Because it was enticing.