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20 years. 20 years they have fought and argued and smiled and loved. It had been 20 years been since Clarke walked into Lexa's space and felt gobsmacked. 20 years since Lexa saw a storm and wondered if maybe she could love again.
Clarke wondered if she would ever be happy on the ground, and Lexa didn't think she'd live to be even this old.
Clarke is still softly beautiful, and Lexa is still striking yet elegant. Lexa has little wrinkles at the edges of her eyes, and Clarke thinks it's because she has never slept well or enough in her whole life. Lexa says it's because Clarke makes her smile. They both look younger than their years, even by the living standard on the ground.
When Lexa has a nightmare, Clarke usually awakens enough to roll closer to reach her hand out for whatever is closest, to draw her in and run her thumb over her and whisper "you're okay".
On a night like tonight, when Clarke has a nightmare, Lexa wakes up immediately like she always does. She's a light sleeper. Clarke bolts upright, sitting up on their bed with her hands gripping the sheets. Lexa sits up too, one arm going across Clarke's body to let her hand rest gently on Clarke's hip. Clarke looks around wildly for a few seconds before her gaze lands on her wife. A particularly large exhale comes with one of Clarke's hands on Lexa's chest, right over her heart. The other gravitates, as it always does, to Lexa's ribs. It assures that her heart is beating and that she still draws breath. They stay that way for a short while; after all this time together, it is now only a couple minutes.
When they were younger, intimacy between them was at first desperate and rough, neither knowing if either would survive. When peace on the ground was new and tenuous, it was still hard and fast and consisted of many, many shorter and intense rounds that occurred often. But as they began to really know each other's pasts and thoughts and know every last detail, the number of encounters lessened, but softened, and the length of each increased. And that was how it was for a long time.
But occasionally there were times like this. Times when adrenaline and radical emotions from highly charged dreams made that intensity of youth return.
Clarke pushes Lexa, laying her flat on her back as she straddles her and kisses her firmly. Their hands intertwine and Clarke raises them above Lexa's head, but only so that their naked bodies are fully extended and completely flush. Both can feel hard nipples against their skin and it causes them to sigh against each other's lips.
Lexa kisses her back with just as much fervor, knowing that Clarke just needs to feel her - warm and alive and loving. Lexa's hands disconnect to caress Clarke's shoulder blades and grip them tightly while Clarke digs one hand in luscious brunette hair and uses the other to ghost her fingers over Lexa's face and jaw.
"How are you still so beautiful?" Clarke whispers.
Lexa's intense gaze bores into Clarke with love and compassion and a little bit of amusement.
"I suppose you love me. Love makes age a thing you don't see."
"It's like I've told you, then. Love isn't weakness. Love makes you strong."
"I don't know what love is, exactly. But loving you, and you loving me, got me here, so I can't say it's a bad thing."
Clarke smiles at that.