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Clarke surveyed the camp from on top of the hill. She had relieved Octavia of the watch so that she could go greet Bellamy. Clarke didn’t think that there would be any attacks tonight, but Lexa had ordered a guard anyway. The Mountain Men had all surrendered; Cage was a prisoner of war, and he would be tried by the grounders according to their justice system. Clarke couldn’t help but feel a grim satisfaction at the back of her throat, bitter as bile, as she hoped he got what he deserved. A thousand cuts along his body wouldn’t erase the damage they had done to the Grounders.
“You’re not very good on the watch.” Clarke spun around, lifting her handgun on archaic instinct, despite the fact that she recognised the voice. She lowered the gun again.
“I was thinking,” Clarke replied honestly, sticking her handgun back into her back pocket. Lexa had changed; she had traded in her blood and mud filled armour for her robe again. She seemed pleased with herself, however, and tilted her head at Clarke, a small smile quirking up her lips.
“Tonight is the time for celebration, Clarke,” Lexa murmured, the ‘k’ in Clarke’s name rolling off her tongue elegantly. She stepped next to Clarke, looking down at the camp. From their vantage point, they could just about see the vast expanse of the camp, glittering with fires. Even from here, on the hill, they could barely see the end of the rows of light. Music and drums and laughter seemed to hang like mist around the edges of the camp. Tonight, Grounders and Sky People had mingled in the camp, celebrating together. It filled Clarke with equal measures fear and relief.
Lexa looked down, and as Clarke watched her, she thought she could recognise an edge of pride on Lexa’s otherwise stoic face. “Victory was ours,” she said, breaking the silence, and the relief in her voice tangible. She looked away from the camp and caught Clarke’s eye. “We must celebrate it.” Clarke held Lexa’s eye contact for a second, and then looked back at the camp.
“What about tomorrow?” She murmured, voicing her deep seated fear. Lexa smirked at her and offered her a waterskin. Clarke took it, and took a sip, surprised by the bitter taste of alcohol. She drank it anyway.
“We will face tomorrow once the dawn comes,” Lexa replied evenly, staring out at the horizon. Clarke turned to Lexa again and shook her head slowly.
“We need plans, Lexa,” she began. Lexa turned towards her and tilted her head. “Our alliance is tenuous,” Clarke continued. “Now that the Mountain Men are gone –”
“You think too much,” Lexa murmured, stepping into Clarke’s personal space. Clarke looked up at her and clenched her jaw. Lexa’s eyes were unreadable.
“I spent three years in a cell, Lexa,” Clarke murmured. “It’s what I am best at.” Lexa brushed aside a strand of Clarke hair, the corner of her lip quirking up.
“I don’t think,” she began carefully, “I will ever understand why your people sent you to the ground. A criminal, become queen.” Lexa gave Clarke another glimmer of a smile, and Clarke opened her mouth as if to say something, but she couldn’t figure out what. She took a small breath; finally she was stopping, and taking a breath, and breathing. She could smell Lexa’s warm breath, tinged with alcohol, between them. Since the day that Clarke had landed on this ground and the spear had pierced through Jasper’s heart, she had been tensed for a fight. Not once had she relaxed enough to notice how green Lexa’s eyes were, or how elegant her cheekbones. Clarke stepped into Lexa’s space further, lifting a hand to trace Lexa’s smooth cheek, remembering how only a few hours ago it had been streaked with the mud and blood of the battle.
There was a crack of a branch in the woods; Lexa’s sword was out faster than Clarke could raise her hand, the blade quivering at the base of a young grounder’s throat.
“Heda,” the boy gasped, looking down apologetically, averting his eyes from Lexa.
“What do you want?” Lexa snarled.
“I’m Lucretia's second,” he explained quietly. “Octavia told me to release Clarke of the watch.” He glanced at Clarke, and then back at the commander. Clarke nodded and gestured that he could take over her spot. Lexa narrowed her eyes at the boy, and then spun around, her robe billowing out from underneath her. She gestured to Clarke.
“Clarke,” Lexa said sharply. “Come.” Clarke nodded at the boy, who gave her an inquisitive look, and followed Lexa to her tent.
Once in Lexa’s tent, Lexa handed Clarke a glass of water and sat down on the floor. Clarke glanced at her throne, which was situated right behind her, but Lexa ignored it. It made Clarke feel oddly appreciated. Lexa wasn’t talking to Clarke as the commander; she was talking to Clarke as Lexa. They sat in comfortable silence together for some time; Clarke enjoyed the solitary peace. Lexa watched Clarke.
“What do you normally do after a victory?” Clarke asked all of a sudden, looking up at Lexa. Lexa raised an eyebrow.
“What did you do after your victory at the drop ship?” She countered. Clarke laughed hollowly and put down her cup.
“I was captured immediately after,” she explained wryly. “We didn’t have time for anything.” Lexa nodded. She looked at the edge of the tent, and Clarke realised now that they were back in the camp, the sounds of the revelry had increased. She heard a sky person try and speak in broken trigedasleng, and it was met with the good natured laughter. Lexa turned to look back at Clarke.
“My people celebrate. There is a single night of revelry. Then they go back to our villages, and begin to farm again.”
“But what do you do?” Lexa chuckled softly.
“I don’t have a taste for alcohol.”
“And the revelry?”
“It doesn’t suit a commander.”
“So what? You just sit in your tent?” Lexa shrugged.
“I undress.” Clarke realised that that phrase probably had different implications. She tilted her head at Lexa. Lexa smiled and touched her hair and indicated her faded battle makeup and her armour, lying on the carpet.
“I am still the commander, when the morning comes, but I am no longer a commander at war. A commander during peacetime is an entirely different person. So tonight, I will unbraid my hair. Mend my armour. Clean my sword. Say a prayer for the dead.” Clarke looked at Lexa’s hair and tilted her head. It was a mess; the careful braids of the morning had become entangled, and bunched at the back of her neck. It was all frizzy, all the nearly placed hair bands slightly off center. Clarke got up slowly and stood in front of Lexa carefully, tugging at one of the braids in her hair lightly.
“Do you mind?” She asked. Lexa watched her, and then nodded slowly, her eyes flickering down to Clarke’s lips before she turned around, and, in one fluid motion, knelt on the ground. Clarke reached forward, and delicately touched Lexa’s hair. Lexa leaned forward slightly, and Clarke slowly sat down behind her.
“Do you have a brush?” she asked quietly, surveying the hair.
“No,” Lexa replied simply. Clarke took a deep breath, and started at the bottom. She carefully slid out the small hair ties holding Lexa’s hair in its intricate patterns. The hair ties were made up of light and delicate natural fibers, spun together. They seemed to slip out of Lexa’s hair easily, and Clarke started noticing all the intricacies of Lexa’s hair style. One strand of hair seemed to travel diagonally, ending up in the delicate braid at the center of her hair. Clarke had finished with the hair ties; now she started to slowly drag a hand through Lexa’s hair. Every time her finger caught a snag, she would gently pull apart the knot, smoothing out the thick hair with a delicate touch.
When she got to the bottom of Lexa’s hair, her fingers encountered a snag, and Clarke accidentally tugged; Lexa’s eyes flew open and she gasped, more in surprise than in pain.
“I’m sorry,” Clarke murmured, smoothing over the strand carefully. She felt that the reverent nature of her task had been interrupted, but Lexa just closed her eyes again, inviting Clarke to continue.
Unbraiding Lexa’s hair was an almost herculean task. Her hair was a perfect net, and even after having taken out her small braids held together by the hair bands, she still had small braids crisscrossing each other. Clarke could trace the pattern of the braids though, and slowly began taking apart each braid carefully, only applying the most minimal pressure to Lexa’s hair.
Lexa sat there patiently, eyes still closed, and Clarke realised that she probably received this treatment every day. The idea that other people did this, something that felt so powerfully intimate, irked Clarke. She unpicked another curl, and marvelled at the golden sheen in Lexa’s hair in the candle night.
Lexa instinctively tilted her head back when Clarke pulled slightly, and Clarke bit her lip; Lexa’s neck, glowing a warm gold in the candle light, bared it to her so perfectly. Clarke tore her eyes away and concentrated on the braids again.
But she couldn’t get it out of her head; she was so close to Lexa, and as her hand ran through her hair, she reveled in their proximity. Lexa’s hair smelled beautiful. Clarke believed it was a combination of honey and some kind of flower. It would explain why Lexa’s hair was slightly sticky and stiff, though it did submit to Clarke’s careful brushes.
And then, suddenly, it was all done. Clarke ran her hand through the hair one last time, to make sure it really was all combed out. Still on her knees, she shuffled around so she was sitting in front of Lexa. They were face to face, and Clarke tugged at Lexa’s permanent braids, at the bottom of her hair, appreciatively, letting them fall back against Lexa’s neck. She pushed back one of the strands that framed Lexa’s face and carefully rested a hand on Lexa’s cheek. Even now, Lexa looked terribly intimidating. Her green eyes were unreadable, and although her hair seemed to act as a halo around her face, softening her features, there was iron in her eyes.
Clarke held Lexa’s gaze for nearly a minute, trying to figure out what was going to happen. What was going to happen now, or at dawn, or three weeks from now? Clarke didn’t know, and suddenly the crushing weight of worry seemed to fall on Clarke again. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but found that language failed her. She closed her mouth again, but Lexa tilted her head.
“Clarke?” she asked, her voice intimate and low. Clarke swallowed.
“Lexa,” she replied. Lexa tilted her head, and Clarke sighed, dropping her hand from Lexa’s face. “I can’t stop thinking,” she muttered. Lexa carefully touched Clarke’s chin, encouraging Clarke to look up from the floor and meet Lexa’s eye.
“Then let me help quiet your mind,” she murmured and leaned forward, though she paused right before Clarke’s face, just in case she had misread all the signals.
But then Clarke bridged the gap between them, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss against Lexa’s lips. Lexa’s eyes flickered closed and she kissed Clarke back gently. Clarke pulled away slightly; Lexa’s eyes opened with a flicker of panic.
“You call that making me forget?” Clarke joked weakly, and Lexa smirked. She sat up straight on her haunches and leaned forward, a hand slipping around Clarke’s neck before she kissed her again, first chastely, and then nudging open Clarke’s mouth with a deft flick of her tongue. Clarke curled a hand in Lexa’s newly tidy hair, and started kissing back. She swiftly gained control of the situation, straightening up, and biting Lexa’s lip and pulling it ever so lightly. Lexa gasped, audibly surprised, and stared at Clarke with wide eyes as Clarke pulled away.
Clarke just grinned and lightly pushed a slightly dazed Lexa on the shoulder, indicating that she should lie down on the fur carpet. Lexa stared at her, and then complied, lying back silently, eyes still watching Clarke. Clarke crawled over Lexa, so she was hovering over her.
“I thought I was meant to make you forget,” Lexa murmured, voice huskier than intended. Clarke smirked, tracing a hand down from Lexa’s hair to her hip.
“You are,” Clarke promised, kissing Lexa lightly on the mouth again. This time Lexa was ready though; her own tongue prodded against Clarke’s lips. Clarke’s jaw relaxed, and Lexa pulled her closer with fingers digging into Clarke neck. Clarke settled on top of Lexa, aligning their hips and sliding a thigh between Lexa’s legs. Clarke carefully began trailing kisses down Lexa’s neck, peppering them with light, playful nips. Lexa tried to concentrate on Clarke’s mouth on her neck, licking her pulse point, but her body was prickling with an intense need for more.
“Clarke,” Lexa growled; although harsher than intended, the growl just made Clarke grin before she sat up and began stripping Lexa of her clothes. Not for the first time in her life, Lexa hated the buckles at the front of her robe. Although Clarke seemed to make quick work of them, there were so many of them. Lexa sat up and began pushing at them herself. Clarke smirked, and pushed Lexa back down again.
“Patience,” she whispered, undoing the last buckle and leaning forward to kiss Lexa again as she carefully opened Lexa’s robe, her left hand lightly tracing Lexa’s bared skin, save for the small scrap of cloth that bound her chest and her tight-fitting deerskin trousers . Lexa strained upwards, but Clarke’s hand on her shoulder forced her to remain on the ground. She growled quietly as Clarke shifted against Lexa provocatively again, her thigh between Lexa’s leg shifting for one second to apply a glorious pressure before it disappeared again. Lexa arched against the ground again, but Clarke held her down by anchoring a hand at the bare skin of Lexa’s hip. Lexa shuddered as the cold feel of Clarke’s hand on her skin made goosebumps prickle up her stomach. Clarke noticed it, and traced small circles into Lexa’s hip with a thumb, before she leaned down and lightly kissed the skin covering her protruding hip bone. Lexa let out a guttural sound in appreciation, and Clarke smirked. She let go of Lexa’s shoulder and rested her other hand on Lexa’s ribcage, right beneath her breasts. Lexa immediately propped herself up on her elbows and watched as Clarke carefully kissed her way up Lexa’s torso, the thumb of her left hand still lightly brushing against the underside of Lexa’s loose binder.
Her muscles tensed, rippling provocatively under skin, as Clarke slowly kissed her way upwards. Clarke scraped her teeth against Lexa’s exposed skin, and a bolt of electricity shot up her spine, and she groaned, falling back onto the ground with a heavy thump. Clarke grinned and kissed the edges of Lexa’s breast; she groaned again. Clarke kissed Lexa’s hard nipple over the fabric, and Lexa arched up, gasping desperately. She threaded her hands through Clarke’s hair and pulled slightly. Clarke scrapped her teeth over the covered nipple, and watched Lexa’s blush travel over her chest.
“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, voice breathy and desperate. Clarke shivered, and pushed up the binder to reveal Lexa’s breasts. She lightly kisses one, and then the other, while Lexa’s hands tighten in her hair, twisting it painfully. Clarke sat up and leaned forward and neatly straddled Lexa’s hips and carefully take her hands out of her hair. Lexa growled in protest, tugging at Clarke’s shirt. Clarke smirked and pulled it off over her head. Lexa rested her hands on Clarke’s hips, staring up at her. Clarke tilted her head.
“What?” she asked.
“You have a strange binder,” Lexa muttered, tracing Clarke’s bra and touching the foam cups lightly. Clarke rolled her eyes and reached behind her, unclasping her bra and sliding it off in one smooth motion.
“Whatever,” she murmured, before she leaned down again to kiss Lexa again, her bear breasts rubbing against Lexa’s. Lexa gasped and grabbed Clarke’s thighs, sinking her nails into the material in Clarke’s jeans. Clarke slowly kissed down Lexa’s neck, travelling down her body, and pointedly ignoring her breasts. Lexa mewled in complain as Clarke scraped her teeth between the valley of Lexa’s breasts and kissed her stomach delicately instead. But Clarke slid down Lexa’s body until she was at the edge of her deerskin trousers. She looked up at Lexa, and Lexa watched with hungry eyes as Clarke hooked her thumbs under the trousers and pulled them down slowly. Lexa arched upward, gasping lightly; the sound twisted something in Clarke’s gut, and suddenly she was hungry. Se quickly decided patience was overrated, and pulled off Lexa’s pants, getting up to shed her own jeans. Lexa watched her silently, grinning as Clarke kneeled back down and pushed Lexa’s knees apart gently, running her hands along Lexa’s smooth legs. Lexa shivered again, and sat up on her elbows to watch Clarke as she leaned down and gently placed a gentle kiss at the back of Lexa’s knee. Lexa spread her legs wider, but Clarke continued her slow pilgrimage up Lexa’s thighs, paying special attention to the stark white scar on Lexa’s upper thigh.
Lexa whined, and pushed her hips up again, and grinned and settled between Lexa’s legs, and slipped one finger, and then two, into Lexa’s heat. Lexa gasped, body going rigid for a second as her need was finally address, before she started rolling her hips against Clarke’s hand, trying to accelerate Clarke’s painfully slow rhythm. Clarke didn’t speed up, thought, and Lexa writhed underneath her as Clarke ruthlessly pushed her to the edge with slow torture.
Lexa grabbed the fur between her fingers as she gasped Clarke’s name with a wanton enjoyment. Clarke looked up at her, and grinned. She was suddenly struck by the perfect visual composition of the image in front of her; with the dark array of Lexa’s hair, dark against the auburn fur, and the flickering candlelight warming the tone of Lexa’s skin, she looked warm and red and dangerous.
“Clarke?” Lexa broke the moment. She leaned up on her elbows and looked down at Clarke, an incredibly uncharacteristic sheen of uncertainty glimmering on her features. Clarke just leaned forward and kissed Lexa deeply again, lowering her back onto the furs.
“I was just thinking,” she murmured. Lexa pushed Clarke’s hair out of her face.
“Don’t,” Lexa advised, her voice deep and breathy. Clarke stared down at her, desperate to map every feature, every contour of her face in her memory. Lexa blinked, her eyes focusing on Clarke again. She smirked, and Clarke had one second, and then Lexa flipped the two of them other. Clarke was caught by surprise, both by the action, and Lexa’s dexterity, and she landed on the floor with a definite thump. Clarke stared up at Lexa’s triumphant smirk, and narrowed her eyes, pushing her own hip upwards to turn them around again, but Lexa held her down.
“I think,” she murmured, holding down Clarke’s wrists lightly, “that you, Clarke of the Sky People, should admit defeat.” Clarke rolled her eyes,
“I never admit defeat.”
“Unwise,” Lexa murmured, leaning down above Clarke, her hair trailing down Clarke’s exposed torso. “A good leader knows when there is a benefit in losing a battle, in order to win a war.” Clarke stopped struggling as Lexa kissed her, choosing instead to lean into her touch as Lexa’s hand sunk to Clarke’s breast. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat and Lexa thumbed Clarke’s nipple through the fabric of the bra. Lexa pushed up the material, and repositioned herself on top of Clarke so that she could neatly trace the outside of Clarke’s breast with small kisses.
“Lexa,” Clarke growled, and then she flipped them over again, surprising Lexa with her innatve. Lexa smirked when she landed on the floor again, anchored under Clarke’s more solid body.
“What was that you said about winning the war?” Clarke asked, leaning forward to kiss Lexa’s smirk, before she trailed tiny, light kisses down Lexa’s torso. Her hair trailed all over Lexa’s skin, blonde curls stimulating oversensitive skin to a nearly uncomfortable degree. Lexa shifted under Clarke, seeking friction again, but Clarke shifted away from her, settling in between her two legs again. Before Lexa could complain about the separation that left her body hungry, she was rewarded by Clarke slipping two fingers into her again. Lexa straightened against the touch, moaning in quiet appreciation. She began rolling against Clarke’s hand with customary impatience, but Clarke’s right hand held down her hips. Lexa gasped in frustration, but before she could offer some aphorism, demanding release, Clarke bowed her head, and dragged her tongue over Lexa’s labia, capturing her clit in her mouth. Lexa arched against Clarke mouth, groaning quietly as Clarke flicked the bud of nerves with her tongue while increasing the speed of her hand gently, pushing Lexa back to the edge. Lexa started panting, her body beginning to clench around Clarke; Clarke reached up and kneaded Lexa’s breast, tongue still flicking her clit. Lexa gasped, and came with a series of quiet moans, all of which pricked across Clarke’s skin pleasantly as she slowed down her hand and let Lexa ride out the pleasure of her orgasm.
As Lexa’s waves began to subside, Clarke neatly kissed Lexa’s thigh, and then straightened up. She carefully removed her fingers, to Lexa’s quiet protest, and sat up, straddling Lexa’s midrift again. She made sure Lexa was watching her, and then she sucked her fingers clean, tasting Lexa on her hand; her own stomach clenched in response, while Lexa licked her lips, though her eyes flickered closed.
“You have exhausted me, Clarke of the Sky People,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Clarke smirked triumphantly. “And yet,” Lexa added, her eyes opening up slowly, “I can feel you, and I realise I still haven’t made you forget.” Clarke brushed some of Lexa’s hair out her face and shook her head.
“I’m distracted enough,” she promised. Lexa smiled, but shook her head, pulling at Clarke’s thighs.
“I’m not,” Lexa disagreed. Clarke leaned forward and drew Lexa’s hands away from her hips, placing them submissively near her ears. She smirked down at Lexa, and Lexa felt skin prickle with heat again as Clarke’s skin shifted against herself. She carefully shifted up Lexa’s body until her knees were above Lexa’s shoulder, though she was careful to brush Lexa’s hair aside.
“Do you really want me?” She asked it quietly, and her tone dark, but her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding in her ears. Lexa knew she was at Clarke’s mercy; she towered above her, looking down at her. Despite this, Lexa felt her body shudder again, and she turned to kiss Clarke’s wrist, and then her knee, and then nipped her thigh in reply. Clarke seemed to waver for a second, but Lexa’s hands were on her thigh again, and Clarke was shifted forward to the heat of Lexa’s mouth. Clarke canted forward and caught herself on the edge of the table as Lexa’s left hand kept her hip steady, and her right hand drew abstract patterns along her ribcage.
Clarke tried to take a steadying breath, closing her eyes as Lexa licked upwards, the burning heat of her tongue making her breath hitch. Clarke tried to focus on the sound of the war celebration happening dangerously close around the tent, all too aware that a loud cry would attract unwanted attention. But then Lexa flicked her tongue, and Clarke’s hips began rolling unsteadily against Lexa’s mouth. Lexa responded with a muffled moan, and Clarke couldn’t help but groan, her nails digging into the table. Her right hand tangled itself in Lexa’s hair; her mouth was greedy between Clarke’s thighs and Lexa’s hair, twisting around her fingers in perfect agony, kept her grounded while all her muscles coiled with hot energy and electricity.
Clarke tried to last longer; she wanted to enjoy Lexa’s impatient mouth, and her eyes, hooded with desire, looking at Clarke, expectant, while her short nails sunk into Clarke’s skin. Clarke closed her eyes, but Lexa didn’t want Clarke to fight it; she hummed encouragingly against Clarke’s flesh, and Clarke’s thighs instinctively tightened around Lexa’s face, the tempo of her hips becoming an uneven staccato, before her back went rigid with pleasure, flames licking up her back in a delicious pain. It was too much; too many nerves were glittering with Lexa’s touch, drunk on her pleasure, and it felt like time was suspended in the air, hanging tantalizingly, before her body slumped forward. Clarke caught herself on the ground with a dull gasp, and she heard Lexa chuckle underneath her, kissing her thigh one last time, and then pocking Clarke’s knee. Still within her haze, Clarke lifted her leg and Lexa slipped out from underneath her, getting up in one fluid movement and wiping her chin with a triumphant smirk. Clarke blinked again, desperately trying to recover. Lexa offered her a hand, and Clarke slowly stood up, feeling oddly uncertain on her legs.
“Come to bed,” Lexa murmured, raising her hand and carefully brushing back Clarke hair. Clarke smiled weakly, and followed Lexa to the small bed in the corner. Lexa slid under the furs and held them up, inviting Clarke to do the same. “Did I help you think less?” Lexa asked, curling around Clarke as she settled in the bed. Clarke hadn’t realised she had been cold before, but there was something incredibly comforting about the warmth of heavy furs, and the heat of Lexa’s body as she lay on Clarke’s shoulder.
Clarke began combing Lexa’s hair with her fingers again, reveling in the soft curls tangling in her hands. “Yes,” she murmured thoughtfully. “You helped me.”