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It’s the first time that Lexa’s celebrating her birthday properly. Until now it always passed quietly, unnoticed, only present in the way that Lexa had to remind herself that her age had gone up by one. It was a carefully formed habit, shaped by the hollow disappointment of her family never caring about birthdays and growing up without so much as a kiss on the cheek when she turned six – until eventually, she didn’t care that much anymore either.
For years, no one even knew when her birthday was; her friends eventually managed to drag it out of her one night during a game of half-drunken truth or dare, and Lexa actually had to check her driver’s license to make sure she got the date right.
Of course her friends jumped at the opportunity to throw her a birthday party this year (though really, they were always looking for reasons to party) so now the room is filled with balloons and decorations, there are half-empty bottles of champaign, and on the table is a surprisingly decent homemade cake that Raven brought.
They kept it simple for this first time celebrating, but it still is, by far, the most overwhelming birthday Lexa’s ever had. She’s on her second glass of something (Echo had proudly been showing off her bartending skills all night by making sweet cocktails with lemon slices and sugar coating on the rims of the glasses) and Lexa is grinning like an idiot.
It’s already pretty late into the evening; music and chatter is filling the room, sometimes Octavia’s laugh can be heard over it all, and Lexa wonders why she never bothered throwing a party like this sooner. She’s wearing a ridiculous paper-made party hat that says don’t ask about my age and everything’s a lot less uncomfortable than she had imagined.
When Anya had kicked her out of the house for the afternoon, and Lexa came back later to find the whole place lit up and a crowd of fifteen people inside, yelling happy birthday, it had felt strange. They had taken care of everything and there was no hassle, no worrying over having enough napkins or drinks or informing the neighbors that they were having a party (at least – Lexa hopes they included that, as well).
They had taken care of everything, including four extra bottles of whipped cream and the never-ending music playlist – and inviting whoever it is knocking on the door. Lexa doesn’t pay too much attention as Raven goes to let their new guest in (excited, mischievous look on her face that Lexa totally misses). She’ll find whoever it is in a second to greet them and thank them for coming.
Caught up in a game of Twister, because it’s childish and fun and they’re all a little buzzed, Lexa is trying to move her left hand to red when the music stops. She looks up in confusion and Luna half collapses on top of her, unable to keep her stance.
“Lexa,” Raven sing-songs, wiggling her eyebrows. “Could you come here, please?”
Lexa casts a quick look at Anya for an explanation, who merely shrugs and defensively says, “It was her idea.”
The people in the room start giggling nervously, and only then does Lexa notice the new girl: tight pants and black leather jacket, blonde hair and dark eyes, and most definitely not here to blend into the crowd.
The girl locks eyes with her and Lexa swears she forgets how to move or speak, unaware of the chair that’s being pulled to the middle of the room and the bass-heavy music that starts playing. The girl steps closer to her, gentle smirk on her lips, and casually says, “Hi.”
Lexa opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. She doesn’t fight it when someone guides her to sit down on the chair.
And it should be embarrassing, how easily she’s turned to mush by a pretty girl smiling at her. In her defense, this particular girl is wearing a jacket that’s barely constraining her chest and is looking at Lexa like she doesn’t care about anyone else in the room, and well – she’s very, very pretty.
Her arms circle lazily around Lexa’s neck as she settles in her lap. “This your birthday?”
Lexa nods, eyes glued to the girl in front of her, unsure what to do with her hands.
The girl leans in closer, lips brushing lightly against Lexa’s ear to whisper, “You're cute.” Then she’s standing up and moving a few steps away, and Lexa tries to calm herself, worried about her fast heartrate.
Someone dims a couple lights and the girl is turning back around, slowly taking off her leather jacket. Lexa follows the movement of the zipper traveling down, revealing a low-cut tank top underneath. Eventually the girl shrugs off the rest of her jacket and suddenly there’s the bare skin of a collarbone and neck and shoulders-
She turns around to straddle Lexa’s thighs, teasingly brushing against Lexa’s hips, moving in time with the music. She grabs Lexa’s hands and guides them to her hips, lets them slide down her thighs and back up again, and Lexa suddenly realizes that her friends totally got her an actual stripper for her birthday.
She laughs, cheeks burning and glad that the girl is blocking most of her view, because she just knows Anya is recording this on her phone right now, stifling her laughter and making inappropriate comments to Raven from behind the camera.
The beat switches and the girl in Lexa’s lap turns around, and suddenly there’s a pair of boobs in front of her. The girl chuckles at Lexa’s wide eyes and mumbles something that resembles adorable.
A hand snakes into Lexa’s hair, bringing her close enough that Lexa can feel the heat radiating off the other girl’s skin. Her hips have started moving again, teasing circles, sometimes rubbing against Lexa’s stomach; there’s encouraging whistles and calls from the people around them, but neither of them seem very aware of it.
Lexa’s hands are restless on the girl’s thighs, trying to fight the urge to push her down, bring their hips closer together again. The girl’s shirt is riding up with her movement, a sliver of skin appearing above her waistband and Lexa can’t take her eyes off it.
The girl on top of her bites her lip and slows down. Lexa catches her eyes, all soft and dilated, and notices her cheeks look flushed, too.
There’s a moment of seeming contemplation, and then the girl leans down to whisper in Lexa’s ear once more. “Maybe I could give you a more private dance. Away from all these eyes.”
The girl chuckles, almost nervously. And Lexa’s not sure what the etiquette is for these kind of things but she doesn’t really care right now; all she can think of is moving her hands below the girl’s shirt and watch her take it off – but not in front of all these people in the room.
And Lexa loves her friends, is indefinitely grateful for the amazing evening, but she doesn’t hesitate to breathlessly nod her agreement.
“Party’s over,” she hears herself say as they both stand up. Lexa feels a warm hand sneak into hers and grins. “See you all next year.”
Everyone laughs, and Lexa doesn’t feel bad about it; she knows most of them from school, so she’ll see them soon enough again. Her friends will probably grill her about this whole thing tomorrow, but it’s late and there’s a pretty girl leading her up the stairs.
“I’ll clean up tomorrow,” Lexa throws at Anya over her shoulder.
Anya rolls her eyes and Raven just stands behind her, giving Lexa a double thumbs up and an excited grin.
When Lexa closes her bedroom door, it dims the sound from the people downstairs. The girl is looking around the room curiously, taking in the antique world map on the wall and the chaotically filled bookcase.
Lexa’s cheeks burn, searching for something to say that could possibly make her seem less of a dork. But then the girl turns to look at her, biting her lip in a smirk. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lexa nods, swallowing away some of her nerves. “Are you?”
“Yes,” the girl chuckles. She pats the bed encouragingly, and Lexa moves to sit down.
There’s still a blush on the girl’s skin, Lexa notes, all the way from the top of her chest to her ears. She’s kind of beautiful, enough to make Lexa flustered and useless, even if she hadn’t been grinding up against her before.
The girl arches an eyebrow at her, and Lexa blindly reaches for the remote of her stereo system, tuning it into a random playlist – mentally fist-bumping herself when it’s slow and perfect.
“This okay?” she asks.
The girl hums her agreement. She looks shy for a moment as she loops her arms around Lexa’s neck and straddles her once more. She’s quiet, watching Lexa intently, carefully, as if trying to figure something out.
“You have the greenest eyes,” the girl says then, something alike wonder in her voice.
It’s soft and sweet and Lexa’s chest does a weird flutter thing – out of place and scary and making her stop breathing. Before she can respond, the girl’s hips start to move and Lexa doesn’t trust herself to form coherent sentences.
Her cheeks are heating up and she thinks maybe this whole private dance thing was a bad idea, because her thoughts are getting muddled and the girl’s lips are looking especially appealing and she doesn’t want to do something regrettable.
“Your name’s Lexa, right?”
“Yes,” she says, biting her lip. “Yours?”
“Clarke.” And it sounds too simple for a fake name, too honest for a stripper’s identity – and suddenly Lexa’s ears burn, wondering if this is no longer a paid dancer on her lap but just a pretty girl grinding into her.
For a moment it’s almost too overwhelming, Clarke rubs against a particular good spot and Lexa has to fight the urge to buck her hips and move with the girl. She tightens her grip on Clarke’s side and watches breathlessly.
Clarke slows down. “So I did okay?”
“What?” Lexa tries to focus through the lust induced haze in her mind, tries to make sense of what the girl is asking.
“The lap-dancing.”
Lexa blinks. “Uh. Yeah?” she stammers. “Very, very okay.”
Clarke chuckles in relief. “Good. I wasn’t sure when Raven asked; I’d never done something like this before, but she said you were the most adorable person she knows and I’m finding it hard to disagree, and she didn’t even mention how hot you are-”
“You’re not a stripper?” Lexa wants to slap herself the moment she says it, but Clarke stills on top of her and shrugs.
“I mean, I could be.” She laughs at the stunned expression on Lexa’s face. “I’m sorry; they just wanted to surprise you, but didn’t trust any random girl to not make you uncomfortable.”
Lexa’s speechless, until the first thing that comes out is, “You’re really good at this.”
Clarke looks fondly at her. “Well, you’re really good at receiving lap-dances. Happy birthday.”
It brings a smile to Lexa’s face; she’s still getting used to people wishing her a happy birthday, and here’s a beautiful girl sitting in her lap, absentmindedly moving along with the music, doing exactly that. The song changes and she more or less expected this to be the end of it, but Clarke doesn’t move away and Lexa thinks, oh.
Clarke’s hips roll against her again. “You go to Polis University?”
Lexa nods, breathless. “You?”
“Political science.”
“That’s hot,” Lexa sighs without thinking, feeling her cheeks reddened. “I’m- classical studies.”
Clarke hums, and Lexa's hands move up over the curve her ass until they slip just underneath Clarke’s shirt, fingers digging into warm skin.
Clarke grinds down with intent and this time Lexa follows her, breath hitching with the fluid motion. Her eyes fall to the curve of Clarke’s neck and Lexa’s mouth feels dry with the quiet wonder what it would be like to press kisses to there. She can’t help the way her hands move over Clarke’s skin, sliding along her sides and wrapping around her waist – and all of this is getting incredibly close to dry fucking.
Clarke briefly rests their foreheads together, close enough to feel each other’s rapid breathing. “In a relationship?”
Lexa shakes her head. “You?”
“No.” Clarke closes her eyes when Lexa’s thumbs brush against her ribcage. It must feel too warm in the room because she grabs the hem of her top and pulls it off; Lexa has to swallow a whimper at the sight of her smooth skin. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” Lexa nods her consent, and Clarke’s fingers start fumbling at Lexa’s button up.
It’s not until both their shirts lie discarded on the ground, their skin is touching and they finally kiss, that Clarke asks, sounding as breathless as Lexa feels, “Go out with me?”
And Lexa nods, doesn’t hesitate, her stomach fluttering with excitement.
“Tomorrow?” she asks, half distracted by the lips on her neck.
“Okay,” Clarke says, eyes sparkling, and then she’s pushing Lexa down onto the bed and kissing a wet trail down her chest.
And later there will be time for carefully held hands and soft kisses and confessions, but Lexa already knows this: her future girlfriend is one hell of a dancer.