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The fire crackled and popped, casting long shadows across the painted and bloody warriors gathered around it. Sparks twisted up towards the sky, blending with the distant stars before going dim. They had encountered a group of Reapers while out on a hunt and had been forced to eliminate a few who had been too strong to take alive. They did their best to spare as many as they could now that the skaikru had shown them a way to bring them back from their drug induced servitude, but it hadn’t been possible to subdue all of them.
“Heda, we must make a move. We cannot risk losing more to the mountain,” a large, burly warrior broke through hushed conversations. His braids were coming loose and leaves and dirt were caked into the blood splotching his beard and armour.
Lexa turned to face the man. She fixed her eyes on his, daring him to continue.
He chewed his lip and held her gaze, firm in his statement. The group around the fire had all gone silent and all eyes were on the pair.
Lexa took a step towards him, a twitch in her eyebrow. “And what of the warriors we lose to the acid fog?”
The warrior clenched his fist at his side, frustration burning through his body. “What difference does it make if we lose people now, or if we lose them later? I won’t stand to see any more of my friends taken like this.” He gestured toward the passed out and chained up reapers.
Lexa crossed her arms behind her back, pulling her chest up to stand tall and firm. “We wait.”
“But Heda—“
“The skaikru will bring down the acid fog. Until then we hold our position. We continue to take back as many reapers as possible, but none of you will cross the fog barrier until my command.” She stalked towards him with each word until she was close enough to hear his restrained breaths. She towered over him, in spite of his stature being greater than hers by several inches, and her green eyes bore straight into his own.
He glared back at her, a muscle twitching in his temple.
“Yes, Heda,” he conceded through gritted teeth.
She held his eyes a moment longer, waiting for his resolve to falter.
Finally, his gaze flicked away to the shadows on the ground and he took a step back, shrinking slightly. Lexa lifted her chin and turned away swiftly, raising her hand to dismiss the group of warriors.
She stalked away from the fire, footsteps falling heavily on the packed dirt. Two of her guards followed closely behind. As she approached her tent, ready to retire for the evening, Clarke stormed up, rage painted across her face.
Lexa’s guards stiffened, stepping in front of her, spears held ready.
“Stand down,” Lexa directed
They pulled back their spears but stood ready, flanking their Commander.
“Your warriors are out of hand. We formed an alliance, Lexa, yet your people continue to taunt and berate us. I will not stand to see my friends spat upon, their rations stomped into the dirt. If we are truly going to work together, we need to be respected by all of you.”
Lexa sucked in a deep breath, tipping her head to the sky before looking back at Clarke.
“My warriors grow restless, waiting on you to follow through on promises,” she paused, glancing to the guards standing on either side of her. “Tell the leaders to ensure their warriors are in line. Abuse to skaikru will not be tolerated. We wait for them to bring down the acid fog. Anyone who disobeys will be punished.”
They nodded curtly and Lexa flicked her wrist to send them away. She moved to enter her tent and her eyes locked with Clarke’s, anger still evident in her brows. She dipped her head into a nod for Clarke to follow as she pushed aside the flap covering the entrance.
Lexa's demeanour softened as soon as she crossed the threshold. She removed her weapons, and the heaviest pieces of her armour in silence, placing them on the table before turning back to Clarke.
“I am sorry, Clarke. Your people do not deserve that.”
“Really?” Anger still burning behind her eyes “Because everything you and your people have done up to this point suggests otherwise.”
Lexa flinched slightly and did not respond. She felt betrayed by her body, irritated at how vulnerable she became in the presence of Clarke.
Clarke was fuming, frustration and grief overwhelming her. If she was being honest, she knew her anger had very little to do with taunting from the grounders. It was more of a straw that broke the camel’s back. She was hurting for all the people she had lost, all of the hundred that were captured or dead, her family. She was cracking under the responsibility, the silent expectation for her to fix everything, to always have a plan. She was hurt, and she was tired and she wanted it all to stop. She hadn’t asked for this, but responsibility had been thrust on her and she clutched desperately at the broken pieces. Clarke wasn’t ready to be honest with herself, and taking it out on Lexa was easier than facing it alone.
“Clarke, that…” Lexa struggled to find the right words
“You started this war, Lexa. You started this when your people attacked Jasper and strung him up to die. You solidified it when you set up an ambush at the bridge. You perpetuated it by attacking our camp.”
Clarke strode forward, closing in on Lexa, ignoring the fact that it had actually started with the flares burning a grounder village, or that Jasper had been the first to fire at the bridge with Anya.
“Your people have been tormenting us since the moment we crashed, and yet now you tell me we don’t deserve it?”
She picked up Lexa’s dagger from the table.
“You have made our lives hell, Lexa. I came to you to stop this war,” voice hitching as she took another step forward, filling up the little remaining space between them. “I killed Finn,” she pressed the blade firmly against Lexa’s abdomen, just beneath her sternum, flashing back to images of him strung up to die, “to secure this alliance.” She twisted the blade slightly, angling the point towards Lexa’s heart. “And all you have to say is we don’t deserve this ?” Tears welled up in her eyes and her hands began to shake.
“Clarke…” Lexa tried to keep her gaze cool as Clarke glared into her eyes.
Clarke blinked hard, pressing back tears, willing them not to fall.
“We were trying to do what was best for our people,” Lexa breathed
A tear streaked from Clarke’s eye and her lips trembled.
“We know now we were wrong.” Lexa’s hand came up and her fingers curled around Clarke’s where she gripped the knife, eyes flicking to Clarke’s lips. She tweaked the blade clasped in Clarke’s hand, slicing through the clasp of her jacket and tearing into the shirt she wore beneath.
Clarke startled, confusion flashing across her face.
Lexa locked her eyes with Clarke’s. She pressed her body forward slightly and felt the tip of the blade pierce her skin.
“Jus drein jus daun.” Lexa whispered.
Blood began to run along the edge of the blade, eventually trickling into their fingers. Clarke, feeling the moisture against her skin, looked down, lips parting slightly in surprise when she noticed the colour.
Lexa guided the blade upwards, slicing through her shirt and leaving a shining black trail up her sternum. Clarke’s eyes followed the blade, then continued upwards, catching on Lexa’s lips which had fallen open in a soft gasp.
Lexa took a deep breath, her chest shuddering with the intake.
Clarke met her eyes again with confusion, but found Lexa’s glinting only with a lustful apology.
Clarke wasn't sure exactly how the situation had taken such a turn. She had come to Lexa exasperated and enraged that, once again, grounder warriors were antagonizing her friends. She was brimming with fury. She wanted to yell at those responsible, and it was easiest to just blame Lexa for not keeping everyone in line.
Clarke was still fuming, but Lexa had taken all of her words without throwing any back. She knew Lexa wasn’t really to blame, and figured Lexa probably knew as well. Lexa had taken it just the same, carrying the weight of it so Clarke didn’t have to. She felt herself glowering with a new emotion, one she was not quite sure she was ready to have. But there was Lexa with her green eyes streaked with paint, her lips swollen and parted, and her gentle, apologetic tolerance. Her blood was snaking through Clarke’s fingers and her lust curling into the pit of her stomach.
And now she found herself inches from the Commander’s face, pressing her own knife deep into Lexa’s skin.
Clarke gritted her teeth, pushing back the overwhelming desire to press forward and sink her teeth into Lexa’s gaping, trembling lip.
Lexa stood unmoving, her chest twitching with strangled breaths. Her eyes fixed on Clarke, flicking between her lips and her eyes, her lids sinking lower with each glance. She waited. Watched Clarke’s jaw clench and unclench.
Clarke’s eyes dropped to Lexa’s lips once more. She tightened her grip around the knife. Clarke sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she lifted the blade out of Lexa’s grasp, and pressed it back down into the exposed skin of her collarbone.
Lexa moaned and Clarke surged forward. She dragged the knife down, following just below the curve of Lexa’s clavicle as she captured her lips hungrily. She sucked Lexa's lip tightly between her teeth and bit down hard into the flesh, revelling in the stifled whimper caught in the Commander’s throat. Yet Clarke was startled by her own aggression, surprised at what she had just done to Lexa.
Clarke released Lexa and shoved her back, pushing her hard into the thick beam supporting the tent. Her eyes flicked over the gash on her collar, slightly perturbed to see the blood she had drawn, but moreover aroused by the streak of black and rush of endorphins.
She tugged at the shoulders of Lexa's coat and watched it fall to the ground, exposing bare arms and revealing more of the tattered and bloody shirt below. Clarke wrapped her fist in it and pulled herself in to press against Lexa, grinding her knuckles into the open wound on her sternum and smirking when she heard Lexa mewl. She pressed the knife against the rounded curve of Lexa’s shoulder, and paused, taking a moment to meet her eyes for confirmation.
Lexa gave a curt nod and Clarke began to inch the knife down along her arm, not breaking eye contact as she sliced a clean line through the skin of her bicep. She watched as Lexa trembled and gasped, enthralled by the reactions she could elicit from the small changes in pressure or angle as she moved the knife.
When Clarke finally reached her elbow, Lexa was struggling to keep her eyes open -- to not clamp them shut and break their eye contact. Her arm stung and she felt warm beads rolling slowly down her skin. The look on Clarke’s face -- a mixture of anger, satisfaction, and lust -- cut deeper than the dagger itself. Clarke’s blue eyes bore straight into her, stabbing right to the back of her skull.
Clarke shifted to lean all her weight into Lexa, essentially trapping her against the post. She flicked her hand, slicing a quick curve back up the inside of Lexa’s arm before wrapping around and pressing the blade to the back of her neck.
She used the point of the knife to tip Lexa’s head forward, bringing their lips just a hair’s breadth apart. Clarke could feel Lexa’s hot breath panting against her, and she licked her lips agonizingly slow, holding back as long as she could.
Lexa was entirely enraptured, gaze trained on Clarke’s pink tongue as it crept across chapped lips. She felt heat building in her core and her legs growing unsteady. If Clarke hadn’t pinned her so firmly against the post she was sure she wouldn’t be able to support her weight much longer. If love really was weakness, she thought, this was why. How had she allowed Clarke this much power over her?
Clarke could feel Lexa trembling beneath her and the feeling snatched at her chest, strangling her breath. Lexa was so fucking infuriating, yet here she was, completely trusting and compliant under Clarke’s touch. The hunger it made Clarke feel was beginning to overwhelm her initial smug victory. How was Lexa so goddamn perfect? Clarke wanted to hate her, but the more time she spent around her the harder that became.
She pressed the tip of the blade into the skin at the back of Lexa’s neck.
Lexa gasped and Clarke tumbled forward, crashing their lips together hard and pushing Lexa into the blade, slicing into delicate skin. She drew the blade down, feeling it bump over each vertebrae, timing nips of kisses with each one.
Lexa was a trembling, gasping mess, and her legs completely gave out. Her torso, supported only by the weight of Clarke’s body, slid down slightly, just far enough to break their kiss.
Clarke smirked at her and bent down to wrap her hands around Lexa’s thighs, hitching her up to ride around her waist. The maneuver caused Lexa’s centre to press into Clarke’s hips and Lexa jerked at the contact.
Goaded by Lexa’s response, Clarke ground her hips forward, digging them firmly into Lexa, who whimpered and pressed back. Clarke rolled her body against Lexa’s, causing waves of alternating pressure to travel up between them. She jammed her tongue firmly into Lexa’s mouth, seeking and prodding where Lexa wrestled back. She pulled Lexa’s tongue into her mouth and clamped it firmly with her pre-molars, digging spikes down into it hard.
Lexa groaned and latched her arms tight around Clarke’s shoulders, trying to draw her closer though they were already pressed as tightly together as clothes would allow. She clawed at Clarke’s jacket trying to pull it free but it was pinned between them. Frustrated, she twisted her fingers into Clarke’s hair instead, gripping tightly.
Clarke pushed off from the post, and Lexa shifted to support herself on Clarke’s shoulders, wrapping her legs around curved hips to distribute her weight as Clarke carried her to the bed. Clarke dropped her down at the edge before shoving her roughly back into the furs, standing over Lexa’s limp, trembling body. She threw her jacket to the floor, and yanked her shirt over her head as she climbed atop Lexa, straddling her hips.
Clarke brought the dagger up and pressed the point firmly against the hollow of Lexa’s throat.
Lexa’s breath caught and she twisted her chin up, the muscles along the sides of her neck straining with want.
Clarke pulled the dagger down along Lexa’s tanned skin, slicing through the collar of her already torn shirt. She traced the blade down around the inside curve of Lexa’s still concealed breast.
When she reached the edge of her bra, Clarke found it to be loose, already slashed through when this had begun. Clarke gripped it along with her shirt and ripped both of them the rest of the way off her torso, spreading the scraps to the sides, giving her clear access to all of Lexa’s chest.
Lexa’s hips writhed beneath her, her head was still thrown back and her chest shuddered with staggered breaths.
Clarke traced a thin cut down the curve of Lexa’s other breast, following under along her ribs and trailing off down her side. Bringing her hand back up, she used the flat of the blade against Lexa’s cheek to turn her head to face her.
Clarke kept the edge of the blade pressed just beneath Lexa’s jaw. She gawked at Lexa as she mashed a breast under her free hand, jabbing her thumb into one of the cuts and smearing the dark blood across Lexa’s skin.
Lexa’s eyes widened with the sting, shooting up to lock onto Clarke’s teasing blue glare.
Clarke sneered and she leaned down to swipe her tongue heavily along Lexa’s jaw, then flicking up to her lips. She seized them in a ruthless kiss, biting, tugging and sucking while her hand kneaded Lexa’s tender breast under forceful fingers.
She trailed down Lexa’s neck with the same voracity, leaving marks, bumps and dents with her teeth. Clarke worked her way to Lexa’s breast, nipping at the rounded flesh before pulling a hardened nipple into her mouth and sucking hard. She jammed her tongue down against the darkened areola and could feel the tissues shifting beneath the pressure. She followed with the knife, lifting it down to Lexa’s clavicle before pressing it into the skin and slicing a smooth black line along the outer edge of her chest and down her side, all the way to her bony hip.
Lexa thrashed and moaned, fingers clawing against Clarke’s bare back. The stinging, throbbing, and pinching on her upper body radiating down to her pelvis, flooding her with moisture and heat. She thrust her hips fiercely upwards and felt Clarke’s own hips rocking back into her, grinding their bodies roughly together.
Clarke’s own breath was coming as laboured panting now, thick and strangled as it flowed to her lungs. She dropped the dagger off to the side so she could reach down to fumble with the clasp on Lexa’s jeans. She managed to pop open the button and rammed her hand underneath, desperate to press her fingers into warm folds. Clarke found them to be throbbing and dripping, as ready as Clarke was herself. She moaned into Lexa’s breast, thrusting her whole body hard down into her.
Lexa dragged frantic hands down Clarke’s sides, raking nails against flesh, leaving angry red trails. She quickly unhooked the button of her jeans and tried to slide them down, frustrated when they caught on the ample curves of Clarke’s hips.
Clarke moved to help her, reluctantly pulling her hands away from Lexa’s body to remove their remaining clothes. She slipped her jeans down to her thighs, taking her undergarments along with them. She kicked off her boots and used her legs and feet to wriggle the rest of the way out of her pants while she busied her hands with getting Lexa’s out of the way.
With both of them finally fully nude, Clarke clambered back up to Lexa’s lips, snatching them with her own. Their hands found each other’s centres, where Lexa was not surprised to find Clarke similarly drenched with pleasure. Their bodies rocked together, stroking and flicking and pumping into each other. Sweat rolled off their bodies and dripped into Lexa’s cuts, causing them to sting anew.
Their moans grew high and desperate, panting into each others mouths more so than kissing. Hips still grinding together adding forceful rhythmic jerks to the fingers pressed between folds. Lexa arched up into Clarke, and Clarke rode down hard into Lexa.
They hit their peak together, bodies twitching and shuddering, lungs gasping through heavy moans. Fluttering walls clamped around curled fingers, and hips jerked and rolled. They rode out their climaxes on one another, wet bodies sliding together spasmodically.
Finally, their hips slowed and their walls quivered irregularly as they came down from their high. Muscles became limp and heavy and they slumped into each other, breathing heavily as they tried to catch their breath. Clarke laid flat on top of Lexa for a while, feeling the small shaky frame rising and falling beneath her as they regained composure.
Clarke eventually moved to lay next to Lexa, draping her arm across toned abs and tucking her head in against Lexa’s shoulder, delighting in the musky odour collecting in Lexa’s underarm. They settled in together, enjoying the closeness and contact until their breathing slowed and eyes grew heavy.
Clarke, feeling herself starting to drift, shifted her head where it rested on Lexa. She traced her finger as gently as she could along one of the shallower cuts on Lexa’s chest.
“We should probably clean these up. They’re starting to dry.”
“Hmmmm” Lexa sighed, eyes still closed, not convinced it was worth moving.
“And you should probably explain why they’re all black.”
Lexa lifted an eyelid to peer at Clarke, groaning out a “not now.”
Clarke smiled and quietly got up, collecting a clean rag and fresh water, and poking around looking for something she could use as antiseptic. She grabbed a pinch of salt from the table and added it to the bowl of water, satisfied that it would get the job done while still being gentle. She straddled Lexa's hips and bent to dab lightly at the smallest of the cuts littering her torso.
Lexa opened her eyes and watched Clarke’s face as she worked. Her features were soft and calm now, no more fire behind her eyes. Her lips curled up slightly and her fingers brushed lightly against Lexa's skin. Her eyes were warm and tinged with concern when she cleaned some of the deeper cuts. Lexa ignored the sting from the rag and instead focused on the flutters in her stomach that stirred every time Clarke touched her.
“This one is going to need stitches to heal properly.” She gestured at the deepest cut on Lexa's chest -- the first one they had made together up the length of her sternum. Black blood still leaked and the skin was pulled wide. “I shouldn't have cut so deep.”
Lexa reached up and touched Clarke's wrist, shaking her head slightly. “We both wanted it, Clarke.”
Clarke's face crinkled as she questioned the statement, but the quiet assurance present in Lexa's eyes soothed her concern. She nodded and went to grab the needle and thread, holding it over the flame of a candle before returning.
Lexa bit her lip as Clarke worked silently, cringing just a little every time the needle poked through. She was used to this kind of thing though, and while Clarke was not as practiced as her usual healers, she was equally gentle. It took thirteen stitches to close the wound in the end. They were a little sloppy but the skin was closed tightly enough that the bleeding soon stopped.
Once finished, Clarke returned to cleaning Lexa's remaining wounds, rinsing the long one down her arm and finally dabbing at the one down the back of her neck. She reached around to cup the back of Lexa's head and leaned in to kiss her forehead, careful not to touch any of the freshly cleaned cuts.
It was then, satisfied Lexa’s wounds had been properly cared for, that Clarke realized her face was still smeared with remnants of the Commander.
“Heda,” she whispered, smiling as she brushed a stray hair away from Lexa's face before pressing a tender kiss to her cheek.
She changed the water and carefully pushed all of Lexa's messy curls out of the way. She cupped Lexa's cheek and with a clean rag began to swipe away the streaked and smeared war paint. Her fingers were light and gentle, pressing into the creases of Lexa's closed eyes to remove the traces of black. She smoothed across the arches of her cheeks, lingering longer than she needed to. She studied Lexa's face, with eyes and fingertips, and feather light whispers of lips against smooth skin.
Even after Lexa's face was clean and glowing in the candlelight Clarke did not stop. She propped herself up on an elbow and traced her finger along the curve of Lexa's temple, curling her fingers around behind her ear and smoothing the frizzy baby hairs that stuck out.
Lexa was captivating. Clarke had never been oblivious to this, of course. She had known it from the first moment she stepped into the Commander’s tent, to see her nonchalantly twirling her dagger atop her throne. It was no secret that Lexa was composed of perfectly soft angles and vivid eyes. But seeing her laying quiet and naked, skin tanned and scarred, face relaxed into a gentle smile, was breathtaking.
Clarke shook her head slightly. She hadn’t intended to end up here, with their legs tangled up and their warm skin sticking together. There was survival, death, war, and there was Finn. But somehow, here was the Commander, with her stoic posture and expressive eyes. Her incomprehensible strength that had the ability to make Clarke feel simultaneously terrified yet reassured. The way she could take Clarke’s frustration and filter it and soften it and turn it to tears. Lexa had broken through her protective walls and Clarke did not understand why.
Her walls, however, were fragile and damaged to start with. She hadn’t needed them as a child. While the Ark had its problems, Clarke had been fairly sheltered for most of her life. She had her parents and Wells. Life was comfortable and happy.
Then things got complicated. There was honesty and censorship to navigate. Justice and truth. Betrayal and death. And that’s when her walls started to go up.
Yet now Lexa was finding her way in too.
Still, for some reason, Clarke found herself glad of it, though it made her feel vulnerable.
Sighing, she gathered her clothes, turning away as she dressed herself.
“Reshop, Heda,” she breathed, lifting the flap over the entrance and stepping out into the cool darkness of night.