Clexa One Shots (Discontinued)

I just want to know

It's dark out and Clarke knows she should be sleeping, so that she will not be restless or tired tomorrow. Tomorrow. The day the war against the Mountain Men begins. The plan she has devised is not perfect, and she knows this, but it is the best that she can muster. But so many things could go wrong. Her thoughts grow paranoid. What if Bellamy can't turn off the acid fog? She can't seem to shake them away. What if the Mountain Men have a secret weapon we don't know about? She just wants to go sleep. What if I die? She needs to go to sleep. What if Lexa dies? She shoots up from her bed and leaves her tent. The cold breeze hits her and she holds herself close as she walks towards Lexa's tent. She doesn't quite know what she'd doing or why, but when she finally finds herself at the entrance of Lexa's tent, she freezes.

Something is wrong. Something must be wrong. Clarke turns to her sides and finds no one. Where's Lexa's guard? There's always a guard. Her heartbeats quicken as her mind fills her with images of the worst possible outcomes; the worst, bloodiest scenes she could find inside. She steps in.

It's darker inside, but she sees movement. Strange shadowed figures, wrestling on each other, pushing, pulling back and forth. Clarke's chest swells up in a desperate need to protect Lexa, and she clutches her dagger, ready to strike as soon as she figures out which figure is Lexa and which is the intruder – until her ears ring to the sound of a pleasure-filled moan.

"Oh!" Clarke yelps, putting the pieces together, frozen in place, wide-eyed and unable to look away. The moaning ceases.

"Clarke?" Lexa's voice is almost pure anger, if it weren't for the hint of embarrassment (of guilt?) that Clarke catches.

"I-I'm sorry. I..." she stumbles for words. "I came here to... but you're... I'm sorry." The figure next to Lexa scrambles to her feet, clutching clothes onto her chest as she dashes past Clarke. "No, you don't have to leave... I can go." It's too late.

Lexa, who had been sitting up in her bed, lets herself fall back onto her pillow, sighing in annoyance. The furs that cover her feel nice on her bare skin.

"I'll go," Clarke speaks a bit sadly.

"No," Lexa finds herself saying. "Stay."

"Lexa...if you're busy..."

"I'm not. You made sure of that," Lexa's words were sharp, but her tone was soft and inviting. Lexa stands, her fur covers wrapped around her, as she lights a few candles. Clarke bites her lip at the sight of Lexa's tan skin glowing from the fire. Clarke feels on fire.

"I thought you said love was weakness?" Clarke steps closer, drawn like a moth to the light as if Lexa were the sun.

"What you witnessed was not love, Clarke," Lexa explains and somehow it brings calmness into Clarke. Good. "I must get dressed now," she says, with her words urging the blonde to respectfully look her way but her tone inviting her eyes to remain transfixed where they are.

Clarke bows her head down, hesitantly looking away, though she hears as Lexa shuffles through piles of clothes. An aching grows in her chest, an aching that cannot be satisfied until Clarke glances up again. Lexa is half-dressed now, though more skin is showing than Clarke has ever seen before. Her smooth skin is mesmerizing, proudly wearing signs of battle – scars Clarke wants to trace with her lips – No, why did I just think that? Clarke's gaze turns away, back to her feet, until she can feel Lexa in front of her.

"So who is she?" Clarke asks, as she finally looks up to meet Lexa's curious eyes.

"Her name is Cora...Does it bother you, Clarke?" Lexa wonders. "Does it offend you in some way?"

"No, I just... I'm curious." Clarke's heart aches. Yes, it offends me.

"If you must know, she is merely one of my pleasure-givers."