heda | clexa

twenty four

 
Clarke is a fantastic dancer. There’s no specific way a couple has to dance, but if there was, Lexa is sure Clarke wouldn’t need a minute to do it perfectly. Her body is quick and strong and agile, and if a clumsy dancer has two left feet, Clarke must have two right feet with wings. 

God, it’s making Lexa dizzy, all of it. The sugar in the summery air, the sun, the crescendo of violin and loud piano, Clarke’s strong hands, her warm body always moving, the laughter escaping Lexa, the glimpses of gold and sparkling blue she catches when she looks at Clarke.

Clarke’s hair is a whirlwind of sunshine, every braid a ray of light when she spins, making her glowing face the center of a glorious sun. A glorious sun, with diamond eyes and rose lips, a divine luxury, one Lexa is awfully sure she shouldn’t hold in her fragile hands. 

“Enjoying yourself, princess?” Clarke asks with her charming, charming grin and Lexa giggles, too dizzy, head spinning.

She can’t believe she giggles. That’s a sound she didn’t even know she was capable of producing. 

“That’s mine.”

“What?”

“You can’t call me princess. The deal was that I can call you princess.”

“Right. Back to fried potatoes it is.” Clarke slows the dance down, until they’re barely moving, but ever so close to one another. Calloused, warm fingertips brush along her cheek and Lexa momentarily freezes when Clarke tucks one of the many stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Are you having fun, Lexa?” she asks, and it shouldn’t, but Lexa’s heart jumps out of her chest at the mention of her actual name.

“Yeah,” she breathes too weakly. 

“Are you going to enlighten me soon?”

“I doubt I have those powers.”

Clarke grins. “Why I’m here, I mean. I told you to set the terms to make you believe I won’t kill you. How will this help?”

The music has slowed down with them, softer now, more lovely. The perfect opening for Lexa to avoid eye contact with Clarke.

Like the other dancers, she closes in and lets her head rest on Clarke’s shoulder. 

Her face is nuzzled in the crook of Clarke’s neck now, buried in her soft, sweet hair and Lexa’s entire body goes crazy when Clarke draws her arms closer around Lexa. 

This, she wants to say. This, this, this. 

This is why. 

“I don’t believe you,” she whispers and Clarke gets out of rhythm for a moment.

“What?”

“It’s okay, Clarke. I have read stories about your slaughters, and your people make no secret of it. I know too much. I understand too much. Your people hate me too much. You will kill me.”

“Then why did you bring me out here?” Clarke asks tensely.

“Because I wanted you to be here. I wanted you to see that this place is not all bad. You don’t like Trikru, but there are eleven other clans with their own cultures and religions and peoples. I wanted you to reconsider burning the entire continent down.”

A beat of silence passes in which Clarke slowly nods. Lexa can only feel the movement against her shoulder. “And that’s all?” she then asks, tentatively, voice softer than she likes it to be. 

“No,” Lexa replies after a while, even softer. “But the other reasons are selfish.”

Clarke smiles into Lexa’s shoulder. “Good. Much better so.”