heda | clexa

twenty five

Having Lexa touch her is already too much. Lexa is so gorgeous, you could never know. Her eyes are so beautiful and her hands are so soft, and she’s a little taller, which is infuriating and continually hurts Clarke’s pride, but also lines up Clarke’s eyes with Lexa’s lips much easier. 

It’s already too much, to have Lexa so close, to have Lexa touching her at all.

It’s already too much, knowing Lexa isn’t allowed to even sympathize with Clarke, yet gave her a declaration of… friendship… this afternoon.

“May I?”

“Yes,” Clarke answers in a heartbeat, stuttering, out of reflex. She’s not even sure what she’s agreeing to at that point.

It’s already too much long before Lexa actually leans in. It’s already too much long before Lexa’s lips graze Clarke’s.

It’s hesitant and shy and tentative, careful in every way, like when Clarke was dared to jump through a campfire at 13 and she avoided as much of it as she could, like when you bite into a sour-looking fruit unsure of whether it will turn out to be sweet. 

It’s a kiss, though. How much they touch isn’t nearly as intense as it could be, as it has been, but it’s a kiss, and Clarke has a very distinct feeling that kissing isn’t a casual thing for these people, that this isn’t merely a cultural misunderstanding.

She can’t fucking believe it. 

Lexa is kissing her, barely, hands shaking, as though she was already running away from it even while their lips are still touching. 

It’s not much, but it’s everything. Clarke’s entire system stops, malfunctions, breaks down, until there’s nothing left but weak knees and trembling hands.

These people call her the tempting demon, but in reality, it’s Lexa who has crawled into Clarke’s heart without so much as a warning, and turned her into a pathetic mess.

Lexa sinks against Clarke when she pulls away and whispers, voice broken, “Hate me yet?”

Clarke takes way too long to register the words, make sense of them and eventually reply to them.

“What?” she gets out, brows furrowed.

“See?” Lexa asks, and her eyes are glowing hopefully as if Clarke had just proposed marriage. What exactly is so meaningful in a confused, breathless ‘what’ that could relax Lexa’s shoulders and make her breathe easier? “You didn’t want this. You’re going to report me. A woman can’t want this from another woman.”

Clarke closes her eyes and she hums, finally closing her arms around Lexa’s waist, pulling her closer. “Works for me.”

“Clarke,” Lexa cries. Confused, Clarke opens her eyes and instinctively reaches up to wipe Lexa’s tears away.

“What’s wrong, fried potatoes?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Lexa weakly fights against the hold Clarke still has on her. “Why do you think I did this?”

Perplexed, Clarke reluctantly lets go of Lexa. “I don’t know?” she stammers. “Because you wanted to?”

“I wanted you to push me away again,” Lexa hisses. “Can’t you see the person that I am?”

“Wonderful? Gorgeous? Great kisser? Help me out here, Lexa.”

Lexa shakes her head. “You know I’m a monster. Why are you acting like I’m not?”

“I don’t know, Spirits, where I’m from, you kiss other people because you like them or want to have fun or something to that extent, not because you want an analysis on your bad behavior.”