Clexa one shots (the 100)

The applicant 2/4

Lexa's face the next morning was like sunshine; her smile beaming as their eyes met.

Clarke hadn't slept, watching her obsessively through the night, then nearly choking on the sight of her waking expression.

She'd agreed to stay for the full length of the omega's heat (to ensure pregnancy—of course), and she let the thought roll around in her head then; her grin matching Lexa's.

She wanted this to stretch until forever. She wished Lexa's skin would never again grow cool under her hands; that she would never stop pinning Clarke to the bed; that she would never stop going too fast; never stop riding Clarke like Clarke was hers, just—never stop.

...

But suddenly.

As Clarke fucked into her with reckless abandon, she could almost feel time closing in. It had been a week—quite a long heat, and Clarke had been optimistic that her wish of forever was maybe not so farfetched. Was granted. Shit, maybe God was real. And Lexa's wet heat could stay wrapped around her knot for all time; never letting her go. They were whole like this.

It was sublime pleasure—the thought.

But Clarke should have known—life had taught her—nothing good lasts very long at all. Nothing good ever stays or ever requests her to.

And as she could feel Lexa coming again—brilliantly, but nowhere near the levels of desperation she'd spent the week watching her sink to—Clarke knew. It was over.

The alpha's heart sank miserably to her stomach even as she loved every shaking spasm Lexa wreaked on her length. A feeling she'd grown probably far too familiar with.

(She'd grown probably too familiar with all of this).

Only now—Lexa's eyes were no longer black with need and fury. They were a hazy emerald Clarke wanted on her palette; like mist over a bright green field. Her eyes drank everything in—attempting to memorize the details; the colors.

And Clarke couldn't control herself at this abrupt threat of an ending.

Her heart raced; protesting everything.

Then, of course, Lexa's neck snapped back and Clarke bit at her own lip; growling. Logic told her it was simply in an omega's biology. And no shit, Sherlock. But what about her own biology? Possession was screeching down her veins like fast cars through traffic lanes; not really heeding any of the signs they zoomed by.

It made her heady, and irrational. It made her bite at Lexa's pulse with near to no control.

Her mouth latched onto the girl's fair neck and with everything in her she wanted to lay claim but knew she couldn't. So she sunk her teeth in as deep as she dared to but broke off with a resentful cry and a final look at Lexa's angelic features. One stray tear trembled from heartbreakingly fretful eyes as the omega asked, in a broken whisper, "Did you—did you break the skin? It feels like—"

Clarke's whole body (but especially her heart) seized with cold; her sweating form still hunched over Lexa's. It turned some soft part of her very hard and bitter to see that the thought of their creating a mating bond distressed Lexa so deeply.

She chuckled joylessly. Really, it was a hollow breath spit from her lips to land on Lexa's face, "You're—you're crying 'cause you think I?—No. No I didn't break the skin, Lexa."

"That wasn't why—"

Clarke watched her wipe the salt off her own cheek with a shaking palm and could no longer stand to be so close. She hadn't even noticed herself coming yet she was soft enough to slide out, so she did; wincing as Lexa yelped but still so hurt by her, "So don't worry about it. I'm not—some pup you know? I can control myself. You're the one that keeps—"

"Clarke—"

"Just forget it."

Clarke was getting up from the bed, away from Lexa's warm, nude body; a scowl fixed on her face. She dressed, and tried to remind herself: I shouldn't be angry as she pulled her t-shirt on inside-out without caring even once she'd noticed.

I shouldn't be angry. I shouldn't. Be. Angry.

Lexa simply didn't want a mate. Or—she simply didn't find Clarke suitable for that (and really—she only got to have sex with Lexa in the first place because she'd been lucky enough to be in the woman's company during her heat). Clarke was just the nearest available alpha. And if Lexa's heat had been on time in the first place, Clarke wouldn't have even gotten the chance.

Lexa would have passed on her as planned and gone on to the next prospect. Clarke would have gone home and brushed this whole thing off as some odd adventure. A free meal with a very pretty, very esoteric omega.

They weren't even anything more than just...a series of unlikely events strung together asymmetrically.

So why did Clarke feel so hung up and anxious? So strange?

"Damn it," her clitoris complained as she pulled up her overalls for the first time in seven heavenly days—no underwear, tight denim, and it had never been as sore after a mating as this. No omega had ever used her like this. Lexa rode her like Clarke was her warhorse and they were late to battle.

And that had to be the only reason she felt this way.

Because why else?

"Clarke."

The omega's dulcet voice struck her as it always did (deep in the chambers of her fluttering heart) and Clarke sighed deeply, "What?"

Lexa was silent. Clarke followed her solemn gaze to the night-table, on top of which was laid a small stack of papers.

They had been there all along; Clarke's gaze had roved over them once or twice without ever really taking note.

"I was supposed to have you sign—before we—" Lexa ducked her head nervously; one thumbnail digging into the other, and Clarke turned back to the neat white stack.

She felt something inside her flare hot at the sight of them now, but with a heavy gait walked over. She didn't bow to any threat. It wasn't in her nature. She loomed over the documents accusingly; her eyes skimming the text—mired in lawyer-speech. It was really all a heady blur to her.

"This what you want me to sign? You think—what?—I'm out to screw you or something?"

Lexa swallowed, and Clarke got the feeling it wasn't as easy for her to keep her composure as she wanted Clarke to think.

"Of course you do."

"You're a stranger, Clarke."

Lexa's voice was soft, and likely meant to soothe her but nothing about those words soothed her.

She wasn't usually the type of alpha to growl and all that but it rippled incontestably up her throat and in the moment it was satisfying.

And at least that was something. Because, truly, she had nothing in this situation.

"I was just donating, I get it. I'm not—I would never go after you. Or try to take your kid—or—"

Clarke's sharp jaw clenched; defeat washing suddenly over her exhausted body and she knew then to just be quiet. Lexa's eyes had started to water again and that wasn't the reaction that she wanted. Truly, she never wanted to see the woman cry. Especially over something she'd said.

Thinking about it made her stomach drop. She sighed and signed the papers (in quite a few spots, she was supposed to). Every swish of the pen across the page made her flinch slightly, "There. I think I got all the—I think I got them all."

It was a clipped reply. She didn't know why she felt cheated suddenly but the feeling was certainly tempered by the fact she had no right to feel it.

She tried not to look back at Lexa, and failed. She let the emerald glare pierce through her heart once more, before turning away.

...

—7 years later—

...

A phone call.