Lightning Only Strikes Once - Clexa

Chapter 129: Flying Blind

Like so many things Clarke's discovered since she came to the ground, with this you have to open your mind, and you have to look closer, and then the possibilities are endless. And this is a discovery more than it is a creation – some parts, like the cottage, are her imagination and her work, but the rest was just down here, glowing with life and beauty, waiting for her to find a brush and create her own version of it.

Lexa, standing in the middle of the room, glows brighter than any part of the painting. More beautiful, more meaningful, and more alive.

"It is incredible, Clarke," Lexa whispers, still staring around herself with wide eyes, taking in every twisting branch and hanging vine. She reaches out a wondering hand toward the little hut. "The one from the story..."

"Yeah," Clarke says. "I imagined it when you told me that story. And then when I thought we would both die, when we ran out of air, I saw it in my dreams."

"As did I." Lexa's smile is crooked and painful. "When I woke up, I thought I would rather sleep and dream forever than live in a world you were not in." She swallows hard, and says, "You are my world, Clarke. I hope that you know that. I think I have been waiting all my life – all of my lives - for tomorrow, to stand beside you and have our spirits joined for the rest of time. There is no else in the world who is as bright and beautiful and wise as you are, and I think that is perhaps because the world does not deserve more than one such gift. Certainly I do not deserve you. But I love you more than I have words to say."

Clarke also doesn't have the words to say how she feels right now, not with her throat stopped by emotion and her eyes tearing. So she leans in and kisses Lexa to communicate her feelings instead, fisting her hands lightly in the impossible silkiness of Lexa's braids and savouring the equally impossible softness of her skin. Lexa's hands are roughened and callused with years of fighting and climbing and working, but her lips are warm and smooth and fit perfectly against Clarke's. Her delicate bones and her velvety skin and her brilliant green eyes are such a contrast to the strength of her body against Clarke's, just like her tenderness is the antithesis of what Clarke thought she was the first time she saw her.

She thought Lexa was fierce and cruel and violent. The memory is almost laughable now when she compares it to the leader who was the only one ever to lead them all towards peace, the girl who was broken and rebuilt herself into someone even more beautiful, the woman who she clings to in the darkest parts of the night and wakes to in the morning.

One of Lexa's hands rubs her lower back soothingly and then travels up, while she presses the other – the weaker one – to Clarke's face for a moment as she leans in to share another sweet kiss. Then Lexa's pulling back and there's something on her face and Clarke opens her eyes in surprise and sees nothing at all.

She's blindfolded.

... She's blindfolded.

"Clarke? Is this -"

"Yes," Clarke says immediately, almost embarrassed by how husky her voice comes out. She tries to clear her throat and adds, "Yes, it's fine."

Lexa lets out her own throaty chuckle, which is one of Clarke's favourite sounds in the world.

She trusts Lexa completely, and she knows Lexa trusts her completely. But they always check carefully when it comes to things like this – mostly because both of their memories are minefields and neither of them could live with themselves if they triggered the others'. Plus, it's not as if they've really had much time or privacy recently, what with everything that's been happening.

She wants this honeymoon. She wants it desperately. Not just to have time to explore each other's bodies more fully than they've been able to in tents and shared houses, but to have time to explore the rest of each other. She wants to hear the Trikru names for the stars, the flowers, the trees. Trigedasleng is a very practical language and so Clarke's gotten by on the vocabulary she has, but she wants to hear Lexa's soft voice saying pretty and impractical words. She wants to curl up with Lexa and waste days just lying around, telling each other stories about their pasts, making up fantastical and ridiculous plans, just lying there and enjoying the sound of each other's breathing. She wants to play the worst games of chess she's ever played because Lexa's sweet smile is too distracting for her to focus on strategy. She wants Lexa's arms around her all the time. She wants to feel safe.

The truth is... Lexa is the only person she trusts completely, anymore. The only person she'd let blindfold her. Oh, she's sure that if Wells or Raven wanted her to wear a blindfold it would be for a good reason, and they wouldn't hurt her, but it would still make Clarke too anxious and panicky – the thought of not being able to see the threats coming. She trusts Lexa to keep her safe. And Lexa trusts her – would the great Commander let anyone else blindfold her without a word of protest or caution? Lexa's spent her whole life knowing that even with her guards, her tent isn't safe, her tower isn't safe, her world isn't safe. But with Clarke she feels safe enough to accept another handicap, to let herself be blind, to let herself be led.

If she hadn't found Lexa – if she'd lost Lexa – Clarke would have never felt safe again. Or complete again. She would have tried to find ways to feel happy again – but even if she succeeded, it couldn't ever be the kind of fierce joy she feels with Lexa, it would have been a watered-down, forced attempt. A desperate forgery of what she has now.

She's so lucky.

Lexa pushes Clarke gently back until Clarke is half-lying on the bed, already breathing a little faster with anticipation.

"Put your arms by your sides, and do not move them," Lexa instructs Clarke, voice low.

Clarke does. And waits. And waits. And – is that Lexa's breath in her ear? She's sure it was. Lexa's lips on her neck – oh. Oh. Then the quick touch of lips is gone, leaving only the air cooling the place where the warm, insistent press of Lexa was only moments before. Goosebumps prickle all over Clare's body and she moans in want, her whole concentration taken up with trying to sense where Lexa is, anticipating every possible touch and desperately yearning for any of them.

It's okay to be blind. It's okay not to see what's coming. Lexa's here. For the longest time Clarke felt only dread, sure the unknown future contained nothing but threat after threat. Right now, though, she can't see anything – but Lexa is here, so she's safe, and the future is nothing to fear.

Tomorrow she's getting married, and the tomorrow after that she'll be with Lexa, and the tomorrow after that, and the tomorrow after that. Now, no matter how far she looks, the future seems filled with wonderful things.

The near future, especially...

Clarke shivers as Lexa's fingers ghost up her sides, lifting her top slowly and sensually, then lets out a surprised whimper as Lexa kisses her lower stomach and nips the angle of her hip lightly, grazing her teeth along the skin.

She rises up to Lexa's touch and lets the future come.