archenemy | clexa

twelve

Clarke is drunk on alcohol and the adrenaline that has a hold of her body when her fingers dig into the fabric of the Commander's coat. Drinking and dancing was supposed to be a simple distraction, seducing the Heda a game, but eventually, after all these months of playing with fire, she's bound to burn herself. The fire consumes her, coming from hot fingertips skating across the Commander's body, spreading through her veins and simmering in her lower stomach.

She loses the power to control it when the Heda's eyes meet hers again after her audacious question, entirely captivating black, half-lidden, pouring out desire in a way that makes Clarke weak. These eyes that she has caught on once in the past by the dropship, that have drawn her in before, that are so very enthralling up close.

She remembers the fire mirroring in them, the rage and murder, and her body pulses knowing the same woman that wants to kill her is so close now.

"Heda doesn't usually search for someone at night," the woman husks, her eyes still on Clarke's while her fingers slowly travel over Clarke's torso.

"And what does Heda do unusually?" Clarke asks in the same voice, her hands slipping under the woman's coat. The Grounder's leader is close now, her breath tickling the skin above Clarke's lips as she feels the other woman's body warmth radiating through her clothes.

"Invite strangers to her tent." The end of the Commander's sentence is marked by a gasp, a sharp intake of breath when Clarke tilts her head and leans closer, pressing the faintest kiss beneath the Commander's ear.

"Tell me, Heda," Clarke demands, whispering her words into the Heda's ear. "Is tonight usual or unusual?"

The Heda's hands get lost in Clarke's hair when she says, "Very unusual."

-

Lexa leads the stranger from the festivities to her own tent as soon as the majority of people has left too. She dismisses the guards with a careless gesture and is glad her maids have cleaned and tidied her things already, allowing her to present the woman a neat, in candle light glowing tent.

The stranger steppes closer to Lexa's back, far too close and far too distant both, her hands finding places to slip beneath Lexa's garments like the blade of a weapon. "There's a fire hazard in this tent, Heda," she whispers into Lexa's ear from behind, her fingertips hot on Lexa's skin and her voice oh so raspy. Lexa's lower stomach burns and she hates that it does, hates how strangely she is drawn to the woman, hates that her mind is cloudy, that she strains with desire.

It makes her wonder whether the woman is talking about the candles or the heat between Lexa's legs when she said there was a danger of fire. She sure thinks that she might burst into flames when the blonde woman kissses her neck in a way that will leave a mark, when her fingers find their trail to Lexa's stomach and her leg slips between Lexa's.

She should be so very angry. There is this woman who dares to make a move on her as soon as Costia is gone, showing such disrespect, this woman who's in Lexa's privat space, one she only used to share with Costia, holding her in a way Lexa should take as an offense.

It's incredibly hot.

She needs that fire, she aches for it. Between heartbreak and war and defeat, she thought she needed Costia's quietness, her sweet brushes of nothings, but if anything, that night proves her wrong.

What she needs is that knee shoving up her crotch, the hot, open-mouthed kisses on the little skin of hers that is exposed, the hands boldly clawing at her armor. Lexa's hips push back on the woman's leg shamelessy before she grabs her by the pure gold of her hair, turning around so that she could see the stranger. "Name," Lexa demands, orders, raspy and rough, seeing the corners of the stranger's pink lips turn upwards in a smirk.