archenemy | clexa

thirty eight

The kiss is soft, but intense. Lexa's fingers dig into Clarke's hair to hold her close and Clarke's hands glide to Lexa's hips, their lips meeting messily, a collision of two galaxies, shaking everything out of order.

Although in this chaos, there is a gentleness. Rich, silky fabric flowing like a waterfall over curves that have come to be the resting place of cold hands, watery blue eyes, two bodies drawn in by one another by some natural law that neither of them can bend, soft brown curls smelling freshly washed of rose, a pinkish blush on pale skin.

When they break apart, Clarke kisses Lexa's jaw and then rests her head on Lexa's shoulder for a moment. "I can't do this," she breathes.

"What can't you do?" quietly, almost afraid of the answer. Lexa knows, though; Clarke came down to Earth and out of everyone, she had to come in touch with Lexa. Rough, cold, afraid, angry, a woman who rejects the things she wants the most. Had Clarke come to move out for good? She could, if she wanted. The bonding ceremony is long over. They have no power to keep Clarke where she does not want to be.

"I'm not in anymore. I can't do the yelling and the anger and the pretence of hate and that there is nothing. There's everything, Lexa."

"What do you mean?" still breathless.

Clarke's hands find the glorious fabric of Lexa's gown at her back, brush along it in a soothing manner and hold on to the slender muscles of Lexa's shoulders. Lexa does not know much about whatever it is they're doing, but she feels Clarke's very soul plead for this divine kind of connection to be returned, for Lexa to understand a concept she cannot even grasp.

"Do you want me to tell you something?" Clarke asks softly, still hugging Lexa, her head on Lexa's shoulder almost sleepily. Like this is where she wants to stay. Like this is where she feels safe enough to rest.

It's silent then. The only sound that is to be heard is one of the many Azgedan storms that the warriors have grown accustomed to growling outside. The cold, black night wind slaps against the tent's canvas and threatens the warmth that the fireplace is providing, dull and full of malice.

Lexa's arms tighten around Clarke, her hands find the cracked black leather of the woman's coat to keep her close, because at no cost does she want to lose this bubble of warmth to the evil cold brewing outside.

"Tell me something," she replies tenderly.

"Yeah? I'll tell you something. I don't want to hate you. I don't hate you. I'm sorry, I can't help it, but I love you. I really do. I love you, Lexa."

And with that, suddenly, Lexa's entire world shatters.

There's a crack of thunder outside, light rain begins to run down the tent and just like that, as though her eyes were a cloud to rip apart, she begins to cry.

Her hands grow tighter around Clarke and it's almost like she wants to consume Clarke entirely, become one with her, crawl inside of her warmth and never come back. The following, "Clarke," is weak, but Lexa does not find it in herself to care.

She should care, she knows that. She should care about it all, about the fact that she is so drawn to this glowing woman, that she is crying, that she wants to hold Clarke for the rest of the night and feel the shape of her body entirely.

She laughs instead. Wet, ridiculous laughter that closes off her shabby black-blooded heart to the gold Clarke is pouring into it. That make her hold Clarke a little less tight and eventually, let her go entirely. "I'm sorry. I can't even be with humans that have nothing but betrayal for me, I shouldn't have- fuck, Clarke, I shouldn't have let you pour your love into me. I can't hold it, I am not divine, why would you not ask a Skaikru woman?"