snowed-in | clexa

eight

Clarke expected Lexa to put on one of those woolen dresses she mentioned, maybe, or something simple in that direction

She expected her to wear her hair down like usual, or in one of her ponytails.

She didn't expect Lexa to come down those stairs like she just entered her fucking villain era, in Clarke's black slit dress, hair back in tiny braids, and oh God- Lexa is wearing eyeliner and red lipgloss in such a skilled way, you'd think she does it every day.

The fact that Lexa doesn't lead the world in some fantasy or sci-fi world is actually upsetting. She would do such a good job at it.

And the first thing that comes out of this Godess's mouth?

"You're beautiful."

Directed towards Clarke, whose appearance is really nothing looking at Lexa.

Lexa would beg to differ, of course. Clarke is wearing a dark red, silky dress that seems tailored for her every curve so damn perfectly, hair up in an elegant bun with two strands framing her face, highlighter making her defined cheeks shine. The dress has a deep v-line and a necklace makes up for it perfectly, the bright- are those fucking diamonds?- fitting to the elbow-high white gloves elegantly.

"Says you?" Clarke asks after another up-and-down look. She can't help putting her hands on Lexa's waist, thankful for the soft music she put on in advance so that she can use it as an excuse to start a slow dance. "God. That's what you mean when you say hot nerd, huh?"

"That's how I showed up at prom, Clarke," Lexa says, voice low now that she's so close to Clarke's ear.

"And you know what's the best thing?" Clarke asks in the same volume, letting herself be swayed gently by the arm around her waist and the hand on the small of her back.

"Hm?"

"The slit is on the right side to show your thigh tattoo. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Lexa needs to focus on keeping her movements slow and steady to cover up just what this kind of Clarke's voice is doing to her. "What a lucky strike," she says.

"The luckiest."

Clarke pulls away a bit and twirls Lexa once, saying, with a grin, "Imagine we showed up like this to your little town ball."

"We would rule it."

"We would overtake it."

"Anya would drop dead."

"They would all drop dead."

Lexa laughs and says, "What a shame that they won't see us like this. But thank you so much for the idea anyway. It's perfect."

"I made appetizers and cocktails."

Lexa's face lights up. "No!"

"Yes. Well, the cocktails aren't so cocktail-y, but I tried. Non-alcoholic and heavy on orange juice, but good."

"You're amazing, Clarke. I hope John's fucking snow blower is broken and he won't rescue us until we run out of food."

Clarke laughs. "You really did turn into a villain with this dress."

"Yes. And now the villain is going to have an orange juice cocktail."

-

Once Lexa manages to take her eyes off Clarke, she can actually appreciate all that Clarke has done to the living room; the counter that seperates kitchen and living room is used as a buffet for cut up fruit and vegetables, little pieces of bread with cheese and butter, chips, grissini sticks and cookies, and a few glasses of surprisingly perfect cocktails.

Clarke apparently also went to collect pine twigs and cones to decorate the room, and somehow found a way to play music from her phone. Probably she had songs downloaded.

(Really, the best part is how proud Clarke is of the pine twigs. She's so cute and excited showing them to Lexa, it makes Lexa think she's never decorated her place with anything non-plastic.)

They dance slow until Jingle Bells comes up and they fall into a far messier, faster dance. Clarke can't help twirling Lexa to see her dress move and Lexa is in awe at how easily Clarke can move with those heels.

And then after another Christmas song, it's Rock Me Amadeus, the song Clarke mentioned to have sung in karaoke, and now that Lexa hears it and imagines 14 year-old Clarke singing it, she can't stop laughing.

Dancing turns into a challenge then;

Clarke grins and looks straight into Lexa's eyes when she begins to move a lot faster and more skilled, because of course, someone like Clarke knows how to dance even though she didn't menion any classes.

Lexa can keep up, though. Yes, Anya has taken her to everything, even a Cha Cha dance class, and because Clarke's movements very much resemble that, Lexa isn't lost on cooperating.

It turns faster, the space between kitchen counter and couch becomes their dance floor. Lexa is enamoured with just how perfectly Clarke does this, the teasing and the perfectly smooth movements, the way she never stumbles over her dress or her heels.

When Sway by Micheal Bublé comes up, it's over. Somehow, they fall into a perfect rhythm, Lexa begins to challenge Clarke back, holds her hips and moves them herself- Clarke complies, lays her arms on Lexa's shoulders, focuses on following up.

Lexa is a lot more unused to the heels Clarke insisted on borrowing her than Clarke herself, but she manages just fine. The slit in her dress is making things a lot easier.

Their performance becomes more dramatic the further the song progresses, working up to an impeding climax, something electric in the air, something Lexa's dancing instructor calls the chemistry.

The corner of Clarke's lip is curled- a deep red, teasing.

Blue eyes focused, green eyes challenging.

Strong hands on swiftly moving hips.

Glossy red fingernails dug gently into heated tan skin.

The song is reaching its end, it's getting faster, just like them, the last climaxing beats-

A tiny misstep, they're not sure by whom- the pair stumbles.

Clarke crashes into the back of the couch, Lexa crashes into her, hands on either side to support herself on the couch, Clarke's hands clawing at Lexa to hold herself up.

Clarke laughs, breathlessly. "That was a hell of a dance."

"One way to put it," Lexa grins.

Clarke looks at Lexa, about to say something else, but the words get stuck in her throat.

Those big green eyes are so close, Clarke can see the golden freckles inside.

Lexa is so close.

Clarke becomes acutely aware of the body pressed against hers, of the knee between her thighs, of those pillowy lips only inches away.

She raises her brows, weakly, a mere cover-up. "Your leg is inbetween mine," she notes and Lexa immediately steps away, hands raised, cheeks adorably red at once.

"Sorry, that was not on purpose. You okay?"

"Yes. I haven't ever danced like that and I'm totally out of breath, but okay. You?"

"Couldn't've said it better. Orange juice cocktail?"

"God, yes."

_____________________________