Wolf Knight

Well. It definitely shouldn’t be. Because they’re friends— best friends. They have been for going on…Jesus, five years now. All they’ve ever been is friends, and they like it that way. It’s safer that way. Dating a friend— that’s messy. Dating someone period could be messy, and neither of them would ever do anything to jeopardize that. It’s just not worth it.

Not that Lexa had ever even been open to that possibility anyway. Clarke’s always been certain that Lexa is like, miles out of her league. And yeah, maybe sometimes Clarke’s heart skips or her stomach pleasantly fills with heat when she’s around her— Lexa is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, and she has this commanding presence with the secret softest heart and really, who wouldn’t feel unbalanced around her? She’s an incredible person, and Clarke is lucky merely to exist in her orbit. But there’s nothing abnormal about any of that. Friends can feel that way about other friends. 

She just adores Lexa. Loves her big heart and her wit, her dry sense of humor and the way she can communicate so much with the smallest micro-expressions. She loves how talented but humble Lexa is, how much she cares.

How to everyone else, she’s so stoic— cold, even. Always with an inscrutable expression, barely even ever a smile let alone a laugh. But with Clarke, she just seems to melt. It means the world to Clarke that Lexa feels comfortable enough around her to do that.

Clarke sighs, content as she nuzzles into the warm crook of Lexa’s neck. They’ve been here for a few hours now, and the handful of beers Clarke downed have settled in her blood; she’s pleasantly buzzed, and so grateful Lexa didn’t hesitate to come out with her tonight. It was a rough day at work, but Lexa makes everything better.

“Hey, you want another drink?”

Clarke pauses, reluctantly drawing her head back from its comfortable resting spot to glance at her glass. It is empty, and she does want another, but she also doesn’t want Lexa to budge an inch because she’s so comfortable.

And by the slightest little uptick of Lexa’s lips, she knows that.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, growing even more amused when Clarke gives a throaty whine and tightens her arms around her. She melts and relaxes when full, pouty lips press against her forehead, and Lexa sweeps her hand through Clarke’s hair. “Wait here.”

Clarke sighs but smiles as Lexa untangles herself from her lap and shoots her a smile before walking off. Clarke leans back in her chair, watching her go. It takes her a minute to realize Octavia is staring at her. Deadpan and pointedly.

“What?” 

“You realize that you and Lexa are dating. Right? Like, tell me you realize that.”

Clarke barks a laugh, shaking her head as she swirls her glass and sips at the melted ice. “You know we’re not.”

“You should be. It’s honestly ridiculous.”

“We’re best friends, you know that.”

“I don’t hang all over my best friends like that.”

"Not everyone keeps their best friend at arm's distance. We're just affectionate.” Clarke shrugs. “Why is that always immediately seen as romantic?"

Octavia scoffs. “Please. You have it so bad.”

“Have what bad?” Clarke says absently, distractedly looking up when Lexa comes back into view as she reaches the bar. 

“Your gigantic gay crush on Lexa, obviously. And you’d think it would be more pathetic if this was unrequited pining, but no,” Octavia steamrolls on. “You can see her heart eyes when she looks at you from a mile away.”

Clarke shakes her head again, half laughing. “Stop it. Lexa doesn’t look at me any differently than she looks at anyone else.”

“Really? Because last I checked, Lexa doesn’t really smile at anyone— except at those kids and at you.”

“Maybe no one else is as funny or adorable as us,” Clarke says as lightly as the way she shrugs.

“Uh-huh, yeah, no, I don’t think so. You’re just as bad.”

“I smile at people!” Clarke says in outrage (that’s mostly exaggerated, but is it her fault that Lexa is still in her peripheral vision and she’s pulling faces at Clarke from across the bar because the bartender is taking ages to get to her and it makes Clarke smile? No, no it is not).

“But that’s it! You don’t touch people.” Octavia rolls her eyes when Clarke lifts a brow. “Okay people you fuck don’t count. I mean you’re not a casually affectionate person, Clarke, you don’t even hug your own mom goodbye. Yet you’re constantly alllll over Lexa. Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder why?”

“I don’t need to wonder why. Lexa’s just super comfy.” Clarke shrugs. “And she smells good.” 

“What, so the rest of us just stink?”

“You said it, not me. Plus, you’re pretty damn bony too.”

Octavia huffs. “Whatever, I’m done talking about this now, you’re hopeless.” Clarke curbs her smug smile as Octavia slides out from the booth. “I think I’m gonna get out of here so I can pick up the kids. I’ll meet you at your place probably around nine, does that work?” 

Clarke nods absently, barely hearing her as she watches the bartender finally reach Lexa and then stay there, right in front of her, a flirty smile on her face. Clarke purses her lips. 

Octavia snorts. “Like I said. Hopeless.” She gives a wave that Clarke idly returns, throwing back her cup to get the last of the ice cubes before standing and crossing the bar to the counter.

It’s when she’s a little closer that she hears what they’re saying.

“—another drink for your girlfriend.”

Clarke can’t see Lexa’s expression, but she can see the way her hair falls over her shoulder as she tosses her head back, laughing heartily. 

“No, no, God, no. Definitely not. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend.”

There’s a sudden, unpleasant swoop of Clarke’s stomach— she blames it on the step she just missed as she descends the short staircase leaving the dining area. 

“Oh,” the bartender says, drawing the word out way too long, like an idiot. “Well, in that case. How about I cover your next drink, then?”

Lexa laughs again, and this time it’s just a bit lower, and she leans against the bar. Clarke can see the side of her face now, the curl of those full lips. “Appreciate the offer, but I’m about to drive home.”

“Another time then?” The bartender grins, clearly enjoying this as if Lexa’s playing hard to get or something. “Maybe this—”

“Lex!”

Lexa turns just in time for Clarke to stumble into her, arms automatically coming up to wrap around her. “Clarke.” She hums as she brushes Clarke’s hair out of her eyes and Clarke just looks up at her, a dopey smile on her face. 

(Okay maybe she’s not that tipsy, but. Whatever)

“I missed you,” Clarke confesses. She hugs Lexa, burrowing her face in the crook between her neck and shoulder. “What’s taking so long?”

“I was just talking to…” Lexa turns and looks expectantly at the bartender, who when Clarke takes a peek at her, looks significantly less flirty now. She looks torn between exasperated amusement and disappointment, and hesitates only a beat before slapping the washcloth she held up on her shoulder and shooting them a smile. 

“Going now. I have a line. It was nice talking to you.”

Lexa frowns as the bartender turns away then, walking to the other end of the counter to refill some beers. Clarke doesn’t let go of her. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says reproachfully, though she has an exasperated smile on her face. “Pretty sure she was about to ask me out. You just clit-blocked me again.”

“Revenge for you doing it to me last week,” Clarke says airily, nuzzling Lexa’s neck.

Lexa snorts. “That guy was a loser anyway. He had a phone belt. Who wears a phone belt?”

“She does.” Clarke nods at the bartender; Lexa whips her head around to look and yep, sure enough. She turns back around and they both put their heads close together, trying to quiet their laughter. 

“Guess it’s not that much of a loss then,” Lexa teases, eyes sparkling. Then that plump bottom lip, the one that always catches Clarke’s eye— because she’s a purveyor of art, okay, and Lexa is gorgeous— sticks out as Lexa pouts. “She was cute though. This is like the third girl this month who started hitting on me and then left before I could get her number. I don’t get it.”

Clarke sighs, her nose trailing the curve of Lexa’s neck and her hands slipping just under the hem of Lexa’s sweater as she snuggles her close. “Aw, I don’t get it either, Lex. They’re missing out.”

She really doesn’t get it. Lexa’s— well, she’s Lexa. Smart as a whip, a wonderful dry sense of humor, and she has such a big heart hidden under that stoic exterior. She’s also the most beautiful woman Clarke’s ever seen, and gay as hell, so it really doesn’t make sense why so many girls seem to pass her up sometimes, why they give up so easily when they incorrectly assume Clarke is a competitor. Idiots.

“One more shot?” Lexa asks, gesturing at the little one beside her. Clarke can guess the bartender has made it for Lexa first, but she’s the driver. Clarke, though…

She grabs the glass and tosses it back. Gives a lazy grin as it burns her throat, one that grows when Lexa’s eyes catch on it. 

A little liquid courage never hurt anyone— though courage for what, Clarke doesn’t know.

“Ready to head out?” Lexa asks. When Clarke nods, she offers an arm. Smiles. “Then let’s go.”

//

It’s half-past nine and the only thing better than the stretch of highway before them and stretch of stars above them is the girl currently curled up against Lexa’s side, her head nestled on her shoulder, one hand tangled with Lexa’s free hand and the other resting on her forearm, fingers loosely curled in the well-worn cotton of Lexa’s sweater sleeve.

Lexa doesn’t usually make a habit of going out drinking with friends on a random Thursday night, especially when she has to be up early for work the next day. But when Clarke had a hard day and texted asking if Lexa was up for it, of course she said yes. She would do anything to make Clarke’s day better— it was the least she could do, considering how Clarke’s mere presence in her life made every day so much lighter.

Lexa knows how it sounds. She hears it all the time, mostly from their other friends. Even her own father gets in on it. 

“Are you bringing your girlfriend home with you this weekend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Dad. 

….but yes, she’s coming.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lexa half-rolls her eyes even though it’s dark and the highway is empty and Clarke is dozing so there’s no one there to see it. She absently strokes her thumb across the back of Clarke’s knuckles, smiling slightly at how Clarke sighs in her sleep.

No one understands that they’re simply best friends and that’s it and that’s all they’ll ever be. Clarke is way too amazing and their friendship is too special to risk ruining it by trying for more. They don’t need more. Lexa already has more than she ever expected to have.

Does she find Clarke attractive? Sure, she’s only human. Who wouldn’t? It’s Clarke. But that doesn’t mean anything. No one said you can’t find your best friend attractive. 

This is probably the millionth time she’s had to reassure herself of this, and she’s well aware of how that looks, too. But only twenty minutes ago she’d had her fourth person of the night refer to Clarke as her girlfriend— this time the bartender, as she closed out their tabs— and it just gets old after a while, that’s all.

(That is definitely all)

She glances down and notices she’s at only a quarter of a tank, so she takes the next exit and pulls into a mostly empty gas station. 

“Hey,” Lexa says softly, nudging Clarke with her shoulder. Clarke lifts her head and looks around blearily. Lexa smiles, brushing blonde hair back behind an ear, and Clarke turns to face her at once, eyes fluttering shut as Lexa’s touch briefly grazes the side of her face. “We’re at a gas station. Do you want anything?”

Clarke makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum and drops her head to Lexa’s shoulder again. She nuzzles as Lexa lightly laughs.

“Wait here then.”

Lexa smiles at the pout Clarke gives when she shifts out from under her, unbuckling and exiting the car. She pumps the gas and then pops inside, grabbing kazoozles and then Clarke’s favorite chocolate for good measure. When she slips back into the car and Clarke stirs from where she’d been curled up against her door, the offering puts an immediate smile on her face.

“God, you’re the best.” 

“That’s what all the girls tell me,” Lexa cheeks back, grinning when Clarke does, before she reverses the car and rolls back onto the highway. 

“I bet it is,” Clarke murmurs, happily unwrapping her Reese’s. She offers Lexa a cup and Lexa takes it, biting the outer edges before handing the soft middle back to Clarke in exchange for the other cup, repeating the process. She gives the middle to Clarke and licks the melted chocolate off her fingers afterwards, and her heart blooms at the contented sigh Clarke gives, tipping her head back against the seat, savoring the last taste.

Clarke is more awake by the time Lexa pulls over on the curb in the street across from her house. Silence falls as she cuts the engine, and when she looks at Clarke she finds her already watching her.

Clarke blinks owlishly at her. Her expression softens. “You are really, really pretty. You know that?”

Lexa snorts, looking out the window instead of at Clarke as her cheeks heat. It’s far from the first time Clarke has told her that, but it never fails to hit her hard. Maybe it’s because it’s Clarke saying it, who’s like an entire universe out of Lexa’s league. She’s gorgeous and funny and kind and literally saves lives on a daily basis. Sometimes Lexa can’t even wrap her head around the fact that Clarke chooses to be her friend, let alone calls her pretty.

“Are you looking in the mirror again?” 

Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to show how unamused she is by Lexa’s frequent reply to those compliments— but the curve of her lips betray her, and they widen when Lexa gives her a crooked smile.

“All right, you, come on.” Lexa pulls the key out of the ignition and unbuckles herself, but she’s only just grasped the door handle when she turns at the sound of Clarke’s raspy laugh, low as if under her breath, and sees her struggling to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Jesus, Clarke,” Lexa says in amusement, “Are you actually drunk?”

“No, I’m barely even tipsy!” Clarke looks up at Lexa with another breathless huff of laughter. “The damn thing’s jammed.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, still chuckling as she climbs out of her side and walks around to Clarke’s. They both giggle a little, when she opens the door and Clarke is still sitting there, trapped.

“Where would you be without me,” Lexa sighs, smiling as she bends down into the car and over Clarke’s torso, reaching across her thighs to fumble at the clasp. Okay, it definitely is jammed, but Clarke’s squirming isn’t helping. “Stay still,” Lexa quietly orders, and to her surprise, Clarke does so right away. She’s frozen in place as Lexa wriggles the buckle around, pressing down and tugging until finally the thing pops loose, and she presses the button for the seatbelt to pull back. And it isn’t until then, with Clarke’s chest pushing out, breasts nearly brushing Lexa’s as she pushes the seatbelt off and aside, that Lexa realizes just how close they are. How she has one knee inside the car, propped on the seat just next to Clarke’s thigh, and she’s leaning over her, head tipped down while Clarke’s is up, wide blue eyes staring at her, Lexa’s hair hanging down, brushing Clarke’s neck. Lexa’s heart does a strange little flop at the unexpected proximity, and every single muscle in her body seems to tense in anticipation— of what, she has no idea.

Clarke blinks, and Lexa’s favorite soft smile spreads across her face, as gentle and illuminating as the strip of moonlight through the windshield. “Hi,” she says in a hushed voice.

Lexa returns the smile, crooked, still a little off-balance. “Hi.”

It’s Lexa’s turn to freeze then, when Clarke lifts her hand to touch her face. Soft, curious touches that somehow feel as if they’re lighting Lexa on fire, and she doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.

“Clarke?” she questions, though she makes no move away. Just remains leaning over her, letting Clarke trace her fingertips from her temple to her cheekbone to her jawline and then— um. And then her lips, tracing the outline with this strange look in her eyes.

“Your lips look so soft,” Clarke whispers, blue eyes fixed on them. They dart up to meet Lexa’s, hold there as her thumb presses into the crease in Lexa’s bottom lip. “Can I taste?”

Lexa nearly swallows her own tongue. She chokes on air, gaping at Clarke. “What?”

Clarke’s looking at her lips again, her pupils blown wide. “Can I?”

Lexa doesn’t answer for a moment. She’s stunned and motionless on the outside, while on the inside her heart thunders so loudly part of her wonders how Clarke can’t hear it. She’s scared to ask Clarke why she wants to. So she just nods instead, dumbly.

Clarke shifts her hand to cup Lexa’s jaw and tips her head up. Lexa watches as her eyes flutter shut as she draws near, and then her own slide shut at the soft pressure of Clarke’s mouth on her own.

Oh.

Oh.

Lexa’s stomach clenches as a drag of heat sinks into her lower belly. Her heart pounds so hard it might just burst through her chest, but she stays still, unmoving as Clarke kisses her, landing right on the bottom lip she’s been stroking, and immediately gently sucks it into her mouth. It parts Lexa’s lips and has her gasping quietly, putting a hand on the back of the seat to stop from falling into Clarke. Clarke makes this noise, a soft little groan at the back of her throat as she suckles for a moment before releasing, Lexa’s lip springing back slightly— and Lexa manages to open her eyes just in time to see Clarke leaning back, eyes closed as though still savoring it.

They’re both breathing hard. It’s the only sound, except for Lexa’s pulse in her ears and the faraway sound of cars on the distant highway. Then Clarke’s eyes open. Slowly, like she’s just waking. She looks at Lexa with hooded eyes, dark and pupil-blown, and Lexa wonders if this is actually happening right now, if this is real—

Clarke doesn’t even say anything. She just leans in, head tilting up as she kisses Lexa again, more firmly this time. Lexa’s breath catches in her throat and her head swims and her eyes close and nope, no, this is definitely real, it feels too good not to be, her imagination is not this good.

Clarke draws back just a breath but it’s only to part her lips and drag her tongue over Lexa’s lower lip. Lexa’s stomach bottoms out.

Fuck. What is happening right now? What the fuck is happening—

Who cares. Doesn’t matter.

Lexa’s head spins as she opens her mouth to meet Clarke’s tongue with her own. Her best friend tastes like peanut butter chocolate and pear cider and chapstick, and she kisses like— Lexa doesn’t even know. All she knows is that their lips fit perfectly together and immediately find a rhythm that, even tipsy, is coordinated as though they’ve done it a million times. It soon renders Lexa incapable of even a semblance of coherent thought, as the kiss deepens, turns hungrier, until suddenly Clarke is shifting sideways in her seat and hooking her fingers in the collar of Lexa’s shirt to tug her down with her, reclining and then lying flat on her back with Lexa on top of her.

“Fuck,” Clarke pants, licking inside Lexa’s mouth. 

Fuck. Yeah. It spins in Lexa’s head as she settles between Clarke’s legs. She’s so warm and soft beneath her, the fullness of her breasts pressing against Lexa’s, her hips— fuck, her hips moving, grinding up into Lexa’s. Lexa doesn’t hesitate, moves on instinct. She bears down and grinds right back, swallowing the gasp Clarke spills into the night. It’s hot. Clarke is hot, and the way her back arches beneath her, the way her hands tangle in Lexa’s hair, the way she bites at Lexa’s bottom lip, the way she cranes her hips again as though searching for friction— it’s all so hot Lexa doesn’t even know how to think. This is Clarke. This is her best friend. She’s making out with her best friend, she’s getting wet from this, she has no intention of ever, ever stopping this.

They have to break apart for air. Lexa gasps it in but Clarke immediately dips her head down, presses kisses along Lexa’s jawline and then the column of her throat. Lexa’s grip on the seat of the car tightens, her short nails digging into the fabric when Clarke bites down on the side of her neck and then soothes it with her tongue, and then sucks. She’s definitely leaving a mark and Lexa wants that, she wants the proof of this bruised over every inch of her body.

(Which is a totally normal thing to think about when you’re kissing your very hot best friend. Obviously.)

Lexa lays more heavily atop Clarke when she shifts her hands off the backs of the seat, using one to cup the back of Clarke’s neck, holding her to her own, and letting her other wander. She feels the quiet gasp Clarke takes against her throat as Lexa’s hand slips just beneath the hem of her shirt.

“Fuck, Lex, please, touch me—”

Clarke’s raspy words rise from her swollen lips and sink right into the fire burning in the pit of Lexa’s stomach. She’s never heard Clarke sound like this. Certainly never heard her tell her to touch her before. It makes her head spin. 

Lexa’s heart hammers when Clarke lets go of her hip to grasp her hand and move it higher, and then suddenly there’s the most perfect tit in the world in Lexa’s palm, full and soft and almost too big for her hand. The bra Clarke is wearing is plain cotton, and somehow the knowledge that it’s not lace or anything— that Clarke is wearing her comfy underwear because she had no idea this would happen— is the sexiest thing ever. Lexa squeezes her breast, hips canting against Clarke’s, encouraged by the hand Clarke presses to the small of her back, pushing her more tightly against her. Clarke lifts her head to kiss her senseless again, until once more their lungs are fit to bursting, and Lexa drops her head to busy herself with leaving her own mark on Clarke’s neck, her head spinning with the quiet, breathy moan that crawls up from the throat Lexa’s tongue is pressed to.

Lexa is half a beat away from pulling Clarke’s shirt off, or pushing it up so she can get her mouth on that skin next, when it happens. 

They freeze when sudden light floods through the windshield. It takes a second to register the sound of a car approaching, but when they do, they jump apart, Lexa rearing up and stumbling back, Clarke scrambling into a sitting position and adjusting her skewed shirt. A car passes right by them a second later, and to Lexa’s horror she realizes it’s Octavia, along with her children. Lexa remembers with a jolt that they were supposed to meet Clarke here at her house.

Did she see anything? Surely not. They’d been, ah, horizontal, under the line of sight… Lexa’s entire body blooms with a furious blush, her palms sweating.

Lexa and Clarke remain silent and motionless, catching their breath as Octavia climbs out of her car and wrestles with removing her children from the back seats. 

“I should— I should go,” Clarke says, voice a husky rasp that immediately settles in with the rest of the warmth pooling in Lexa’s lower stomach. 

Lexa just nods, numbly.

She takes a few steps back to put space between them as Clarke slides out of the car. Lexa swallows thickly as Clarke looks up at her, eyes still dark. She looks wrecked, honestly. Her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a mess. It makes Lexa fidget where she stands because she did that, it was her. 

By the look on Clarke’s face as her eyes slowly map Lexa’s body, she’s having similar thoughts. Lexa sees her throat dip before she licks her lips and says, “Um, I’ll— we’ll talk later?”

She says it like a question. It almost makes Lexa panic.

“Of course we will,” she says, dipping her head in a shallow nod. 

A small smile of relief breaks out on Clarke’s face. “Good.” 

Then Clarke steps into her space and presses a kiss to Lexa’s cheek— more at the corner of her lips than ever before, and it has Lexa’s stomach flipping all over again. She watches as Clarke turns to cross the parking lot to help Octavia, taking one of the kids onto her hip. Octavia throws a wave at Lexa as she and Clarke and the kids finally trudge up toward the apartment doors. Lexa weakly returns it. She’s still standing there dazed even when Clarke and the others disappear into the complex. She finally jolts back to life and hurries around and into the driver’s seat, and her heart still pounds the entire way home.