imtrikru

// 

As much fun as lying to herself is, she just can’t deny that she’d imagined Lexa in her bed the very first time she laid her eyes on her. That’s not something she can be blamed for, honestly. Because the first time they meet, Lexa’s lugging heavy boxes around, and her sports bra is doing nothing to shield her body from Clarke’s astonished, impressionable eyes. 

“Um,” she remembers saying, because of course her throat goes dry at the sight, and it’s not the last of clichés she’ll experience with this girl, “they have trained professionals for that, you know.” 

Lexa doesn’t freeze up at her voice. Doesn’t even still, and Clarke has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from gulping when she flashes her a smirk and picks up another box, very likely extremely aware – and self-satisfied – of the way her muscles ripple under sweaty skin. “What makes you think I’m not one?” 

That’s how they become fast friends – Clarke leaning against her fence as she ogles her, and Lexa doing her best to prove there’s definitely something to ogle. Or, well, that’s how they could’ve easily become a wonderful – sweaty, messy, loud, so very loud – thing that may or may not have only lasted a night, but then Lexa had to go and ruin it all. By letting Clarke help her move in. And letting Clarke know she’s a college senior. 

At the very least it wasn’t a high school senior. That would’ve probably made Clarke become a nun, because that would’ve been the only way to properly repent for all the sinful thoughts she’s managed to have in the span of fifteen minutes she knew Lexa. 

Clarke has to give herself credit where credit is due – she doesn’t choke on her lemonade when Lexa tells her she’ll be graduating from Polis U this spring. But, apparently, she’s not as good at masking her emotions as she’s thought, because Lexa smirks that damn smirk again – and it’s definitely a trademark one, Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if she admitted she practices it in front of the mirror every day. 

“I’ve been told I look older,” she says, and they leave it at that. That being Clarke awkwardly excusing herself and scurrying back to her house. It could’ve been the end of it. Should’ve been the end of it, but the very next evening, Lexa shows up at her doorstep with freshly baked apple pie and the entire third season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

And if there’s something Clarke can never say no to, it’s homemade treats and Eliza Dushku as Faith Lehane. She may or may not have been the reason for her sexual – or should she say bisexual – awakening. She still has a thing for badass leggy brunettes, after all. 

“You’re the only other young person around here,” Lexa states when she opens the door. “I don’t mean to be ageist, but there’s only so much crocheting I can handle.” 

Clarke crosses her arms as she leans against the doorpost – and immediately scolds herself for it, because everyone knows that’s her seduction pose. One of many, really, but by far the most effective. To her credit, Lexa’s gaze doesn’t stray lower than Clarke’s chin. 

Relieved and insulted are weird feelings when combined. 

“What if I’m into crocheting?” She challenges, trying not to grin. 

Lexa shrugs. “I’ll get over it for the sake of a potential friendship.” She may not be aware of it, but that’s the word that gets her access into Clarke’s house. Friendship she can deal with. It’s totally fine to have friends who are seven years younger than you. It could even be the mentor-mentee type of a relationship. Or even maternal--

I’m gonna stop you right here, Raven’s voice states in her head when her gaze ventures down to Lexa’s firm behind. 

// 

Clarke doesn’t understand how these nights become a regular occurrence. Every Thursday, without fail, Lexa comes over with baked goods and a DVD. Clarke doesn’t have the heart to tell her about Netflix. 

“Are you studying at Polis U, too?” Lexa asks on the third week, her curiosity getting the best of her. They haven’t really talked about Clarke’s life. Or Lexa’s, for that matter. In so many aspects, they remain perfect strangers. All Clarke knows about her is that she likes fall; and has vivid dreams; and wants to be a writer someday even though that’s not what she’s studying for, and has thirteen diaries and is starting on the fourteenth; and is allergic to horses, and--

“No,” she says, and shakes her head. “I’m in my third year of medical residency at the Silver Pine Hospital.” 

It doesn’t take Lexa long to do the math. “Oh,” she says, evenly. Her fingers twitch ever so slightly, around her glass of water. “What’s your specialty?” 

That makes her smile. Thinking of her job always makes her smile. “Pediatrics.” 

She orders her heart to settle down when Lexa gives her a genuine smile in return at hearing her answer. “Cool. I like kids.” She glances at her glass of water before taking a small sip. “They are easy to talk to.” 

Clarke laughs. “You’d be surprised with how many parents find their kids extremely difficult to talk to.” 

“I guess it’s harder when you’re a parent.” 

“Maybe.” She’s never really thought of that. She’s not even sure she wants to have kids of her own, if she’s being honest. The ones she has at the hospital are enough for now. “Or, some of those people just don’t want to connect with their children. “Seriously, there are days I deal with more assholes than Mr. Curtis.” 

Lexa grins. “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Mr. Curtis is a proctologist at your hospital.” 

“Yup,” Clarke says, popping the p at the end, and then Lexa laughs, and laughs, and Clarke has no choice but to join in, because if she doesn’t, she’ll just sit there staring at her, mesmerized. Trying to commit every little feature to memory – the way her eyes screw shut and the way her mouth falls open, and the way her delicate neck tenses and flexes. 

// 

Lexa’s never been with anyone. She finds out by accident, casually, after she finishes telling her a story about the pregnancy scare she had back in college. 

“Did you ever have one?” she asks, since they never explicitly stated their sexuality, only saying that they both like women. Theoretically, Lexa could be as bi as she is. But Lexa only grins, and there’s a hint of self-depreciation Clarke doesn’t understand until she hears her next words. 

“Well, since having sex is a requirement I’ve never fulfilled, I’m gonna say no.” 

“Oh,” Clarke says, and just looks at her, because Lexa is – Lexa , confident, sharp, sexy Lexa, and she’s neither particularly religious nor asexual – they had a brief conversation about both of these things, so how -- why -- 

“I never really had time for it,” Lexa says, and then Clarke is speaking before she fully realizes what she’s doing. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. To anyone. What you do is your business,” she swallows when green eyes find hers, silent, sparkling. “Only yours. I’m not gonna think of you any differently, and if someone does, then, well, fuck them.” Poor word choice – so she backtracks, blinking. “I mean, they can suck it. Shit – I--” 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, and she’s laughing again. “It’s fine. I knew you’d find it weird. I mean, you’re – you .” The last word is said quieter, almost a sigh – a reverent one. It’s flattering. But also confusing. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she whispers, softly, and Lexa replies in a whisper, too. 

“You’re… a sexual person,” she tells her, and it’s shy and embarrassed and heavy and hot all at once as they sit there, gazes locked and fingers clutching their glasses. “A very sexual person.” 

Clarke feels both elated and horrified. “How do you figure?” She says – practically squeaks, really, and she never squeaks. Her voice is raspy. Cool. Collected. Coy. In control. Except right now, it’s anything but. 

It is still husky, though. For all the wrong reasons that don’t feel wrong at all. 

Lexa’s laugh is husky, too; and as low as the tingles it sends down Clarke’s spine. “Have you seen yourself?” 

“Um,” Clarke says, and springs to her feet, leaving Lexa to sit on the couch and blink at her as she starts frantically gathering the dishes. The dish, to be exact – a bowl with some chips left in it, and their glasses. “I don’t find it weird,” she says. “That you haven’t had sex. I don’t find it weird. It’s up to you. I mean, you might not even enjoy it.” 

“Clarke.” She doesn’t look at Lexa, but she knows she’s giving her the stare. The universal are you fucking kidding me stare. “I do masturbate, you know. And I find it very enjoyable.” 

She has to get out of there – and that’s what she does, almost sprinting to the kitchen and opening the fridge just so her face cools down. Because all she can think of now is Lexa, on her back, her legs spread and bent and she writhes, one hand clutching the pillow and another down there – God, she’s already picturing it, why not take it further? Call it as it fucking is – her fingers pressing against her cunt , vibrant pink, almost red, flicking her clit as she arches her back. And then her fingers become Clarke’s fingers and her neck’s arching under her lips, and then she screams-- 

“Clarke?” 

The fridge door shuts with a bang as she practically jumps out of her skin. Lexa’s standing in the doorway, her eyes wary and worried as she studies her. She looks anxious. She made her that way. Her friend – her younger, inexperienced friend shared something huge with her, probably hoping to get some advice, understanding, support – anything but what she gave. Anything but fear and rejection, because that’s what it probably looked like to Lexa. 

(She doesn’t know which one is worse – that or what actually was going through her head.) 

“I was checking to see if we have beer,” she says lamely. Of course Lexa doesn’t buy it. She’s too smart for that. And quick, and sharp, and-- 

This crush – and it’s time to admit that’s definitely what it is – is getting way out of hand. 

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” Lexa says with quiet regret. “That was definitely of TMI variety. So… I’m sorry. I thought – or I guess I didn’t really think, and…” She sighs, tiredly rubbing her neck. Clarke’s too worried and guilty to note how enticing the gesture looks coupled with her rolled up shirt sleeves. “I’ll just go.” 

“No!” Clarke yelps, and then coughs. Lexa just stares at her. “I mean – don’t go. Please. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Honesty’s the best policy, or so they say. She’s about to test that. At the very least, she’ll embarrass herself, and Lexa won’t feel bad about herself anymore. “There’s something I have to tell you, and I hope it’ll explain my reaction.” 

That’s how they find themselves back on the couch, with Clarke struggling to get the words out. “You’re – um.” 

“Okay,” Lexa says slowly. 

“No, I – let me finish. I’ll get there.” She flashes her a quick, nervous grin and gets one in return. “The reason I freaked out is… Look, it’s probably not news to you that you’re very – very attractive.” She blinks and looks away when her gaze drops to Lexa’s full lips. 

Operation “Don’t Be A Creep” failed. 

Lexa doesn’t say anything, patiently waiting for her to continue, and she tells herself not to find it cute when she follows her directions. “So, uh, you’re attractive, and I’m… attracted to you.” When Lexa continues to watch her, she decides to clarify. “In a sexual sense.” 

Lexa blinks. “And now that you’ve found out I’m largely inexperienced, you’re not anymore?” She sounds both confused and dejected, and it’s the second one that Clarke has a problem with. That would imply that Lexa had certain hopes. And those hopes will make it so much harder for her not to act on her desires. Increasingly dirty desires. 

“That’s not it at all, ” Clarke tells her. “It was hearing you mention masturbating that did me in.” She clears her throat. “I have a… um. A rather active imagination. It was a little overwhelming.” 

Lexa cocks her head to the right, and really, fuck her and her perfect face. Even though that’s exactly what she’s trying not to do. “Imagining someone you’re attracted to masturbating?” 

“You just had to say it, didn’t you,” Clarke deadpans, and Lexa bites her lip, but it doesn’t help with stifling her chuckle. 

“I’m sorry,” she offers, but it doesn’t sound as sincere as she probably wanted it to. “There’s something I need to tell you now.” 

“Okay,” Clarke says, and there’s dread pooling in her lower stomach but it’s mixed with hot, liquid heat, because she thinks she knows what Lexa’s about to say, and she might even know what she’s about to do when she slowly leans in and Clarke’s body betrays her by mirroring the action. 

“I’m attracted to you, too,” Lexa lets her know. And kisses her. And she doesn’t – no, she does not kiss like someone who’s inexperienced. 

Now, Clarke’s found herself on her back a little fast than she probably should’ve with plenty of people. But with Lexa, it doesn’t feel like it’s moving too fast. It feels like it’s not fast enough. It feels inevitable, and exciting, and long overdue, and she doesn’t know what she might’ve done if they weren’t interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

“Ignore it,” Lexa whispers to her, hotly, and all she can do is moan when her lips find hers again. Admittedly, this is going a little differently than her fantasies, but she’s enjoying it just as much. She didn’t expect Lexa to be this assertive. Certainly not after her confession. 

Later, she’ll be thankful for her neighbor and her affinity for incessant knocking in the middle of the night. “Phillip ran away,” she tragically announces when Clarke manages to find enough willpower to push Lexa’s greedy hands away and stumble to the door, hair disheveled and eyes wild. “Have you seen him? Sometimes he gets into other people’s houses. Little rascal.” 

It takes Clarke a good minute to figure out she’s talking about her cat and not her husband. “N-no,” she stammers, straightening her wrinkled shirt. “I haven’t seen him. I’ll let you know if I do,” she adds, remembering basic rules of social interactions. 

The old lady – she can never remember her name – squints at her, suspicious. “You do that,” she half-says, half-orders. “Phillip is precious.” 

She seems to remember Phillip attacking a couple of neighborhood dogs a while back, but nods nonetheless. “Yes. Of course. Sorry for your loss.” 

“What do you mean?!” The neighbor bristles, indignant. “He’s not dead!” 

“So sorry, goodbye!” Clarke manages to smile – although it feels more like a grimace – as she quickly shuts the door and leans against it, looking up at the ceiling. Her neighbor grumbles something about youth these days, and she’s pretty sure she might have called her a whore , probably because of the definitely-got-interrupted-while-about-to-get-boned look she’s sporting, but she doesn’t care. She’s been called worse by better people. 

What she does care about is her other neighbor – a much younger, much sexier one – rising to her feet and wordlessly joining her in the hallway. And just as wordlessly cupping her face before claiming her lips again. 

Clarke’s never been one for drugs, but this has gotta be the best one of them all. At the very least, it’s just as addictive. 

And bad for you.  

She pulls away just as Lexa’s tongue begins to gently caress hers, and seriously, where did she learn how to kiss like that? “Wait,” she pants, grabbing her hands. “God. Wait.” 

“Is something wrong?” Lexa murmurs, and Clarke really wishes she would stop doing that. Speaking in that voice, using that tone, because it sounds – intimate. Downright domestic. It sounds like she just came back from a shift and Lexa’s been waiting for her at home and they are about to head to their bed and… 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she settles for saying, and takes a step back. Except she can’t, because there’s a door behind her, and old stuck-up ladies and terrorist cats roaming the streets behind that door. So she manages to simply press up against the door even more. 

Lexa notices, and steps away from her, and she’s so grateful she could kiss her, except wasn’t the whole point to stop doing that? 

“Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” 

“Why shouldn’t we do this?” Lexa’s eyes flash a brilliant green in the dark. “I thought we’ve established that we like each other, and, as far as I know, we’re both single.” 

“I – yes.” Her points sound fair and are true, but, “that’s not why. I – Lexa, I’m twenty eight.” 

Lexa blinks. She looks surprised. Almost astonished. “You care about that?” 

“You mean you don’t?” 

Lexa grins. “Why would I?” She studies her for a moment. “Perhaps, I would if you were, say, fifty five. And honestly even then I’m not sure, because you’re you.” 

“Lexa,” she sighs, rubbing her face. “It’s just… weird. Think about it. While I was losing my virginity you were probably still learning how to ride a bike.” 

“Either you were an alarmingly early bloomer or you think I’m a late one,” Lexa chuckles. “I learned how to ride a bike when I was five. And I never lost my virginity in a traditional sense, so this isn’t a very good example. I do get what you’re trying to say, but – it’s all subjective, you see?” She blinks as she thinks of something. “Also – seventeen? Prom?” 

“Yeah,” Clarke nods, before huffing. “I – see? This is weird.” 

Lexa shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t fade. “It’s only weird if you make it,” she tells her. “But if this isn’t something you want to happen, I won’t insist.” Her hand finds hers, then. It’s a comforting gesture, but Clarke’s skin still flares up where she touches her. “But I also want you to realize that I’m not a shy, scared virgin. I’m a consenting adult who knows what she wants and what she likes.” Her voice is pure silk as it envelops Clarke, making her body arch into her of its own accord. Fucking traitor. “And I like you. In whatever capacity you’re willing to be with me.” 

Clarke knows what Lexa’s saying. We can remain friends, if you want me. We can be lovers, if you want me. It’s Clarke’s choice, and Lexa’s accommodating her, even though everything inside her tells her she should be the one to do that. It should be vice versa, shouldn’t it? 

While she’s dealing with her inner turmoil, Lexa steps back and begins to put her shoes on. “I’ll stop by tomorrow,” she tells her when she finishes and straightens up again. “Do you want to hate-watch Twilight? ” 

“Sure,” she manages. Lexa smiles, and doesn’t push. 

“Sure.” With one last, smiling look, she leaves, and Clarke stays there, clutching at her door as she watches her walk away, with the smallest, barely noticeable spring in her step. 

What the fuck is she going to do? 

//

In the end, Clarke does what she does best – compartmentalizes. There are two Clarkes. Clarke the friendly neighbor who enjoys an occasional movie night with her new fairly attractive friend but doesn’t dwell on her attractiveness. And Clarke the pervert, because she doesn’t have another name for someone who has the dirtiest – wonderful, messy, sweaty – scenarios imaginable playing in her head on a seemingly endless loop. 

She settles on – tries and struggles – being the first one. And at night, she lets the second one come out and play, because if she doesn’t, she’ll either combust or go insane. Or both. 

Besides, it’s not like she has much control over it. It’s better to say that the second Clarke takes over at night, barging into her mind with outrageously – wonderful – perverted dreams and making her do things upon waking she’d rather not think about right now. 

In the end, Clarke does what she thinks she does best. And learns she sucks at it pretty hard. Not as hard as – well. 

Those fucking dreams.  

Anyway. After a couple of dates gone almost wrong, when the now customary bottle of wine stood near empty on the coffee table and Lexa’s lips looked particularly delicious, she caves and decides to do what she hopefully does better than compartmentalization. 

She whines about it to her best friend. 

Raven picks up after the second ring. “ Oh my god,” she almost yells. “I missed your sorry ass so much I’m not even going to yell at you for only calling me when you need something.” 

Clarke deflates even more. Outside her window, Lexa carefully parks her old, well-maintained car and climbs out, straightening her Wayfarers. And she’s got her t-shirt sleeves rolled up, too, ever so slightly. Clarke used to think this particular look screamed douchebag.  

Lexa had to go and spoil it all for her. 

“Is it that obvious?” She asks Raven as she follows Lexa with her gaze. Don’t come over, she thinks desperately. Don’t come over, because my period’s about to start and I’m going crazy and none of my toys are helping and I can’t take your virginity while I jump you in the hallway.  

Fuck – she’s not supposed to even think about that. There should be no take and virginity in her vocabulary from now on. And lose, too, just to be on the safe side. 

Raven snorts. “ A little bit,” she tells her. “But since I do the same thing, it’s cool. All will be forgiven when you come to New York for my birthday.” 

She tries not to wince. “I, uh – I’ll try my hardest.” 

“ Fuck you, Clarke,” Raven says, but it’s without malice. “Now spill. What could’ve possibly happened in that sleepy shithole?” 

“Hey,” Clarke protests weakly. “This is my grandmother’s hometown.” 

“You’re not obligated to sugarcoat it just because she left you a house there,” Raven retorts. 

“Raven,” Clarke damn near whimpers, because Lexa walks back out of her house, her leather jacket gone and her tattoos on display since she’s only wearing a tank top. It’s a little chilly for that, goddammit. For the first time ever, Clarke celebrated the return of the low temperature because that meant no more toned biceps and forearms. Boy, was she wrong. 

(Plus, Lexa’s got a rather impressive collection of leather jackets, and sometimes Clarke’s not sure what’s better. Worse. She meant to say worse.)  

(Seriously, how did no girl snatch her up in all three years in college and counting? Maybe she’s a serial killer and everyone knows except me, Clarke thinks, half-delirious. Or – something. )

“What? Clarke, what? Griffin. Come on.” 

She comes back to earth and thickly swallows when Lexa opens the hood of her car and studies something inside with a look of concentration of her face. She really should get away from that window. “I’m about to make a huge mistake,” she sighs. 

Lexa walks around her car and kneels next to it, and Clarke recoils from the window, because if she sees her get under the vehicle, she won’t be able to handle it. 

“What?” Raven sounds confused and alarmed. “What’s going on?”  

She presses her fingers to her temple, rubbing it as she closes her eyes. “I’m going to tell you everything, but you have to promise not to judge me.” 

“You’re scaring me.” It takes a lot to make Raven sober up, and when she sounds completely serious, Clarke knows she may have gone overboard. But she’s having a fucking crisis over here. Quite literally. “But sure. Of course I won’t judge you. I hope.” 

// 

By the end of her tale, Raven’s howling with laughter and she’s trying very hard not to scream at her. “Okay,” her friend says after she calms down enough for her words to be more or less understandable. “Okay. She can’t be that hot.”

“If she’s still living here by the time you finally visit, you’ll see for yourself,” Clarke hisses. “And you’ll be sorry. So fucking sorry.” 

“Just like you after you finally fuck her?” Raven fires back, still chuckling. Clarke only groans. “Come on, Griffin. It’s not like she’s fifteen. Honestly, I don’t even get what’s got you so rattled. She said it herself – she’s a consenting adult. And by the way it sounds like she’ll be fucking you, not the other way around.”  

“Tell me about it,” Clarke mutters before she can stop herself. The memory of Lexa – confident, strong Lexa holding her as she gives her the best kiss of her life – flashes before her eyes, and she shakes her head to hastily get rid of it. 

“Seriously, Clarke,” Raven tells her, becoming somewhat serious. As serious as Raven can get after her best friend shamefully confessed to being in heat for a college girl, which isn’t much. “I don’t know what the big deal is. Get a grip, get over it, and get under her. Story, end of.”  

“Raven,” Clarke whines. “She’s still in school.” 

“Well, it’s not high school, is it? Besides, you’re kind of still in school yourself. Residency’s not a job, right?” 

“Yeah, but…” It’s just wrong. She can’t even explain it, but it doesn’t feel right. Or, rather, it does feel right, but it seems wrong. She’s not making a lot of sense, is she? “She hasn’t been with anyone, Rae,” she tries. “I can’t do it.” 

“Seems like you’re making a bigger deal out of it than she is,” Raven notes. “Look, if you really can’t do it, don’t. But I have a feeling if you didn’t want to go for it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, so let me be the voice of you conscience and tell you to go fuck her brains out.” 

She so shouldn’t have called Raven, except that’s exactly what she wanted to hear, and that’s why she called. “But…” 

What if I end up being her training wheels and she gets everything she needs from me and move on to someone better and-- 

Fuck. 

“But what?” Raven asks, impatiently, when she doesn’t continue. 

“Nothing,” Clarke shakes her head even though Raven can’t see her. “Nothing. You know what? You’re right. I’m an idiot. And you’re right.” 

“ Always am,” Raven boasts cheerfully. “Alright, I gotta go, but I expect you to call me back with details. All of them.”  

“I will.” She will. She’ll call, and she’ll actually try to make it to New York for her birthday. She hopes. “Thank you, Rae. Love you.” 

“ Love you, too, you weirdo,” Raven lets out a short guffaw. “ Rock her world. I know you can.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes, forgetting about her new problem for a short second. “We had sex once, stop bringing it up, you perv.” Her answer is another short laugh, and then Raven hangs up, leaving her alone with thoughts she can’t exactly call happy. 

It was when did it stop being just friendship and now it’s when did it stop being just a crush, and Clarke doesn’t want to think about what might come after that, because she’s already in deep shit as it is. 

She looks out the window again, but Lexa’s nowhere to be seen. Only the old lady – what is her name? – passing by her house as she cries for Phillip again. Clarke hurriedly closes the blinds.

// 

Clarke likes to think she’s a smart person most of the time. But she admits that there are moments when her brain stops functioning like that of an average adult, and those result either in hilarious tales or horrifically embarrassing ones. According to her friends, most of the time, it’s both. She respectfully disagrees. 

Rarely, it results in something awesome. But, when she barges into Lexa’s house and assaults her surprised neighbor with her lips, she sincerely doubts it’s one of those moments. 

Except Lexa’s only surprised for a fraction of a second, and next thing she knows, she’s being lifted in the air by her thighs and placed on the table while full, insistent lips take control of the kiss. 

Mirth and hunger make for an interesting combination as they sparkle in green eyes. “Is this our new secret handshake? Because I’m down,” Lexa chuckles huskily when they part. 

Clarke doesn’t have a witty remark to that, so she settles for a deeply intelligent shut up and tugs her close again, claiming her lips in another kiss. Lexa breaks it first, smiling when Clarke huffs. 

“I’m so – so happy you made a decision,” she tells her quietly, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait till tonight to act on it.” Her smile grows when she gently pecks Clarke’s pout. “I have a study group in half an hour.” 

“On a Saturday,” Clarke checks, and when Lexa nods, she huffs again. “No wonder you’re still a virgin,” she grumbles before she can stop herself. As soon as the words are out, she widens her eyes, almost comically, because – her friends might’ve gotten a joke like that, but Lexa and her are not… they are not like that, are they? 

Lexa’s loud, sincere laughter makes her recoil – that’s how unexpected it is. “Well,” she manages through chuckles, “no wonder you’re not one.” 

Clarke has to admit that was clever. She joins her in her laughter, shaking her head. “God. I’m sorry for storming in like that. I – fuck, I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Ambush me in my own home?” 

Clarke gives her a look. “Must you point out every little thing I do wrong?” she demands, and Lexa chuckles again. 

“I don’t think it’s wrong at all,” she counters, with that annoying little smirk of hers that Clarke’s been wanting to either slap or kiss off of her face. She settles for the latter. 

She’s proud to find Lexa a little dazed, for once, when she pulls away. “I’m gonna be late,” she murmurs, a little wistfully. Clarke sees an opportunity – she always does, and she rarely passes it up. She could push her further, in this moment of weakness. She’s confident she can get her to stay if she just-- 

She sighs and gently pushes her away so she can slide off the table and stand on her feet. “Then you should probably get going. See you tonight?” 

Lexa’s eyes are an endless, emerald sea as she gazes at her with something she shouldn’t. “Yes. Absolutely.” 

“Okay,” Clarke says, and with another peck, she leaves. “Okay,” she says again to herself as she exits and stands on Lexa’s porch. “Okay. Fuck. Holy fucking fuck.” 

// 

And that’s how she finds herself here, sitting at her table across from Lexa on what suspiciously looks like a date. Lexa came over with a tasteful bouquet and tasty wine and wearing slacks , for fuck’s sake. 

“So,” she starts, conversationally. “How was your day?” 

“Eventful,” Lexa settles on saying before sipping on her wine. “Yours?” 

“Same.” When did it become so awkward? Oh, right. When she shoved her tongue down her throat. 

Lexa seems to be thinking along these lines. She sighs and leans back in her chair, unbuttoning her shirt collar. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, Clarke,” she says, warmly. “Or ever, really. If you wish, we could think of today as momentary lapse of judgment and forget about it.” 

“No,” Clarke says, immediately. “I only just came to terms with the fact that we’re gonna end up in bed at some point or another. Don’t take this away from me.”

Lexa’s gaze is amused, but she sighs again, shaking her head. “And clearly, you’re very comfortable with the idea,” she says, and gestures in her general direction. Clarke looks down on herself and her arms crossed over her chest. Great. 

“We’re definitely not doing anything tonight,” Lexa continues. “It feels like I’m about to molest you.” 

Clarke blinks. “ You’re about to molest me? ” 

“I knew it.” Green eyes flash as Lexa stands up, suddenly. “You’re still hung up on the whole age situation.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it!” Clarke protests, standing up as well. “I’ve – God, I’ve never felt anything like this with anyone else and then you come along and fuck me up with your-- with you and--” 

“Oh, and you think this is easy for me?” Lexa locks her jaw, and Clarke scolds herself for the impure thoughts filling her head up while they are in the middle of an argument. “You’re – fuck, Clarke, you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met in my life, and here I am, a college kid with no job and no experience, and of course I had to go and fall--” she cuts herself off, abruptly, and looks away, jaw and shoulders tense. 

Clarke clears her throat. “Did you just yell at me?” 

“No,” Lexa replies tiredly. “I aggressively complimented you.” She sighs, then, running her hand through her hair and gingerly sitting back in her chair. “And – yeah, yelled at you a little. I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened.” 

She sits, too, and shrugs. “Eh. It was kinda hot. You’re cute when you’re angry.” 

 That makes Lexa look at her. “Don’t tell me you have some kind of a dark, specific fetish,” she teases, and Clarke breathes with relief when the corners of her lips twitch upwards. 

“Oh, I have many,” she quips. “We’ll discuss them later.” 

“Oh. Cool,” Lexa says, and stands up. Only this time, it’s to cross the kitchen and kiss her. God, she’s dangerous, or her kissing ability is, because Clarke loses any and all coherent thought as soon as their lips touch. 

“I’ll wash the dishes tomorrow,” Lexa murmurs to her when they part and she tugs her out of the kitchen. Clarke wants to tell her that she doesn’t give a flying fuck about the dishes right now, but somehow she manages to realize it’s her way of saying she’ll still be here in the morning before her foot finds its way into her mouth. 

So, instead, she whispers okay and takes her hand in hers as she leads her upstairs. 

// 

They spend a long time simply kissing as they lie on her bed, on top of the covers. Lexa’s careful with her. Almost tentative, and Clarke is grateful. It still feels a little funny, because – shouldn’t she be the one to handle her with such reverence? 

But it also feels so, so good, and she decides to let go and let it play out. If need be, she’ll take the lead when Lexa’s ready for her to do so. For now, she arches into her exploring hands and sighs when Lexa’s lips find that spot just below her ear. And Lexa proves to be an excellent student, because she notices, and does it again. And again, until Clarke’s a melting mess in her arms, and only then she moves on, eager to make more discoveries. 

She can’t remember the last time someone was this excited about learning her. Lexa does it with such awe and so much investment in her pleasure that she finds herself getting incredibly turned on in an embarrassingly short amount of time. And when she says incredibly, she means ready to come from the tiniest friction.  

And, of course, she fucking does. Lexa’s hot, surprisingly skilled tongue trails a wet path down her neck while her deft fingers find her nipple and brush over it with determined purpose. All it takes is a toned thigh pressed between her legs, and she’s gone, quick and sharp. She doesn’t even have time to fully comprehend what’s happening before she writhes under Lexa, grasping at her back. 

“…Fuck,” she rasps, blinking. Lexa stills as she watches her, eyes dark and full of wonder. 

“Did you…” She swallows, her voice finally betraying some of her nerves. “Did you just… come?” 

“Yes,” Clarke confirms huskily, because all shame flew out the window the first time Lexa squeezed her boob. “Yes, I did. I’d like to do it again and then make you do it, too.” 

Lexa grins. “Fine by me,” she lets her know. “But first, I want to see you.” Her voice grows hoarse as she says it, and her gaze on Clarke is unwavering. 

When was the last time she’s been looked at like that? Has she ever been looked at like that?  

She leans up, still breathless, and catches Lexa’s lips in a brief kiss. “Anything,” she whispers. “Tonight – anything.” I’m yours is there, at the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble down, but she holds it back. 

She doesn’t want to think about it. “Would you like to do the honors?” She teases, raising one eyebrow as she gestures at her still-clothed body, and Lexa laughs. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Then I’m doing you.” Clarke pauses. “Pun intended.” 

Their clothes are lost quickly after that, and both of them watch each other, greedily, almost desperately, not wanting to miss anything. 

“God,” Lexa breathes out, and her hands are unsteady as she tentatively reaches out and touches her bare skin. “Clarke. You’re perfect.” Lips find hers again, and she swallows her fervent whispers. “So beautiful. God, you’re so beautiful…” 

“So are you,” she whispers, and Lexa goes back to studying her as thoroughly as she can. Nothing gets past her. What makes Clarke sigh, and gasp, and moan; what makes her arch and writhe and cling to her – she picks up on every little thing, and successfully uses her newfound knowledge to drive Clarke positively crazy. 

By the end of it, Clarke can’t string more than two words together, and Lexa resembles a giant, satisfied cat that just devoured about a dozen of canaries as she lies next to her and draws lazy circles on her quivering stomach. Clarke half-expects her to start purring any second now. 

“Jesus,” Clarke manages to say once she gets her breathing under control. The pulsing between her legs is slowly winding down, but it’s still there, faint and rhythmic. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” 

Lexa’s smirk is as smug as it gets, but after what she’s just done to her, she’s more than allowed to wear it. “Positive,” she replies. 

“Well, fuck,” she breathes out, meeting her gaze. “I think you might’ve given me performance anxiety. Seriously,” she lazily reaches out, cupping Lexa’s cheek. “You were incredible. I just – wow.” 

“Thank you,” Lexa says, a little bashfully, and Clarke’s glad to finally allow herself to think how cute she is. “I read a lot. And the best advice I’ve ever read and been given is to listen to your partner. And… I did. It wouldn’t have been this amazing if you didn’t guide me through it.” 

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Clarke scoffs. 

“It takes two to tango,” Lexa notes with a small grin. And, well – Clarke can take a hint. 

“I believe it’s my turn to lead,” she murmurs, flipping them over and hovering above. Lexa’s eyes widen with want and then screw shut when she leans down and nibbles at the soft skin of her neck. She smells amazing; Clarke can’t stop herself from deeply inhaling a couple of times before descending further down her body. 

“Is this okay?” She whispers once she reaches her chest, and Lexa nods, almost frantically. But when her tongue darts out to taste her nipples, there’s a hand in her hair, making her look up. 

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Lexa says, breathlessly, “but I just watched you come three times, and trust me, I don’t need foreplay.” 

Clarke smirks. “Impatient, are we?” she drawls, sliding back up and coming face to face with her again. 

“You have no idea,” Lexa practically groans, and her hips roll into Clarke’s. “Clarke. Please.” 

It’s scary – realizing there’s not much she’s able to deny this girl. Lexa keens in her mouth when her fingers find her slick heat, and she gasps in reply. She’s so silky and wet, dripping . She’s already made a mess of her inner thighs, and Clarke’s sure the sheets are ruined, too. 

She can’t help the surge of pride in her chest at the knowledge that she’s like this for her.  

Lexa’s already balancing on the edge when she starts gently rubbing circles on her clit. When her hand shoots down to stop her, she’s not even surprised. “Wait,” Lexa – her composed, calm, collected Lexa – pants, huskily, as she trembles. “I – wait.” 

Her Lexa?  

She pushes the thought away and instead concentrates on raining soft kisses all over Lexa’s neck and face as she patiently waits for her to allow her to continue. At Lexa’s tiny nod, she smiles, and resumes her ministrations, but Lexa’s hand grabs hers again. This time, she doesn’t stop her – only pushes her lower, and Clarke’s eyes fly open when she realizes what she wants her to do. 

“Inside,” Lexa confirms her – somewhat panicked – thoughts. “I want you inside.” 

Clarke wants to ask her again if she’s sure, but a voice inside her head reasons that since Lexa’s already here, with her hand guiding hers, then she probably is, and judging by the look in her eyes, she just might slap her if she doesn’t comply. So she does. 

She can’t take her eyes off Lexa’s face when she slowly pushes inside with one finger. Green eyes flutter closed as her mouth falls open in a silent scream, and Clarke almost misses the dull pain from her blunt nails digging into the skin on her back. Almost. “Is this okay?” 

“God, yes,” Lexa quietly moans. “Just don’t stop. Please, don’t – Clarke--” Her thumb on her clit cuts her off, and her next moan is louder as she arches. That makes Clarke’s finger sink in all the way, and Lexa cries out as her eyes fly open. 

“Fuck,” Clarke curses. “Did I – does it hurt? Did I hurt you?” 

Lexa shakes her head. She looks almost dazed when their eyes lock. “No,” she rasps. “Feels s-so good. God.” Her gaze is wild and hazy. “You’re – Clarke. You’re inside me.” 

The words make her gush, and now Lexa’s not the only one responsible for ruined sheets. “Yes,” she manages to say without stammering. “I’m inside you. I got you,” she whispers, pressing closer to her and resting her sweaty forehead on her equally damp one. “I’m here. It’s okay.” 

“More than okay,” Lexa chuckles breathlessly. “Fuck. I – I think I want more,” she tells her, almost shyly, and Clarke suppresses the urge to widen her eyes. 

“Anything,” she repeats her earlier words, and gives Lexa a slow, long kiss as she pulls her finger out, only to push two back in. 

Lexa’s back becomes a taut, tense string as she arches and sobs, and Clarke’s torn between panic and want as she stills, letting her adjust to the intrusion. Her walls are fluttering around her like crazy, and she’s a wonderful, liquid velvet as she melts down her hand. 

She’s about to ask Lexa if she’s okay when she starts to move on her fingers. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and stays there. She can only freeze and watch while Lexa slowly rolls her hips, riding her. 

Jesus. Clarke’s never been much of a believer, but this has got to be a piece of heaven on earth. Lexa’s gripping her fingers as she grows accustomed to her, and the look on her face is pure, unadulterated pleasure – the kind that makes you blush and look away if you’re not the one inflicting it. And she is. Oh, she is. 

She only starts to move when Lexa tries to pick up the pace, helping her and greedily drinking the divine sounds falling from her lips. 

“Clarke,” Lexa begs, and she curls her fingers, stroking up, and up, and up, making her cry out. She kneels between her legs, shifting her weight to free her other hand, and finds her clit, circling it. She remembers how hard it was for her to come from penetration and nothing else the first handful of times. Immediately, she’s rewarded by a loud cry. Lexa’s hands tangle in her hair as she looks straight in her eyes, half-delirious with want. 

“I’m close – I’m so close, I’m gonna, Clarke--” Lexa babbles, almost incoherently, and then, Clarke firmly rubs her clit, and her fingers find the spongy, velvety spot on Lexa’s front wall, and she lets out a near-wail as she finally shatters. 

And it’s the most beautiful fucking thing Clarke’s ever seen in her life, and she wants to see it again, every night, every day, every hour for the rest of her life, and she’s not even scared when she thinks that. Because Lexa’s writhing and trembling under her as she comes, and when her green eyes open, there’s nothing but pure, tired happiness, and she wants that. She wants all of that and she wants all of her. 

Lexa’s kiss tastes of gratitude and exhaustion and something else, something warm and tender and large. “Now,” she struggles to say, her breathing still ragged, “ now I know how you feel.” 

Clarke tosses her head back and laughs, and laughs, and Lexa watches her with crinkled, shining eyes, and honestly, seven years isn’t even such a huge age difference. In their case.