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“This is not the type of sticky situation I was hoping to be in tonight.”
Clarke scoffs, ducking as another egg comes sailing straight for her head. It splatters against the wall, and Clarke growls as she’s hit with some shrapnel.
“This isn’t funny. I have egg in my hair.”
“You make it look good.” At Clarke’s silence, Lexa shoots her a mild smile over her shoulder. “Granted, you make everything look good.”
“Flattery is not getting you out of the doghouse,” Clarke warns her, even as she fights to suppress her smile. It drops on its own anyway a second later, when another egg knocks their windchime to the ground in a cacophony of chimes. Clarke gasps. “Lex! I loved that wind chime!”
“Seriously?” Lexa huffs as she briefly pops up from behind the porch fence, hurling a water balloon at the assailants; by the jeers and rapid succession of eggs hitting various areas of the front of their house, Clarke guesses she at least landed a hit on one of them. “Your grandma bought it for a quarter at a yard sale.”
“So?” Clarke gives her a haughty look as she snatches a balloon from Lexa’s hand, pops up and aims it at the first kid she sees— Madi, of course, wearing a ridiculous cat costume, cat ears poking out of her wild hair, a huge-shit eating grin on her face as she dodges Clarke’s throw. Clarke ducks the egg she chucks back at her.
“That was the last one,” Lexa says when she drenched a costume-less Aden with it; or wait, maybe his costume is a nerd, because he doesn’t usually wear glasses and suspenders. He groans as all the other kids laugh and throw more eggs, swearing vengeance. Jesus Christ, how many eggs did these kids bring?
“I have a plan. Follow me.”
“Great timing,” Clarke says sarcastically, though she does dutifully army-crawl behind Lexa. “Because we desperately need one.” She scrambles to her feet and yelps as she slips past the door just as the kids hit it with another egg. Clarke splutters, eyes shut as she slams the door behind her; she can still hear their triumphant roars of laughter, muffled now.
“Oh, hang on. Let me grab a towel.”
Clarke remains standing there, eyes squeezed shut and arms crossed beneath her chest. Her scowl is more of a pout by the time Lexa gently holds her face with one hand and uses the other to wipe away the yolk running over Clarke’s brow, temple, and eye.
“Hi,” Lexa says with a smile when Clarke opens her eyes; she immediately narrows them, and Lexa laughs. “Oh, come on.”
“This is your fault,” Clarke grumbles, though she purses her lips expectantly when Lexa leans forward to boop her nose against Clarke’s. “You basically gave them the green-light.”
“They’re teenagers,” Lexa laughs as softly as the way she kisses Clarke. “I’m glad they’re doing this instead of getting drunk on some random dirt road.” Her smile only grows as Clarke sours, when another three or four eggs hit the house.
Clarke understands why her wife decided to take the neighborhood kids under her wing, she really does. She’s heard plenty of stories about Lexa’s wild childhood. But she’s not exactly sure when her looking out for them translated to their house becoming under siege.
“Can you go grab all the eggs from the fridge?”
Clarke frowns, watching as Lexa walks down the hallway toward their bedroom.
“You’ll see,” Lexa calls from out of sight, already rummaging around for something.
Clarke sighs, shakes her head, and just goes along with her wife’s plan.
They have one carton of two dozen eggs Clarke had only picked up from the farmer’s market just yesterday. She sets them on the counter and leans a hip against it, absently picking bits of egg shell from her hair as she waits for Lexa.
Soon Lexa marches into the kitchen carrying the two large water guns she’d bought for her nephews for the summer and then didn’t get the chance to give to them since Raven got to them first. Clarke raises a brow.
Lexa raises a brow right back, lips quirking as she lifts the guns and pointedly clicks them. “Oh, I’m eggstremely serious.”
Clarke gives a world-weary sigh and accepts the kiss a grinning Lexa smacks to her temple. She lets Lexa convince her to help her crack every single egg (promising to take her out for brunch tomorrow since her dreams of omelets for breakfast are now crushed) into a bowl. Lexa whisks it up and then fills the waterguns up with it, handing Clarke her own.
Even more ridiculously, she then lets Lexa drown her in her dad’s old camouflage sweater, and use eyeliner to draw thick black lines under her eyes. Clarke deadpans her as Lexa offers the eyeliner, but sighs and snatches it when Lexa does her best impression of a wounded puppy. She scribbles quick lines under Lexa’s eyes, and then lets Lexa kiss her senseless against the kitchen counter before the thump thump thump of more eggs followed by taunts from the kids interrupts them.
Lexa bites Clarke’s bottom lip, soothing it with her tongue. “Follow me,” she whispers; Clarke chases her lips as she draws back, and then exhales in resignation as she drops to the floor and crawls behind Lexa (“in case they can see our shadows through the window,” Lexa insists).
They sneak through the doggy-door, barely managing to hold back their laughter when Clarke’s tits and ass each nearly get her stuck twice. Then they sneak around the house in a large circle, careful not to crunch leaves underfoot as they come up behind the kids.
“I think they gave up,” Aden says.
JJ snickers, pulling more eggs out of his Greasers jacket and tossing them at the house anyway, and Ethan jeers beneath the plain white sheet with eyeholes cut out serving as his ghost costume.
“No way,” Madi’s tossing an egg up and catching it, the usual air of arrogance around her, fake tail swaying behind her with her movements. “Did you see me hit the door when they were going in? Clarke got a face-full of egg, no way she’s gonna let that go.”
Lexa grins and silently gestures, beckoning Clarke to go first. Clarke smirks and raises the watergun.
“Hey,” she calls. The kids spin around, eyes wide, and Clarke says “sucks to suck!” before hitting Madi square in the face with a stream of egg.
There’s chaos for a moment, the kids shrieking and running into each other as they try to turn tail; Aden bumps into Ethan and falls, the eggs he was carrying smashing into his stomach.
By the time their waterguns are empty, all four kids are groaning weakly from the ground, covered in egg. Ethan is now a yellow ghost.
Clarke high-fives Lexa, proudly appraising their handiwork. Madi is scowling as she sits up, wiping egg out of her eyes.
“Truce, or you want more?” Clarke asks, brandishing the gun.
“Truce,” Madi grumbles reluctantly, after the other kids had already yelped the word.
“Make sure you guys come back and clean the egg off our house tonight or I’m calling your guardians,” Lexa chirps as she takes Clarke’s free hand and they begin walking toward the house. They both heard Madi’s muttered protests, so Lexa adds, “I’ll tell her I caught you trying to buy beer at the corner shop too!”
“Shit,” they hear Madi breathe out.
Clarke snickers as they enter the house. They dump the waterguns in the trash, and when Lexa suggests they take a shower together so she can help Clarke get the egg out of her hair— out of the goodness of her own heart, of course— Clarke tells her it’s the second-best idea she’s had all night, and smirks at the way Lexa yelps and laughs when Clarke slaps her ass as she follows her up the staircase.
