I want the K [ 4 ] ?
a random kiss ; not accepting
#19: Forceful Kiss                Some betrayal is unforgivable, there are shades of grey               between that and lesser forms, and Clarke isn’t sure when,              what felt like an insurmountable broken trust, started to               fade out into a bearable ache. Maybe it was in the miles              of forest she walked alone, maybe that pain was abandoned              to make room for new bruises and wounds she found along              the way.        She’s spent some time imagining what seeing Lexa again          would bring, what she would say, the satisfaction that would          come with d e n y i n g her forgiveness. Yet, as with all dreams,      the  edges  didn’t  quite  fit with  reality,  and  the  blurred  maps      she’d drawn in her mind, did nothing to help her navigate      looking into dark eyes for the first time in what seemed like     a     new      lifetime.
                                May we meet again.               Polis is indescribable, a cultural center that Clarke                couldn’t have fathomed, and at it’s center sits their              Commander. Tondc was a small village, eclipsed                by the scope of the capitol. When she’d wandered               the forest alone, the world had seemed to expand               out in all directions, becoming infinity to her, large               enough to escape in. Seeing the markets, people,              and commerce of Polis made had things shrinking        back to an interconnected web.   An audience was more than granted to her, arms held tight by two  scouts Clarke was unceremoniously dragged and dropped in front  of the woman she thought she should hate. There’s no fire inside  when their eyes meet, if anything it’s cold, it’s impersonal. Yet, the  actions of her arrival spoke the volumes that their shared gaze seemed  determined to stay silent on.     It isn’t until the men with heavy hands are motioned to     clear out, that Clarke rises to her feet.  Tired.  Hungry.     She was both those things, but that paled in comparison    to the intensity of her curiosity. If time had dulled the sharp    edges of her of anger, how had time worn the other woman?    Or was the ice inside her chest immune to the passing of time? Clarke’s not sure how their lips meet, or how her hands find themselves tangled into dark hair, but the press of her mouth is almost violent in it’s intent. She doesn’t remember them moving toward each other, the sound of boots against floor, the last thing she remembers before the kiss was the sound of Lexa taking a sharp breath, and then the warmth of her mouth.Â
