sometimes i think about all the intimacies clarke and lexa will never get to share. they had their moment in the sun, yeah, but what about all of the other things? they never got a real ‘morning after’, waking up tousled and sleepy after sleeping solidly in each others arms. they never got to take their time; to spend hours wrapped up in each other, memorizing every part of the other. they never got to have drunk sex, tipsy on wine and each other- and they never got to wake up hungover together, comforting each other in their mutual misery. they never got to have a fight- not a fight about the fates of nations or peoples, but about the fact that lexa retreats behind her title of commander instead of allowing clarke to comfort her, or that clarke has a casual disrespect about the rules of etiquette that infuriates lexa. they never got to have angry sex, never got to leave stinging thin lines on shoulder blades, or brutal hickies in places impossible to hide. they never got to have a quickie before a meeting. they never got to have make up sex. they never got to have quick kisses in the mornings before they separated for their days of work, nor kisses goodnight before they fell asleep. they never got to hold hands or link arms as they walked through the street- lexa was never able to show clarke the peaceful beauty of polis, as wrapped up in politics as they were. they were never able to be.
