(I had this idea last Saturday night, I was drunk and half asleep, and I decided to write it as a small surprise to @heda-in-the-clouds and @blu3haw4 🩷 as usual: English is always a second language, no beta, and it's kinda obvious that this draft is inspired by a latin song, which is this Puerto Rican's preciosity right here. Enjoy!)
The feather touches of Clarke's hands feels like electric shocks to Lexa.
The bed is a complete mess of furs and clothes but neither of them is concerned about it. Not now, after finally being together.
The way Clarke leans into their kiss is strong as a sea wave crashing against rocks, loud in its silence, all purposeful and tempestuous into their body parts.
Lexa is trembling - the tip of her fingers hovering around the sides of Clarke's blouse as she would burn into ashes if she dares to go further - but at the same time she is too determined to yank the remaining clothes on Clarke's body that keeps her away from the milky skin. And so she does it, she rips off the blouse as an old cloth.
Beautifully, Clarke is flushed and surrendered, delivering herself in a silver plate willingly, towards Lexa's hunger.
She wants to devour her, she wants to eat in every single meaning possible that whole body, consume it, lick it, slurp it till the blonde is quivering and spent.
The time of the lovers is way bigger when one is away from one's beloved. The longing hits like a weight into the shoulders that gets heavier and heavier as the time passes, tensing this rope of longing.
"Lexa, Lexa…" - calls the blonde, whispering with uncertainty, as she tries by her own to take them out of this trance state. The brunette makes a sound in question, as she travels her hands through the blonde's body, collecting the fluids and sensations that she finds through that delicious path: sweat, lubrication, body hairs, scars, even blood, doesn't matter. She wants all that Clarke has to offer.
"Lexa." - the blonde calls more firmly this time, shifting from the previous position (head held high, giving free rein to Lexa runs her tongue over the blonde’s neck, lavishing on the skin as she leaves a hot path of saliva and open mouthed kisses) to lean into Lexa’s bee-stung lips.
The tension grows as the distance and time remains immense - the knots and ties around one’s heart, constricting, choking it until one’s lungs are gasping for the scent of the lover’s perfume. And that's the feeling that squeezes Lexa’s chest when she breathes Clarke's herbal scent, the smell of her lavender oils, the musky scent and flavor of her slick folds.
Clarke straddles her hips, and Lexa holds her still, grabbing and pulling the flesh of Clarke's smooth thighs. There are some reddish marks of nails, and purple bruises on the blonde’s collarbones - clues of Lexa’s hunger.
It's been months since the last time they met - travels and meetings and leadership duties occupied the short time of both. At the same time it felt like a blink of an eye on the matter of Heda’s issues. However, on a matter of her heart, the time away from Clarke has passed painfully slow. So, now, she tries to rip off with her bare hands this lack of touch. Lexa wants to fucking bend the time itself, so this night can last longer, so their kisses can go deeper.
The cool breeze of Polis’ summer is not enough to chill their bodies in heat - both of them glisten with a thin layer of sweat, each scent of them mixing together, the friction of skin on skin, thighs entangled and hips rocking, producing a third scent that cannot be known for another name beside lust.
Clarke grabs the little hairs at the base of Lexa’s skull, pulling it softly. She puts a space between their already swollen lips, as hooded eyes, drunk gazes, are now locked into each other. The commander pants, the labored breath revealing the urgency of her needs.
The blonde can't quite remember when she felt this around Lexa. Around anyone.
The way Lexa looks at her as she wanted to burn Clarke’s feature into her retinas.
Like she was the first sight of rain after a long period of dryness.
"I love you, you must know that." - Says the blonde in a hoarse voice. She cups Lexa’s cheek and she leans immediately into the touch, it's only then that Lexa closes her eyes again.
Lexa takes her time to feel the weight of those words into her chest, closing the hook around Clarke's hips possessively. She dives into the junction of the blonde's neck, absorbing the body fragrance that leans there. She kisses the already formed bruises, softly but precisely, as to emphasize her claim towards Clarke.
It's never enough, it's never enough.
She knows the intelligence of her woman.
(Yes, Clarke is Lexa’s woman.)
She knows and admires her by heart, and every single skill of the leader of Sky people.
But tonight she wants to worship that body and the woman - not the leader itself - at the same time she wants to explore those very limits between lovemaking and mating.
Lexa answers in trigedasleng too fast for Clarke to comprehend, but it sounds as a prayer and a promise that the meaning is so, so important - and fragile - that the translation of it to English might hide the deepest meaning of it all. Between unknown promises, Lexa whispers repeatedly “ai hodnes”, “ai hodnes”, and kisses the now exposed chest of the blonde. She feasts on Clarke's breasts, caressing one with a warm and calloused hand, as she kisses and licks the other. The blonde moans, the hold on Lexa’s neck becoming a vice-grip.
There's no room for delicacy tonight, they are both starving for love - this same love that now breathes fully after a long time gasping to survive through the distance and the constant fear of losing each other to the eternal embrace of death.
Clarke offers her body, again and again, arching her back as if Lexa would open her ribcage with those languid kisses and reach her beating heart. And Lexa follows the path of Clarke's body and love as if they were a warm candle, guiding her through the dark forest.
“I’ll always be with you.”, it can be heard between moans and heavy sighs.
The time seems to stand still just for them.
