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It had been a silly concern. Clarke hadn’t said it out loud, so that’s something, but she feels kind of stupid for even thinking it.
She’d been worried (ridiculously) that Lexa’s fingers were too calloused. She holds swords and knives and fights with those hands. Not that Clarke feels anything but envy at Lexa’s skills, at her long, weathered hands.
She’d just wondered, is all.
And as the pad of Lexa’s thumb gently circles Clarke’s clit, she realizes there’s nothing to worry about. Skilled work makes for talented fingers.
She has the weirdest thoughts. Really.
Lexa lifts her head from the crook of Clarke’s neck. Stills her hand. “Do you ever stop thinking?”
It’s another Lexa thing. One of her plainly spoken not-compliments that is either made out of frustration or admiration. Or maybe just observation. Clarke’s not entirely sure. Lexa doesn’t like to embellish or romanticize.
And Clarke’s over both of those things, so this arrangement is working pretty well for them.
“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “I just, um-”
“Never thought you’d be with a girl?” Lexa asks. There! Amusement.
Clarke rolls onto her side. Kisses Lexa with a gentleness she hasn’t felt in ages. “Not that at all,” Clarke says. “I just didn’t think that this time would be- That I could-”
“You don’t have to punish yourself,” Lexa says. She gently nuzzles her nose against Clarke’s. Follows it with a soft peck. “The war is not your fault.”
Clarke sighs against Lexa. Tries not to frown. “Isn’t it?”
Lexa’s hand moves to Clarke’s thigh. Squeezes. Clarke’s almost positive that’s supposed to be reassuring. “It isn’t.”
“Kiss me again,” Clarke says.
She doesn’t like knowing look Lexa gives her. The sadness and the understanding is too much.
“Please,” Clarke says.
Lexa slowly nods. Leans in. Clarke closes her eyes as Lexa rolls her onto her back again. Presses herself against Clarke. Gives her a kiss so heavy it sucks the air from Clarke’s lungs and leaves her pressing upward. Circling her arms around Lexa’s neck. Whimpering, but not a lot.
“Are you afraid?” Lexa asks her, quietly.
Clarke keeps her eyes closed. Shakes her head.
“I meant of the war,” Lexa says. “Not of me.”
Clarke opens her eyes a sliver. “Are you?”
Lexa trails her hands to Clarke’s hips. Digs her fingers against Clarke’s hipbones. Sucks in a breath.
She kisses the hollow of Clarke’s throat. Makes Clarke gasp out loud and curl her toes.
That’s not an answer.
“Can I go further?” Lexa asks.
Clarke takes a breath in. Calms herself. She should probably stop grinding herself against Lexa’s hand, which frankly, she just started doing. It’s been a while. It feels good. She’s being shameless about it, maybe, but she’s only human.
“Further how?” Clarke asks.
Lexa swallows, and Clarke’s sure that’s a signal of nerves. It’s kind of cute.
It’s extremely cute. Like super cute. The light flush on Lexa’s cheeks and her mussed hair and her wet lips. “Can I put my fingers in you?”
Clarke blinks. “Um, yeah,” she says. “Sorry. Did you think I’d say no?”
“I thought it better to ask,” Lexa says. “Was that wrong?”
Clarke finds herself tucking Lexa’s stray dark hairs behind her ear. “No,” Clarke says. “I appreciate it.”
“How many?” Lexa asks.
Clarke tilts her head. “It’s been a while so, um.” She gives a half-shrug. “Start with one?”
Lexa gives an astute nod. “Just tell me how it feels,” she says. “If it hurts.”
“It’ll be fine,” Clarke says. “I think.”
They exchange a low, gentle laugh. It feels fitting, somehow.
Lexa plants kiss on Clarke’s forehead. “Alright.”
Lexa keeps her thumb on Clarke’s clit. Rubs quick circles, until Clarke’s squirming under her.
“Alright,” Lexa repeats. She uncurls her middle finger. Presses her mouth to Clarke’s collarbone. Nips hard enough to leave a mark and slides her finger into Clarke at the same time.
Clarke bucks her hips without meaning to. And the high-pitched whine in the back of her throat? Also totally unintentional.
“Oh,” Lexa says, which sounds like an observation somehow. “Good.”
Clarke can already feel her cheeks getting hot. “Wha-”
Lexa curls her finger inside Clarke, pressing it upward and then pulling it back. “That’s okay, right?”
Clarke gives a light moan.
“Clarke.”
“It’s good,” Clarke says. Lexa’s finger pulls almost all the way out. Clarke arches her hips, trying to convince Lexa to come back. To drive her finger in again.
“I think I should add another finger,” Lexa says.
Clarke rolls her head back. “Do it.”
There’s no more asking. There’s just Lexa driving two fingers back into Clarke, and Clarke wishing that she hadn’t waited so, so long to be touched again.
Then again. She’s really glad Lexa’s the one doing it. She twists her fingers inside Clarke with the kind of skill that makes Clarke shut her eyes so tight she sees spots. She knows where to press and how to spread her fingers when she pulls them out.
Over. And over.
Clarke rocks against Lexa’s hand, pulling on Lexa’s arm, her hair. Clawing at her back. So fucking long. Too fucking long.
“You can go,” Lexa says, quietly. “If you want.”
Clarke’s not actually sure how long it’s been. It fills her lower belly with the sensation of it. Makes her clit throb.
And when Lexa smiles against Clarke, when Lexa’s thumb presses harder than Clarke had been expecting, it makes her knees wobble. She kicks her feet uselessly against their makeshift bed.
Lexa doesn’t stop. Not yet. It’s like she knows better, or something. She hooks her fingers and presses right where it makes Clarke throb. And throb. And Clarke’s clinging to Lexa’s arm and maybe swearing and maybe, maybe humping Lexa’s hand. But she’s coming, and it feels fucking incredible.
Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Not just from the orgasm. From everything. She feels good. Much better than she had before.
And she lays there and gasps. And grabs. And finally smiles as Lexa kisses her.
“Again?” Lexa asks.
Clarke sighs. “Again.”
Lexa just smiles like she’s thought of something exceptionally filthy. She lifts herself on her arms. Crawls back until she’s resting on a pile of blankets in between Clarke’s legs.
Lexa puts her hands on Clarke’s thighs, spreads her legs far enough apart that Clarke has to bend her knees. “May I?”
Clarke doesn’t beg, though she almost considers it. “Please.”
Lexa presses a gentle kiss to Clarke’s clit. Then her tongue is there, her warm, firm tongue, rubbing and rubbing and-
And-
“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke cries out, before she can stop herself.
The moment stops. Clarke stops. And now Lexa is laughing, and Clarke’s definitely bright red.
“No, no,” Lexa says, before Clarke can say anything. “Say it again. I like it.” A gentle nip on Clarke’s thigh. “And I look forward to calling your name, later.”
Oh. Later. When Clarke makes Lexa come. When Clarke presses her tongue inside Lexa and Lexa pulls her hair.
She can’t wait.