favvnsongs:

oh my gosh im so enamored.

lexa comes back late, which by itself is nothing new. she’s a busy woman, after all. but she comes back and either can’t be bothered or is too distracted to attempt to be quiet. bag dropped on the floor, coat thrown over a chair, shoes kicked off into the dark. it’s the noises - lexa’s noises, soft and grumbling, fretful - that keep clarke awake through. she lies in bed, quiet and hazy, listening to lexa go about her night time routine, listening to her whine and pout and fuss.

if she wanted to talk about it, they’d be talking about it; there’s no way she doesn’t know what clarke’s awake. but she doesn’t want to talk about it, apparently.

she comes to bed damp and clean, her hair loose and curling down her back, her shorts low on her hips and her shirt riding up along her ribs. climbs into bed and snuggles under clarke’s arm to tuck her face against her neck.

“y'alright?”
lexa nods, hands searching, legs stretching and curling, kicking, until she deems herself comfortable.

stillness falls. quiet settles in.

it doesn’t last.

lexa huffs and sighs. squirms. tense as a livewire. breathing quick and heavy until she rolls away to the far side of the bed.

“i’m sorry; ignore me, too much to think about.”

clarke, again, doesn’t bother to ask if she wants to talk about it. she knows that unless lexa offers, any discussion will be heavy and bitter and cause more stress than there already is. instead? she rolls onto her side herself and scoot to follow lexa across the mattress before worming her hand under her shirt to trail her fingers over her back.

long slow rhythmic motions that she can sense lexa trying to match her breathing to. trying, being the key word.

plan c, then. a kiss to her shoulder; another along the slope of her neck, “i could fuck you?”

silence stretches for a long long moment until lexa shudders out a sigh and nods.

maybe fucking is too strong a term though. clarke doesn’t fuck her, not how she normally does at least. no, clarke kisses along her shoulders and the back of her neck until she can feel lexa’s toes curling against her shins under the blankets. she cards a hand through lexa’s hair until she’s tilting her head and pushing into the motion. she trails her fingers over her hip and up her ribs to circle so feather light teasingly soft around her nipples until lexa’s moaning into the pillow below her.

“clarke,” lexa says, heavy and slurred and halfway to sleep already.

she’s slick and warm and audibly wet by the time clarke has her hand down her shorts. lexa rolls onto her back and into her weight after a moment, throws a leg over clarke’s waist and offers herself over, whimpering against her throat. soft and lovely.

it’s barely sexual, to be honest. clarke’s wet herself, sure, but it isnt a needy sort of wet. it isn’t one that needs to be taken care of. there’s a heat between her thighs that simply settles heavy and molten and comfortable. content.

lexa’s mouth tastes of mint when she arches up for to meet her for a kiss. whining against her lips and trembling under her fingers. hips rolling, searching, insisting.

lexa comes gasping her name, giggling breathlessly as she comes down, nuzzling and squirming more and more into her space.

“better?”

a wordless hum, one muffled against her chest. she wipes her hand on the blanket, slides it back under lexa’s shirt to rest over her heart (definitely doesn’t snicker at lexa’s whine when her palm brushes over her nipple), and follows her into sleep.