Clexa smut fanfics

Fit For Thrones

Summary: "Then let me help quiet your mind," Lexa murmured and leaned forward, though she paused right before Clarke's face, just in case she had misread all the signals.

But then Clarke bridged the gap between them, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss against Lexa's lips. Lexa's eyes flickered closed and she kissed Clarke back gently.

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Clarke surveyed the camp from on top of the hill. She had relieved Octavia of the watch so that she could go greet Bellamy. Clarke didn't think that there would be any attacks tonight, but Lexa had ordered a guard anyway. The Mountain Men had all surrendered; Cage was a prisoner of war, and he would be tried by the grounders according to their justice system. Clarke couldn't help but feel a grim satisfaction at the back of her throat, bitter as bile, as she hoped he got what he deserved. A thousand cuts along his body wouldn't erase the damage they had done to the Grounders.

"You're not very good on the watch." Clarke spun around, lifting her handgun on archaic instinct, despite the fact that she recognised the voice. She lowered the gun again.

"I was thinking," Clarke replied honestly, sticking her handgun back into her back pocket. Lexa had changed; she had traded in her blood and mud filled armour for her robe again. She seemed pleased with herself, however, and tilted her head at Clarke, a small smile quirking up her lips.

"Tonight is the time for celebration, Clarke," Lexa murmured, the 'k' in Clarke's name rolling off her tongue elegantly. She stepped next to Clarke, looking down at the camp. From their vantage point, they could just about see the vast expanse of the camp, glittering with fires. Even from here, on the hill, they could barely see the end of the rows of light. Music and drums and laughter seemed to hang like mist around the edges of the camp. Tonight, Grounders and Sky People had mingled in the camp, celebrating together. It filled Clarke with equal measures fear and relief.

Lexa looked down, and as Clarke watched her, she thought she could recognise an edge of pride on Lexa's otherwise stoic face. "Victory was ours," she said, breaking the silence, and the relief in her voice tangible. She looked away from the camp and caught Clarke's eye. "We must celebrate it." Clarke held Lexa's eye contact for a second, and then looked back at the camp.

"What about tomorrow?" She murmured, voicing her deep seated fear. Lexa smirked at her and offered her a waterskin. Clarke took it, and took a sip, surprised by the bitter taste of alcohol. She drank it anyway.

"We will face tomorrow once the dawn comes," Lexa replied evenly, staring out at the horizon. Clarke turned to Lexa again and shook her head slowly.

"We need plans, Lexa," she began. Lexa turned towards her and tilted her head. "Our alliance is tenuous," Clarke continued. "Now that the Mountain Men are gone –"

"You think too much," Lexa murmured, stepping into Clarke's personal space. Clarke looked up at her and clenched her jaw. Lexa's eyes were unreadable.

"I spent three years in a cell, Lexa," Clarke murmured. "It's what I am best at." Lexa brushed aside a strand of Clarke hair, the corner of her lip quirking up.

"I don't think," she began carefully, "I will ever understand why your people sent you to the ground. A criminal, become queen." Lexa gave Clarke another glimmer of a smile, and Clarke opened her mouth as if to say something, but she couldn't figure out what. She took a small breath; finally she was stopping, and taking a breath, and breathing. She could smell Lexa's warm breath, tinged with alcohol, between them. Since the day that Clarke had landed on this ground and the spear had pierced through Jasper's heart, she had been tensed for a fight. Not once had she relaxed enough to notice how green Lexa's eyes were, or how elegant her cheekbones. Clarke stepped into Lexa's space further, lifting a hand to trace Lexa's smooth cheek, remembering how only a few hours ago it had been streaked with the mud and blood of the battle.