Head Over Boots (Clexa AU)

Chapter 3: Autumn

Clarke was certain that Lexa was torturing her on purpose.

Why else would Lexa be slowly squatting down with perfect form, her ass jutting out and hugged tightly by her jeans, to lift another hay bale into the truck? Why would she have worn that tank top that put her arm tattoo and flexing biceps on full display and even gave a hint of a tattoo on her back? (And how hadn't Clarke known sooner that she had a back tattoo?! That was valuable information.) Even Lexa's hair, pulled back into a thick braid and slung over one shoulder, with little wisps escaping more and more throughout the day, was doing things to Clarke that had her zoning out and losing focus more than once. It simply wasn't fair what Lexa was doing.

"Eyes up, champ."

Clarke nearly gasped in surprise at the sound of Anya's voice right beside her ear. Having finished her work in Polis for the day, Anya had been helping them with the last couple of truck loads of hay at Indra's farm. Clarke cleared her throat and took one side of the rectangular hay bale into her gloved hands (the gloves that Lexa had bought her earlier that year... Clark still thought about her every time she put them on).

Anya took the other side of the bale, and on the count of three they moved it across the barn and into the truck. Lexa was already on her way back to the diminishing stack of bales to grab another, on her own. She had been moving bales all day by herself, and frankly, Clarke was impressed.

(And more than a little turned on. She didn't know a lot of women with that kind of strength and endurance.)

Despite their lugging hay that was heavier than Clarke thought it had any right to be, Anya smirked over at Clarke dangerously. "Do you make it a habit to check out your employer?"

"What?" Clarke stole a glance back to Lexa--just to make sure she hadn't heard, obviously. "I wasn't checking her out," Clarke blubbered so unconvincingly that Anya laughed in her face.

"Oh really?" Anya asked. "Is that why your eyes are bugging out of your head every time that Lexa bends over?"

Clarke groaned under the weight of the hay bale, and she adjusted her grip. "Can we...talk about this..." Clarke was breathing heavily now.  "When we're not holding the heaviest fucking grass in the world?"

"Suit yourself," Anya said, barely even breathing hard. Clarke hated her for it (even if hate in this case was strangely close to jealousy). "We can always discuss it over our group dinner tomorrow night. I think Lexa would like to hear your thoughts on the matter as well."

They had reached the truck, and Clarke flung her side of the hay bale into the back with more force than she had used all day. Something about embarrassment-induced anger had that effect. She leaned against the back of the truck, catching her breath. "Anya, seriously, what the fuck. Anyone with a pulse would be looking at Lexa right now."

Not being able to control herself, Clarke watched as Lexa picked up another bale. Her arms flexed gloriously, and Clarke let herself stare.

"Guess I must be undead, then" Anya joked, crossing her arms. "I haven't looked at her once."

"Yeah, because you've been watching me the whole day, you perv," Clarke said with an extra dose of sarcasm, trying to hold onto whatever shred of dignity she had left that day. "But can you keep this to yourself? I'm trying my best."

She took a long swig of water from her bottle. She thought she had never sweated this much in her life, and she had the distinct suspicion that she didn't look half as hot as Lexa did while covered in sweat and bits of hay. After six months on the ranch, physical labor still wasn't her strong suit, even if she had felt a few extra pounds sliding away.