your hand in mine (clexa)

Chapter 11

"I'm sorry," is what Lexa greets her with when she opens the door. "I'm not too late, am I?"

Clarke smiles. "Considering it's just the two of us, you're just in time." She swallows. Breathes in to keep her heartbeat even. Just the two of them.

A spark flashes in green eyes that's nothing short of joyful before Lexa shifts on her feet, awkwardly cradling a brown paper bag to her chest. "So..."

"Oh! Yeah, come in," Clarke steps to the side, gesturing for Lexa to enter. She's not sure if the nerves running through her body are her own or a reflection of Lexa's. Could be a combination of both. She hasn't seen Lexa after their date night a week ago when she proposed they spend the holiday together, and she can't lie about nervous, almost giddy anticipation coiled in her stomach as she lets Lexa in. This whole week was spent preparing for just one night.

Lexa's cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her coat is unbuttoned, hanging askew on her figure. She's uncharacteristically frazzled as she stares at Clarke, not quite knowing what to do with her hands, and God help her Clarke wishes she wanted to ignore the tender pang in her chest at the sight.

But she doesn't. All she wants to do is laugh and mess up her wavy hair even more and make her chase her around the apartment until-- "Did you drive here straight from the gala?"

"Yes," Lexa immediately answers, clearly wishing to move past the awkwardness she thinks they found themselves in. "I stole a little something, too," a muted, impish grin makes its way to her lips as she holds the bag up so Clarke can make out the outline of a bottle.

She rolls her eyes and moves to help Lexa with her coat. "It hardly counts when you're the one who paid for everything."

" The company paid for everything," Lexa corrects her. She probably means to sound a little more stern, but Clarke doesn't miss a hitch in her breathing when she moves in close to her. Presses her body into her back, for a fleeting second. Just to feel.

It's been a week, after all, and she's never denied how good Lexa could make her feel.

Lexa makes a smooth, gliding movement as she slips out of her coat, and next thing Clarke knows, they are face to face, much closer than she anticipated. She doesn't want to take a step back.

"Hey," Lexa murmurs, tilting her head to the right. So close. Clarke watches her wet her lips, and the sudden, deep urge to be the one to do it for her is frightening.

"Hi," she whispers back. "I – I made dinner."

Lexa lets out a noncommittal hum, still studying her. She looks more confident now than mere seconds before. As if she's absorbing Clarke's, leaving her weak at the knees.

"There's chicken," she continues, swallowing under Lexa's unwavering gaze. "And meatloaf." Lexa leans in closer while she talks. Slowly. Clarke doesn't have the urge to recoil; instead, she watches her hands venture up to Lexa's shoulders, feeling soft, pleasant fabric before winding in Lexa's hair, just as soft and just as pleasant. "I hope you like it," she breathes weakly.

"I'm sure I will." Lexa's so close she can feel her breath hitting her lips when she replies. There's just a hint of tobacco, and Clarke frowns, but before she can comment, Lexa's mouth claims hers, and all she lets out is a tiny moan, right into Lexa's lips. A moan that Lexa eagerly swallows, using the opportunity to swipe her tongue across her lower lips before meeting Clarke's.