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Gravity \| Book I: Amidst the Chaos	By : Prophecy Category: 1 through F > The 100 Views: 2331 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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When I get chills at night
I feel it deep inside without you
Know how to satisfy
Keeping that tempo right without you
Pictures in my mind on replay
I’m gonna touch the pain away
- Hailee Steinfeld, 'Love Myself'

Clarke stood near the barred window, watching as the sun began to set on her first day as a prisoner. She supposed it could be worse; she'd gotten a bath for the first time in god knows how long, she was clothed in clean, lightweight clothes that smelled like Lexa, and she certainly couldn't complain about the view. Still, despite all of that, she was a prisoner. The heavy oak doors behind her were a constant reminder that they would never open on her command. It was a very small comfort that this cell was significantly more comfortable than her last one.

It was strange, though. Somehow she felt more free at that moment than she had for the entire time she'd been roaming the wilds of trigeda. Sleeping under the stars she'd been born amongst, but there was no comfort left in them anymore. Now all she saw in the night sky were the faces of her ghosts.

Clarke picked up a slice of pinkfruit from her dinner tray and held it between her lips, sucking the juices from its sweet pulp, wondering if it was merely a coincidence that she would be served her favorite earth-fruit on her first full day as a prisoner, or if Lexa remembered their pillow talk in the tent with as much clarity as she herself did and had specifically requested it for her. She decided to let herself believe it was Lexa's doing; her way of apologizing for the situation. It was a little ironic, she thought, because the only one she'd directly betrayed had been Lexa—and yet Lexa was the one person willing to forgive her.

Despite the fact that Octavia had been putting on a show with her abuses of Clarke, and that her emotional and physical proximity to Lexa had grown enough to prevent any sort of vengeance on O's part, it was pretty clear she hadn't forgiven Clarke either. It had been far too obvious that she'd relished decking Clarke, like she'd been waiting for that moment for months—because she probably had been.

Probably because you made her commit genocide, Griff, came the voice in the back of her head. How long would it take you to forgive someone who forced your hand like that?

Clarke shook her head a little, trying to snap out of it as she dropped the pinkfruit rind back on her tray and grabbed another, leaning against the bars to watch the brilliant explosion of colors that accompanied the sun setting over Polis. It was truly a sight to behold, and not for the first time, Clarke wished she could paint it. However, her motives for watching it included an ulterior one in addition to appreciation and inspiration.

Lexa had said she would come after sunset.

Clarke, of course, had replied firmly, "So will I," with a quirk of her eyebrow that had made Lexa tremble just slightly—which had ultimately been her goal in that moment. She relished the thought of Lexa sitting on her throne, surrounded by cranky ambassadors bitching about Azgeda and Skaikru, and thinking about what awaited her later on rather than her more immediate duties as Heda. Maybe she'd even be distracted enough that she'd shift in her chair, and it wouldn't register on anyone else's radar, but Lexa would be pressing her thighs together as she thought about Clarke's head between them.

Clarke really had to cling to whatever small amount of power she could, or risk going crazy in her cage. The natural urge to lead, to command, was built into her. Lexa had been right when she said Clarke had been born for it as she had. It was practically a compulsion to reach out into the atmosphere and try to fix everyone else's problems for them; Clarke was only now beginning to realize what an idiotic goal that was.

She wasn't one of the ancient gods from one of Bellamy's books, she wasn't a politician, and she certainly wasn't the Chancellor or Commander. She was no one—just a girl. An unhappy girl who had lost so much—her father, her home, her friends, her people, and now her freedom. And then somewhere along the way she had lost herself, too, and become just another animal trying to survive.
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"Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don't we deserve better than that?"

Lexa gazed intently at her from beneath hooded eyelids, her voice surprisingly soft when she responded, "Maybe we do."

Clarke was barely able to take a breath before Lexa's lips pressed against hers, gentle but firm, her hand finding its way to cup her jaw beneath her hair with an unexpected reverence. Clarke responded without hesitation, deepening the kiss and gently sucking Lexa's lower lip between her own.
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Clarke closed her eyes briefly and discarded the pinkfruit rind next to the other, turning away from the darkening window as her thoughts, her memories, her regrets, and her pain all started piling up again. She'd thought back then that she could love Lexa the moment her heart was ready to; a moment that had quietly creeped up on her sometime long before today. It was the day she realized she'd gone nearly a week without even thinking about Finn; without him haunting her dreams or thoughts.

Now she thought perhaps she felt that way already, because she was being held captive like a mischievous pet who would destroy the furniture without supervision and still somehow all she thought about for most of the day had been whether the footsteps in the hallway were Lexa's and how many times she would press her face between her muscular thighs that night. What she would do to coax a total loss of control from the Commander's shuddering body over and over again until she was a soaked, writhing, mindless mess beneath her.

Had the sun set this slowly at Camp Jaha or deep in trigeda all these months? Clarke didn't think so; Polis' proximity to the sky was surely messing with her mind.

Yeah, or it's Lexa's proximity to you, branwoda.

There was more between her and Lexa than craving and need; that much had been true from the first time Clarke had looked into those brilliant green eyes, full of suspicion and admiration and, yes, even then, lust. The casual way she'd played with her knife, the warpaint that made her darkening irises stand out as she shamelessly looked Clarke up and down. Clarke had done her best to ignore the immediate discomfort in her jeans, embarrassed that she could even be thinking about such a thing at that moment and even more embarrassed that Lexa seemed to be quite aware of the effect she was having on Clarke's pants.

And then, there was that night in the tent; the one comforting thought she'd had while on the run. Curled up in the hollow of a partially uprooted tree during a particularly cold night she'd spent adjacent to the northern territory, she'd remembered that night frame-by-frame as she slid her hand beneath her waistband and over her rapidly-heating sex. She'd rationalized to herself that increasing her blood pressure was the difference between freezing and being warm without a fire that might attract Azgeda scouts.

Of course, it had been an exercise in futility, given that she couldn't fool her own mind when it knew damn well that her frantic rubbing was because the mere thought of Lexa was enough to instantly turn the area between her thighs into a hot, sticky, pulsing mess. She also couldn't use it as an excuse for almost every other night she'd spent laying on the ground near a campfire, fucking herself to the images in her mind of Lexa until she'd cried her name into the abyss of the night.

She'd given up trying to convince herself that she was over whatever it was that fanned her need for the Commander somewhere between the first and seventh times she'd found herself jerking beneath Niylah's rough but skilled touch and screaming Lexa's name. Nails biting into her thighs, grabbing her ass and flipping her roughly over on the bed. She'd had to settle for the fantasy of an angry Lexa punishing her for her transgressions behind the blindfold. Niylah had initially tried to be soft for Clarke, but it just wasn't in her, which is why more often than not Clarke opted to simply take care of her needs herself.

It was less complicated, too. She didn't have to feel guilty about abandoning her own hands before sunrise.

She'd teased Lexa the previous night about how little it had taken to get her off mostly because Clarke had spent the previous months making herself come within minutes of picturing Lexa naked and spread open for her on the table or beneath her spread legs as Clarke rode her tongue shamelessly.

She'd pictured a lot of other things, too. Lexa on all fours in front of her, her tight ass raised and pressing back against her. Lexa spread above her, her tongue buried deep inside her as she begged for more. Lexa tied to the bed; naked, spread-eagle and soaking, completely at the mercy of Clarke's fingers and tongue. She imagined a hundred ways to fuck her, a hundred positions to take her in, and a hundred pitches for Lexa to scream her name in.

Clarke couldn't deny she was madly in love with Lexa's body, with the way she responded to her; that she loved the soft, vulnerable mess that writhed beneath her as Heda shattered and became Lexa. But part of her heart was locked off, keeping her from letting Lexa fully inside. How could she love someone who kept her in a cage, regardless of reason?

Temporarily, Lexa had said, but how long was that? How long would it be before the tensions among and between the clans no longer included Clarke in them? It could be weeks, or months, or longer.

And in the meantime, what if Lexa were—it hurt to think—killed? What if the next Commander rejected Lexa's jus nou drein jus daun decree? Clarke might find herself in Polis for the rest of her life as a real prisoner. Without Lexa's promised evening visits to fuck and be fucked senseless, Clarke was just an animal who stupidly volunteered to live in a cage.

Clarke felt her anxiety filling up her throat as it had frequently since Octavia had grabbed her outside of the trading post. Just as she was getting overwhelmed with a need to run, or scream, or smash something, she heard Lexa's voice echoing down the hallway.

"—the least of what I would like to tell Nia to do with herself."

"I understand this, Heda, but perhaps she is not entirely wrong. Why keep the traitor alive? To what end? It is a simple way to ensure Azgeda's future commitment to the coalition."

Clarke was fairly positive that she was the traitor and that Nia was calling for her head. Almost as positive as she was that the tightening in Lexa's voice meant the Commander was struggling against the natural urge to clock Titus—a struggle Clarke really hoped she could one day witness Heda losing.

The volume of Lexa's voice rose significantly despite the sound of her boots on the floor stopping. "Or I can continue to ensure Azgeda's future commitment to the coalition by reminding them that I'm their Commander, and that the armies of the other twelve clans would happily spill the blood of every Azgeda warrior on my order."

"Heda! Nia will never stand for these threats." Titus sounded scandalized, and Clarke quickly put her hand over her mouth to muffle her impending snort.

Then she actually had to bite into her arm to keep quiet when Lexa responded, "Titus!" in the same scandalized tone. "Nia is my subject. They're all my subjects. They will stand for what I tell them to stand for, and so will you." Clarke could practically hear the deceptively sweet look on Lexa's face, the accompanying challenge in her voice, as she added, "Would you defy me, Fleimkepa?"

"No. No, of course not, Heda."

"Good. Then you will go to the Azgeda ambassador now, and tell him that Heda has ordered a blockade on the northern border until Azgeda retreats. If they set one more foot into Skaikru or Trikru territory, I will declare Nia and all who do not defect enemies of the Coalition of the Commander." Titus mumbled a few more platitudes before his footsteps began to retreat.

"Oh, and, Titus?" His footsteps stopped. "Please make it very clear that if Nia forces my hand, I will take her head and use it to decorate my throne. In those words, please."

"Yes, Heda."

Titus' footsteps picked up again and were nearly out of earshot before Lexa ordered the doors opened. Clarke was sitting on the bed looking very amused.

"I see Octavia's been quite the influence on you, Heda." Clarke gave her title the same tone Titus had and was rewarded with one of Lexa's rare smiles—the genuine one that filled her eyes and somehow made even her eyebrows softer.

"Perhaps."

Clarke smirked lightly. "I'm guessing the thing about the throne was a direct quote."

Lexa shrugged a little. "Octavia has a way with words." She folded her arms a little unsurely, glancing around the room, her eyes falling on the mostly-untouched food tray. "Ryder said you barely touched any of the meal trays today. Was something wrong with them?"

She looked genuinely concerned, but Clarke wasn't quite to the point of acceptance to comfort Lexa about holding her captive yet. "Just not used to eating off trays, I guess. It's been awhile since I was locked up on the Ark."

Lexa's eyes flickered just slightly with sadness, and Clarke almost felt bad that her words might have stung. Almost.

"In the future, I can arrange to have whatever you would like to eat brought up to you," Lexa said, but it sounded more like she was saying, "I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Clarke sat up a little straighter on the edge of the bed, her entire demeanor changing and her voice growing husky when she replied. "The only thing I feel like eating right now is already here."

That was all it took for the mask of the Commander to fall away and reveal the nervous, blushing Lexa that Clarke so craved who hid behind it.
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Gravity | Book I: Amidst the Chaos