Christmas (T)
The house was clean, white, and large. Lexa had to crane her neck to see the Christmas decorations hanging from the parapet. Over immaculate paint, silly little Santas danced now and then to music no one else could hear. Around them, a forest of leaves, an innumerable amount of wraths in the tri-color Christmas scheme, and lights as bright as the snow covering a tamed yard.
Lexa was the ugly duckling in that perfect home. Regret warmed her cold cheeks just as the door opened, and warm gold smiled at her.
“Lexa!” Clarke was not good at hiding what she felt, and in that lightly freckled face, Lexa saw exhilaration. It would be good to be as happy as Clarke could be with anything. “Merry Christmas!” Clarke was warm and smelled like cookies. There was a hint of fresh pine under her ear and Lexa allowed herself the small pleasure of Clarke’s skin. “Come on in!”
Lexa’s protest died in her throat, and she nodded. That was Clarke Griffin: no questions asked, and always so, so warm.
The house greeted Lexa with waves of cinnamon, coffee, and Mariah Carey. But besides Clarke’s blabbering of her batch of cookies, the house was empty. The large tree in the living room reigned supreme, but the gifts at its feet were unopened.
“Are you by yourself?”
Lexa regretted the question immediately at the way the excitement drained from Clarke’s face. Clarke took off her santa hat, messing with her curls. “Mom was called in for an emergency, and Dad is out of the country. Somewhere they don’t celebrate, I think.” She shrugged, and her new smile had a sheen of defeat. “Do you want to try my cookies?”
The house and smells could be different, but families were complicated for the both of them. Lexa nodded.
They ate cookies, carved through a flawless turkey (“Mom ordered it,” Clarke explained), and watched new and old Christmas movies on the largest TV Lexa had ever seen. There were no further questions , and Clarke gave Lexa clothes for a hot shower.
Clarke’s room was as immaculate as her house, with multiple closets and shelves lined with trinkets and trophies. Her bed was pristine, and everything smelled like fresh pine. Clarke wasn’t by her desk when Lexa exited the in suite bathroom, the vapors from her long shower following her into the room.
The closet door opened and Clarke stepped inside, cheeks flushed and hands full of partially folded underwear.
“I forgot to give you one of these.” She showed her offering of Christmas-themed boxers.
Lexa chuckled and lay on Clarke’s enormous bed. “I’ll wash your joggers before returning them to you.” Clarke’s eyes did that dance when she tried to check Lexa out discreetly, and it only made it more obvious. It was cute, and Lexa swallowed at the rush of blood through her body.
“Don’t worry about that,” Clarke said, and joined her on the bed. They didn’t touch. Whatever they were, they hadn’t talked about it yet. Friends? Teammates? Fuck buddies?
Another rush of blood.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarke asked, breaking the silence.
“Us?” The word tickled the back of Lexa’s throat.
“I meant why you showed up at my place on Christmas morning, but if you’d rather talk about us…”
“My parents fight a lot,” Lexa said. “Anya isn’t home, and I needed a break.”
“I’m sorry.” Clarke touched her hand. Her palm was warm, and Lexa held it against her chest.
“I’m sorry your parents aren’t here,” Lexa said.
“They do that sometimes.” Clarke snuggled closer, their bodies touching. There was no hiding Lexa’s arousal, not without a boxer. Clarke touched her thigh, and the tent in Lexa’s pants twitched in encouragement. “Is this why you came?”
Lexa breathed hard through her nose, grasping at Clarke’s forearm. “Not really,” she said. “I was alone, and I wanted to see you.”
“I think that’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me.”
Lexa kissed the spot under Clarke’s ear that smelled like an inviting forest. “I’m not good with words,” Lexa confessed to soft skin. “Can I show you instead?”
Their kiss tasted like hot cocoa.