It wasn’t the alarm, or the sunlight pouring through the windows that woke her, but the sound of the rain as it pounded on the roof and windows. Lexa stretched, rubbing her legs against the soft sheets of the bed. She curled herself around the body next to her, rubbing her hands over the supple curves of hips and breasts, as she kissed the smooth skin of her wife’s back. She smiled, inhaling the faint scent of soap and moisturizer that clung to Clarke, sweeter than any perfume.
Lexa rubbed her feet against Clarke’s, humming contentedly. It was finally Saturday, and after a work week full of meeting, deadlines, on-call and seemingly endless shifts, Lexa finally had her wife to herself. Lexa lived for Saturdays. She reveled in being able to lie in bed with Clarke, with no thoughts wasted on alarm clocks, morning commutes or getting to work on time. Saturdays were reserved exclusively for them, for slow, soft kisses that went on for hours, and lovemaking that payed no mind to schedules. Saturdays were Lexa’s sabbath, and Clarke’s body, the temple at which she worshiped. Worshiping properly took as long as it took on Saturdays.
Lexa pulled their bodies closer together and buried her nose in Clarke’s hair, breathing in the subtle notes of conditioner and argon oil that lingered in the soft blonde tresses. She began trailing kisses down Clarke’s neck and over her shoulders, and pressed her hips into Clarke backside, gripping the soft skin of her hips firmly. Lexa smiled when she felt her wife begin to stir.
“You’re ready to go early this morning.”
Lexa chuckled, pressed herself against Clarke’s back firmly. “What can I say? I slept well.”
Clarke rolled over, smiling as she stroked the side of Lexa’s face, and leaned in. It began with a gently kiss, their lips pressed together delicately, their fingertips barely touching. Soon though, the gentle kiss turned deep and wanton, disintegrating into a mess of roaming hands, rolling hips and aching, terrible need. Clothes were pulled from bodies and tossed haphazardly on the floor, mouths and tongues kissed their way over soft skin, and the world under the bedcovers became warm and wet and filled with hitched breaths and arched backs and needy, desperate moans.
Nearly an hour later, the women lay in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, their bodies sated, their pulses finally slowing. Lexa smiled, her eyelids fluttering sleepily as Clarke traced small circles on the small of her back. She sighed, leaning in to press a delicate kiss to the blonde’s sweaty forehead. “How did I get so lucky?”
Clarke laughed softly, curling herself into the crook of Lexa’s arm. “You showed up in my E.R. with a concussion, and I realized I have a thing for confused firefighters.”
Lexa grew nostalgic as her thoughts turned to the day they’d met. It had all started with a fire in an abandoned building on Fremont Street. Lexa’s engine had been first on the scene, and during the ensuing search of the building, a portion of the second floor had caved in. No one had been seriously hurt, but several firefighters wound up with minor injuries, including Lexa, who took a large chuck of debris to the helmet. She smiled, thinking back to the beautiful blonde resident who had treated her. She wasn’t sure if it had been the concussion or her nerves, but she hadn’t been able to say a word to Clarke without slurring and stuttering. Three days later she’d showed up to the E.R. with flowers, and had managed to be marginally more coherent as she asked Clarke to dinner. Nearly three years had passed since that day in the E.R., and Lexa could barely remember what life had been like before Clarke.
Clarke giggled as her wife rolled on top of her, pressing her into the mattress and pinning her hands above her head. She grimaced, screwing her eyes shut as Lexa covered her face in sloppy, wet kisses. “Gah! Stop that!”
Lexa giggled and stuck her tongue out. “Spoil sport. You hungry at all?”
Clarke nodded. “After earlier? I’m starving.”
Lexa nodded, placing a final kiss to Clarke’s cheek and wrapping the flat sheet around herself as she stood, making her way to the bureau and grabbing clothes. Clarke shivered, pulling the comforter up form where it lay, piled at the foot of their bed. “Where are you going?”
Lexa let her bed sheet toga drop to the floor, hopping as she pulled on underwear. “Down the street to grab us coffee and food. You stay in bed. No cooking today!”
Clarke hummed contentedly as she curled up in the comforter. “Sounds good to me.”
Lexa pulled on jeans and an old firehouse sweatshirt, and threw her hair back in a messy bun. She leaned over the bed, giving Clarke a final kiss before dashing out the bedroom door. Lexa’s footsteps grew fainter as she made her way down the hallway toward the stairs. Clarke waited until she heard the sound of the front door closing before settling back into the pillows. She reached over to her bedside table, grabbing the remote and flipping to the morning news.
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Lexa nudged the door open with her foot, her hands otherwise occupied by two steaming cups of coffee, a paper bag in her mouth. “Hmmy… Mmm back,” she mumbled through clenched teeth, making her way into the bedroom. She was immediately greeted by the sight of Clarke’s tears streaking her face, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around them. Lexa set the food down, and sprinted over to her wife. “Whoa, baby, what’s wrong?”
Clarke wiped at her eyes frantically, shaking her head. “It’s nothing, really. I just… There was a report on the news that two firefighters in Olympia died during a call. You how I get about this stuff.”
Lexa sighed deeply, pulling her wife into her chest, and kissing the top of her head as Clarke continued to cry softly. “Shh baby, it’s ok. I’m right here.” She rocked her wife gently for a moment, waiting for her to calm down. “Baby, I know you worry about me, but you shouldn’t. That chances of me getting hurt on the job are so, so low.”
“Lexa, we met because you got hurt on the job!” Clarke sobbed.
Lexa chuckled, pulling her wife tighter to her. “Ok. You have a point baby, but that has been my only injury in eight years on the job.”
Clarke reached out and knocked her fist again the wooden surface of her bedside table, sniffling as she looked up at her wife. “Baby, please don’t temp fate by saying things like that.”
Lexa smiled. “I’m not going anywhere baby-girl. You’re going to be stuck with me for a long, long time.”
“You can’t promise that, Lexa.”
Lexa sighed, leaning them back against the pillows, and pulling Clarke to her tightly. She lay there for a while, rubbing Clark’s back and watching as the tv news continued to broadcast updates about the fallen firefighters. In the back of her mind Lexa knew she couldn’t promise Clarke forever. Her job was dangerous and unpredictable, but those fears were never more than a tiny afterthought in the back of Lexa’s mind. For her wife though, they were a constant, nagging anxiety. She wished that she could do something to sooth Clarke’s nerves, but no matter how careful she was, there was no way to make her career risk free. After a few minutes, Lexa took Clarke’s chin between her thumb and index finger and tilted her head up. She stared into her wife’s blue eyes as deeply and intensely as she could, and set her jaw. “Clarke, I know I can’t make any promises, but you have to know that, no matter what happens, I will always be with you.”
She leaned down then, kissing Clarke with ever ounce of passion she could muster. Tomorrow they would worry about meetings, and deadlines, and on-call and seemingly endless shifts. Tomorrow they would wast time on alarm clocks, and morning commutes and getting to work on time. Tomorrow that could remember that life doled out pain, and sadness and heartache as quickly as it did joy, and happiness, and love. Today, however, was Saturday. Today, the whole world consisted of their bed, and the tiny room, the sound of the rain as it pounded on the roof and windows. Today they were together, and that was all that mattered.